There was no tape to mark the finish, nor woo-hoo girls to
cheer me on, nor a laurel wreath to put on my head like at Boston. Later, no
times would be posted for me to check my rank in my age group, but there was
little doubt in my mind that I had finished and that I had won. Less than 51
hours ago, I had toed the starting line for what I assumed would rank among my
greatest physical challenges and one that would also test my mental fortitude.
55 miles in 55 hours in 5 states. Five 11-mile runs: one each in North Dakota,
Minneapolis, Iowa, Nebraska and South Dakota. My running buddy Scott was doing
the same, for moral support, on a
trail in North Carolina.
For a runner that has never run a distance greater than the
marathon and that harbors few dreams of being elite or an ultra-marathoner,
this represented a significant challenge and one where the outcome was not
predetermined.
North Dakota
It is a great feeling to be a confident runner and to be in
reasonably good running shape, to be able to add a bit more distance on a run in
order to explore an unexpected item of interest or to be able to not worry
about a wrong turn or a slightly longer route, or even to deal with a simple
miscalculation made when planning a run or the inevitable math mistakes made
while running. As I stood on the campus of North Dakota State University, I
felt like I was The Bison. While my training was not what it should have been,
I had reached a good running form, my weight had settled on a good number for
carrying some distance and I had done a short taper.
Car door opens, I hop out and turn the GPS on. I am ready to
go, but unlike most of my runs, exact mileage is important and I am forced to
wait for the satellites to search the world and discover me here in North
Dakota. Found. All zeroes on the dial. I think Start and press the button
simultaneously, and the great adventure is underway. It is convenient to be the
star today and have all of the timing tailor-made for me.
I break immediately into a steady stride. Scott later described
his first run as “euphoric” and I feel good too. Athletes from many sports will
tell you that waiting is the hardest part and that once you start playing or
running or competing, the butterflies and other thoughts go away and the
training takes over. The trail
looks good: great. A few other runners out early on a Sunday morning: cool. Temperature:
I am overdressed for the total distance but the extra shirt and the gloves provide
a comfortable layer so far.
Feeling: pretty good overall.
The checklist says everything is great. I am not wearing a
heart rate monitor but my perceived level of exertion seems easy. It is as if I
have jumped immediately to the middle of my run without having to breathe
heavily, warm my muscles or gradually build my heart rate to an aerobic zone. I
feel good and the running endorphins and I are one. Suddenly, I think about
pace. Pace is important in runs. Many of us have a tendency to take all that
accumulated adrenaline and those rested muscles and the excitement of finally
getting going and we run early paces that are faster than they should be and
that exact a price on us in later stages. I glance down and I am running slower
than my everyday pace, but only slightly faster than what I think that my pace
should be at this stage in the race.
Planning your pace on a long run means guessing and hoping
that you are lucky. There is the expected case, the worst case, the case worse
than that and then several more layers that you hope that you never experience.
I know that my pace will be slower than my current marathon pace (which is
already slower than it was just a year ago), but am not certain by how much it
will differ. My intent, even though I am not quite in marathon shape, is to run
the first couple of legs at marathon pace and then let the later legs find their own level – hopefully not
too far above this. I know that I can carry this pace for 11 miles and I am
hoping that the rest between runs will let me hold steady in the later legs. So
I pull back just a tad and think about how easy this run is.
Run 1 is for fun. We all can do it. It is a distance that I
have run on average once a week for many years and I have absolutely no doubts.
And by holding back I get to take it even easier.
“North Dakota, I love running here.”
Minnesota
Afternoon runs are different than morning runs to me. They
just have a different feeling. I do them so rarely that they are kind of
exhilarating in their difference. But the key to this particular afternoon run
is determining the lingering impact of the morning run. Without even waiting
for the gun to signal blastoff, I spring forward from the parking lot of a
Minnesota state park up and down a few hills, making decisions on the fly about
which trail I should actually be following. My legs feel like I ran 11 miles,
but like maybe it had been yesterday and they quickly fall in line. The late
lunch caused by travelling here seems to be a bigger issue, but it distracts me
from the transition of any thoughts of being tired.
