From Couch to Crazy: My Accidental Journey to Ragnar Masochism
How I Went from “I’m Not a Runner” to “Wake Me Up at 3 AM, I’ve Got Hills to Conquer”
Let me start with a confession: I was never a runner. Five and a half years ago, I joined 11 Run Club for the most honest reason possible—I was recently divorced and desperately needed some healthy activities that didn’t involve crying into a pint of ice cream.
I thought I’d be surrounded by cool people. I was wrong about that part, but hey, at least I learned to run!
The Slippery Slope of Running Peer Pressure
Here’s how running clubs really work, and nobody warns you about this:
Stage 1: You can barely stumble through one mile of a three-mile run without walking
Stage 2: Suddenly you can run a whole mile! Crowd goes wild
Stage 3: Two miles straight! More cheering and back-patting
Stage 4: You complete the entire three-mile run (slowly, but who’s counting?)
And that’s when the vultures circle.
“When are you going to do a 5K?”
“You could totally run a 5K!”
“Come on, there’s a 5K this weekend!”
“I’m not here to compete,” I’d protest.
“Oh, you don’t have to compete! Just do it for fun!”
Spoiler alert: It’s never just for fun.
The Inevitable Escalation
So you do the 5K to shut them up. Big mistake. The moment you cross that finish line, gasping but victorious, they pounce:
“You know, with just a little more work, you could probably do a 10K…”
Rinse. Repeat. Before you know it, people are asking why you haven’t done a half marathon yet. It’s like a pyramid scheme, but with more sweat and less profit.
Enter the Ragnar Trap
Plot twist: I met my wife at Run Club. She’s a former military runner with “excellent running experience” (translation: she’s fast and I’m not). When she invited me to my first Ragnar Trail—which happened to be a mere 20 minutes from my house—how could I say no?
Narrator: He should have said no.
Why Say Yes to Voluntary Suffering?
Everyone has their reason for doing Ragnar:
- Some people: “There’s going to be people there! Running! A party!”
- Other people: “It’s a challenge! I don’t want to be left out!”
- Me: “This seems terrifying, and I make questionable life choices.”
I try to live just outside my comfort zone, which apparently means agreeing to run the equivalent of a half marathon split into three separate runs over hills, through woods, in the middle of the night, in the afternoon, and in the wee hours of morning.
Because nothing says “good decision” like stumbling through a forest at 3 AM on tired legs.
The Addiction Kicks In
Here’s the weird part: I didn’t just do one Ragnar. I did a second. And a third. And a fourth.
Why? Two reasons that sound completely insane when I say them out loud:
Reason 1: I’m Alive and I Can
As we get older, the ability to continue running and pushing ourselves becomes precious. Having something to look forward to—even if it’s voluntary suffering—keeps us going.
Reason 2: Suffering Makes Everything Better
There’s something magical about waking up at ungodly hours to run seven miles on tired legs. It makes your bed feel like a cloud the next day. Your recliner becomes a throne. Your ability to rest becomes a superpower.
The Philosophy of Deliberate Discomfort
Our world tries to keep us comfortable 24/7—rich food, laziness, luxury, endless relaxation. But here’s the thing: comfort loses its meaning without contrast.
When you’ve pushed through honest effort on one of those brutal Ragnar loops and finished your third run, there’s a feeling that fills you up that no amount of Netflix and takeout can match.
Your bed will never feel better than after you’ve spent 24 hours doing a Ragnar. Never.
The Final Verdict
So there you have it—my journey from “I don’t run” to “please wake me up at 3 AM so I can suffer through the woods with my friends.”
I plan to do Ragnar races until I physically can’t anymore. And when that day comes, when my legs finally say “absolutely not,” that’s when I’ll know it’s time to rest.
Until then, I’ll be the guy stumbling through the forest at dawn, questioning my life choices but somehow loving every miserable minute of it.
Want to join me? Just remember: it starts with a simple 5K…
P.S. – If you’re thinking about doing a Ragnar, just know that your friends will lie to you. They’ll say it’s “fun.” They’re not wrong, but they’re not telling you the whole truth either. It’s the kind of fun that hurts so good you’ll sign up again before you’ve even recovered.