Scott is Possessed: The Interview Scott is Possessed: The Interview

Were you into Ratt growing up?

A little bit, yeah. When I was looking up music for the playlist, I was like, ‘Oh yeah—Ratt!’ When I was a kid in Northern Minnesota, I used to have these two-hour bus rides to school, and all the kids would have cassette tapes, like, Twisted Sister, Quiet Riot, Mötley Crüe, Ratt—

W.A.S.P.?

Yeah, W.A.S.P. and there was also Metallica and AC/DC, but mostly I listened to the glam metal stuff. 

I can’t wait to hear this playlist.

Jenny (Jurek) was worried about it. She was like, ‘They’re going to think that you still actually listen to this music.’

[laughter]

Okay, question one: What’s in the water in Minnesota? Because there’s you, there’s Courtney Dauwalter, there’s Wynona—

Yeah, and Kara Goucher, Steve Placensia, Gary Björklund... Dakota Lindwurm, who was our top female at the Paris Games in the marathon. But it’s not what’s in the water—it’s what’s in the bitter cold and the snow. I come from the far north, much like Kara, and northerners have a chip on their shoulder, like, ‘We’re harder and tougher than anyone else in Minnesota.’

Really?

Yeah, and partly because it is so much colder up there, but also because adversity breeds... I don’t want to say greatness, but it breeds adaptability and grit. I think some of the toughest athletes come from harsh environments. You know, I grew up hunting and fishing, so running was what you did to get away from something that was chasing you. Running definitely was not cool, even though there was a running boom happening at the time. Like, if you ran on the road, you’d get hit in the head with a tobacco tin.

[laughter]

Even riding a bicycle was considered something people don’t do.

So, why did you run?

Well, running was something you did to stay in shape for other sports. Like, I would run as far out and back from my house over the summer and got to the point where I was running eight miles. But it was on the road, not on the trails. Then came the cross-country ski team—which I got into kind of late. Courtney and Kara were also Nordic skiers. Nordic skiing is a huge sport if you don’t play hockey or ice fish. I fell in love with it in high school, and the coach was like, ‘Well, you get to choose: over the summer you can rollerblade, you can bike, or you can run—’

Wait, rollerblade?

Rollerblade, yeah. Keep in mind this was the late 80s, early 90s. 

Ah, okay. 

So, like rollerblading with ski poles. And I couldn’t afford any of these things, so I was like, ‘Okay, I guess I’m running.’ 

But you weren’t that into it.

No. I mean, it was cool to see the progress I was making—two miles, four miles, six miles—but it was never something I enjoyed; it was just what the coach told me to do to stay in shape over the summer. 

What was the switch? At what point did you go, ‘Oh, okay, now I like this.’ Or do you still not like running?

Well, I think the switch was when I started doing three-hour ski-walking, like running the downhills, walking the uphills, simulating the ski motion, and using the poles to engage the upper body. I used to work hard over the summer to save money for these ski camps where you’d do these long outings in the woods, like, long endurance bouts, and that’s when things started clicking because it reminded me of the times I would play on the trails behind my house, you know, building forts and hunting. It sort of brought me back to a kind of primal state... It was a real ah-ha moment. But I was a very reluctant runner. Even when it was clicking, I didn’t think it was gonna click. 

I like that you did your first ultra—the 1994 Minnesota Voyageur Trail 50? Have I got that right?

Yes.

And you finished second among 69 finishers, but then apparently you said, ‘Never again.’

Yeah, that was the local ultramarathon, and even though I did well, it was like, ‘No. This is a one-and-done. Sure, it was kinda cool, but I don’t think I’ll be doing it again.’

One and done! That’s hilarious, considering everything that’s happened since. How many ultras did you have to run before you stopped saying, ‘Never again’?

