I Ran 1,815 Miles In The Lord Of The Rings Challenge And Lived To Tell The Tale

The One Ring to Rule Them All is in my house right now. To be clear, I do not live in Mordor. My home is in Los Angeles, which sometimes feels hot enough to be Mordor. I was not given custody of this ring by a visiting wizard, nor I did find it in the Gladden River. I ran my butt off to get it. I ran 1,815 miles to be exact, over the course of a little more than a year. I ran this challenge through daily training for four marathons, through way more rain and flooding than L.A. usually gets, planning a wedding, and trying to keep myself sane through world events. 

My metaphorical journey from the Shire to Mordor was a rough one, but like the events of "The Hobbit," which took place before Frodo and Sam's journey to save the world, it started before I set a single Hobbit foot past the border. Six-and-a-half years ago, I got really sick and had to have major surgery. I'd always been in good shape and an exercise nut before that, and being forced to sit and do nothing ... well, a Ring Wraith might as well have stabbed me in the gut. My blood pressure went up into stroke territory from the stress, and I was put on several medications to fix that.

So, like Frodo deciding on the right path to take, I decided to do something. As soon as I was cleared by my doctor, I decided to run.

I started running several months before lockdown, and I trained to run the Jurassic World 10K race at Universal Studios Hollywood. (I did it for the dinosaur medal.) I thought I was going to die running up the giant hill there, but I did it. I was hooked. I signed up for a half-marathon ... and then the world shut down. During the pandemic, I looked up virtual races. I ran that half-marathon alone in my neighborhood, two virtual marathons, and started sending away for medals from a bunch of places, including The Conqueror Challenges. I needed something to keep me going. 

When I started running, something just clicked, and when there was nothing solid to cling to during the freaking plague, I gave my everything to it. I read every book I could find. I studied my form in every reflective surface. I didn't want to do it wrong because, well, I'm not 20. If you run later in life, you'd better be smart about it or suffer the consequences. I messed up e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g before I got it right.

Adding my daily miles to The Conqueror virtual racing app made me feel accomplished. Even if we were all in hell, I had this. As I ran, my body returned to what was right for me. I ran myself off of every medication they'd put me on, things they said I'd be on for life. I ran three in-person marathons. Then ... I was at a loss. 

I was having a horrible day when an email popped up about a new Lord of the Rings challenge. Mostly I'd run the length of Hadrian's Wall or the Great Wall of China for this company, but this was a narrative one, set in one of my favorite fandoms.

Here's how it works. You sign up and download the app. You add in miles from walking, running, biking, etc. You can do this in a wheelchair, on a rowing machine ... wherever and however you like. You can even create a "Fellowship" and do this with a group. Two of the legs had the choice of a longer distance for biking and a shorter one for walking or running. I took the long route. Hey, Frodo went into this challenge without questioning it. I figured if I were going to mirror his journey, I'd make it as difficult as possible for myself. 

When you get to certain points, you're emailed postcards from where Frodo and his friends are. Then, periodically, you get an Instagram-like "story." It's a little circle that spins with the writing from the ring when you have new parts of the tale. Frodo's journey is retold with pictures from the Peter Jackson films. 

I actually did a bit of meditation as I started my first run. I turned off the music, set up my GPS, stuck my foot out the door, and considered what it had taken me to get here. Being that sick is awful. So is feeling like you can't do anything and that everyone will forget you exist when you haven't left the house, and then are forced to stay inside. 

The first leg saw Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin heading from the Shire to Bree, hunted by Nazgûl. I actually saved the stories to read as I was running so I could sort of feel like I was fleeing them. Hey, nothing motivates you like giant scary creatures following you, right?

The first leg felt like I was rebuilding my confidence after all the self-doubt the pandemic dumped on us. The medal came in the mail, and I showed everyone my One Ring. I stole it back from one of my cats. Then I remembered that I chose to run 680 miles instead of 98 for the second leg. What had taken me a month was nothing compared to what was coming. 

The 680-mile Fellowship leg goes from The Prancing Pony to The Doors of Durin. I did one particularly long run one day (20 miles) where I did sort of wish I had a Fellowship to carry me run with. I was exhausted, and it was over 100 degrees that day. I kept looking at pics of Frodo in the app and reminding myself that I could do this. 

This will sound silly, but as a huge Tolkien fan, the parallels to the film were big for me. I sometimes listened to the soundtracks while I ran. Other times I dissected the plot, or thought about what the TV series "Rings of Power" might be like. In this section, as I watched my avatar advance over a map of Middle-earth, I used some of my running time to lament some of the friendships that faded during the years of the pandemic. I was frustrated that I didn't have more time to run and wondered why I actually liked running alone. Had I lost my ability to talk to people? I know I wasn't the only person feeling that. 

680 miles is a lot of time by yourself, though, and as I watched the "stories" go by on my app, I kept thinking about why I, a social person, was finding it so hard to reclaim my own Fellowship. 

During those runs, I reflected on what it means to have a Fellowship. Like so many of us, I'd tried the Zoom meetups and the outdoor parties, but after a while, they faded. We were stuck in a world where no one seemed sure about the right thing to do. Was it okay to eat outside? Were we safe now that the mask mandates were over? What is my own comfort level at a store? Many of us are still thinking about these things. I was getting more relaxed in public places, but there was still that fear under everything, or even a fear that I might upset someone else by standing too close. It doesn't really leave, you know? 