Runs can be fun in almost all settings, but this looks like
it is going to be great. The prairie rolls out to my left and there is a rock
cliff to my right. I feel like I have been dropped into a “rave run” location
in a Runner’s World article despite
lacking the speed, good looks, youth or designer clothing of their standard
choices. The air is crisp like a summer fall day on this Midwestern spring day.
A haze obscures the distance and keeps the focus on the nearby beauty. The
flatness of the land lets me see the trail a mile ahead and I run alone
enjoying the run. There is no thought of failure this early – either in this
run or overall. The great feeling grows even better as a light rain falls down,
not so much on me, but all around me. Even though Scott had far warmer days for
his runs, he would later describe the second run not as a challenge for legs
that had run earlier in the day, but as the moment when we both realized that
we might be able to do this.
My run ended miles from the start and those last four miles
felt better than the morning miles and I felt my shoulders up high, my feet
bounced off the trail and this seemed like the perfect run. My GPS regularly
beeped another mile and my pace seemed steady: one that I could run all day.
When I crossed 10 miles, I knew that today was fun, that today was easy, that
today I won the challenge and I used a slight downhill to speed up and run it
in strong. “I have 12 hours to rest before I run again so let’s burn off that
last drop of adrenaline.”
“Minnesota, I love running here.”
Iowa
Twenty-four hours earlier I had begun the 55-mile adventure
with a run beside the Red River in Fargo, North Dakota, and now I faced a
much broader Missouri River in northwestern Iowa. Some days when I run the day
after a long run, I feel the previous run when I get out of bed or sit in a
chair for too long at the office. Other days I only feel it once I begin to
run. And so it was today. There was, to use Scott’s terminology – yes, he is
still there on day 2 so I really have little choice but to continue – there was
a bit of an “ouch” moment, when the anticipated pain and suffering hints that
it may visit soon. But the only remedy is to face it head-on and do the
opposite of what pain tells you: run. And so I put the Missouri off my shoulder
and put one foot forward and the other naturally follows and off I go. In 50
feet I feel better. At a mile, I am running a normal stride and it feels little
different than as if I had done a normal run the day before. The regenerative
effects of a little time off for a trained and conditioned body amazes me.
When the crazy idea of celebrating my 55th
birthday with something that had a lot of 5’s first originated, I thought that
I would try to run 1 mile every hour for 55 hours. The idea of night running
with a headlight seemed sufficiently fun alone. But while the mileage seemed
high, the greater challenge appeared to be not really sleeping for 2 days. I
thought that one mile every hour offered the greatest possibility of success. A
much younger Scott & I mulled this idea over, but we also talked about some
of the small relay groups or Run across America or the Sahara or wherever
people would run marathon distance day after day. Could we do that? How long
would we last? What sort of training would it require? From that we considered
the realm of our capabilities and the mathematics of the age and sheer
distance. The obvious answer for 55 miles was 2 runs each of the first 2 days
and 1 on the morning of the last. By running the first and the 55th
hours, we could extend the time – pushing that final rest period outside of our
counted hours. So we settled on 5 runs of 11 miles as the best approach, but I
considered it more of a possible idea than a plan. Scott heard it differently.
A month before my birthday, life moved me to the plains and
so any idea of a run together was disrupted. I took advantage of my isolation
and started working myself back into shape with 9-11 mile runs. I had run 55 miles
in one week only 5 times in the prior 5 years and now I was leaning towards
doing it in 55 hours. I decided to add one more story-telling element to it and
do each run in a different state. That wouldn’t qualify me for the 50-state
marathon club, but it was definitely not common.
As the date approached and I waivered on my commitment, my
level of fitness, my desire and the general sanity of the proposition, Scott
appeared to grow more and more excited about me doing it - and him too! I considered other ideas
like switching miles to kilometers, or five 5-mile runs in 5 states or one that
was both challenging and fun: running 11 miles on the first five days of May in
5 states, drinking a margarita in each state and finishing on cinco de mayo. Ah but cursed running
buddies say it’s okay to change your plans, but they also cause you to judge
yourself. So here I was on the eastern bank of the Missouri River in Iowa. Running.
