Finding Limits at Leadville

Ultrarunning is about pushing your limits. After completing three 100-mile races and several other ultra-distance events in the past year, I was starting to become a bit overconfident in my abilities. However, I found my limit last weekend at the Leadville Trail 100 in Colorado.

The week before the race, I was sitting on the front porch of our home in Indiana with my wife trying to comprehend the fact that the race I was about to attempt would be run 2-miles up in the sky. The same thought occurred when we were flying home from a family vacation last month and they announced that we had reached 10,000-feet and could start using our electronics again. Most of the Leadville race would be higher than we were currently flying in a commercial airplane! I simply could not get my brain wrapped around that while surveying the flat cornfields of Indiana.

Looking Out Towards the Leadville 100-mile Course

As I arrived in Leadville, all eyes were on the weather. The forecast was unusually cold for this time of year with predictions for thunderstorms, hail, sleet, wind, and snow. The scenery was quite majestic, but the constant presence of thunderstorms in the mountains gave me an ominous feeling about what I was about to attempt. I also took note about how quickly the temperature would change as each storm rolled in over the mountains. I proceeded to pack my drop bags knowing that I would need to be prepared for every kind of weather at all times during the race.

I arrived at the start around 3:00am. It was cold and raining, but I was ready. The first 13-miles of the course were on a trail that runs around a mountain lake. The hills are constant, but they are relatively short. This is just like the trails we have in Indiana and I was feeling quite at home. The altitude did not seem to be affecting me and I was running ahead of my anticipated pace.

The first big climb of the course began shortly after leaving the May Queen aid station at 13.5-miles. We moved from an elevation of 9,800-ft up to the Surgarloaf Mountain pass at 11,200-ft. I was thrilled that I was able to make it up and over without much difficulty. As we cleared the pass, I let loose and ran the next 6-miles of downhills until reaching the Fish Hatchery aid station at 23.5-miles. At times it felt like I was simply doing some downhill skiing, albeit with running shoes and rocks instead of skis and snow.

Most people complain about the next portion of the course since it consists of a continuous uphill climb on dirt road into the San Isabel National Forest, but I welcomed the change. Usually it is smart to walk the uphills during an ultra, but I found it more tolerable to alternate timed periods of running with periods of walking until reaching the Halfmoon Aid Station at mile 30.5.

Now well into ultra-distance territory, the course turned onto the Colorado Trail. I began to labor a bit on the uphills and found myself struggling for air as the elevation increased to over 10,600-ft several times. When the trail started a 5-mile downhill path to the the Twin Lakes Aid Station at mile 39.5, I was highly motivated by the fact that each breath had a higher oxygen concentration than the one before it.

At 9,200-ft, the Twin Lakes Aid Station is the lowest part of the course. Over the next 5-miles, I would climb up to Hope Pass, the highest part of the course at 12,600-ft. This is equivalent to climbing all the stairs at the Empire State Building nearly three times. Even though the weather was starting to turn bad, I was looking forward to moving on and hitting the toughest part of the day with full force.

A few miles into the climb up towards Hope Pass, I started to feel more fatigued that I ever have during an ultra. I figured this was just the altitude and continued to move forward, even if it was slower than I had anticipated. Nearing the top, I had to stop several times just to catch my breath. My heart and breathing felt like I was in the middle of a speed workout, even though I was moving forward at the pace of a slow hike.

I sat down for about 15-minutes at the Hopeless Aid Station near the top of Hope Pass. The rain, snow, and hail that were pummeling me on the way up the mountain had stopped and the skies had cleared. As difficult as it was for me to get up the mountain, I wanted to make sure I relished the views before beginning the 5-mile downhill trek to the 50-mile turnaround point in Winfield.

