I'm no Jasmin Paris, but...

Surviving the brutal Barkley Marathons, or tragedy in the Alps and Antarctica, reading good books, and otherwise preparing to persevere and do hard things that previously seemed impossible

Some would say Laz is a sadist. He designed his most infamous extreme running challenge, the Barkley Marathons, to be darn near impossible—the ultimate physical and mental challenge for the most elite distance runners in the world.

Here’s how the Barkley breaks down, by the numbers:

• 100+ - the total distance of the Tennessee course, roughly, in miles (five 20-mile loops). It’s impossible to be precise, since much of it is off-trail and so much depends on the runner’s own navigation skills with a topographical map and compass.

• 120,000 - the total elevation ascended and descended by the 2024 competitors, in feet. This is roughly the equivalent of climbing Mt. Everest, from sea level to peak and back down again, twice.

• 60 - the number of hours allotted to finish. Faster competitors will have enough time for a few brief power naps during that time. Slower ones will have no time to rest. This is likely why it is nicknamed “The race that eats its young.”

• 9 to 14 - the number of paperback books, hidden in the wilderness, that competitors must search for during the race. They must tear out the page corresponding to their bib number as proof of reaching each of the checkpoints; quirky, but effective.

• 0 - the number of aid stations or human assistants Laz allows along the course to support the competitors, other than two unmanned water stations

• 0 - the number of GPS trackers or fancy electronic devices allowed per competitor

• 1.60 - the bizarre entry fee for the Barkley Marathons, in US dollars and cents

• 35 to 40 - the number of competitors accepted each year

• 1 - the bib number assigned to the competitor Laz deems least likely to finish even one of the five laps

• 1,000+ - the total number of people who have attempted the Barkley Marathons since its current format began in 1986 (annual except for a COVID hiatus in 2020)

• 9 - the number of years that passed before even one competitor finally finished the race within the allotted time

• 22 - the total number of actual finishers since 1986

• 50 - the percentage of races that have ended with zero finishers

• 99 - the number of seconds remaining on the clock when Jasmin Paris, a Scottish veterinary scientist and mother of two, reached the iconic yellow gate, signifying her historic finish last week

• 0 - the total number of women to ever complete the Barkley Marathons in its 36-year history—until last week

A portrait of grit: Jasmin Paris reaches the finish line of the 2024 Barkley Marathons. Photo credit: HOWIE STERN

I first heard about this race last week from Vicki Crumpton, a connection in my Facebook writing community and a better athlete than I will likely ever be. Since her first mention of it, I’ve devoured every bit of information I can find about the race online. I’m fascinated by the astounding valor and sheer determination required, the mental stamina to push through the unimaginable fatigue, as well as the relentless conditioning it would take to reach that level of super-human physical strength and endurance.

Call it Courage

I have found myself impressed by such tales of courage before. My favorite books as a child—the ones I read multiple times—often centered around courage in seemingly impossible situations:

• Call it Courage, by Armstrong Perry

• The Cay, by Theodore Taylor

• Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry, by Mildred D. Taylor

• My Side of the Mountain, by Jean Craighead George

Even in Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House series, my favorite was The Long Winter. The strength of will! The tenacity!

In my 20s, my friends and I once randomly picked a movie at our favorite $1.50 second-run theater—the Super Saver Cinemas Seven in Seal Beach—and found ourselves watching Alive, without first assuming the crash position and bracing ourselves emotionally. I wept for days afterward, so overcome by the courage it took to survive in the midst of such horrific conditions.

As a parent and homeschool mom, I (we) studied Ernest Shackleton’s harrowing 17-month Antarctic battle for survival with 27 men left adrift on the sea ice. I read Endurance and everything else I could get my hands on, so fascinated by the strength of will it takes to keep going, to continue finding solutions, to refuse to give up in situations so dire.

In the same obsessive way, this week I have studied the news accounts and videos of Jasmin Paris’s gritty finish from every angle. Here’s one such clip, including her breathless comments only minutes after completing the race:

Jasmin’s tenacity is inspiring, to say the least. She pushed herself to sprint that final hill—or at least what qualifies as a clunky sprint when your body has already given everything it has—because she didn’t want to have to ever attempt it again. Twice previously, she had completed three laps, but three instead of the required five only earns competitors a sardonic “Barkley Fun Runs” certificate. This time Jasmin would not give up, nor would she be mocked again. Despite everything in her mind and body screaming for rest, screaming for more oxygen, she pressed on, reminding herself simply, “I’ll either pass out, or I’ll finish.” She did something that Laz had claimed—with perhaps a twinkle of challenge in his eye—the vast majority of men and certainly no women could ever do.

