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I’m running a 100-mile race. I eat only plants and vegetables. Each of those statements might shock some people on its own.Put them together, and even more people might be shocked. They might be even more shocked to learn that I decided (despite considerable trepidation) to change my diet just months before the most important race of my life, at the most critical point in my training and recovery, and right before an event that I knew could define my career.
No trail race in North America is more legendary than the Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run. It attracts the strongest trail runners in the country and features some of the toughest terrain. Even veterans have been known to vomit, occasionally pass out. Not a few have been pulled from the course by doctors waiting at medical checkpoints. Only one non-Californian has ever won the men’s division. The winners usually spend a lot of time training in the mountains. For the five years before I ran it, the champion lived in the mountains. His house was right next to the course. Though I wanted to be a great runner, and though I knew I had to test myself against the best, the truth was, I’d never won a 100-mile race. I grew up in Minnesota, which is flat.
My chances of winning were absolutely slim. I wasn’t likely to take first place.
I was even less likely to go vegan.
When I was ten, my dad bought me a .22-caliber rifle with a polished walnut stock and a shiny steel barrel. His instructions were simple: if I wounded an animal, I had to kill it. If I killed it, I had to skin it, gut it, and eat it. We often ate venison for dinner. In sixth grade, I could come home from school, seine a bunch of whitefish out of the lake after lunch, clean them, roll them in breadcrumbs, fry them in butter, and devour them before sunset.
I loved roast pork, roast chicken, and steak. In high school, I worked as a short-order cook at a place called the Dry Dock Bar. My specialty was an awesome cheeseburger steak sandwich. In college, how many nights did I sit on the back patio with my roommate, feet on the railing, gloves on, grilling sausages or burgers, downing a can of corn, cheese, and beans in huge gulps, polishing off a box of Cocoa Puffs in one sitting? My nickname was the Grill Master.
And not just meat. I loved fast food, too. I grew up in the country, and sometimes we had to use (government-issued) food stamps to buy groceries. I ate government cheese. We only went out to eat on birthdays. So being able to buy a burger or chicken sandwich whenever I wanted felt like freedom.
In physiotherapy school, I started cutting back on meat and eating more fruits and vegetables, influenced by what I was reading (especially Dr. Andrew Weil and Howard Lyman; one of my friends, a guy called Hippie Dan, aka Unabaker, showed me the joys of wheatgrass and whole-grain bread and talked a lot about solar power and reducing our carbon footprint) and by the illnesses I saw every day in my work as a physiotherapist. I noticed that illness often went hand in hand with diets high in processed foods and meat. I guessed there was a connection.
I learned that the three leading causes of death in our country—heart disease, cancer, and stroke—are all linked to the standard Western diet, which is heavy in animal products, refined carbohydrates, and processed foods.
Even as I transitioned from Grill Master to vegetarian, I had reservations. One was money. For a kid from rural Minnesota, the idea of buying expensive food annoyed me. When my girlfriend came home with organic apples or milk, I’d look at the price tag and get angry. I’d yell, “How much did you pay for this? What is it, gold dust?”
Another concern was performance. I was an athlete. I needed protein, and at the time, I thought the fastest way to get it was by eating dead animals.
My third worry was taste. Even giving up meat, I couldn’t let go of dairy. I had a sweet tooth. Cheese pizza had never let me down.
But when I considered the added stress on my kidneys, not to mention the chemicals and hormones injected into food and the environmental degradation caused by cattle ranching, the decision got easier. I even gave up fish when I realized that unless I caught it myself in waters I knew were clean, I might be eating hormones and other chemicals along with my salmon.
That was it. No meat. No chicken. No fish. No dairy. No animal products whatsoever. Once I decide to do something in my life, I go all in (a trait I share with many ultrarunners).
So even though I was preparing for the toughest race of my life, even though my competitors trained in the mountains year-round, even though I didn’t know whether the theoretical benefits of veganism would help me succeed or leave me exhausted and dropping out, I went fully vegan.
Five months later, I burst out of the starting line and took the lead. I heard volunteers at the aid stations whispering, “He’ll fade.” “He’ll be done once the leaders catch him,” I overheard others mutter. “That tall guy started way too fast,” spectators said. “Classic rookie mistake.” By mile 90, someone predicted, “The flatlander” would soon crash. But the last 10 miles were nothing but cheers. I led from start to finish. I won that race and six more Western States 100s, setting a record in ultrarunning. I won the 135-mile Badwater Ultramarathon in Death Valley at 125°F (52°C), also a record. I even raced—and beat—one of the legendary Tarahumara Indian runners in Mexico’s Copper Canyon. I won many other races, too, including the 153-mile Spartathlon from Athens to Sparta and the Hardrock 100, one of the toughest 100-mile mountain runs in the world.
It wasn’t just my performance that improved.
After going vegan, my blood pressure and triglyceride levels dropped to all-time lows, while my HDL, or “good” cholesterol, soared to all-time highs. Even after pounding miles of mountain trails, my joints barely got inflamed, and when I did tweak an ankle or take a spill and bruise an elbow or wrist, the soreness disappeared faster than ever before.
So the conclusion is, an athlete training eight hours a day can thrive on a plant-based diet. It turns out that spending a little more time and money to eat healthily is incredibly worthwhile, and I’d argue that a plant-based diet is fundamentally the cheapest health insurance there is. Going vegan isn’t about subtraction—it’s about addition. I discovered foods I never knew existed and tasted flavors and textures I never imagined. Have you ever tried a juicy lentil-mushroom burger or a bowl of spicy stir-fried veggies? If not, you should.
Here’s something truly thought-provoking: a delicious, affordable way of eating that makes you healthier and supports you through the toughest physical challenges you might face. Now that’s shocking.
Scott Jurek is the author of Eat & Run: My Unlikely Journey to Ultramarathon Greatness [Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, $26.00]