I again hammered the downhills after making it over Hope Pass. My aunt and uncle were planning to meet me in Winfield and I was going to make sure they didn't have to wait any longer than necessary. As I descended the mountain, I was troubled by the fact that the far side of Hope Pass seemed much steeper than what I had just climbed (since the course is "out-and-back", my first job after Winfield would be to climb back up and over the mountain at Hope Pass). Those concerns would have to wait since I was now arriving in Winfield, comfortably down below 10,000-ft elevation, and could celebrate the fact that I just made it halfway through one of the toughest 100-milers in the U.S.

Recovering at the 50-mile Turnaround in Winfield

As I took a break in Winfield, I noticed a bit of nausea coming on. I tried drinking some fluids, but immediately noticed that my stomach wasn't too happy about the idea. After lying down for 15-minutes and not feeling any better, I figured I would try heading out and hoping that some easy walking would calm my stomach. This approach had worked in previous ultras, so I had no reason to believe it wouldn't work this time.

I was overcome by fatigue much quicker as I started the climb back up to Hope Pass. I hiked at a painfully slow pace and still had to stop and catch my breath every few minutes. As I ascended, the time between breaks got shorter and the breaks got longer. My nausea was getting worse and I began vomiting each time I would stop. Even a small sip of water would be immediately rejected by my stomach. Without fluids or food, I could feel that I was starting to dehydrate. Halfway up the mountain with all of my energy stores depleted, it became more and more clear that I would not be able to finish this race.

Resolved that I was past the point of a quick recovery, I was faced with the choice of heading back down the mountain to Winfield or continuing over Hope Pass and down to the Twin Lakes Aid Station at mile 60.5. I determined that I would give it everything I had in order to make it over the mountain to Twin Lakes. As I proceeded above treeline, my pace consisted of about 10 short steps followed by at least a minute of rest. By the time I crested the mountain, it had taken me nearly 3-hours to travel a mere 3-miles. The prospect of reaching Twin Lakes before the mandatory cutoff time was highly unlikely.

My nausea was beyond hope when I began the 5-mile descent to Twin Lakes. Day was turning to night and I was so fatigued that all I could muster was a slow walk. The feeling of being dehydrated and having water but not being able to take a drink created a sense of hopelessness like I have never experienced. As I slowly wandered down the mountain in the dark, I processed all kinds of emotions and found myself dealing with deeply personal issues that I never even knew existed. Although not the most pleasant experience, I now realize that this is the kind of thing that can make an ultra a life-changing event.

6-hours after leaving Winfield, I finally entered the Twin Lakes Aid Station at mile 60.5. I had missed the cutoff time by 30-minutes, so my only option was to let the workers cut off my medical wristband and then find a ride back to my car in Leadville. I used to think that the mandatory cutoff times at each aid station were a bit harsh, but it was a blessing in this case. Even though I would not have made it much farther, I probably would have still considered going on if I wasn't pulled from the race. The cutoff time served the purpose of protecting me from myself.

I took a shower and was able to eat some hard candies 2-hours after leaving Twin Lakes. It took almost 4-hours until I was able to sip on some Sprite and eat some crackers. I fell asleep in my car for the rest of the night and then woke up to see my friend Dan Brenden finish with a time of 27:25:55. This finish puts Dan one race closer to being one of only two people in the world to complete the "Grand Slam of Ultrarunning" five or more times. I now have a much greater appreciation for how difficult of an accomplishment that really is.

In the end, only 2 of every 5 people finished this race and most of those who did were from Colorado. I know I gave it my best effort, but it is still difficult to be one of the runners who didn't make it. I also now realize that what I experienced on the mountain to Hope Pass was actually Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS). I was even starting to exhibit the early symptoms of High Altitude Pulmonary Edema (HAPE). There is no way I could have willed myself through that without putting myself in serious danger.

The next day I did not think that I would want to try this race again. Since then, I have done some research and realized that it would be possible for me to cope with the altitude and finish if I trained specifically for it over the next year. My only decision is whether or not I want to invest the time and energy necessary to make it happen. One thing I do know is that it's not your failures that define you, but how you are able to deal with and rise above the failures when they do happen.

