Chasing Solitude: Finding Joy Beyond the Commodification of Ultra Marathons

In the heart of the Blue Mountains, I found myself amidst a throng of runners, each one vying for space on the congested trails. The air was thick with the sound of music blaring from speakers, runners pausing to capture live videos and selfies, and conversations overlapping as people chatted and sang along the route. What was once a sanctuary for introspection and connection with nature had transformed into a bustling social event. The mountains, once a canvas of serenity, were now a blur in the background of a frantic rush for the perfect social media post.

This scene made me reflect on the growing trend of commodifying experiences that are innately human and free. Running through nature is a simple, beautiful act. It requires no fancy gear, no expensive tickets, just a pair of legs and the will to move. Yet, here we are, spending hundreds of dollars on ultra marathon entries, donning the latest branded gear, and competing for space on overcrowded trails. The essence of running—the freedom, the connection with nature, the joy of movement—seems to be getting lost in the noise.

My old friend, one of the pioneers of beach volleyball, once shared a similar story. In the early days, the game was all about "keeping the ball in the air." It was an art, a dance, a flow where players worked together in harmony to sustain the play. Winning wasn't the primary goal; the beauty was in the collaboration and the shared experience. But as the sport gained popularity and the lure of money and TV viewership grew, the rules changed. The focus shifted to winning, often in a short, two-shot rally. The essence of the game, the joy of keeping the ball in the air, was overshadowed by the drive for quick victories and spectacle.

Now, I see the same shift happening on the mountain trails. The desire to win, to look good, to broadcast our adventures to the world is polluting the purity of running in nature. The beautiful mountains are reduced to mere backdrops for our social media feeds, and the opportunity for solitude and reflection is drowned out by the cacophony of a thousand runners.

My recent experience at the UTMB Blue Mountains left me feeling drained—not from the physical exertion, but from the constant noise and the lost chance for peace and introspection. The joy of running, the simple pleasure of moving through nature, has been commodified, one $600 ticket at a time.

From now on, I'm choosing a different path. I'll return to the joy of running in a forest by myself or with a few good friends. I'll seek out the peace and freedom that come from moving through nature without the distractions of commercialization. I'll find solace in the sound of my breath, the rhythm of my steps, and the beauty of the mountains, unmarred by the clamor of the crowd. Running is an act of liberation, and it's time to reclaim it from the clutches of commodification.

So here's to finding joy beyond the noise, to reconnecting with the essence of running, and to savoring the simple, unadulterated pleasure of moving through nature. Let's keep the ball in the air, not for the sake of winning, but for the sheer joy of the game.