Confession time: I’m an advice column addict. The problems anonymous strangers deal with fascinate me, plus they make my own issues seem trivial in comparison. The exact topic doesn’t matter. In every new Runner’s World magazine, ‘Ask Miles’ is what I read first. Running etiquette conundrums other people experience always sound a lot more interesting than my own, which I tend to resolve by trying to think what Miles’ answer would be. I tend to get pretty close, or imagine I do. Miles doesn’t read my blog, so I’m free to make things up, usually while running.

Question: Is it ok to yell at barking Chihuahuas who try to sink their pointy little teeth into my ankle?
Answer: Yes, absolutely, though it’s probably more effective to make growling noises and scary facial contortions while squirting the annoying rat-like creature in the face with a water bottle.

Question: Is it bad manners for a woman to pee trailside when no one is looking?
Answer: Of course not. We’re living in an age of equality, and in a drought. Besides, no one is looking.

Question: Does it mean I’m an obsessive-compulsive weirdo if I run twice around the block after my long run just so my Garmin says 22 miles instead of 21.4?
Answer: It probably does, but aren’t most ultra runners obsessive-compulsive weirdos? And more importantly — so what?

Even more intriguing are relationship issues. Their potential consequences are a lot more serious, up to and including death by an overdose of Ben and Jerry’s Karmel Sutra. Nonetheless, many wise and thoughtful columnists from Dear Prudence to Dan Savage dole out advice on how to negotiate the mine field of life’s sources of frustration, anger, and all related negative emotions. But since I started running ultras, I find myself disagreeing with some of their answers.
We are as wise and thoughtful as those other people commonly referred to as “normal.” Many well-meaning fellow humans give us unsolicited advice. Without being asked, they point out how running so much will damage our knees, hearts, and sanity. They predict, in a patronizing tone, that we’re destined to be lonely in our old age because we alienate all our friends and family members, or that we’re headed for a premature and lonely death in a mountain ravine. But they rarely ask us for our advice in return, maybe because they think we’re obsessive-compulsive weirdos. This needs to change. We have valuable insights to offer. Here is a typical example of a distressed woman turning to the Agony Aunt, and the response an Agony Ultrarunner would give:

Dear Happy Dirtbagger,

I’ve been married to “Matt” for over two decades. During that time, I raised five children, completed three university degrees, and supplemented the grocery budget through selling home-knit dog sweaters. I hold a PhD in astro-chemical engineering and a full-time job that involves interplanetary space travel, cook three meals a day from organic, locally grown vegan ingredients, keep our home sparkling clean, and volunteer at the local shelter for abused pet tarantulas in my spare time.
Lately, my husband is more interested in a twenty-year old cheerleader whom I’ll call “Susie.” She leaves suggestive texts on his phone, and parades around our front porch wearing nothing but a pink string bikini, even in winter. Matt only has eyes for her. He and I haven’t had sex in months. Yes, my body doesn’t quite look like it did twenty years or all those pregnancies ago, but I’m in decent enough shape. However, my physique does not compare to Susie’s, whose BMI is in the low teens, as is her IQ. I feel very depressed, but want to save our marriage. Should I ignore his behavior? Should I confront him?

Crying Buckets

Dear Crying,
there is no need to confront him. Instead, you should lace up your shoes and go for a run. And then another one tomorrow, and another one every day after that. And then you should register for your first 50k. I guarantee that after a few months, you will feel happy again. I also guarantee that your house will be a chaotic mess, and that your husband, who will learn to cook his own meals, will ignore Sally and slobber over you like a dog. But unless he gets with the program and decides to either take up running himself or agrees to spend his weekends crewing for you, you should dump the ingrate anyway. Husbands can be such time-consuming, unnecessary distractions.

Happy trails,
Dirtbagger

Or:

Dear Dirtbagger,
I am a 35-year old graduate student in his 27th semester. I live in my parents’ basement, eat their food, and generally feel ok with this arrangement. The only issue is that, for some unfathomable reason, my parents have started pressuring me to get a job, and to develop some kind of plan for my future. I don’t see why I should. Do you?
Bummed

Dear Bummed,
I get it. All that growing-up stuff is overrated. You could escape the unpleasantness by going for a run. In fact, the more time you spend running, the less time your parents would have to nag you about trivial stuff like employment. Of course, the more you run, the more high-quality calories you’ll need. Once you go all-out paleo, the contents of your parents’ refrigerator will seem more and more inadequate for your nutritional needs. At this point, finding at least a part-time job might not be such bad idea, especially since you will also begin drooling over the latest model of hydration pack, compression sock, or Garmin,
On the other hand, if you follow the current fashion of ultra beards, shaving supplies will no longer be an expense. Nor will video games, netflix subscriptions, or extensive bar tabs. You will have neither the time nor the energy for such types of entertainment, so there’s no need for a soul-killing full-time career.
Also, once you run your first 100, your parents will express concern about your mental state. They will also feel concerned that you don’t eat enough, and will pressure you to resume the less active, more slug-like lifestyle they used to disapprove of. You could, at that point, go back to being a lazy freeloader, But you probably won’t want to.

You see? Varied, nuanced, practical. We ultra runners are capable of a balanced outlook on life. Not all of us are single-minded introverts who suffer from FOMO and OCD simultaneously. We are also inspiring our fellow humans with helpful hints:

The possibilities are endless:

“I’m in the 8th grade, and the other kids bully me all day long.” —
“Go run. The bullies won’t be able to keep up with you.”

“My manipulative sister-in-law constantly expects free babysitting and makes me feel guilty when I refuse” — “Go run. She won’t be able to track you down so easily.”

“My boss despises me, belittles me, and makes my workday miserable.” — “Go for a run, ideally headed away from the office. Don’t return. Ever.”

“I am addicted to nicotine/alcohol/cocaine and it’s wrecking my life.” — “Simple solution: every time you feel like having a cigarette/tequila shot/other drug fix, go run until the urge passes.”

“I feel so much anxiety about the doomed state of the world and the lack of meaning in the human existence. I can’t sleep, and my nails are bitten down to nothing.” — “Stop reading books by depressed-looking French guys in black turtlenecks. Instead, go run. Life will still be as meaningless as before, and the world will still be doomed. But you will feel much more at peace with all that.”

I think the world is ready for our wisdom in the form of a regular column. Maybe a podcast, too? Maybe a YouTube video channel? I’ll now go for a quick three-hour run to ponder these questions.