“Iowa, I love running here.”
Nebraska
Part of a quote from the SW corner of the Cornhusker
football stadium in Lincoln:
“In the deed the glory”
– And this run, when done, would bring glory to Scott and me – self-directed,
of course.
I ran about 2 steps before my heart rate jumped up. My body
was tired. My breathing was labored. While Scott had weathered the heat on his
runs, this afternoon was my first taste of it and I had started downing liquids
hours earlier. Scott and I had both talked about how this fourth leg would be
the leg that made the difference. Finish leg 4 and you are home free. Fail to
start it or let it win and it was all over. The first 33 miles had been a
preliminary qualifier to run this leg. There were far fewer people parked here
this afternoon than line-up at Hopkinton. Elite runners? We can all set a goal,
the accomplishment of which qualifies us to think of ourselves as an elite
runner: a person that likes to run and runs, not just those that finish first
at a certain speed.
Surprisingly, the farther I ran the better I felt. My heart
rate was definitely a few beats per second higher because of the other runs and
a few beats higher because of the heat, all of which translated into a slower
pace. Still the run felt okay and I moved slowly forward. Today’s run differed from the others in
that I was crossing streets, there were curbs and pedestrians and cars. At the
moment that I least wanted to pay attention, it was mandatory.
The other issue with curbs was that my ankles and lower legs
had grown stiff and lost some of their flexibility and I didn’t want to force
my Achilles or knees to absorb the gravitational blow, so I had to find the
smoothest route at each corner. And watch for cars. And run. So yes, I could
tell that I was tired. One further indication was that some of the turns on the
trail required wide turns. That can be true on the bike if you are riding fast
or a running race where you have speed happening, but at my slowed slog of a
pace, I should have been able to turn on a dime. Still I pushed on and in many
aspects this afternoon run felt better than the morning run: tired muscles now
versus sore muscles in the morning.
In a marathon there is a time when you stop counting miles
up and start counting them down. In each of these legs it had been the same. I
viewed 7 or 8 miles as a magic distance. Once I reached that distance I knew
that I just had a manageable distance remaining and that gave me a mental edge.
So at 4 miles, I only needed to run 4 more miles to just have 3 left. Crazy
yes, but motivating as well.
Well, I was motivated to finish this run. I still was having
more fun than many others on this sunny day, but a simple action told me that I
needed to get it done. I found myself checking my progress on my watch more and
more often, with the results showing remarkably little change, either in terms
of distance covered, distance remaining or time elapsed. And again I check it
and 47 seconds have passed with a change in distance measured in the hundredths
of a mile. And still I seek that 8-mile mark to start the final sprint to the
end of the current leg.
Both the physical and the mental side of runs have a way of
cycling up and down and great runs usually occur when both are up. I had felt
that way in all four runs. Good runs tend to have either side cycle up to at
least partially offset the decline of the other. I managed to slide along this
scale of feeling good and mile 8 disappeared and I found myself on a shady
downhill area with the breeze blowing the leaves on the trees around me and the
green grass bursting out in a small meadow. At moments like these, it feels
good to run and be a part of it all. I suddenly had some bounce back, a
perceived easier and faster pace, and the mental switch from running outbound
to running in. Time and distances evaporate when you feel this way. Sweat is
pouring down my brow and I feel my arms pumping to aid my legs and wait, yes,
there in the distance is a building where I can celebrate.
Standing in the parking lot texting Scott to tell him about
the run, I am cognizant that this run could have gone either way and that I
have luck and a huge base of miles to thank for the happy ending. I am also
nervous about how he might be feeling and how his run might have gone. Nothing
to do but tell the truth. Well, at least part of the truth, because the real
truth is that it would have been so much easier having him to lean on or pace
me or distract me. But I also couldn’t quit because across the miles I knew
that he too was depending on me to help pull him through and push him towards
tomorrow’s finish. We will hurt tonight, but we have done these 4 runs and the
glory will be ours shortly.
