For nearly two decades, Scott Jurek has been a dominant force -- and darling -- in the grueling and growing sport of ultrarunning. And yet, perhaps even more impressive than his extensive list of race victories and course records is the fact that he achieves these astonishing accomplishments of endurance on an entirely plant-based diet.

In his memoir Eat And Run: My Unlikely Journey to Ultramarathon Greatness, Jurek opens up about his life and career -- as an elite ultrarunner and a vegan -- and inspires athletes at every level.

By Scott Jurek

Death Valley had laid me out flat, and now it was cooking me. My crew was telling me to get up, that they knew I could go on, but I could barely hear them. I was too busy puking, then watching the stream of liquid evaporate in the circle of light from my headlamp almost as fast as it splashed down on the steaming pavement. It was an hour before midnight, 105 incinerating, soul-sucking degrees. This was supposed to be my time. This was the point in a race where I had made a career of locating hidden reservoirs of will, discovering powers that propelled me to distances and speeds that others couldn't match.

Not tonight.

I had just run 70 miles through a place where others had died walking, and I had 65 more to go. I hadn't thought that would be a problem. Not for me. I'm an ultramarathoner. So I compete in any footrace longer than the marathon distance of 26.2 miles. In point of fact, though, I have fashioned a career from running and winning races of at least 50 miles, most often 100, and every so often 135 and 150 miles. Some I have led from start to finish; in others I have stayed comfortably back until the point when I needed to find another gear. So why was I on the side of the road vomiting, unable to go on?

Moments of questioning come to us all. It is human nature to ask why we put ourselves in certain situations and why life places hurdles in our path. Only the most saintly and delusional among us welcomes all pain as challenge, perceives all loss as harsh blessing. I know that. I know that I've chosen a sport stuffed with long stretches of agony, that I belong to a small, eclectic community of men and women where status is calibrated precisely as a function of one's ability to endure. Hallucinations and vomiting, to me and my fellow ultrarunners, are like grass stains to Little Leaguers. Chafing, black toenails, and dehydration are just the rites of passage for those of us who race 50 and 100 miles and more. Cramps don't merit attention. Unless nearby lightning makes the hair on your arms and head stand up and dance, it's nothing but scenery.

Sometimes we stumble from exhaustion and double over with pain. We run with bruised bones and scraped skin. It's a hard, simple calculus: Run until you can't run anymore. Then run some more. Find a new source of energy and will. Then run even faster.

Now I couldn't walk. And I wasn't sure why.