The ‘what’ and the ‘why’ - An introduction to Running with Reginald

First and foremost, yes, I am a child. I absolutely wanted an excuse to run around the mountains with a teddy bear named Reginald (and document all the cool things we do together), BUT I wanted to use the experience as an excuse to write about all things running, philosophy, and adventure, while spreading joy and ultimately giving back to others. Running With Reginald is a concept I’ve been toying with for quite some time, but it honestly didn’t involve a stuffed animal until a couple months ago.

I’ve been asking myself for the last few years, “what do I want to get out of running, and why do I do it?”.  After spending most of my life as an athlete, competition (and simply the pursuit of measurable goals) has become second nature. When I made the transition from swimming to triathlon, and then from triathlon to trail running a couple years later, my attitude was the same, and I saw sport as somewhat of a linear progression. You set goals, you train, you race, you assess your progress, you make adjustments, and then you start that process over again. Easy enough in swimming, every major meet for the last fifteen years had been spelled out for me, and the times that I needed to qualify were set down to the hundredth. As a long-distance triathlete, I had a bit more agency as to what races I wanted to train for, but all roads led to the Ironman World Championships in Kona, and it was evident from the start that everyone in my training group had one event on their mind. There’s nothing inherently wrong with this kind of athletic funnel, and it is present in every sport (including trail running), but for the first time in my career as an athlete, something at the periphery of my motivation didn’t feel right. 

So what would any hardened endurance athlete do when they start to feel the slightest hint of doubt after years of training, competition, hardships, and accolades? Well in my case, I quit (apologies to David Goggins). There are a lot of reasons that I left triathlon, and I plan to talk about that more in a future post, but for me, the single strongest driver of that decision was the doubt I felt at the beginning, middle, and end of every workout. It wasn’t a product of performance, nor was it born out of insecurity, it was deeply rooted in an evolution of purpose and intention. I couldn’t put words to it at the time, but it felt different and it felt important, so something needed to change. 

Trail running started as a way to cope with the end of my triathlon career. I had been pursuing a professional contract for about three years at the time and when I stopped, I didn’t have a job, I was still living with my parents (shoutout mom and dad), and I had absolutely no idea what to do. For the very first time in my life I wasn’t training for any kind of competition and simply didn’t have any athletic goals. Running at the time was by far my worst discipline out of the three sports in triathlon, but the lack of expectations excited me, so every other morning after my part time job that summer, I started to hit the trails. It wasn’t pretty, but I loved it. Over the next six months I became a certified personal trainer, moved in with my wonderful partner Daria, and took a deep dive into endurance development and theory with the hopes of eventually growing my own coaching business. 

With the rest of my life feeling more stable than it had in years, I decided to put a couple of races on the calendar to see how my mind and body would react. After a surprising win at my first half marathon, I decided to start working with a coach before my first ultra that September, and was lucky enough to connect with Matt Daniels. I was having so much fun learning, training, and racing that the feeling of doubt I had become so accustomed to felt very far away, but not entirely gone. Over then next year/year and a half, I found more gratitude and joy in the day to day process of running than I ever had in triathlon, and I ended up racing 4-5 times the next season. With every race that passed, and as the results improved, I felt myself moving towards that linear pattern I had previously been so comfortable with. The goals and races I was aiming for were becoming closely aligned with others at the top of the sport, and again, while that isn’t necessarily an issue, it felt like I was putting a rubber band around what made running so beautiful for me in the first place. The doubt had come back, but I wasn’t willing to give up running, so I decided to embrace it. 

Years of therapy have helped uncover a lot about myself, and ever since I left triathlon, I had been dissecting my relationship with athletics, competition, and intrinsic motivation. It was becoming clear that although I loved racing, and it was something that I had done for my whole career as an athlete, it didn’t keep the fire burning. In swimming, you certainly race the people in the lanes next to you, but at the end of the day, I loved that it came down to you vs the clock. In triathlon, again, you were racing those around you, but out there it was you vs. the course. Trail running is a unique mix of both, with the addition of an incredible community, and it’s hard not to feel like you are part of something bigger during races on both the local and the global scale. I realized that as someone who draws a lot of inspiration from within, or from testing myself against the environment or the clock, competition was never the biggest driver of my athletic pursuits (at least not competition with others). It’s worth adding that as I’ve gotten older, my personality has become less competitive than it used to be, and I credit that partially to moving to a sport that is less rigid and to a certain exhaustion that comes with years of racing, competition, and comparison. Some people absolutely thrive off of structured events, and I think whatever motivates you or allows you to test yourself should be celebrated as long as it is coming from a genuine place, but personally it was taking away from my gratitude and joy for the sport. 

During this time, Matt had taken a brief step back from coaching, and was insanely kind enough to refer some of his athletes to me. I began training with a new coach, and started working with an amazing group of athletes myself. Not only did I see this nuance in motivation firsthand through my work, but it helped affirm some of the conclusions I was coming to and clear up any doubt along the way. Unfortunately, the method of training under the new coach didn’t agree with my physiology, and thanks to a little universal timing, I got hit with a pretty clear case of overtraining syndrome last October. With everything from my sleep, appetite, weight, and hormone levels being severely effected, I decided that going forward I would coach myself, and take a step back from structured training to recover and re-examine the question I had been pondering since my first steps on the trail, “what do I want to get out of running, and why do I do it?”. 