Well, I didn’t really do many early on. Like, I didn’t get the bug until... I guess it was when I went out to California in 1996—1997 and ran the Point Reyes 50k. It was my first taste of Northern California. I would read old ultra marathon magazine issues that a friend of mine in Duluth would get, and I remember looking at those and being like, ‘Oh, look at these California races.’ It seemed really cool. So, I went out to Point Reyes and kinda surprised all the Californians, like, ‘Who is this guy?’ I didn’t win, but I placed well, and I thought to myself, ‘Okay, maybe I need to just try.’ So, I started getting the bug as I started getting out of Minnesota and doing more than my one or two local races per year. 

With the scene being as small as it was back then, did you see the same guys in the lineup at every race?

Oh yeah, definitely. Because back then, it was like this group, and there were certain races you did as cornerstones of the training calendar. It was like, ‘Oh, you gotta go down and race the SoCal guys and gals,’ because they had this rivalry with the Northern Californians and they didn’t really get out of Southern California—

What were the ultrarunners like back then? 

It was a really eclectic group of individuals. There were hippies, veterans... They weren’t the typical ultrarunners we have these days. They were just hard men and women who loved to run. I remember Rich Fisher, he worked under giant, heavy machinery used for excavation, and he would do that all day in the heat of Las Vegas and then do these races on the weekends. And there was Gabriel Flores from the LA area, and he ran this car shop, and he would work under cars all day long and run in the mornings and evenings when he could, and then win races on the weekend. So, it was folks like that. Former addicts, former alcoholics, it was a real ragtag counterculture. Like, we’d camp out at the race start the night before, and then we’d hang out there the night after the race. 

Wow. Really?

Yeah, and there were these cool rivalries. The Northern Cal runners couldn’t stand the Southern Cal runners, and they had almost, like, gang names, like Bad Rats of San Diego: Tommy Neilsen, Ben Hian...

Were there ever fights?

No, never fights.

Shit-talking?

Oh yeah, lots of shit-talking. But everyone would be friends; we’d just pummel one another on the racecourse. 

Like, if you passed someone on the course, would you say some shit as you went by?

Yeah, and no one had headphones in, so you’d just be yakkin’ for the first twenty miles of the race and having a good time, but then it’d be, like, okay, who’s gonna take the bait? Who’s gonna push it? It was a wild time, and we were all just having fun with it. That’s the beauty of the sport—we all come together from these different walks of life, and it still happens. 

In our last issue, we spoke with Courtney Dauwalter, and she talked about her strategy with the Pain Cave and how she works with it in a race. What’s your strategy for when the time gets tough?

Right, well, there’s a lot of different philosophies: there’s Courtney and the Pain Cave, there’s the Goggins approach... For me, I know that going to the difficult places, the hard places, is beneficial, and I try to look at the ultramarathon experience as a tool to chip away and remold who I am... But you can’t really describe it, like, where do you go, what do you think, what gets you through it? There’s all kinds of little strategies I use: sometimes I focus on my breath, sometimes I focus on getting to that next crest in a hill or that next shady spot. Anything to help you circumvent the focus on discomfort—because there is so much discomfort. 

I can only imagine.

In yoga, they talk about offering your practice to something or somebody, and that helps me in those moments, too. I remember when I was running around in a circle in France at the 24-Hour World Championships, my mom had just passed away and I would just think about her a lot. You know, I’ve got this body and I’m able to move; and, yeah, I’m in pain, but I’m able to do this, and she couldn’t move her body like this, and what a gift we all have, right?

Right.

So, I try to focus on the light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. For me, I want to get to that light because, on the other side of the discomfort, there’s something there. And I think a lot of us who have gone to the brink in the 50 mile or the 100 mile—and I think you have to do the 50 mile or the 100 mile to have this experience—there are times when you don’t even feel like you’re running. It’s like you’re floating along. And those are the glimpses I keep going back for.

You become the activity.

Yeah, you are that, and nothing else matters. It’s funny, I used to think, ‘Oh, I’m getting better at this,’ but the reality is... I don’t think there’s an endpoint, and I think it’s a lot like life: there’s really no endpoint until we take our last breath, and then who knows what’s after that?

Can I ask you something?

