The most unfortunate, albeit self-inflicted, outcome of this fall’s Wikipedia editing debacle has yet to occur. The real fall-out awaits in a future some time from now when a world-class athlete that continuously raised the bar of performance for many years will likely be remembered, not for her accomplishments, but rather, for the fact that she felt it necessary to go to ridiculous lengths to not acknowledge – let alone, celebrate – other’s similarly inspiring achievements. In the wake of this breaking story, the reactions from the ultrarunning community ran the gamut from shock that this type of mentality existed within a sport known primarily for exemplary self-sacrifice in support of friends and strangers alike, to the behaviors being unequivocally “on brand” for the athlete and coach. There were polar opposite calls for either knee-jerk banishment on the one extreme or taking the higher, but more challenging, road of attempts at understanding and forgiveness on the other.
There is a brave new, digitally curated parallel universe of impossibly spun information and air-brushed lives rapidly overtaking the real world – and all its beauty-complementing blemishes – we've evolved in.
For what it’s worth, this columnist was completely unsurprised – not as a result of this athlete’s prior track record, but because, after 50 years of bearing witness to the confounding complexities of being human, I am simply no longer surprised by much of anything. As a young ultrarunner in the late 90s prone to grandiose beliefs, I put the sport – and its people – on a pedestal of infallibility that no demographic could ever live up to. Over time, despite meeting countless amazing and inspiring individuals, and accumulating a density of life-enhancing experiences far more concentrated than in any other aspect of my life, the idealistic foundation of that pedestal began to erode. In an imperfect world, with imperfect people, could it really be any other way?
Many years ago, I heard the story of an established world-class athlete coming up to a burgeoning Western States legend, not to offer congratulations, but rather to take a condescending jab: “If I’d known that slow of a time would win, I’d have run.” Not exactly a “Tanya Harding” move, but a cringeworthy lack of sportsmanship nonetheless. Not long after digesting this bit of unsavoriness, a prominent, sponsored athlete was discovered to be intentionally cutting courses and, subsequently, vanished from the sport.
More recently, a multi-day runner was caught hiding in porta-potties to fake lap completion, with a follow-up investigation leading to the rescinding of numerous “victories” over a multi-year period. The list goes on, and regardless of how much we want to believe we’re somehow above the appalling behaviors of other sporting demographics, it will continue to be added to.
“Narcissism and egos are rampant throughout the entire ultra world,” was one of many broadbrush comments found amongst the ‘Wiki Gate’ outfall. Are they? And more to the point of the attention-addicted age we live in, are they anymore “rampant” than what we’re witnessing in the world at large? Or has a shifting societal definition of what is considered acceptable self-promotion versus egregious self-absorption combined explosively with 24/7 exposure to put a glaring spotlight on what has always existed – to some degree – in the shadows.
There is a brave new, digitally curated parallel universe of impossibly spun information and air-brushed lives rapidly overtaking the real world – and all its beauty-complementing blemishes – we’ve evolved in. A sponsored climber I know, whose rise to prominence within the vertical world significantly predates a social media era he has categorically avoided, tells the story of being at an athlete summit where another climber mentioned he spent a couple of hours every day updating his socials. Thinking it had to be a joke, he laughed out loud. The other climber was dead-serious. Awkward moment.
To be sure, outright cheating and questionable personal embellishments or attitudes toward others, are entirely separate animals, although the ethical waters do muddy quickly once someone takes it upon themselves to edit the public fare of others to assuage their own ego. For some, it would appear, the old adage “negative attention beats no attention,” has a contemporary corollary: “no amount of attention is enough.”
And that may very well be the most difficult to comprehend personality trait of a select few that are present in every demographic – those whose talent and hard work combine to provide them with a lavish lemonade stand of limitless success, who are yet, somehow, still compelled, not only not to raise a glass in camaraderie to the collective efforts of all, but to toss the lemon peels in the faces of their competitors.
Specific names are conspicuously absent from this column. That was intentional. If you know, you know – if you do not, it does not matter. This piece was written – not to point self-righteous fingers – in hopes that it would stir up contemplation of a characteristic that is emblematic of being human, the need for recognition and the manner in which it is conflagrating in spectacularly unhealthy and addictive ways with modern technology.
As a new year, and that ubiquitous annual cycle of reflection and fresh beginnings it unfailingly initiates beckons, may we keep it at the forefront that we are all works in progress without end. Unless one considers an unknown and finite amount of time to become what we will primarily be remembered for as that ultimate and eternal finish line. Perhaps legendary Adams State coach, Joe Vigil, said it best: “The noisy athlete does well to remember that most of the world is not listening.”