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"What do a 450 pound man, sandals, and a Mountain Ultramarathon DNF have in common? Let me take you on a little trip to get you up to speed and answer that question"

(Sayulita, Mexico - 450 pounds, needing a cane for basic walking and movement)

"Strange how when you are ready, you are ready. You just can’t predict when that moment will be…"

In the fall of 2013 the dark apparitions of self doubt and low self worth reared their ugly heads. I abandoned my now OVERLY strict diet (which at the time was largely fruitarian), reduced my levels of physical activity, and saw the weight begin to stack back onto my now under-muscled frame. Within the course of the following 12 months I gained back 100 pounds, and that number continued to grow over the next several years, the excess adipose tissue keeping friendly company with the mental darkness and pain I increasingly carried with me. Over the following decade, I struggled to gain control of my mental and emotional health, regularly falling into depressive episodes, particularly after failed attempts in improving my physical health. February of 2022 brought a sudden resolve to improve my situation in a manner that stuck. To put it short, a visit from ‘Montezuma’ during a fmily vacation in Mexico resulted in me sitting in an airline seat with toddler diapers lining my pants, the grim reality of possessing a body that could not physically occupy an airplane bathroom. The embarrassment was salient, and for whatever reason it was enough to spark change.

(One of my first hikes after committing to improving my health and fitness, above Blackridge Reservoir, Herriman, Utah)

Strange how when you are ready, you are ready, and you just can’t predict when that moment will be…That day began a turnaround in my health and fitness journey, going from being unable to walk a couple thousand steps a day (and only when assisted by a cane) and weighing a staggering 450 pounds, to tracking my food intake and increasing my levels of physical activity. Soon walking began to feel easy. I started cycling again, and found joy in additional movement. And then, like a moth to a flame, I rediscovered running.

It became a drug, a purpose for being, an activity that had gravity like a black hole. My wife and I together trained for a 5k race, which quickly evolved into registration for a 10k a couple months later. After that it was a series of races in downtown Salt Lake City. Then my sights grew ever wider. I found myself signing up for half marathons in national parks, running self supported 50k’s in my home mountains, pacing friends at 100 mile ultras, and running a full desert racing series of ultramarathons in Moab, UT. I was an addict, and my drug of choice was moving under my own two feet over any terrain that seemed worthy of the challenge.

(Exploring the High Uintas in Utah after discovering trail running)

(With my brother Mason Victors, summit of Mount Olympus, Utah, August 2024)

(Pre race photo, Behind the Rocks Ultra 50k, Moab, Utah, March 2024)

During this time, my approach to footwear evolved. I had begun running wearing a high-stack Brooks running shoe, but evolved to wearing lower and lower cushioned Altra shoes. My running form improved over time, leading to a steady midfoot strike, smoother gait, and a quick cadence. Things felt like they were coming together nicely and that I had found what worked. In May of 2024 I came across a group of people at the Born to Run Ultramarathons in Los Olivos, California that would evolve my footwear choice even further.

Luis Escobar, during a podcast episode where he graciously took the time to learn my life story, invited me to come hang with him and all the other Mas Locos at the ranch just north of Santa Barbara. There I not only ran the 4 day race, but was welcomed with open arms into a community of amazing people, including a man named Ted McDonald, the owner of LUNA Sandals, also known as ‘Barefoot Ted’ in Christopher McDougall’s book Born to Run. It seemed that not only Ted, but virtually every member of that camp, spent considerable amounts of time roaming the ranch in a minimal sandal made by the LUNA Sandal company. Not only did they walk the camp, but many ran the races of various distances wearing them, which piqued my interest. From that week on, I decided to see what these sandals might bring me to improve my life and lifestyle. 

Not only did I find myself not being able to wear anything else once I put them on, but I could not get over the joy it brought me to move over mountains, through forests, and across open land just by removing most of what makes a shoe a shoe. I experienced freedom of movement and a connection to the ground I had been searching for those many months, and dove headfirst into what I could accomplish in my sandals. I ran every mile of training throughout the summer in my Lunas, including an extremely rugged and difficult mountain race in Alaska, where not only did I contend with steep and rocky trails, but also had to traverse swamp, cross snow fields, scramble scree slopes, and ford glacial mountain rivers, and the Lunas kept me moving without a hitch. I felt confident there was nothing they could not do, and was fully converted. I kept the sandals firmly strapped to my feet those many months, leading up to my next big challenge: the Wasatch 100.

"The more pressure I put on myself to achieve, the more I tied the achievements to my self worth and value"

(My pacer, Matt Styles, and I at the Big Mountain aid station before heading off into the mountains again, Wasatch 100 race, September 2024)

I put a lot of pressure on myself for this event, maintaining a challenging training load for the several months leading up to it. Unfortunately the joy that a pair of sandals strapped to my feet brought was no match for the still present voices in my head telling me I was not good enough. Throughout this major transformation, the more pressure I put on myself to achieve, the more I tied the achievements to my self worth and value. The more I trained and the more miles I put in on the trails, the stronger the voices telling me that I would eventually fail, and then ‘they’ would have me. That pressure began to weigh heavy on my shoulders, leading me to be increasingly concerned about the prospect of failure in the mountains and what that might do to me emotionally and mentally. Dark questions swirled in my head, and found their way into my heart:

<sup>"Was I worth anything if I dove into the Wasatch mountains and emerged a failure?"

"Who was I if I couldn’t take it one step further and find myself to the finish line in Soldier Hollow?"

"Even if I DID make it to that finish line, do I really have value just because I ran a hard race?"

