This isn’t another post about me going back to ultramarathoning. This isn’t an announcement of my coming out of retirement to coach soccer. Those things are sadly a part of the past. This is more of a proof of life. I’m still kicking, y’all. Still going through life chasing dreams; still living life while walking to a different drummer.

In some ways, that’s been the theme of my life: doing things differently. I’ve always been drawn to the oddities that life can offer, albeit on the fringes of pop culture and sanity. My brain has always craved the novel, less-appreciated aspects of this thing we call the human experience. Yet, in other ways, I follow the crowd’s taste. This could be a way to fit in, to fit the mold. I find myself often asking, “What does the world like?” Whether it be book recommendations on Goodreads, the IMDb Top 250 movie list, or even TRL in my youth showing me what society saw as cool. Even many of my favorite pop-culture icons were and are living on the fringes of what is acceptable to society. My favorite musicians buck the system; my favorite authors have found their works banned; and the movies that give me the most joy often stick their finger up to what is polite and the way things are.

So it makes sense that I would be drawn to ridiculous races through the mountains, where one is even allowed to walk. It also seems fair to see why I was drawn to such a ridiculous style of coaching soccer: I wanted to do things differently, in many ways to prove that it could be done.

Part of this is owed to creativity in a brain driven by dopamine and the effects of bipolar type 2. Dopamine thrives on novel things. Bipolar disorder, in short, fucks with how you handle this potent chemical.

So why mention bipolar? Because it’s been the underlying force that’s driven so many of my life decisions. I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that most of my major life choices, my minor accomplishments, and my biggest failures were tied directly to a manic or hypomanic state of being. That voice of God in my head? A dopamine imbalance. That thing I couldn’t get out of my head until I did it? Chemicals doing sciencey things.

I’ve learned, for better or worse, that I’ve got to protect my brain. Unfortunately, this means cutting back on the extreme.

When I was a teenager, my chasing of the high came from street luge. We’d barrel down mountains at ungodly speeds with a helmet on—sometimes—and a death wish in our pocket. But as I matured—which is arguable—I started to appreciate living and instead tried destroying myself on the trails, 20 or 30 miles at a time. Turns out, that’s not good for my mental health. Not to say a sane person can’t do ultras or slide down a mountain with his feet for brakes; I’ve just learned that it isn’t the right choice for my somewhat delicate well-being.

So what now? What becomes of the man who chased the highs of life and threw caution to the wind? I guess we’ll see. It’s not like I don’t have other hobbies. I play guitar, I read, I write—I’m writing this on a typewriter as we speak—and I’m always finding more things that I enjoy. So I’m not dead; I’m just figuring out how to live. And that’s more important right now than big numbers on Strava or crossing a finish line. At least for me.

Proof that I’m actually writing this and haven’t been kidnapped by the AI overlords.

Thanks for reading my post. Hopefully, you’ll be hearing a lot more from me as I navigate these new adventures of a lesser scale.