I originally asked my uncle, who lives part-time in Colorado and is an avid outdoor enthusiast, if he would like to run as a pacer for a portion of the race. He declined because he did not want to slow me down. However, as I was leaving town, he left me with these words, "If you come back next year, I'll be ready to join you in Winfield and get you over that mountain". How can I say no to that? Until next year ...

Running in Circles in Iowa

Back in high school, one of my events on the track team was the 2-mile run. This equates to 8-laps around the track. I hated this event. I believed it was torture to have to run around the track that many times. I vowed never to spend that much time running in circles again. Last weekend, more than 20-years later, I found myself attempting to complete more than 400-laps around a ¼-mile track as part of the Cornbelt 24-hr race in Eldridge, Iowa. Never say never.

It all started this winter when I met Bo and Ron, a couple of local ultra-runners that I contacted after seeing their names on the lottery list for the Western States 100-mile Endurance Run. I thought it would be great to have someone else nearby to go out and run the trails with. However, I quickly found out that they weren’t really the trail-running types. Their favorite 100-miler was this 24-hr track run called the Cornbelt. A track run in Iowa? Why would I drive through three states to run a race with the same course as the high school down the street from my house? At least the trail runs usually have some interesting scenery. I quickly realized that I was the victim of “trail running snobbery” and figured I would give this track idea a try.

I was looking forward to the Cornbelt run about as much as I look forward to going to the dentist. Now that it is over, I can share the top five reasons why a 100-mile track run can be as much fun as any exotic trail run:

• The nearest aid station is never more than ¼-mile away. You can throw all of your stuff into a large duffle bag and have it all available all day long. The logistics of packing drop bags for a point-to-point run can get quite complicated.
• There is always someone nearby to help pass the time. Both the fastest runner and the slowest walker are always within ¼-mile of each other. Usually when dealing with a low point in a 100-mile run, you are on your own. Even just a few minutes meeting someone new during a walking break can really lift your spirits.
• Race strategy and planning is greatly simplified. I put together a detailed pacing plan for every lap. I knew all day long how I was doing relative to my plan and could make adjustments accordingly.
• They turn on the stadium lights when it gets dark. It was nice to not have to worry about night running gear.
• There are spectators … sitting in bleachers … with popcorn and pizza. Anyone who has attempted a trail ultra knows that this is not the norm.

Don’t think that this means a track ultra is “easier” than a trail ultra. I’m convinced that the constant hills on most trails are easier on the legs than the constant repetition of running around a track. Running 100-miles is difficult no matter how you choose to do it.

For the Cornbelt, I broke up my plan into 25-mile phases. I planned to run the first 25-miles in 3 hours and 45 minutes. I would then add 30-minutes to each subsequent 25-mile phase. In summary, here were my planned times for each phase:

• 3:45:00 – Mile 0 to 25
• 4:15:00 – Mile 25 to 50
• 4:45:00 – Mile 50 to 75
• 5:15:00 – Mile 75 to 100
• 6:00:00 – Mile 100+

We arrived in Iowa about 3-hours before the race start time at 7am. We checked into our hotel, grabbed a quick nap, and then headed out to the track to pick up our numbers and get ready to run. Even though the weather was cold, windy, and rainy, I found the experience to be quite enjoyable.

Because my plan called for me to run the first phase faster than the rest, I was leading the race after 25-miles. Even at the 50-mile marker, the top three runners were all within 1-mile of each other. Normally this would be a problem since I don’t usually find myself on the winner’s podium, but I knew I would slow down and I could tell that the other two front-runners would likely hold their current pace the entire day.

I resisted the urge to follow the leaders and stuck to my plan. As a result, I set personal records for every ultra-distance along the way. I passed the 50-mile mark in under 8-hours, the 100-km mark right at 10-hours, and had run almost 73-miles after 12-hours. I was on schedule to finish 100-miles in under 18-hours until everything fell apart at mile 91.