Sure.

Why don’t you look all shriveled and weather-beaten like all the other old-school ultra-runners? 

[laughter]

I found the Fountain of Youth, and I’ve kept it to myself.

Really?

No, but Jenny mentions that, too. She says, ‘Oh, you’ve got your mother’s skin,’ but I like to think it’s a combo of—

Genetics and diet?

Yeah, it’s diet, lifestyle... I’ve done a lot of stuff that isn’t completely healthy for my body, especially doing the Appalachian Trail with all the sleep deprivation. But I like to think we can reverse the temporary damage that we inflict upon ourselves, but there are a lot of my buddies where... I mean, they look like...

Like what?

They look like...

[laughter]

Just don’t say any names.

No, I won’t say any names, but I’m just like, ‘Wow.’ And I have kids, too, which shaves ten years off you straight away.

[laughter]

This is great.  

Actually, Jenny was going through some photos for a presentation recently, and she goes, ‘Woah, look at this one! Just ten years ago!’ 

And you looked a lot younger?

Oh yeah. I wonder sometimes, like, is running ultramarathons good for our bodies, y’know? What is the limit? Doing Bad Water less than two weeks after Western States, or things like The Appalachian Trail, is this really good for the body? Were we meant to do this? 

I don’t know, but you look great, man. I just wanted to say that.

[laughter]

Well, thanks for the compliment. I definitely have the grey hair now, it’s happening. My buddy John Mackey said, ‘When you turn 50, the ugly stick comes for ya.’ But I like to think that you can do ultramarathons and keep your body on a balanced trajectory, and I mean, I’m not perfect, and that’s why I’ve never done an M.R.I.

You’ve never done an M.R.I.? Why? You don’t want to know what might be broken?

Yeah, I just don’t wanna know. I’ve got a messed up ankle that I know has got torn ligaments and stretched tendons...

So, getting an M.R.I. would just confirm your worst fears, maybe, and then that would make it worse?

Well, they’ve done these amazing studies on back pain, and they looked at people with severe back pain, lumbar pain, and they had perfect M.R.I.s. There was no disc degeneration, no herniation, and then there were plenty of people who were walking around pain-free, and they had herniated discs and degenerative discs, etcetera—

Right on. Dr John Sarno.

Dr John Sarno, yes! The power of the mind and the power of the body to heal itself. You know, with Dr Andrew Weil’s books and Dr Sarno’s book—I think there’s just so much there. Ultramarathoning challenges that innate ability, and I like to think we’re bringing back the primal DNA that allowed humans to survive. Because there’s so much degradation of those primal pathways, and we gotta bring that back. And with ultramarathoning, there’s so much that can be learned there, like, the power of the mind, the power of the—whatever you want to call it—the human spirit.

Do you have running dreams?

I do! It’s funny, just a couple of nights ago I dreamt I was running Western States again.

No way.

Yeah, like two nights ago, and when I have these dreams, the course is really abstract and crazy, like, you go through houses and you’re following markers, running through small rooms, hallways; and I tend to have dreams where I don’t see very well, and it bugs the crap out of me.

Because you can’t see where you’re going?

Right, and I’m trying to follow this course but... It’s always a struggle, and I’m losing time or falling behind... And in this recent dream, I was running alongside someone—I’m not sure who; it might’ve been Hayden Hawks—and I was just motoring; it was almost like I was floating, and I was moving my legs in this crazy pattern that almost allowed me to levitate. It probably comes from some sort of repressed ‘I still wanna be out there racing’ thing.

[laughter]

It was a really bizarre dream. But I often do have dreams about racing, and often it involves trying to follow a really weird and whacky course.

Bizarro Western States.

Yeah, exactly.  

What race or feat would you never want to live through again? 

