I had a few of both in my most recent ultra: the High Trail Nine Peaks in Ulju, South Korea. In the world of ultrarunning, these breakthrough moments seem to exist along side those of bottom-of-the-well desperation. Something that’s often not worth articulating because it would evaporate in the explanation. There’s a secrecy to breakthrough moments. The town woke up unaware of our night spent on the backroads of Maine. The glint of those weary but vivid rays mixed with the sugary coffee and tasted like the present. In the early morning we pulled back into our town’s beach parking lot and jumped into the frigid fall lake.

We made a few dumb phone calls, left a few voice messages. There’s an achievement in itself to staying up all night. I don’t remember much of that night except wandering the empty store, buying nothing, hitting a Dunkin’ Donuts drive-through and getting some light and sweet coffee, and, as the sun was rising, the classic rock station playing Here Comes the Sun. Three high school guys with nothing to do, we made our way to one of the only places that is reliably open in Maine 24/7: L.L.Bean. The asphalt of main street stretched out out out until, at 10pm on a random fall night, we started driving south. Our eyes started to shake and our fingers started to tap. That hum had grown in volume over time creeping up to a buzz and then a loud rumble. The dull hum of small town Bridgton, Maine had dipped its toes into our ears before deciding that the water was just fine and that it could make itself right at home in our heads.

There was a night in high school where it became too much.

Thrill of the chase a rocky riverbed