It seemed like every muscle in my legs cramped up after finishing 362 laps. At the same time, my intestines decided they were tired of holding on to their contents. I rushed to the restroom and tried to pull myself back together until I began shivering uncontrollably. As long as I was moving, I was generating enough body heat to stay warm in the cold weather. However, when I sat down, the tell-tale signs of hypothermia quickly became evident. I made my way to the medical tent to get some hot-chocolate and blankets, after which my stomach grew tired of holding on to its contents. I then became dizzy and quickly realized this was not going to be a quick fix.

The person counting my laps graciously offered to let me sit in his car with the heater running. I took him up on the offer and ended up taking a nap for about 90-minutes. After waking up, I was warm and over the nausea issues, but my legs were far from ready to get moving again. I knew that it would be extremely hard, both mentally and physically, to complete 9 more miles. However, there were 6-hours left on the clock and knew I would regret it if I didn’t at least give it a try.

As I was dragging myself back out onto the track, one of the race directors was shocked to see me. Even though it was 1:00 in the morning and I had already run 91-miles around a track in Iowa, he felt compelled to say, “Don’t do anything crazy!” Finding the warning quite ironic, all I could think was, “That ship sailed a long time ago.”

I limped around the track for a couple of laps and was eventually able to move into a slow walk. That last 9-miles was probably the most difficult time I have had in an ultra. I was able to spend some time talking with my friend Ron along the way, but then he began to deal with his own issues with the cold. Finally, after 3-hours of walking, I passed the 100-mile mark. I went an extra 6 laps and then decided to call it a day, even though there were still 3 more hours left in the race. I was quite happy with what I had accomplished and was confident I would not have any regrets the next day.

Besides, I have to have something more to shoot for next year!

How To Run Rocky Raccoon

Last weekend, I successfully completed my second 100-mile event at the Rocky Raccoon 100-mile Endurance Run in Huntsville, Texas. Since my first one, I have received a lot of questions about exactly how it works to run 100-miles. So, rather than go through a standard step-by-step race report, I am dedicating this article to providing all of the grueling details of how I personally trained for and completed my second 100-mile run.

Dan Brenden and I at the Rocky Raccoon

Before running my first 100-miler last fall, I did a lot of reading about the various physiological issues with going beyond the marathon distance. I had a plan that ultimately carried me to the finish. However, even the most scientific plan must be tailored for each individual’s specific physical and emotional makeup. This is why the best ultra-runners are usually the ones with the most experience. Below is how I personally approached the Rocky Raccoon run, but with more than 250 people in the race, I guarantee that there were more than 250 different strategies. Here’s mine.

Race Planning

One of the things I enjoy most about ultra-running is the planning involved. To be successful on race day, you must have a solid nutrition and hydration plan, a good pacing plan, a plan for running at night, a plan for dealing with the weather, and also a plan for all of the unexpected things might happen along the way (and yes, unexpected things WILL happen). During a short running event, the difference between a good day and bad day could be just a few seconds or minutes. At a 100-mile run, the difference could be several hours or a DNF (did not finish). At Rocky, 1 of every 3 people dropped out before the finish. The dreaded DNF looms over every race.

Drop Bags

We were allowed 2 drop bags at the Rocky Raccoon. The course consisted of a 20-mile loop with some out-and-back sections, so we would have access to one of our drop bags about every 6-7 miles. I have found that deciding what to put into each drop bag is one of the most difficult parts of the planning phase. When will it rain? When will I need my night gear? How many batteries will I need to keep my lights on in the dark? What will the temperature be at 7:00am? What will it be at 2:00pm? At midnight? The best you can do is make an educated guess and then plan for the unexpected. Here is a detailed list of what I put in my drop bags:

• Extra Clothes – 6 shirts, 3 sun hats, 5-pairs of socks, 2-pairs of shoes, 2-pairs of pants
• Weather Gear – 2 warm hats, 3-pairs gloves, 2 hand-warmers, 2 ponchos, 2 jackets
• First Aid – Motrin, ankle brace, athletic tape, sewing kit
• Night Gear – Headlamp, 2 flashlights, extra batteries
• Food – 25 gel packets, 6 sports bars, 6 electrolyte capsules, 2 bags choc espresso beans
• Drinks – 1 gallon Perpetuem, ½ gallon apple juice w/ Super Food supplement
• Other – 6 bandanas, 2 towels, body glide, sunscreen, chapstick, MP3 player, sunglasses

Nutrition and Hydration

Most of the research out there shows that a well-trained runner can store enough glycogen in their muscles to make it about 22-24 miles. Given this, it is critical to take in enough carbohydrates during an event to cover the difference. It is also critical to stay fully-hydrated. Once dehydration sets in, it can be almost impossible to recover and still finish without putting yourself at risk for other serious issues.

I estimate that it takes about 18,000 calories for me to run 100-miles. However, it would be impossible to consume this amount of food while running without becoming seriously nauseous. The nutrition plan becomes a fine balancing act between eating and drinking enough without upsetting your stomach. I have found that I can eat about 250 calories per hour and drink about 20 ounces of fluid per hour.

When it comes to selecting food, I believe that your body is programmed to know what it needs. When arriving at an aid station, food that I would normally find repulsive looks really good, whereas food that I normally love doesn’t look good at all. I try to go with what looks tasty as long as my basic hydration needs are being met. Here is an estimate of what I actually consumed during the Rocky Raccoon run:

• 4.5 gallons of fluid – roughly 20% Perpetuem, 50% Gatorade, and 30% water
• 10 gel packets – usually I take more of these, but they weren’t sitting well this time
• 2 breakfast burritos
• 1 ham and cheese sandwich
• 1 cheese quesadilla
• 4 cups of chicken noodle soup
• 3 baked potatoes, cut up and dipped in salt
• 1 can Pringle’s potato chips
• 6 cups of pretzels
• 8 Oreo cookies
• 1 cup of gummy bears
• 2 cups of animal crackers
• 2 cups of mixed nuts
• 4 cups cantaloupe
• 2 cups honeydew
• 8 strawberries
• 1 cup chocolate-covered espresso beans

Pacing Strategy

Patience is the key to an effective pacing strategy. Like any running race, you must adjust your pace for the distance. Just like you can’t run a marathon as fast as you could run a 10k, you can’t run 100-miles as fast as you can a marathon. The big secret here is that almost no one actually “runs” the entire 100-miles. Most of the pacing strategy revolves around how fast to run and how often and how long to walk.

I enjoy shorter races as much as I do the ultra-distance runs. Thus, I tend to run at a faster pace than most ultra-runners but walk more often. If I were to focus my training on running continuously for 100-miles, my pace would be too slow for me to stay competitive at the shorter distances. At the Rocky Raccoon, my pacing strategy could be summarized as follows:

• Run at a 8-9 minute per mile pace, when possible
• Walk for 10-15 minutes after eating
• Walk the up-hills and run the down-hills and flats
• Walk when dealing with issues such as nausea, blisters, muscle pain, etc.
• Just keep moving forward, no matter what the speed

The key for me is to be in tune with how my body is doing and know when it is okay to run and when I should walk. It’s difficult to set specific parameters beforehand because you go through so many cycles of feeling bad only to be followed up by a period of feeling good. I ran about 80% of the first 40-miles, but then my knee started hurting from an injury I incurred a couple of months ago. I also was becoming quite nauseous and knew that I was starting to get dehydrated. As a result, I power-walked about 70% of the next 45-miles. I was finally able to pull it together and run most of the last 15-miles. Here’s a list of my split times for each 20-mile loop:

• Lap 1 – 3:37:22
• Lap 2 – 4:01:34
• Lap 3 – 4:38:29
• Lap 4 – 5:09:54
• Lap 5 – 4:40:23

I took about a 5-10 minute break between each lap to do things like use the restroom, change socks, and replenish my water bottles. My final finish time was just over 23-hours. I was originally hoping to finish a bit faster than I did, but I believe I did the best I could given my current training level and the weather conditions. It was much more humid than most of us were prepared for, so I wasn’t the only one dealing with nausea issues.