You know, I don’t think I need to go back to JFK 50. I feel like I’m a one-and-done there. I remember I did that in 2009. My buddy Ian Torrence was like, ‘Come up to JFK,’ and it was Hal Koerner, Ian Torrence, Josh Brimhall, and a bunch of guys. And Ian was like, ‘If you’ve never run it, you’ve gotta run it,’ and he’d been telling me that for years. And even though it was fourteen miles on the Appalachian Trail at the beginning, the towpath is just so brutal. So, it’s a classic, and I’m glad I did it, but it’s kind of like, ugh. And 24-hour track races, I don’t know if I ever need to do one of those again. 

Yeah, that just sounds insane to me.

I did one in Soochow, and after seventeen hours going around that track, I was like, this is...

Terrible.

Yeah. 

How long was the Soochow track?

It was 400 meters, and that was the one that was just like... Wow.

Are you at risk of doing damage to your mental health when you run around a 400-meter track in Taiwan for 24 hours?

Yeah, like, how you circumvent temporary psychosis in those races is probably the magic behind it. I think of the great Yiannis Kouros; I mean, that guy, I don’t know how many track races he ran, 24-hour, 48-hour... An oval doesn’t lie, I guess, and it is the portal to either psychosis or nirvana. Maybe I didn’t do enough of them to fully understand it, but I definitely have an appreciation for them. 

Psychosis or nirvana. That’s what they should call the event.

Yeah.

With ultrarunning and life and everything else, is it about the journey or destination? 

Well, that’s a question that gets oversimplified. It’s either A or B, but I’m gonna go with C, which is the midpoint between the two. And the reason I say that is because there’s this homeostatic plane—and now I’m really getting out there—

Let’s do it.

There’s somewhere in between that drives you forward. Being in the now is really the magic spot because if you think, like, ‘Okay, I made it to the destination,’ or if you think of everything it took you to get there... 

Right.

I think it’s somewhere in between because there is so much value on the destination; getting to the destination is often the whole point. If we didn’t have that drive to achieve something or to survive—because that used to be the goal, right? And now we’ve got to survive in this modern age where we don’t have to worry about sabretooth lions chasing us anymore, per se, but if you don’t have that destination there, the journey doesn’t happen. There’s no point. And I think that’s the beauty of the ultramarathon: there is an endpoint, there is a finish line. I know I’ve said before there’s no finish line to life—we don’t stop living, we don’t stop striving, being a better version of ourselves, whatever it is—but when we don’t have that drive toward a destination, that’s a simple version of what mental illness is. There’s no drive there. 

And ultramarathoning provides that drive?

Well, the beauty of ultramarathoning is, you know, people trade addictions, and it’s such a great pathway, and it provides medication—it’s literally an antidepressant for so many people. But it’s also very confounding and mesmerizing, like, what is the point at the end of the day? It leaves us yearning for more, and I think that’s the beauty of it. We all have bits of depression and moments of euphoria, but I think ultramarathoning allows people to stay on a good path. 

Is that what it is for you?

Well, for me, I’ve never had this feeling of I’ve gotta run or my life is over... I just had a buddy come to town, and we ran 80 miles over five days, and it kinda got me excited [for running] again, and I think we go through those waves. That’s why I’m hesitant to use the word ‘retirement’ because while maybe I’m not gonna win races anymore, there’s still something there for me to learn.

So, what’s your next running project gonna be?

I’ve got a few things, but I never like to talk about them. I like to surprise people, and I’m kinda old school in that way where you don’t talk about stuff until you do it. I try not to make too much noise. 

Okay.

It’s tricky for me to talk about... I have a list of things that, whether I do them or not, I’m gonna be totally content, but there a couple of things where I’m like, ‘Okay, I gotta make that happen, and make it happen soon.’

But you can’t tell me. 

Well, people can do some digging and find connections in other interviews and things in my books... There are definitely things that I’ve wanted to do, and stuff is aligning, but it’s a case of if I want to do that, I better do it soon. That said, I’m really content with what I’ve done. I mean, sure, there’s always something I could’ve done racing-wise—

I kinda feel like you’ve done okay. 

Well, I’m a student of the sport, and there’s still things out there for me.

Thanks, Scott.

You got it.