This is a syndication of an article I wrote for Front Range Dirt magazine. It’s my first time being published, and I’m proud of it. Please go check out the magazine online or in person

I am shivering uncontrollably in the passenger seat of a rental car. Both my hands are gripping a paper cup of lukewarm chili, but I’m not eating it. My legs are cramping every 30 seconds, sending painful aches through my body. My wife, Miranda, is watching me, worry and concern covering her face. The car is idling; the heat blasting.

_I know past Jon wanted to run this race, this “greatest run of my life.” But this isn’t safe. Look at me. I can’t even form words right now. I should quit. Sure, future Jon will be disappointed. But, what of my rights? What of current Jon? I’m the one who has to go through this. I have to deal with the pain. I am the one that has to endure this.

Minutes tick by. The chatter of my teeth is deafening. Night has set, and the headlights of the car illuminate the tent where I slept last night. Seems like a lifetime ago. I have no concept of time. My race is over. I start to cry. No tears come. My body has nothing left to give.

Past Jon trained so hard for this race. He devoted years of his life to getting me here. And I’ve f—ed it all up. Future Jon will be so disappointed in me. I’m not good enough. I’m not good enough.

The shivers start to subside, giving me brief moments of pause to eat. I finish one cup of chili. Miranda asks what I need. All I can muster is, “more food.” She brings more.

How did it get this bad? How did I crash so hard? What the hell went wrong? None of that matters right now. I don’t want to endure one more moment of pain. I want to crawl into a sleeping bag and never wake again.

When I arrived at camp the day before, I imagined all the challenges I would face out there on the course. I imagined the difficulty of navigating the woods of Tennessee alone at night, climbing each one of the 2000 foot climbs over and over again, and making sure my interloopal periods (Barkley lingo for aid station time) were short. I never imagined that the greatest challenge would be simply getting out of a car. But here I was.

In that car, I found myself at one of these moments that come up in extreme sports where all your plans are out the window, where you find yourself fully depleted by the situation, when you can stamp a nice big Fail on all of your original goals, but there is still something to fight for. If I stay in the car, collapse into the sleep and recovery my body desperately wants and quit the race, I would be condemning all the work I put in to get here, voluntarily giving up my shot at glory.

No, the only correct choice here for me is to step out of the car, into the night, and keep going. There will be no Barkley finish for me, not even a Fun Run (3 loops). But, I can show myself that I have what it takes to belong here at this race.

16 hours later, I reached the yellow gate for the second time, completing my second loop 110 minutes over the time limit. In that second loop, I navigated well, helped other runners, and just had fun. When I got tapped out (a Barkley tradition), I felt pride. I showed myself why it’s important to continue, even when all seems lost, because there’s more out there than the glory of a finish or a win.

In difficult moments since then, I think back to being in that car. I remember how I resented my past self for how they had gotten me into this situation and my future self for the burden of regret. I think about how I turned misfortune and discomfort into harsh negative thoughts about myself that I’ve carried since childhood. I can still see how bleak the future seemed at that moment.

But, I also remember the fun and adventure I found after I got out of that car. An adventure that almost didn’t happen. Having adventures is one of the reasons I run ultras. It’s part of my why.

And so now, I choose to get out of the car. No matter how much I’ve already lost, there’s always more adventure to be found.