A lot goes into running 100 miles in a week. I’ve done it a couple times, a little over two years ago when I first stumbled across Tony Krupicka’s blog (he’s since changed his format and stopped logging all his runs). I probably spent about three hours reading his posts on that first visit—my head (figuratively) exploding the entire time as all my previously held beliefs about running we’re being splattered all over my computer screen. I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to consistently run 200+ miles a week. I didn’t even know that people were running two or three times a day. I was still under the erroneous impression that you should only run once a day. Needless to say, Krupicka greatly expanded my running consciousness.
After browsing a through a few of his entries and finally wrapping my head around the astronomical numbers that he was purporting, I decided it was time for me to hang a couple triple digit weeks of my own. I started running twice and three times a day, and finally built to the point where I could handle the 100-mile load. It was a solid accomplishment. I could do it. The only problem was, I wasn’t having any fun.
I had managed to take this thing that I loved, that had literally changed my life in the way that few things can, and turned it into an obsessively quantified workload. Before, I was just getting up in the mountains, ripping up and down gorgeous single-track trails, escaping the artificial, constructed monotony of my everyday life.
When I started chasing 100 in a week, it became a lot more like work. I was obsessing over miles, trading a chance to escape into the mountains for a quick, flat 15 miles on the road or the boardwalk (because I could only get 10 miles in the same amount of time in the mountains). I was sore all the time; I ignored little nagging injuries that could have used an easy day—or a day off all together. The miles became the most important thing. They trumped common sense. I started to lose the passion.
Running suddenly became a lot less fun. But I was hanging 100-mile weeks. I had reached this arbitrary goal that I had imposed upon myself, but it didn’t feel as good as I thought. Sure, it was fun looking at my Movescount profile and seeing that big number on there. It was fun to say things like, “I can eat whatever I want tonight, I ran 102 miles this week.” But that type of fun is fleeting. It felt wrong. I realized that what I had done wasn’t a legitimate 100-mile week. It didn’t happen organically. It was forced. I wasn’t Tony Krupicka. I had to be me.
So I went back to enjoying myself on my runs. Sure they were still hard. I was still sore. I still ignored nagging injuries (a lot less though) and I still banged out a quick 10k on the roads a couple times a month, but it was because I felt like a needed a shakeout run to dial in my form—not because I just wanted to tack more miles on to my weekly total.
Now, over a year later, I’m finally honing in on the elusive, legitimate 100-mile week. All on the trail and in the mountains. Without running for the sake of mileage. Just running because it feels right. Running to have fun. Running to push my personal limits. Running to escape.
Last week, I ran 87 miles with almost 20,000 ft of vertical gain. It felt great. I explored new terrain, ran twice a day four times, had two great long runs and never felt like I was doing too much or pushing too hard. I stayed within myself. Sure, I could have banged out a half-marathon on Sunday night just to hit the century mark… but it wasn’t about that.
This week, I’m well on pace to eclipse 100 miles. And it’s going to be legit. I’m doing it right. I’m not worrying about it, just letting it happen. Organically. Because it’s time.