“Nebraska, I love running here.”
South Dakota
Before, during and after the fourth run I believed that it
was both the hardest physically and the one that would require gutting it out.
I had believed that, but as I took the first step into a strong wind on the
final 11-mile run, I knew the fallacy of the statement. In a marathon, the
common statement is that you run the first 20 to get there and then you race it
home – telling yourself that it is just 10K left and that you do that every day
in training. Just do that last normal run and you are there. But the reality is
often that those last few miles are a struggle for dignity, where your
credibility as a runner is suddenly on the line and where one can, in a single
step, be reduced to surviving the next moment. Everyone looks inside at that
moment for the energy, strength or willpower to make it just a bit further.
So I expected the last few miles to be hard, but I also
thought that the magnet of the finish line would propel me forward. I assumed
that my muscles would be sore and tight and changed my stride from short to a
shuffle. I anticipated that my energy store would have already been called upon
and that I would have mild dehydration from the sheer distance of the 5 runs.
All of this seemed within reason until I took that first step and the wind
pushed back. I had been lucky to avoid hilly runs and warm weather, so I
deserved a bit of karmic fairness. So I pushed back.
My mind was strong. I pushed into the wind and moved
forward. I knew that every step forward was one less step required. I felt the
tightness in my calves. I felt a slight soreness in my left hip that I took
note of but discounted as unimportant for the time being. My only real issue
was that I felt tired in my quads – as I should have after 44 miles. But it was
that mile 18 feeling of a marathon, not the mile 25 feeling. That is, they were
tired, but they were still on my team. They still responded to my command.
My watch alerted me to the fact that I was finishing mile
one and I checked the time to see my pace. It was about 20 seconds slower than
other days for an early mile and normally I would have tried to pick it up just
a little bit. But instinctively I instead slowed down a little: realizing that
the goal today was finishing and feeling good. I patted myself on the back for
my maturity as a runner and pushed on.
A bit up the trail I pass a large time and temperature sign
seemingly misplaced on the bike trail. 59 degrees. Not bad. The wind makes it
feel cooler but I realize that I am already covered with sweat and sip down
some Gatorade.
The trail is built in a flood plain beside the Big Sioux
River and is wide with few people, little development and no cars. I am new to
town but I have now run this section 6 or 7 times and I feel very comfortable
here. I get dropped off on the north side of town and run point-to-point to the
Southeastern side. It is tranquil and geographically similar, adding to my
ability to occasionally miss certain obvious items or landmarks. And it was one
of these seemingly obvious scenes that startled me. I looked left and yes,
about 30 meters from the trail, stood 5 buffaloes (American Bison for those who
know the difference). I thought back about Scott’s story of almost stepping on
a copperhead snake at mile 37 and how I had accused him of hallucinating. But
no, there they clearly stood grazing on the green grass beside a small watering
hole just as they do in the movies. I wasn’t totally surprised by this since I
had seen them in two other spots around town. My question was how I had missed
them on my previous runs. But that was just the beginning. A hundred feet ahead
I am still thinking about the buffalo, but I shift my view and thoughts ahead
and there is a CHEETAH pacing beside a chain link fence. I do a double-take
and yes it IS a cheetah. Too big to be a puma or mountain lion, this is the real
deal and she is actively prowling and testing the perimeter of what I assume
must be her cage. My heart rate had long been elevated due to the running and
the general level of exhaustion, but somehow nature took over and found a few
more beats to spare and I suppose a bit of adrenaline because suddenly my mind
forgets about my legs and ranks survival as its primary task. I survey the pen
and it is a 6-7 foot chain link fence with 3 layers of barbed wire that angle
in and add about 18 inches to the height, some length to any leap, and perhaps
some mental barrier for the cheetah. Still it paces quickly around its
enclosure and I can see the power in its body – oh that I could borrow some of
that for a while. I moved over 2 feet to the far right side of the trail to
increase the distance (in my mind). I breathed quietly and realized that
running upwind meant that the cheetah had not gotten a scent from me until after I
had passed by. And that was my last thought of the cheetah until sometime after
the run. I really missed sharing this with Scott, as a good running partner
could have enhanced the absurdness of the sighting and served as a witness if
called on to testify.
