The Miles Between Us: Why Ultra Running Is the Loneliest and Most Connected Sport on Earth
In a world where social media has never made us feel more connected, people have actually never felt more alone or distant. I think a lot of people can agree.
Everyone is scrolling.
Everyone is watching.
Very few are truly seen or even heard.
I started my TikTok journey in May, documenting the one constant in my life, which is running. After dozens of races, an unusually low heart rate, and a body built from the combination of high mileage and a bit of muscle, I figured it was worth sharing. A few months later twenty five thousand people were following the journey. There were messages. Comments. People in New York City stopping me on the run. It reminded me that the running world is one of the most beautiful communities that exists.
Running is unique because effort is the only currency. No coach can run the miles for you. No teammate can suffer in your place. You earn every inch with your own lungs, your own legs, and your own heart. You suffer alone is so many ways.
But with that comes the truth that hardly anyone talks about. The loneliness. The hours in silence. The empty streets before sunrise. The long runs where you are alone with nothing but your thoughts and your breathing and the quiet ache that sits in your ribs.
For people who chase big goals, goals that stretch the limits of what is possible, isolation becomes part of the process. It is not a punishment. It is a privilege. To me, its one of the best things that can happen to a person.
I am an introvert by nature. I can sit alone for hours building ideas, creating things, working through problems. Heck, my favorite thing lately is dedicating 30 minutes at the end of each day shutting my phone out and doing a crossword. Running gives me that same room to breathe. That same internal world where nothing exists except the next step, the next mile, and the next version of myself that I am trying to become.
Most of my mileage reflects that. Ten out of eleven runs. Ninety miles out of every hundred. All of it done alone. And I love it. When i’m peak training 130 miles its ALL alone.
But recently, something changed. Something small but meaningful. I started sharing a few miles with people, and it opened up a part of running I never expected to matter as much as it does.
The Science of Shared Effort
Psychologists call it collective effervescence. It is the feeling you experience when people move together with a shared intention. The same pace. The same breath. The same forward momentum.
Speed does not matter. Experience does not matter. There is something powerful that happens when two people push toward something at the exact same moment.
Every runner has a story. Everyone has a reason for showing up. Each person is carrying something that is not always said out loud.
When runners share miles, they share pieces of themselves that usually stay hidden. Not because they are forced to, but because moving through discomfort together builds trust faster than words ever could.
Ultras Push You Inward and Outward at the Same Time
In ultra marathons you spend the majority of the race alone. If you want to compete, you have to get comfortable with the sound of your own mind because you will see no one once the field spreads out.
Most people cannot imagine how mentally brutal that is. The silence exposes you. The pain talks to you. The mind starts bargaining. In those moments the only person who can get you through the next mile is you.
That is why I love it.
Growing up with no support system taught me early that solitude is either destructive or transformative. Two alcoholic parents. No affection. No guidance. I had to teach myself how to rely on myself. I learned by taking apart televisions and building things from scratch. If something needed to be done, I did it. If something needed to be created, I created it.
Ultra running feels like a continuation of that inner truth. The world might not show up for you, but you can always show up for yourself.
Yet Shared Miles Matter More Than We Realize
Yesterday I got in 10 miles with Dylan and Pheobe, average 8 min pace 120BPM. Today I ran seven easy miles with my friend Elo. Both of those runs? No headphones. Just breath, conversation, footsteps, and the soft rhythm of two people training for two different dreams. One hundred nineteen beats per minute. Sub eight minute pace. Smooth and natural.
It reminded me that connection does not always have to be dramatic or loud. Sometimes connection is simply moving forward next to someone who understands why you are doing what you are doing.
A run like that seems small on paper. Emotionally it is everything. In a world filled with noise, it feels rare to share something real. No filters. No algorithms. No audience. Just humans working toward something meaningful together.
Why Running With Friends Creates Connection
Because effort creates honesty.
Because shared discomfort strips away ego.
Because when you run with someone, you meet them at their truest level.
Because every runner is working through something personal, and it shows in the way they move.
Because even a few miles can make the hardest parts of this sport feel less impossible.
Running with friends becomes connection to the world.
Connection to people.
Connection to the culture and the industry that binds us.
It reminds us that although endurance makes us self sufficient, it also opens the door to some of the most meaningful relationships we will ever experience.
The Paradox of Ultra Running
Ultras teach you how to be alone.
Shared miles teach you how to be human.
Together they reveal one truth.
You can run far by yourself, but you run better when you carry a community behind you.
Maybe that is the real purpose of this journey I have been documenting. Not the heart rate. Not the mileage. Not the races. But the reminder that meaningful connection still exists.
Sometimes it comes from a message.
Sometimes it comes from someone cheering for you in Central Park.
Sometimes it comes from a stranger who says they watch your runs.
And sometimes it comes from seven quiet miles next to a friend, where everything in life suddenly feels a little bit lighter.