" Do you really think you are special? You’re nothing, with or without your accomplishments…"</sup>

I carried this darkness directly to the starting line of Wasatch, and at 5am on September 6th, those demons and I ran off into the predawn darkness. Up and over mountains and across exposed ridgelines we rambled, and while myself and those around me battled with the elements and the terrain, I was waging war with hellhounds that snapped at my heart. I grit my teeth and pushed through, trying to prove my worth through effort and zeal and silence the insecurities that tried to bring me to my knees.

(Changing socks at the Lamb’s Canyon aid station, Wasatch 100 race, September 2024)

"I felt my chances of finishing these 100 miles slipping away"

It was likely my single-minded focus with crushing out the bad thoughts that led to my struggles on the course. During a long, exposed section of the course I had underestimated, and tried to push through, I ran out of water miles before the aid station. I could feel my stomach contents growing thick, and my legs carried a stiffness that should not be there less than 30 miles into the race. While the sandals on my feet carried me confidently through so much rugged terrain, my legs refused to cooperate as I baked under the sun, and eventually stopped sweating altogether, the telltale signs that I was not in a good physical state. I stumbled into the first crewed aid station, working hard to greet my family and friends with an air of optimism. I spent a few extra minutes getting my hydration levels back up and cooling myself off before trotting down the trail for the next 18 miles with my pacer, Matt Styles, and my snarling mental adversaries. 11 or so miles later I found myself on my back at the Alexander aid station. 

I luckily made it to the station before my hallucinations on those exposed ridges from extreme electrolyte imbalance caught up with me and I passed out. A kind volunteer was working my seizing and cramping quads with an aggressive massage gun, and I was being force-fed pickle juice and electrolyte tabs while I lay supine in the dirt. I felt my chances of finishing these 100 miles slipping away at just mile 43, and could hear the ‘I told you so’ thoughts swirling. There was no way I could do this. I must have known all the while that I couldn’t. My value ends here. 

                                                                 Which got me up and going again.

(My second pacer and brother, Mason Victors, my wife, Monica, and I prior to running into the night, Wasatch 100 race, September 2024)   

With assistance I gained my feet once more and hobbled down the trail, legs cramping and snapping as the electrolytes tried to regain some semblance of balance in my blood. We walked the next 4 uphill miles, and ran the next downhill 3 until I was able to meet up with my wife, sons, and brother at Lamb’s Canyon, mile 50. A quick change of clothes, refill of water and food, and gobbling down a quesadilla later had my brother, Mason, and I trotting off into the deepening night. Something did not feel quite right in my body at that point, but I needed to keep going. Unbeknownst to me, the night would not bring what I thought. The prior dehydration and fainting in the heat of the afternoon determined my fate for the race, but it was not the struggle of mileage that would bring salvation this evening. It would be the fight in my head that would ultimately provide the value for my effort. 

Hour upon hour, slogging through the night over and through rugged terrain found me deep in thought. I began to address these threatening monsters, as I could feel my heart and lungs failing me. As Mason and I left Upper Big Water around midnight, I began to understand that my body would likely not be taking me to the finish line today, so I suited up for the crushing blows of my adversary, only to find that today I was up to the challenge.

When the voices told me that evening that I was not good enough, I reflected with fondness the hours and miles I had spent that summer, exploring the mountains with dirt caking my bare feet and a smile on my face as I experienced sunrises and sunsets, not just running on the earth, but a part of the earth. As accusations of failure began to mount, telling me I had no business having entered this race in the first place, I looked back on the previous day when I gleefully, albeit foolishly, flew up and over exposed ridgelines, through creeks, danced around tree and bush, and smiled as the sun hit my face running through some of the most beautiful country I had ever been in, feeling free and alive.

"Gratitude for what my body and soul were able to accomplish"

I told myself earlier that night that I would never fail backwards, but forwards, so I dusted myself off to slowly but surely gain the ridgeline and began the long 8 mile mountain traverse, dropping down into Brighton late in the evening around 6am, 70 miles and 18,500’ of elevation gain into the race. There we met up with my wife, Monica, and the last member of my crew, Mike Gleue. I tearfully hugged my wife, coming to terms with the paradox of being disappointed with my failure to complete the 100 mile distance, as well as gratitude with what my body and soul were able to accomplish over the previous 25 hours, and with the new strength I found fusing into a well of emotional and mental resilience as a result of the battles I waged in my mind.

(Emotional, tired, disappointed, proud, Brighton aid station, mile 70, Wasatch 100 race, September 2024)

"My experiences have gained me strength and emotional fortitude that is more than enough to meet my foe head on"

As my body has recovered over the last several weeks, I’ve found myself again on mountaintop and forest, running through wooded expanses and exposed traverses, but with a song in my heart and a smile on my face. I’ve experienced greater pleasure in dancing over trails and under canopy, wearing footwear that makes me feel free and an integral part of the great human experience. The worry of dramatic mental decline following something as disappointing as a DNF (Did Not Finish, for those not up to speed with ultramarathon lingo) has evaporated, replaced instead with a sparkle in my eye for whatever adventures may lie in my future.

(Camping in the High Uintas at sunrise wearing my Luna Origen 2.0 sandals) ,             (Mid race photo, Dead Horse Ultra 50k, Moab, Utah, November '23)

I don’t pretend that I have fully vanquished my inner demons. Instead I journey forward each day with a confidence that my experiences have gained me strength and emotional fortitude that is more than enough to meet my foe head on, and know that on the other side of the conflict I will stand the victor. That is enough to keep me pulling my trusty LUNAs on my feet each day and greeting the trail with a grin on my face, not just running on the earth, but running, body and soul, a part of it.

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Author

Miles Victors 

Tags

Ultramarathon

Health

LUNA Sandals

Running

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