Hit the Wicked Trail

You might not think a hat could make or break a run, but for runners clocking serious mileage a good, technical running hat is a valuable piece of equipment. Raleigh-based Wicked Trail Running makes ultramarathon gear designed to keep you comfortable and motivated through your longest and toughest runs, and Wicked Trail hats have proven their worth since hitting our shelves a few months ago. Wicked Trail's creator, George Callahan, just happens to be a Fleet Feet Outfitter, so we asked him to share a bit about the origin of Wicked Trail, his experience with ultramarathons, and the running philosophy that keeps him going.

 

 

 

 

Right before my first ultra marathon, someone asked why I wanted to run 50 miles. It was the first race I'd ever signed up for, and the question caught me off guard. After some time with the question, I came up with the mantra "Go Farther So You Can Go Further." 

 

Though they're interchangeable, the word 'farther' is usually representative of a physical distance. 'Further' often represents a figurative distance. Farther means the distance I'll run, further speaks of what comes after the race. 

 

When you Go Farther (take your body a physically challenging distance), your perceived capabilities expand: the figurative road lengthens, your body (though it's the same body) becomes more endurable, and fatigue's control over your actions loosens.

 

My answer, though I couldn't articulate it when asked, was this: "I want to go to a place where, coming back from it, I am a stronger, more patient, more capable person who can better contribute to the world around me."

 

I was Going Farther on race day in order to Go Further in the rest of my life.

 

This mantra seemed like an interesting, eye-catching, tricky phrase (and one that resonated deep inside me), so I thought I would put it on a shirt.

 

And Wicked Trail was born!

 

'Wicked' has a few meanings. It's always reminded me of villains from Disney movies: unpleasant, playfully mischievous, and scheming to bring the hero to his or her knees.

 

That's what the Wicked Trail was for me. In training for ultra marathons, and then especially on race day, the voices of doubts sing their troubled songs. Sometimes it's "Why the heck are you doing this?" or "Rest here. Take it easy. This hill is too long, too steep."

 

Oftentimes, as many runners can attest, the voices in our heads say: "You're not going to make it."

 

Those doubts, insecurities, and fears of failure seek to bring us to our knees, to pull us from our paths (our Wicked Trails), and to crumble our aspirations into heaps of regret. They're entities living inside us that we have to overcome in order to ascend to personal, individual greatness.

 

We have to overcome those unpleasant, mischievous villains in our stories. 

 

Wicked Trail for me is about running ultra marathons, but it is just as easily applicable to writing books, your first 5K or half marathon, getting good grades in school, or performing well at work.

 

I always say "The Wicked Trail is a place in your mind..." and it's true. The Wicked Trail is the tough path in front of you, the one leading to your goals, but it's also the internal struggles associated with any sort of aspiration. It's the mindset that life will be mischievous with whatever you want to accomplish; you must decide to stay your path and carry on.

 

When someone buys a hat or shirt from Wicked Trail, I always say "Welcome to the Wicked Trail," because they've signed up to stay their path (wherever that path goes), regardless of their story's villains.

 

My friend Shawn Livingston, long after 'Comfort Is A Lie' was already printed on our hats and shirts, summed it up best. A recovering addict, Shawn told me that the mantra struck a special chord with him.

 

While in the throes of painkiller and heroin addiction, Shawn only had to take another pill to temporarily feel better. This relief, this little pill that fed his monster, was Comfort. It soothed the withdrawal and let him function for another few hours.

 

"Just take the pill and the worst pain you can imagine goes away," Shawn said. "You can't really know [how bad it is] unless you've been there."

 

But that drug was a lie.

 

It told Shawn he would feel better. It said it could pull back his pain, but the consequences of that short respite were massive: a continuing downward spiral into addiction and hopelessness.

 

Every day, life offers us that same pill that Shawn was offered in his addiction.

 

Life asks "Would you like ease, warmth, and dulled sensation?"

 

It's quite easy to say yes. Shawn said yes many times. I've said yes many times.

 

Comfort Is A Lie tells us that when life offers us the easy way out, or a big mountain of pleasure, we ought to ask what the consequences of that action might be. Is that Comfort, small as it may be, handcuffing us to worse habits or sending our life on a gradual downward trajectory? Is there a choice that better suits our goals and aspirations, for ourselves and others? What does the other way, the possibly less exciting and less comfortable way, offer us?

 

These aren't easy questions, and they're easy to neglect.

 

If you refuse to look at what your life could be if you decided to less frequently dull and diminish discomfort, you may never ascend to a level of excellence that gives you the power of massive personal achievement and important contribution.

 

I started running ultras in 2018. My first was a 50 mile race, and only a few months later I completed a 100 mile race. It was easy to get hooked!

 

Hats and shirts seem to be hard to mess up, so I think I'll stick with those for awhile, but I keep a list of other products people are interested in. However, my dog Cowboy really doesn't like bandanas, so he says I can't add that one. Sorry.

 

 

Running your first ultra is a very rewarding experience. I highly recommend it. I've done marathons and know the elation of finishing those, but a 50+ mile race provides distinct challenges and obstacles, and no race is the same, so the reward is always unique. Anything can happen when you're out for 8+ hours. Finishing my first 100 was a surreal, impossible to describe experience.

 

My biggest three pieces of advice are:

 

1.) You make the decision every day in the months leading up to the race whether or not you will finish. Take it seriously. Train well, get enough sleep, and have fun. Build your mental endurance for race day before race day.

 

2.) Train slow and take care of your body. In ultra running, nobody cares about your time. For your first race, train slow and strength train (lunges helped me a lot). Most of your mileage should be done at a jogging pace (in a good pair of running shoes from Fleet Feet) and your strength work should incorporate balance and core exercises. Barefoot, light weight, single-leg deadlifts on a yoga block are my favorite.

 

3.) Make friends with patience and loneliness. Patience will carry you through training and get you through the fatigue of race day, and loneliness will be there at the tough points of the race, when your crew just doesn't understand how you're feeling, or when the sun goes down and you don't see any other runners around. The finish line is worth becoming well-acquainted with these two.