People kept asking me how I could get up so early to run before work or how I kept myself motivated. I tried to explain that it was the only place I felt like I could relax while outside. I could pass by people and dogs and kids and throw peanuts for the squirrels and ravens. I could feel like I was part of the world again, but not near enough to anyone that they could get hurt. By the time I finished, we'd gotten past the point where people talked about what we all lost, but we still felt it. I certainly did. I hugged the medal when it arrived and prepared to run 40 miles through the Mines of Moria.

As I did the shorter Mines of Moria leg, I was also about to run a very, very difficult extreme weather/nighttime marathon in the desert outside of Las Vegas. I didn't know how bad it would be, but there were huge hills — the kind that hurt your legs walking, let alone running. There were pro-Trump trucks with people yelling and pointing guns at us that drove by several times. There were cars stopped on the road with people in them, and it was very, very dark. The 24 runners had to call out our numbers to the aid stations so they knew we were alive. 

As I ran, starting in 97-degree weather and ending in 45-degree weather, I felt a bit ill. I had a stomach bug, and it made every step brutal. There were rattlesnakes and coyotes, and while I love animals more than people, I was a bit scared. No one was around, and if I broke a leg in the pitch black, would the maniacs or creepy men in cars find me before someone realized I hadn't checked in? All I could think of was the fact that I was technically running through Moria. It was dark there. It was dangerous. I mean, there were fewer orcs in Vegas (maybe), but still, this was no picnic. 

I was pretty brutalized when I was done. I finished at the top of my age group (and sincerely thought the monitor was kidding when he said it), but it was not my best race. I sort of mourned this high I'd been on for a while and realized that I'm not invincible. It almost put me back where I'd been mentally after I first got sick.

It might sound stupid, but I really thought about the Fellowship mourning Gandalf as I had to reevaluate my feelings about the race and find a way to move past the disappointment of not doing my best. Another half-marathon in the dark with my fiancé a month later helped, but ... well, everyone has a bad one, right?

As I emerged from the Mines of Moria and dusted off my ego (and my shoes, and my teeth ... the desert is very dusty), I realized that the next leg was the Eye of Sauron, and I had chosen the 668-mile version instead of the more reasonable 95-mile choice. This is the section where Frodo and Sam are pursued by Gollum and capture him. It's a really dark part of the story, as your brain starts to pity the poor guy while you simultaneously hate that he's there to screw things up. 

I won't recount every mile, but it was rough. I ran two marathons during this time, and they went pretty well, but I was having a hard time. Look, I love running. I truly love the feeling of your feet devouring the earth beneath you. I've worked so hard, and I've studied everything I could find. I've also spent years studying mental development, and I know that there are times when your devotion to something wanes. I'd been through motivation dips before and came out fine, but I was tired. I was training for three marathons in 60 days, and I was in denial about resting. I was pushing myself, and it was hurting me. In my more over-dramatic moments, I compared myself to a very tired Frodo, laughing my ass off at my own whining.

It was time for me to run three marathons in 60 days, right around the time I started the Mordor leg with 282 miles. I ran the Carlsbad, Ventura, and Los Angeles Marathons and decided to add in a trail half-marathon right after, all the while trying to plan a wedding, work, and write a book. Basically, I burnt myself out. I ran through almost a full year of non-stop marathon training, and I was exhausted. I ran through norovirus, the flu, Covid (which I didn't know was Covid until a month after I got better, or I wouldn't have run), three bad falls, and jaw-clenching stress. The thing is, running had become my identity. There was never a time when I regretted a run. I loved it, but like the One Ring, you can be drawn to something to the point where it's unhealthy.

It was time for self-reflection. I thought about the journey and what running has given me. However, I realized after pushing myself so far, that I was afraid of a day when I wouldn't want to run. I forced myself to get up every day, sick or well, to keep up the habit so I wouldn't have that moment where I just didn't wanna, you know? And I began to realize that if I didn't pay attention, I'd be Gollum instead of Smeágol. I didn't want to become so single-minded that I broke the thing I loved.

One of the final days of the final leg, I was dragging. Every muscle hurt ... which might have been from the fall I didn't let myself recover from. I made myself stop in the middle of the street and consider it all. I looked around me at the trees, felt the air on my skin, my tired legs that I was so proud of, and realized that I truly love this, and if you love something, you take care of it. You don't brutalize it until it can't go on. You cherish it so you can keep it safe forever. You give up mornings and push yourself so you can get stronger, but if you don't give yourself time to rest, time to remember why you do this, what are you doing it for? And, most importantly, on days you really need a rest, you freaking rest. You let it go. You throw the One Ring into the volcano and return to the Shire. (Speaking of the One Ring, the final medal has a spot where you can embed the ring into the medal itself, almost as though you threw it into Mount Doom.)

I'm in training for another race after my upcoming wedding, but I learned enough on this wild journey from the Shire to Mordor to realize that I have to build in rest days. I have to have some balance around this. I'm still running at least 36 miles a week and have already signed up for three 2024 marathons in a row. However, this journey taught me that I must think about my love of running as a "precious" thing. (Yes, I muttered that word in a Gollum voice while typing this.) I can push myself and still protect myself from injury and burnout. 

It was lovely to have a story to follow and to compare my own journey to over the last year. Maybe I didn't save all of Middle-earth, but hey, maybe I saved my future knees and back. I'm about to do a "Lord of the Rings" rewatch, but I think it will hit differently this time.