Night Running

Since it is in the middle of winter, daylight is a premium. In addition, the dense forest adds at least 30-minutes of darkness after sunrise and before sunset. More than half of my time on the trail at Rocky Raccoon was spent in the dark. The trail is in relatively good shape, but there are several sections that are full of rocks and/or tree roots.

I have found that I can run most efficiently with two separate light sources hitting the trail each at a different angle. I wear a high-powered LED lamp on my head and carry a high-powered LED flashlight. This provides a sort of stereoscopic vision that makes it easier to determine the exact location and height of each obstacle on the trail. I also carry a small LED flashlight in my pack that I can use as a backup, if necessary.

The night before the race, I purchased a package of extra batteries without giving much thought to how many I would need. About 45-minutes after the race started, both my headlamp and my flashlight went dead. I replaced the batteries to get through the morning and then stashed them in one of my drop bags for me to pick up before dark in the evening.

I found out how long my flashlight lasts when it went dead again after 4-hours in the evening. I replaced the batteries with my final set of spares. I now had a serious issue. I knew that I would be out on the course for 5-6 more hours but only had 4-hours of life on my flashlight. My headlamp was still working, but I had no idea how much longer that would last. In addition, I didn’t know how much life my backup flashlight had in it and I was out of spare batteries for that one also.

Out on the trail, I turned off all my lights for a moment to see what I would be dealing with if all of my lights went dead. It was frightening. Not only could I not see the trail, I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. The forest is dense, there was no moon, and the sky was overcast with clouds. I had to figure out a way to make sure I had at least one working light until I made it to the finish.

I began using only one light at a time in order to stretch as much time out of my 4-hour flashlight that I could. I would use my headlamp whenever I was walking and then switch to my flashlight whenever I would run. Without both lights, I stubbed my toes and got tripped up on the roots several times, but I somehow managed to get by without turning an ankle. Next time, I’m not going to skimp on the extra batteries.

An interesting side note to all of this, when I was unpacking my drop bags today after getting back home, I pulled out a bag full of extra batteries. I now remember packing them, but I certainly didn’t remember it during the race. I’ve read that when your muscles start to become depleted, your body diverts glycogen from your brain. No permanent harm comes from this, but it does make it difficult to think clearly at the time. Perhaps next time I should carry a list of my drop bag contents with me during the race.

Training

I saved the training section for last since it probably makes more sense now that I’ve laid out my particular race-day strategy. In general, I try to run 40-60 miles per week. This includes at least one speed workout, one hill workout, and one long-run of 15-30 miles. In addition, I try to power-walk about 15-20 miles per week.

The biggest change I’ve made in my training program since moving into the ultra-distances is to spend more time power-walking. Even when I’m not able to run during a 100-miler, I can still move forward at a respectable pace while walking. There were even several instances at the Rocky Raccoon when I was “walking” and passed someone else who was “running”.

The longest training run I completed leading up to the Rocky Raccoon was 30-miles. With a family and a job, I simply can’t afford to spend all weekend running. I did a 50-mile trail race about 6-weeks before as a “dry run” to help refine my planning and get some additional distance training. I also tapered my mileage for 3-weeks leading up to the big event.

Recovery

It is quite entertaining to observe all the runners the morning after a 100-mile run. Rather than highly-trained athletes, it looks more like a field trip from the local nursing home. Everyone is shuffling around like they should be wearing a robe and slippers. The best part is during the awards ceremony when a person who just covered 100-miles can barely walk 20-yards to get their prize.

