I attempted a 100 mile ultramarathon.
I failed.
But I loved it. Unlike shorter races you never feel like you’re dying—there’s no gasping for air, calves burning, unable to think past the exhaustion. The pain and suffering creeps in slowly and gently, and it can be relegated to the back of mind.
This race took place three days after I finished the Pacific Crest Trail, and that trek briefly made me into one of the best long distance walkers on the planet, a result of covering a marathon’s distance a day for five months. My hope was that those skills would translate over well and compensate for actual training, of which I had none. I’d never run more than 5 miles before this; but I did hike 51 miles in a day with a pack on and that’s more than halfway.
It was one of the easiest ultramarathons. The route followed a flat gravel bike path on a crisp autum day, with aid stations spaced every few miles.
So there I was, an hour east of Seattle, before the gray light of dawn. The first fifty miles breezed by. I had my hype running mix in; I called a friend; I was high off endorphins and the happy buzz of accomplishing the absurd. It could’ve also been the caffeinated goo. Each goo pouch had 25mg of caffeine, and I had a lot of goo.
Every two hours I passed an aid station, where I feasted on candy and oreos and fruit, chatted up the volunteers and racers, and restocked my bag o' goo.
Grabbing goo
My goals turned out to be a little too ambitious. I wanted a sub-24 hour finish and paced accordingly, hitting 50 miles in 10.5 hours. But I had no clue what my actual limits were. By mile 60 the distance caught up with me and night ahd fallen. At 70 I could no longer run. Tylenol and sheer force of will carried me to mile 82, where my legs finally gave out and I collapsed roadside at 2am, waiting for rescue.
Even at the very end, my entire body felt great, except for a singular tendon or muscle in my legs (potentially my hip flexors) that were critical to raising them. Those decided to die on me. I was a world class expert at walking; but walking and running have slightly different kinematic patterns; and I needed to do the running motions if I were to finish in 24 hours.
I was wheelchair bound for a couple days. At least I got a consolation prize—a 100km buckle! Races at multiple ultra distances were being run that day and I technically did complete an ultra, if not the one I was going for.
My prize
Even though I didn't make it, I'm happy that I didn't play it safe with a more generous pacing. Sometimes is better to aim for the stars and burn up in the stratosphere than land on the moon.