Then, there’s me

Although I grew up playing sports, I’ve never aspired—not in my wildest dreams—to be an athlete at that level. But still, something in Jasmin’s story resonates with me. I’ve always liked a challenge, and as I’ve pointed out, I’m inspired by tales of extreme courage in the face of outrageous adversity.

Sunday afternoon, Andy and I bundled up and went for a brisk, chilly walk along the river in Missoula, criss-crossing over bridges, passing through peaceful parks, and skirting along the edges of downtown. It’s a favorite activity of ours, and we haven’t done it since last November, before we left for our three-month trip to Southeast Asia and Australia. While we walked, we reflected on what we learned about ourselves and each other while off on that grand adventure.

One of my own conclusions was the repeated confirmation that I am capable of more than I thought possible. When we went caving (click here if you haven’t yet read the story), I was completely out of my element, so far out of my comfort zone that I couldn’t even remember what it looked like. And yet, I pushed on with gritty determination. It wasn’t pretty, and I wasn’t smooth and nimble, but I did it. I even jumped at the end, which is more than a few of our young 20-something colleagues did that day.

The first time Andy and I rented a motor scooter as a cheap and efficient way to get around the island of Langkawi, I was genuinely frightened. (Again, here’s the story for you, if you haven’t already seen it.) The second time we got a scooter, in Thailand, Andy asked me if I was getting used to it yet. Nope. Not at all. Those vulnerable little scooters, in that horrendous and chaotic traffic, terrified me.

But then one day in Laos I needed to buy a birthday cake. One of the young women we had met on the slow boat as we drifted down the Mekong River was having a birthday. A bunch of us had conspired to throw a surprise party for her. She reminded me of my own kids, so far away. My heart softened, but I had no way to bake a cake. I asked Rose, the woman who ran the guest house where we were staying in Luang Prabang, if the bakery on the corner would be a good choice.

“No!” She wrinkled up her nose in disgust. “That bakery for tourists. Everything too expensive.” She drummed her fingers on the counter. “I know good place with good cakes—very cheap. Laos people go there.”

“That’s great! Can you tell me where it is?”

“No. It hard to find. I take you on motorbike. You come here two o’clock. I take you.”

“Oh . . .” I stammered. “I could just walk there. You don’t need to take me. I don’t want to take you away from your work. You can just show me on the map.” I held up my phone.

Rose shook her head. “We go together. Two o’clock.” She pointed to the counter to emphasize where we would meet, then returned to her work.

I swallowed hard.

When I had the comfort of my relationship with Andy sitting on the scooter seat in front of me, it was ok for me to express my anxiety. He is understanding and compassionate. And I’m comfortable wrapping my arms around him. I can be my vulnerable self with him and trust that he will treat me with kindness and gentleness.

This would be an entirely different situation. It’s poor form to wrap your arms around someone you barely know. Motorbikes and scooters are used all over Southeast Asia as not only family cars, but also as taxicabs. Standard procedure is simply to hold the grab bar on the back of the seat—if you need to hold anything at all. Most people on the back of a scooter are content using both hands to hold and scroll their phones or eat a snack and drink a soda.

At two o’clock, I climbed onto the back of Rose’s scooter, trying my best not to let on that I was anything less than perfectly comfortable and grateful for her help. On the way back from the bakery, of course, I had to balance the cake box in one hand while holding the bar with the other—just like the locals would have done. I am stubborn and competitive, so I never let on to her that I was uncomfortable.

But guess what? That ride with Rose was not as bad as I’d expected. Although I was nervous, sure, I was able to push down my fear and act like I was fine. And in acting like I was fine—I was. The next time I rode behind Andy, it was significantly easier for me. By the end of our three months in the region, I really didn’t mind the scooter much anymore.

I repeatedly faced something difficult, and I grew as a result. The task ahead of me did not change. But I did. I changed.

There were several other examples of similar processes. The first time I swam in the ocean alongside jellyfish, I was pretty freaked out. After a while, though, I just learned to watch my surroundings and share space with them.

