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A couple of weeks ago, in a surprising twist, I made butter during the Socorro Souls of Sorrow Ultra-marathon. I don’t have many culinary secrets, but it turns out that if you pack heavy cream and coffee for a run that exceeds 37 miles and includes an elevation gain of over 5,500 feet, the friction creates perfect balls of brown-speckled butter.
In March of this year, Jasmin Paris made ultra-marathon history as the first woman to finish the eccentric Barkley Marathon, designed to be nearly impossible to finish in the 60-hour cutoff. The race has a peculiar entry application and rules that require an essay and a $1.60 application fee; if you are one of the 40 accepted, you receive a condolence letter. This challenging 100-mile race has seen only a few dozen finishers in its 38-year history; some years, there are no finishers.
Incredibly, Paris completed the race with just 99 seconds to spare before the cutoff. If you google her, you’ll find photos of her in complete agony at the finish line. What I find most endearing is that she resembles a mom I might see pushing a stroller to library time. Paris is far from the Olympic physique one might expect to complete such a feat.
In June, a team of six Rarámuri women made history by completing a relay race in traditional dress and huaraches. Aged between 25 and 46, they ran 335 miles from Los Angeles, California, to Las Vegas, Nevada, in just two days and nights. This race is known for its mysterious nature; Runner’s World magazine has called it “one of the hardest and most secretive relay races in the world.” The women achieved an impressive third place.
In a 2019 documentary about Lorena, a Rarámuri ultra runner, she was asked why she chose huaraches over the latest running shoes provided to her by major brands. She responded that when she races, she notices that she passes many competitors wearing those shoes, so she figures her huaraches are better.
The moral of the story is I wouldn’t dare underestimate someone who doesn’t look like a “runner.”
This year, I ran the Socorro Souls of Sorrow alongside a nurse, a welding inspector and security guard. In previous years, I’ve shared the experience with those too young to enter the Capitol Bar and folks already enjoying their retirement. Some of my fellow runners have completed dozens of ultra-marathons, including 100-milers. This year we had a local from Socorro who successfully finished his first ultra.
When you do long runs for fun, people just don’t believe you, so it’s refreshing to be in the company of others to whom you don’t have to explain yourself. Predictably we find ourselves laughing over our missing and unsightly toenails, exchanging humorous stories about the times we’ve gotten hopelessly lost on the trails, battled through unexpected storms and the frustration of disappointing DNFs (Did Not Finish) in our races. Each tale brings a mix of camaraderie and shared absurdity that makes our long day feel a little lighter.
I can’t say I blame people for making assumptions about long-distance athletes. All of this running nonsense was a complete mystery to me, too, before I caught the bug. It wasn’t long ago when I was working at the library and a patron told me about the Magdalena Massacre 20-mile run in Water Canyon. I remember thinking, who could be that crazy? Me. It was me, I just didn’t know it yet.
Given I had over ten hours to think during the run, I was trying to pinpoint based on my experience what exactly ultrarunners have in common. About nine hours into our journey, just beyond Box Canyon, the sun began its slow descent and the darkness enveloped us. We flicked on our headlamps, and in the distance—the twinkling lights of Socorro let us know we were getting close.
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A magnificent supermoon emerged, its enormous, fiery orange orb rising above the silhouettes of the mountains. The sight was a captivating blend of eerie beauty and pure magic. As I reflected, it became clear that we were there for the thrill of adventure. We were driven by a deep yearning to connect with the world around us, embracing the elements and immersing ourselves in the beauty of nature. The entire day pulled us into the present moment leaving behind the daily grind of our lives. Each step was a chance to fully engage with life in all its richness. You could say it was the butter to the toast of life.