Still a little bit of an intimidating and existential question to approach, but I had time, patience, and some exciting new direction. I started with ten things that I cared about when I said the word “running”. The list was as follows: Peace, growth, consistency, gratitude, creativity, exploration, inclusion, environmentalism, and community through coaching and connection. Let’s start there. For so long, I thought that being specific in your pursuits was a key to growth and great achievement, but rigidity can be suffocating and what is noble about making sacrifices for your goals only to feel empty when you reach them? So, what if I made my goals more flexible? What if I let creativity and joy take the lead? Can you train just as hard if your goal at the end of the day is to be happy, rather than winning UTMB? Could you end up training even harder? Can running have a greater purpose, and can I use the sport to benefit others?

As I continued to work through the next few months, and as my body and brain got back on the same page, I gave myself the permission to let my goals become bigger, smaller, or slightly less traditional. I knew that at my core I loved running in its simplest form, I also thrived off of working towards something, but going forward it had to feel personal and uphold my values to feel sustainable. What I landed on was a flexible schedule. One where I would race if it sounded fun, not for the sake of qualification or sponsorship, only if it would allow me to connect with a community, landscape, or experience. One that would allow me to lean into my love of running as a form of travel, by seeking out Fastest Known Times, exploring new routes, new countries, and expanding my horizon through cultural and environmental education. One that would allow me to blend my creativity and athleticism to find a voice in the sport while giving back to others along the way. All this to say that goals are incredibly important in running, in work, in life, but taking the time to understand what motivates you, what brings you happiness and peace, and how you can translate that to your every day process is vital. You are guaranteed tough days and bad results, but if your reason for doing something in the first place doesn’t feel fragile, then you will be much more fulfilled regardless of the outcome. In other words, if gratitude is at the center of what you do, then there is always something to celebrate.

Cool races, epic FKTs, and cross-country multi-day efforts are relatively tangible with the right amount of planning, training, and execution, and I’ve started to work my seasons around each of those goals. Finding a platform to share my voice and cultivate a way to give back to others ended up being a bit more difficult, but after months of toying with ideas and feeling slightly stuck, I came across a bear named Reginald. He was on sale for $14, sitting there surrounded by bigger and brighter stuffed animals, but one look, and I was reminded of my ride or die teddy bear from childhood. To my parents, teachers, and coaches chagrin I took him EVERYWHERE back in the day. Well, here I was twenty years later, and the bear in front of me was asking for the same kind of adventure. I thought about what it might look like carrying him up some of Colorado’s highest peaks or running with him through the streets of a foreign city, and it made me smile. That smile sparked an idea, if the thought of running with a stuffed bear could bring me a little bit of joy, then maybe it could do the same for others, both on and off the trail. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. So that was that, I bought him and he was bestowed the name Reginald shortly thereafter. For those that are wondering about Reginalds name, it comes from the Latin name Reginaldus, which translates to Royal Advisor or Counsel. 

I tested my theory on a recent trip to France. Daria and I were on our honeymoon and Reginald was packed away, safe in an old Nikon lens case, preparing for our very first flight to Europe. We arrived in Paris, and after a day or two of sightseeing, I took Reginald on a very rainy run hitting several of the major landmarks in the city including the Arc de Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower, Luxembourg Gardens, The Louvre, and more. I will be honest, I got some interesting looks as I pulled a stuffed bear out from my running belt, tried to get a good photo of him in the pouring rain, before tucking him back in and running away. Both Reginald and I had some mixed feelings in the beginning, but we slowly built up our confidence throughout the run, especially when we realized that everyone that was looking or pointing in our direction had a smile on their face, regardless of age. 

Next up was Chamonix, about four hours southeast of Paris by train, on the border of Italy and Switzerland. We would be arriving on the second-to-last day of one of the worlds most prominent trail running events, UTMB. Reginald, Daria, and I even got to see the likes of Jim Walmsley and Courtney Dauwalter cross the finish line, which was nothing short of amazing. Reginald came on all of our hikes, and got to experience the French Alps as much as we did, poking out of my running vest and waving to everyone as we went by. We were greeted with more smiles, laughs, and conversations than I could have expected, and it affirmed my belief in the project. This bear made people smile, and he was a conduit for conversation.

So yes, I want to use Reginald as a way to have conversations. Anything from personal philosophy and training theory, to highlighting communities in the sport that are making a difference. Over the coming years, as I continue to train and work through the personal goals mentioned earlier, I want to use Running With Reginald as a way to not only share my day to day adventures, but also give back to the communities and cultures that I experience as a result of the sport. This could include fundraising for local organizations, spreading awareness about social or environmental issues, or giving a voice to diversity, equity, and inclusion. 

Reginald and I may be starting small, but our hope is vast looking forward. Please follow along on our journey of uncertainty and excitement, I hope the release a post every 10-14 days, and I hope we can build a little fan base for Reginald in the coming months. Thank you for listening, allow your goals to be flexible and evolve, be kind to yourself, and we will see you soon!

Sincerely,

Chris and Reginald