The slogan for humanity — presuming the very essence of 200,000 years worth of mankind could possibly be boiled down to one bumper-stickered, Twitter-friendly catchphrase that neatly sums up not only why we exist but also why we continue to exist in a barbarically violent world scarred by eons of literal Earth-shattering afflictions — should read as follows.
“I can do better.”
This challenge, which is buried in the depths of our evolutionary core, has been recognized through some of society’s most groundbreaking pioneers from Leonardo da Vinci to Albert Einstein.
It is a declaration embraced by the world’s innovators and boundary breakers, legends and heroes, thinkers and warriors.
“I can do better,” utter some, but not all.
It’s what pushes humanity to progress. It’s what gives us hope for the future. It’s what makes us human beings.
“I can do better.”
It’s what brings us to a Sherwin Williams in Yukon, Okla., where the assistant manager trudges in on the morning of Oct. 6 with an ailing body and a lifted spirit.
Colt Hedden — the 100-mile man — keeps getting better.
Legend has it that Pheidippides died upon finishing the world’s very first “marathon,” which was the supposed 26.2-mile trek from Marathon to Athens. Although that claim (attributed mostly to Robert Browning’s 1879 poem on the subject) is now considered widely inaccurate, it’s not hard to imagine a person succumbing to the race’s numerous challenges.
According to a study by the Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine from 2000 to 2009, 28 people died within a 24-hour period of running a marathon in the United States.
So when Hedden, 30, decided in January to compete in his first ever 100-mile ultramarathon, the paint salesman’s endeavor raised some questions concerning his own sanity.
“There’s kind of a joke in the running community that says we’re all a little bit off because we want to keep running,” Hedden said. “For me, it’s more of how far can I go before I just say, ‘No more.’”
A 5k wasn’t enough. Neither was a half-marathon, marathon or even a 50-mile ultramarathon, all of which Hedden accomplished heading into 2015 after only seriously picking up the hobby of running about four years ago.
But it’s tough to call Hedden’s fervent participation in running events a “hobby.” Such a word seems more apt at describing a passion for crocheting or knitting.
Instead, for Hedden, it’s a physical and mental test in the most primitive fashion. It was one that he despised while growing up in Chanute and attending Chanute High School.
“You couldn’t pay me to run,” Hedden said. “That’s one of the funniest things now … Back then, it was, ‘Oh my God, I got to go run.’ I had to psych myself up just to do it.”
He played football, golf and a handful of other sports in his youth. But a dozen years after graduating high school, Hedden isn’t reminiscing about being on the gridiron or daydreaming about being on the green.
He’s just a little more than two weeks removed from placing 87th in the Arkansas Traveller 100, the nation’s ninth-oldest 100-mile race that is held in the depths of the Ouachita National Forest.
His time? 27:56:35.
“If you’re going to be a bear, be a grizzly,” said Carol Sager of Iola, Hedden’s mother. Sager echoed her late husband, Keith Hedden, who would frequent the phrase before his passing in 2002.
It certainly takes a grizzly to finish a 100-mile race.
Chrissy Ferguson should know. She’s done 18 of them now.
“By mile 80, your body is just saying, ‘I’m so done with you,’” Ferguson said. “Usually it’s dark, you want to go to sleep and you have to make yourself keep going.”
Ferguson served as co-director for the Arkansas Traveller 100 while also running. She finished 99th with a time of 28:49:40.
Back in 1992 when Ferguson ran her first ever 100-mile race, she knew everyone on the circuit. It turns out that grizzlies were a lot harder to come by.
But as the years passed, marathoners needed a bigger challenge. If they could do 26.2 miles, then why couldn’t they do 100?
It’s that mentality that drew Hedden and many others to the sport. Although the group is still relatively small — especially compared to the number of people still taking on the challenge of a marathon — Ferguson said enough people are coming out to the 100-mile races that she’s not able to recognize everyone.
Even southeast Kansas has its own ultramarathon now. The Prairie Spirit Trail 100 starts in Ottawa and winds its way down to Iola before reversing course back north to finish up the race.
This year at the Arkansas Traveller 100, 160 people started the race. Back when the race was created in 1991, only 76 took on the challenge.
“It’s kind of like a bucket list thing now,” Ferguson said. “I may never do it again but I want to try and see if I can finish it.”
“Finish” being the operative word. Twenty-four years ago, about 65 percent of participants did all 100 miles. This year, that figure jumped up to 75 percent.
But the odd ones, like Hedden and Ferguson, care more about simply finishing the race once. They’re grizzlies.
They want more.
“I just told him I’m drawing the line at these free runners that run in the mountains,” Sager said. “They could fall down hundreds of feet with just one misstep.”
To Hedden’s mother, he can do all the 100-mile races he wants, but that’s the line she won’t let her son cross.
“Well, except for if he said he was going to do it,” Sager added. “As long as I’m physically able to be there and support him, I will.”
Sager, who recently helped assemble and organize Farm-City Days as its treasurer, has always been the mom who sees her son at every sporting event. From taking Hedden to all his Chanute High wrestling matches to now becoming a part of his crew at these ultramarathons, Sager is always by her son’s side.
Even if she knows Hedden is downright crazy .
“It’s a 135-mile run through Death Valley,” Hedden said. “They say it’s so hot that if you don’t run on this white line, your shoes melt.”
That is the Badwater 135. It’s also known as “The World’s Toughest Foot Race.”
“That is the final goal of my running career,” Hedden said.
Less than five years ago, Hedden entered his first 5k, or a 3.1-mile race, finishing in about 35 minutes. Today, he’s talking about running a race that spans almost the distance between Iola and the outskirts of Manhattan, except the Badwater 135 is also in the lowest, driest and hottest place in the entire continent.
Clearly, there’s no such thing as baby steps for Hedden. And for Sager, she’s OK with that.
“I just want him to give me a heads up so I can make it,” she said.
Because every cub needs his mama bear.
And no matter where their journey leads them — whether it’s in the forests of Arkansas or the deserts of California — Hedden and Sager know that no challenge is too big.
As Hedden’s father would always say, “There’s no hill for a stepper.”