Miles 3 and 4 were fairly uneventful. I crossed under a few
roads and imagined that they were wind tunnels, helping me obtain a perfectly
aerodynamic running form. More sessions might be required to really master it.
I now had a slow but smooth pace and it felt almost like a normal run. Much of
running on trails or races is about mileposts and I began to focus on a certain
spot that would mark 4.5 miles to home. Granted, that would still leave me
short. I wasn’t certain of the exact distance from where I had started, but now
I realized that it would be 9 miles rather than 11 and that I would need to add
on at the end.
Just past 4 miles, I come out of my thoughts to discover
that the wind or the trail had shifted and that it was now more of a crosswind
than a headwind. At mile 4.5, there was no wind. That realization seemed to
encourage me to be faster and I was. The next mile was 30 seconds faster and
much less mentally fatiguing. But then I returned to my 55-mile pace. I met an oncoming runner and had a
strange thought: I had not been passed by a single runner going the same
direction in almost 50 miles, but at my current pace, I was vulnerable to every
level of runner. I wondered how I would react: well, there was no chance that I
would pick up the pace and maintain contact. I certainly couldn’t carry my side
of a conversation. Even the well honored tradition of stopping to tie my shoe
wouldn’t work since I like couldn’t bend over far enough.
All this helped me maintain a steady pace, an even cadence
and repetitive muscle movement. As long as I could keep my muscle memory
active, the world would be fine. Run. I do it every day. Run. Enjoy the moment.
And I do, even as an unexpected new detour sign appears around the corner. But
I am a runner and a detour sign doesn’t keep me from running, it just alters my
course for the moment. I even find the positive in that I am adding necessary
mileage. The new hills tax me but allow me to recruit some different muscles.
And the eventual return to the trail reminds me that I can now feel the end
coming. My feet have run this ground. My heart and lungs have dealt with this
remaining portion before and my run becomes even more mechanical – providing a
welcome respite from the mental side.
Next up is the biggest hill of the 55 miles. It is how I had
recently been ending my training runs, and I had intentionally planned to
conquer it at the end and grab a big adrenaline boost for the finish. I turned and immediately felt a strong
wind blowing from top to bottom. I lean forward and my quads push me slowly up
the hill. My pace now measures in the double digits, but stopping is not an
option, and I know that summiting will be the final challenge. I push harder
and just sneak into the single-digit pace world. I am burning all my energy,
but the point has arrived to put it all out there. There is no doubt that I am
going to finish and there is no next run, so I don’t need to leave anything in
the tank. The wind feels good whipping through my hair and cooling me from the
emerging sun. This is why we run: for the physical and mental enjoyment that it
brings. I don’t think about running. I run. I now think about the fun parts of
running, leaving the mechanics to bring me in.
I ignored my watch for the last mile, determined to think
about the experience, not the pace. Eventually it chimed and I came to a stop;
not really sure what to do. I wanted to share the moment but my running buddy
was a thousand miles away. A phone call later I was reliving his run and my run
and we both had separate and joint memories of a gauntlet laid down and
answered. He had run 55 miles to support my run and help me be a champion for
my birthday, but we both knew that it was a present to himself as well. He is a
champion and worthy of sharing, had they been there waiting for us, the tape to
mark the finish, the woo-hoo girls cheering, and a laurel wreath like at
Boston.
“South Dakota, I love running here.”
Epiclogue
Run long and prosper.
Total Miles – 2 X 55
Total Calories – 15,000
Total Time Running – 8 hours
Time from start to finish – 50:45 hours
Zoos located near my trail in SD – 1
Considerations for a
Birthday Run
·
Try not to be old
·
Live in a country with kilometers
·
Be born in a month with good running weather
·
Be careful about sharing a thought no matter how
unlikely it seems
·
If you don’t start, you can’t finish
.
