He teaches others to run because he can't do it anymore

Never one to waste a free moment, Matt Fitzgerald climbed into the second row of his Mazda CX-90 on a recent weekday morning and opened his MacBook so he could work on another book.

Mr. Fitzgerald, 52, is many things — writer, public speaker, coach — but above all he is prolific. He wrote or co-wrote 34 books, most about running, endurance sports and nutrition. He writes early. He writes often. He writes a lot.

“Sometimes I feel like I'm doing B-plus work on a dozen things, while I'm doing A-plus work on three or four,” he said. “But I am who I am. There are always a few things where I try to give the very best of myself at every moment, and I think that's enough.

Mr. Fitzgerald has the kind of lean, athletic build that points to another part of his identity: distance runner. He has been prolific in that area too, running 50 marathons – his fastest in 2 hours 39 minutes 30 seconds. And once he allegedly jogged on the quiet, snow-covered road in Flagstaff, Arizona, where he parked his SUV.

Instead, Mr. Fitzgerald waited until John Gietzel, a 48-year-old business consultant from Winnipeg, Manitoba, finished relaxing so he could close his laptop and coach him through a series of hill sprints. As for himself, Mr. Fitzgerald has hardly exercised in the past three years.

“I probably wouldn't be doing this if I hadn't gotten sick,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “But I have found it surprisingly satisfying.”

Mr. Fitzgerald's battle with long Covid-19 has, in important ways, forced him to reshape who he is and what he does. In the process, he has found vicarious joy by starting a company called Dream running camp from his home in Flagstaff, where he lives with his wife Nataki and a rotating cast of recreational runners who pay between $45 and $115 a day to stay in one of four guest rooms and be coached by him.

“I'm trying to create a happening,” said Mr. Fitzgerald, who shared his long-term vision: “Fast forward a few years, and everyone in the world has heard of Dream Run Camp, and there's a mystique about it and it's all good vibes.”

He organizes group runs every morning. He has 'coaching hours' every afternoon when he emerges from his writing den to offer PowerPoint presentations on topics such as 'Disrupting Complacency' and 'Hard Fun'. Mr. Fitzgerald's campers, whom he calls “dream runners,” can stay as long as they want, up to 12 weeks.

Mr. Gietzel, who has a job that allows him to work remotely, will stay for about a month so he can train for the Mesa Marathon on February 10. Mr. Fitzgerald plans to be at the finish line.

“There's a kind of magic here,” Mr. Gietzel said. “I already feel it.”

Mr. Fitzgerald didn't know it at the time, but he now believes the U.S. Olympic Marathon Trials in February 2020 changed his life. He had traveled to Atlanta to make some promotional appearances before the event and to participate in the Publix Atlanta Marathon the day after the trials. “That weekend was a lot of fun,” he says.

Upon returning home, Mr. Fitzgerald became ill. His wife soon became ill as well. They both believe they contracted Covid, although this all happened before at-home testing was available and before widespread government shutdowns.

“We both stayed home and recovered because the hospitals were full,” Nataki Fitzgerald said.

Mr. Fitzgerald felt terrible for about a month — “It was by far the sickest I've ever been,” he said — before slowly returning to his old way of life. In fact, he ran and trained without any problems throughout the summer of 2020.

“And then it all started to unravel in mysterious ways,” he said. “My neurological symptoms just became breathtaking. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't write. I couldn't make a training plan. I didn't want to have contact with people.”

Much is still unknown about long Covid. Although there is no test to determine whether symptoms such as fatigue, brain fog and persistent headaches are due to the virus, long-term Covid can last for weeks, months or even years, according to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention.

Although Mr. Fitzgerald said his neurological problems have improved in recent months, he still experiences chronic fatigue and “post-exertional malaise,” meaning anything involving physical exertion makes him feel terrible.

“Exactly the disease you want if you're an endurance athlete,” he said.

Early last year he felt well enough to try to get back into running. After six weeks of gradually building up his workload, he was able to jog for 30 minutes.

“And then the bottom dropped out again,” said Mr. Fitzgerald, who has not jogged more than short distances since.

It was disorienting for someone whose entire life revolved around sports. He recalled one of his fondest experiences as a runner, when he spent thirteen weeks training for the 2017 Chicago Marathon as a self-described “fake pro runner” with HOKA NAZ Elite, a Flagstaff-based team of world-class distance runners. Mr. Fitzgerald capped off his time with the team by running a personal best time for the marathon at the age of 46, and by writing a book about it entitled “Carrying out the dream.”

As Mr. Fitzgerald grappled with the fallout from the long Covid-19 crisis, he reflected on that experience in Flagstaff. He knew he could no longer run – at least, not fast – but he could imagine a way to stay involved by using his expertise to coach others.

After convincing his wife that they should uproot their lives in California and move to Flagstaff, a mecca for high-altitude runners, Mr. Fitzgerald welcomed his first campers last May – sorry, dream runners. So far he has hosted about 30.

“I have known him as someone who makes his ideas come true,” said Ben Rosario, executive director of HOKA NAZ Elite.

Running camps aren't exactly a new concept. Steph Bruce, an elite distance runner, and her husband, Ben, have a week-long camp for runners in Flagstaff every summer. There are countless others across the country.

The difference with Dream Run Camp is that Mr. Fitzgerald's dream runners live in his house.

The walls are decorated with works of art by top runners. There is a common recovery area with a hyperbaric chamber and a device called a vibro-acoustic therapy bed. His garage is equipped with high-quality fitness equipment. The backyard features a sauna and a small pool for swimming. Mr. Fitzgerald and his wife live in an adjacent boarding house.

“It's hard to get promoted,” he said. “'Come to Dream Camp and be a little bored! It will be great for your running!'

'But there is some truth in it. I see people who come here who are kind of stuck in their normal lives, and after they've been here for a few days, they're fluid.

Although Mr. Fitzgerald appears to have made peace with some of his limitations, he cannot accept that he will forever be a bystander.

Just after midnight on New Year's Day, he walked downstairs to his computer so he could sign up for the Javelina Jundred, a 62-mile ultramarathon in Fountain Hills, Arizona, in late October. Mr. Fitzgerald acknowledged how incongruous it sounded.

“I literally can't take another step right now,” he said.

By way of explanation, Mr. Fitzgerald cited Charles Barkley's final season in the NBA. After Mr Barkley tore his quadriceps tendon during an early season match, he vowed he would be back.

Sure enough, about four months after sustaining his injury, Mr. Barkley returned to play in one final game, scoring a basket on a putback. He left the court to a standing ovation.

In his own way, Mr. Fitzgerald said, he wants to do the same. He even has a working title for a book he wants to write: “Dying to Run: An Ailing Athlete's Quest for One Last Finish Line.”

“I'm not doing this because I'm in recovery,” he said. “I do this because I am not to recover.”

Mr. Fitzgerald doesn't necessarily expect to race. He only wants to finish within 29 hours of the event, even if that means completing the course.

“I can just survive,” he said.