My biggest issue from Rocky Raccoon seems to be some nasty blisters on the bottoms of my feet. I received a great book for Christmas about preventing and dealing with blisters, but I haven’t got around to reading it yet. I read enough yesterday to learn that the reason I got these blisters is because I didn’t properly take care of the ones I earned at my first 100-mile run.

My feet and muscles will probably feel better by the end of this week. However, it can take 6-8 weeks for my endocrine system to fully recover. This means that when I go out for a run, I’ll feel fine, but my body will just be generally sluggish. I’ve heard that this time gets shorter after each event.

During the Rocky Raccoon run, I asked myself several times why I was doing this and swore that I wouldn’t do it again. However, even now as I sit here with my swollen and blistered feet, I’m already thinking about how I can refine my plan and do better for the next one. What’s even stranger is that I guarantee there are 251 other people who started this year’s Rocky Raccoon who are thinking the same thing, especially the 85 who did not finish.

Just Keep Running

Consistency is key to the success of any fitness program. Like most runners, I go through periods where I am consistent, but it doesn’t seem to take much to derail my training program. This fall, I experienced the worst derailment since I started running 3-years ago. I had just finished the Heartland 100-miler (recovery is tough), my family was in the middle of purchasing a new house (moving is stressfull), and the weather here in Indiana was starting to turn cold (running in shorts is easy). As a result, I went almost 3-months without so much as an easy recovery jog.

With my finish at the Heartland 100, I successfully qualified to enter the selection lottery for the Western States 100-mile Endurance Run. Although I did not get selected this year, I noticed that there were two other people in the lottery who lived in a neighboring town. I was curious, so I contacted one of them and quickly gained an invitation to one of their daily group training runs.

I reported to the local high school parking lot at 4:45am the next day. The temperature was below freezing and the streets were deserted. I was briefly introduced to Bo and Ron, the two runners on the Western States lottery list, and we headed out onto the city streets for a brisk morning run. A few more runners joined in along the way, and I started to feel like Forrest Gump was visiting town and I was just along for the run.

Since that first day, I’ve learned a few things about Bo and Ron that are worth sharing. First of all, they’ve been getting up early and running everyday for nearly 30-years (yes, that means Saturday and Sunday too). I’ve been barely consistent with breathing for that long. Even when the weather is bad, I can tell you exactly where to find Bo and Ron at 4:45am in the morning on any given day. Even when Ron was forced to stay at work past midnight for several days in a row, he still showed up for the daily run the next morning (although, he did show some confusion about what day it was).

Another item to note about Bo and Ron is that they are what most people would call “old-school ultrarunners”. These guys are hardcore and just like to run … and run … and run. It doesn’t take a fancy race in the mountains to attract these guys. In fact, their favorite ultra is a 24-hour run on a high-school track where they have each consistently covered more than 100-miles every year. Since my ultra experiences thus far have been limited to trail runs in somewhat exotic locations, my first question was how they dealt with the boredom. “Why would we get bored? We get to change direction on the track every 3-hours.”

On New Years Eve, Ron and Bo have a tradition where they run a marathon around a 1-mile city block. Feeling like it was an initiation of sorts, I had to join in. Six runners successfully completed the marathon, with two other runners completing at least 10-miles. Although it was challenging, it was more about the socializing, camaraderie, and enjoyment. Something that is easy to forget when you are too focused on the competitive nature of running.

2007 New Year’s Eve Marathon

It’s now been a month and I’ve managed to remain consistent on the early morning runs with Bo and Ron. I’ve even went so far as to sign up for that 24-hour track run. I’m sure I’ll have something interesting to write after that one. Regardless of whether I personally manage to continue getting up so early during the cold midwestern winter, I guarantee that Ron and Bo will still be out there running.