Although, I will admit I would NOT have swum in the water near our friends’ catamaran off the east coast of Australia, north of Sydney. When we rode out to their boat and back in their little dinghy, I was shocked at how many big jellyfish swarmed around us in the clear water. Absolutely not. No swimming there.

I didn’t take any photos of the jellyfish all around us here but trust me: the harbor was THICK with them.

If it follows me home, can I keep it?

Since returning to Montana just over a week ago, I have noticed a definite boost in my confidence levels, when it comes to the strenuous physical work of finishing the truck build and hefting big items around. Yes, I am strong enough to carry the mini-split’s condenser unit from the barn to the shop. Yes, I can lower that heavy bin down off the top shelf and move it to the car. Yes, I can remove all those panels using the tools provided—even the ones that are screwed in where I will have to lay on my side and crane my head inside that cupboard and twist my arm down at an awkward angle and cram my knuckles against that rail. Yes, I can figure out how to move forward when the Allen wrench slips from my hand and drops down in that narrow crack between the slider and the actuator and no one is around to help me solve the problem. Yes.

Sí, se puede.

I truly think courage is made of muscle—just as much as my abdominal wall that is currently yelling at me about restarting those morning workouts after so long. The more you use a muscle, the stronger it gets. But like my midsection reminds me, muscles grow stronger by being pushed to the brink. The tissue fibers themselves have to break down in order to expand. In other words, I guess we need to push ourselves to do hard things—or be pushed—far beyond what we are comfortable with, if we want to experience any personal growth or satisfying sense of accomplishment.

Two days after the Barkley Marathons, the BBC wanted some comments from Jasmin Paris about her experience. Her voice, as displayed in the raw video above, was shot, and she was in no shape for an interview, so she texted a reporter some thoughts. After watching the many videos of herself lurching stubbornly toward the yellow gate, then collapsing on the ground next to it, Jasmin reflected,

“Those final moments have redefined for me what I am capable of.”

It was only by pushing herself beyond what she thought she was capable of, that she learned how capable she really is.

That resonates with me, too. By pushing through my fears in the cave, I learned that I can push through those particular fears. They don’t have to paralyze me.

By successfully carrying that heavy piece of equipment across the yard—careful to lift with my legs and all that, I learned that I am still strong enough to move heavy things. Of course, I’m not as strong as I was in my 20s, but hey, good enough.

By losing a simple Allen wrench in an impossibly tight spot and figuring out a clever way to successfully retrieve it, I remembered that I can solve problems without quickly giving up and asking for help.

And those bits of courage and strength, of course, apply to the much bigger things of life, too, the weightier matters that don’t often make it into print or onto a social media platform. You know which things those are for you, just as I do for me. I think we can handle more than we realize. And the more we push ourselves—or are pushed—the more we grow.

How about you, friend?

Think back. Reflect. What have you done that pushed you past your perceived limitations and ultimately surprised you? How have you exercised your courage muscles? I’m guessing they, like my abs, hurt after a particularly hard workout. But have you found you come out stronger on the other side? Can you see the growth from what you thought you were capable of then, to what you believe now? How can you use that courage to encourage others this week?

If you’re a person of faith, as I am, I admonish you, friend, to see hard times through a different lens. Remember what the apostle James, the brother of Jesus, said in the first few verses of his letter? As you may recall, he was writing to the Messianic Jews who were living abroad, scattered throughout the known world. These small communities of believers were facing all sorts of societal persecution for their counter-cultural beliefs. Here are James’s words, his suggestion for how to frame one’s thinking when things get really difficult—sometimes even more than we ever thought we could possibly bear (as translated by the NLT):

Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy.  For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing.

James knew what’s up. His words sound pretty applicable for us, too, right?

Maybe Laz, the founder of the Barkley Marathons and several other crazy races, is not a sadist after all. Maybe he likes to see people rise to a challenge. Maybe he finds great joy in watching them redefine their capabilities as their endurance has a chance to grow (even if it takes some significant pain to get there). You might enjoy this little interview of him.

Until next week,

Sherry

P.S.

Speaking of stepping out in courage, I am sooo grateful for those of you who did just that after reading my last post which asked you for some specific feedback on some potentially awkward topics. Here is a link to the post, if you want to check it out or need to be reminded. If you have something to say on the topic, please do! So far, the thoughts and opinions have been all over the map, so don’t think your opinion is irrelevant or not important. All input on the topic is invaluable to me, and I’m thankful for all of it. Keep it coming, friend.