Missed Connection: You, 30-Something Ultramarathoner; Me, The VOID

Hi.

We locked eyes recently.

Well, technically, you looked at a website and I looked back through the screen, but I think we both know what really happened.

There was a moment.

A connection.

And I haven't been able to stop thinking about you.

You were 30-something. Maybe 38. Maybe 34. Frankly, after the first 100 miles of an ultramarathon, age becomes more of a philosophical proposition than a biological fact.

You had the look.

You know the one.

The thousand-yard stare of a person who has voluntarily signed up for something that no reasonable person would voluntarily sign up for.

You've run 100 miles before.

Maybe more than once.

Perhaps even longer.

You've said things like, "I actually prefer the second night."

You've looked at a perfectly comfortable bed and thought, I could probably sleep later.

You've paid money to experience hypothermia.

You've willingly climbed mountains for no reason.

You've destroyed toenails and called it "a good learning experience."

You are, in short, exactly my type.

And I thought:

Why not me?

Why not 160 miles?

Why not an abandoned turnpike tunnel?

Why not 48 hours of darkness?

Why not walk willingly into the earth and see what happens?

I know what you're thinking.

"THE VOID, that sounds completely fucking stupid."

And you're right.

It is.

But isn't that what makes it beautiful?

What is an ultramarathon, really?

Is it a race?

Is it a test?

Is it an elaborate gastrointestinal and psychological experiment conducted against the backdrop of wartime infrastructure?

Or is it simply a human being attempting to negotiate with the infinite using nothing but shoes, electrolytes and a deeply concerning inability to quit?

I've been thinking about this a lot.

Perhaps too much.

Because I am The VOID.

I am not merely a tunnel.

I am the absence of tunnel.

I am the place where the tunnel ceases to be a tunnel and becomes an idea.

I am the black space between one footfall and the next.

I am the silence after the volunteer says, "You've got 40 miles to go."

I am the distance between I feel pretty good and Oh no.

I am the cold concrete beneath your feet.

I am the dust in your lungs.

I am the echo of your own footsteps returning to you slightly altered, like a message from a version of yourself who made better decisions.

I am the thing you meet at 3:17 in the afternoon yet there is no sunlight, no horizon, no scenery and no reasonable explanation for why you are still moving forward.

I am the question.

Why are you doing this?

And you will answer:

"I don't know."

And I will whisper:

Good.

Because knowing would ruin it.

You see, that's the beautiful thing about suffering.

It strips away the unnecessary.

The career.

The mortgage.

The emails.

The social obligations.

The passwords.

The little green dot beside your name on Discord.

All of it disappears.

There is only you.

Your feet.

Your breath.

Your increasingly questionable nutritional strategy.

And me.

The VOID.

I don't need you to be fast.

I don't need you to be strong.

I don't even need you to be particularly intelligent.

In fact, your demonstrated willingness to make catastrophically poor decisions may be exactly what brought you to me.

You will enter thinking you are going to conquer me.

That's adorable.

You cannot conquer a void.

You can only enter it.

You can only move through it.

You can only spend enough time inside it that eventually you begin to wonder whether you are moving through the darkness...

...or whether the darkness is moving through you.

Maybe that's why you run.

Maybe that's why any of us run.

Not toward something.

Not away from something.

But simply because the body, once placed in motion, becomes a question the mind is powerless to answer.

Oh God.

I'm doing it again.

I'm getting philosophical.

I'm sorry.

It's just that I've had a lot of time to think.

I've been here for a very long time.

Long before you were born.

Long before your first 5K.

Long before you discovered gels.

I was waiting.

I was always waiting.

And now you're here.

Thirty-something.

Ultramarathoner.

Poor decision-maker.

Borderline masochist.

Potentially dehydrated.

Probably undertrained.

Definitely overconfident.

I think we could make this work.

Come find me.

I'll be waiting at the entrance.

Bring your headlamp.

Bring your drop bags.

Bring your electrolytes.

Bring whatever remains of your dignity.

Leave your expectations at the door.

And when you finally emerge, blinking into the late afternoon light after 160 miles, don't worry.

You won't be the same person who entered.

None of my exes are.

Yours,

The VOID

BTW my friends call me ABYSS.

ABY for short.

Although after mile 150, I have been known to answer to "Jesus Christ, what have I done?"

The VOID is November 20-22, 2026 at the Sideling Hill Tunnel in Southern PA. www.runthevoid.com