Jiri Mountain 48km Trail Run Part 3 — Unfinished, and Acceptance
Trail Running Log | Hwadae Jongju — Part 3
Jiri Mountain 48km Trail Run Part 3
Unfinished, and Acceptance
Gasping for breath on the climbs, forcing my legs to move on the flats, rushing recklessly down the descents.
"My body will bounce back soon enough."
Even after nine hours of running, it never crossed my mind that I might not make it under 14 hours.
I'd always crossed the finish line before, limping if I had to, but crossing it all the same.
But every time a climb came, my breathing broke down the same way, over and over.
No matter how much pain I pushed through, my body itself simply wouldn't follow.
For the first time since I started running marathons, I didn't cross the finish line — a result I didn't want to accept.
There are things in life that end awkwardly, without a clean resolution.
Sometimes it's not the ending you wanted — circumstances just carried things somewhere else, and there was nothing you could do about it.
Other times, things work out well not because you did anything special, but because circumstances happened to line up in your favor.
And most things in life aren't started and finished by one person alone. Other people are involved. Circumstances are involved. Luck is involved.
So when something goes wrong, there's usually somewhere to point.
"If only someone had helped a little more."
"I guess I just got unlucky."
But running seems to be a little different.
Sure, there's weather, there's how you feel that day, there are variables you never saw coming.
But in the end, how much you prepared. How much you trained. How far your body could actually hold up that day — the result comes out fairly honest.
No one can run it for me. No one can build my time for me.
Whatever I gain, whatever I lose, it's a result I made myself.
Which is probably why not finishing this Hwadae Jongju bothered me even more.
I. Unfinished
A failed finish.
And sure enough, that unease just stayed with me.
At first I wondered if I should sign up again. Take on Hwadae Jongju one more time, and finally put this lingering feeling to rest.
But then again — I hadn't loved how the race was run, and waiting a whole year for it felt like a lot to ask.
Maybe it didn't have to be this exact race. Maybe a similar one would do just as well.
II. So what was this unease, really?
I assumed finishing the next race would make the feeling go away.
But the more I sat with it, the more I realized there was something more basic underneath.
The real source of it turned out to be simpler than I thought.
That day, my body simply hadn't been at the level it needed to be to finish Hwadae Jongju — and I hadn't been able to accept that.
But I didn't. So I kept searching for a reason.
Why did I fall apart like that. What went wrong. Was my training not enough. Was it the lack of sleep. Was it the aid stations.
I kept looking for a cause.
My body just wasn't built to finish Hwadae Jongju inside 14 hours.
That was all there was to it.
III. Acceptance
Once I saw it that way, the unease that had been sitting with me all this time slowly started to settle.
It wasn't the failure itself that bothered me. It was that I hadn't properly accepted the result.
There was a gap between the runner I thought I was and the body that actually moved through that mountain that day. I just hadn't wanted to face it.
But once I let myself accept it, something in me actually got lighter.
IV. A Little More Humbly
"Should I go back for Hwadae Jongju, or try a different race?" That urgency has faded now.
What matters right now doesn't seem to be which race I sign up for next.
It's bringing my body up to the next level first. Training properly. Running with a little more discipline. Building myself up to where I can actually feel the change in my own body.
And someday, being able to say to myself — not to anyone else, just to myself — "I've really come a long way."
That seems to be the job in front of me right now.
This Hwadae Jongju ended without a finish line. I didn't make it under 14 hours.
For a while afterward, I felt completely worn out.
That first failure
might just be what makes me a better runner going forward.
A little more humbly.
And a little more diligently.
