72 km into YA9, I found the part of ultrarunning I haven’t trained enough.
The Starting Line
I’ve always been good at going up.
Maybe it’s because I’m 197 cm tall.
Maybe it’s because I have strong legs.
Whatever the reason, climbing has never been the part of mountain running that worries me.
I’m not exactly a guy who dominates the squat rack, either. But give me a long climb and I’ll usually find a way to keep moving.
I’ve always been willing to muscle through things.
If something isn’t my strength, I tend to accept it.
Keep going.
Don’t complain.
Figure it out later.
That approach has worked for me for a long time.
But at YA9, I found something I don’t want to simply accept anymore.
The downhill.
The Path
Somewhere between 30 and 40 km, I started becoming afraid of falling.
I don’t know exactly when it happened.
I just remember becoming more cautious.
The trail was technical.
Rocks.
Roots.
Switchbacks.
Uneven ground.
Wet sections.
Normally, I can make quick adjustments without thinking much about them.
But after enough hours, I stopped trusting that ability.
I became stiff.
I started thinking about my feet.
I wasn’t trying to go fast downhill.
Honestly, I wasn’t really trying to go downhill at all.
I was trying not to fall.
And that distinction matters.
Because I don’t actually know whether I was physically incapable of moving faster.
I never really tested it.
I had lost the confidence to try.
There was some soreness.
There was the pounding.
My quads eventually took a beating.
At one point, my feet and ankles felt weak.
That passed.
My calves were fine.
No cramps.
The climbing wasn’t the problem.
The technical downhill was.
Especially when the terrain became unpredictable.
And when you’re tired, unpredictable terrain becomes something else entirely.
A rock isn’t just a rock.
It’s a decision.
A root isn’t just a root.
It’s a question.
Can I adjust quickly enough?
What if I slip?
What if I fall?
At some point, I wasn’t just running anymore.
I was thinking about running.
And that’s a very different thing.
Around 54 km, I reached the drop bag.
It was raining.
I ate cake roll.
Watermelon.
Drank water.
Changed my pack.
Got rid of some things.
I had new shoes and clothes available, but I didn’t want to change.
I thought I’d just get wet again anyway.
So I went back out.
Keep moving.
That’s always been the answer.
But this time, simply keeping moving wasn’t enough.
I had found a weakness I couldn’t muscle through.
What Comes Next
For a long time, I’ve treated difficult areas as something to tolerate.
Maybe that’s part of grit.
But maybe it’s also an excuse.
If I’m bad at something, I can tell myself:
That’s just not my thing.
Then I can focus on the things I’m already good at.
I’ve spent plenty of time getting better at climbing.
More miles.
More elevation.
Longer runs.
More time on my feet.
But I haven’t spent the same attention learning how to move down technical terrain when I’m exhausted.
So I’m changing that.
Not because I need to become fearless.
Not because I need to start bombing down mountains.
And definitely not because I need another excuse to suffer.
I need to become better.
Over the next month, I’m going to work on the downhill.
Strength.
Feet.
Ankles.
Balance.
Technical terrain.
Eccentric control.
Poles.
Form.
And most importantly:
confidence.
Confidence isn’t something I can tell myself to have.
It’s something I can build.
One controlled descent at a time.
One rock.
One root.
One switchback.
One wet trail.
One tired set of legs.
Until the things that made me hesitate become things my body knows how to handle.
I’m 197 cm tall.
That’s a lot of body to move down a mountain.
So I’m not interested in copying someone else’s downhill form.
I want to figure out what good downhill movement looks like for me.
How low should I be?
How much should I shorten my stride?
Where should my eyes be?
How do I use my poles?
How do I stay relaxed when I’m tired?
How do I absorb the pounding without fighting every step?
How do I trust my feet again?
Those are the questions I’m going to answer.
The Finish Line
I used to think grit meant muscling through your difficult points.
Maybe sometimes it means something else.
Maybe grit is deciding that the thing you’ve been accepting as a weakness deserves your attention.
I’m not going to become a different athlete in the next month.
I’m going to become a more complete one.
I’ve spent a lot of time learning how to go up.
Now I need to learn how to go down.
Not recklessly.
Not fearlessly.
Confidently.
Because October is coming.
TransJeju.
Gyeongju.
9 Peaks 122K.
And when the trail points down again, I don’t want to spend those kilometers wondering whether I can handle it.
I want to know.
Keep moving forward.
Peace be the journey
One Way Grit 