Recently, I hit rock bottom. Not physically, but mentally. It happened during a running event called Backyard Ultra, a format that is perfect for breaking the mind.
The Backyard Ultra is simple: you run a 6.7 km loop every hour, on the hour, until you can’t continue. There’s no finish line. Only the last man standing wins.
I’ve run several ultras, up to 100 miles. I’ve spent 33 hours without sleep, going up and down mountains. But that day, on a flat course, loop after loop, my mind went to the darkest place I’ve ever been.
Only eight hours into the run, a question popped up: why am I doing this?
In a trail race, there’s always a safe answer: finish the course. But in this format, where there is no end, I felt completely lost.
There are only two ways to stop: fail to complete a loop within the hour, or choose not to start the next one. I know my physical limit, and it can outlast the mind. So unless I break my body, the only real option is to quit voluntarily.
That is a lot of responsibility.
While searching for a reason to abandon, I kept my legs moving, lap after lap. If I quit now, I would definitely regret it. Little did I know, my inner demon was starting to surface.
A flashback to the morning. Sergi, my dearest friend, showed me a sign he had written: “Do it for B.” [his daughter]. “I left a space so you can write who you’re doing this for,” he said. My mind went blank, and that scared me. To hide my discomfort, I smiled and said, “I’ll write it later.”
A few hours later, when the demon appeared, it came with a question: who are you doing this for?
My parents? They don’t support me running long distances. My friends? I know they love me as I am. Myself? I’m already proud of who I’ve became.
Then why am I pushing so hard?
If I care about something (or someone), I don’t go one extra mile; I go ten. But why? Am I afraid that without visible achievement, I won’t be valued? Am I unconsciously chasing the approval I wished I had from my parents? Or am I simply scared of not being enough to be loved?
Suddenly, I felt empty. I felt lonely.
I’ve always enjoyed being alone, but this time it felt different. There was a void. The thought of going back to an empty house, with no one waiting for me, terrified me.
A cascade of negative thoughts flooded in, things I would never say out loud. Self-doubt. Criticism. Questions without answers. I felt hopeless.
During this long internal battle, my friends were doing an incredible job supporting us: cooking, giving massages, preparing drinks, and, most importantly, believing in us.
I tried to hide my suffering, but Sus, who is like a sister to me, saw through it. She looked me in the eyes and said, “Keep going. Think about the people who cannot run, who will never experience this. Do it for them.”
She didn’t realize the impact those words had on me. I would have broken down crying if it weren’t for the bell announcing the next lap.
Until then, I had forgotten to be grateful. Grateful to be alive. To be able to move. To inspire others.
I remembered the genuine “thank yous” I’ve received over the years, people telling me I had a positive impact on their lives. And that gave me energy.
My mood lifted. But one question remained:
I turned to my left and found my answer: Sergi. He’s like a brother, someone I trust and care deeply about, someone who has helped me push beyond my limits countless times. His goal was to run 114 km (17 laps), his longest distance ever. “Today it’s my opportunity to help him. Let’s do it for him,” I decided. And that made me smile.
After 17 hours, I finally stopped. My legs could have gone longer, but I was at peace. It was my chance to slow down intentionally. I didn’t need to break myself to prove my value–not to myself, not to anyone. And I was genuinely happy. I had helped my friend, who ended up smashing his goal by running 134 km. I couldn’t be more proud of him.
This was my journey. I didn’t expect to hit rock bottom mentally and face my darkest thoughts. But eventually I found an inner resolution that brought me peace. I finished with a smile, surrounded by the family I chose.
I didn’t feel lonely.
I felt loved.