Kevin’s Nearly Excellent Adventure

Across 240 miles of Illinois.

rologue

Ultrarunning is hard to explain. Most people don’t even like running, so

the first thing they have to figure out is that running isn’t painful, but it can sometimes be uncomfortable (at least compared with lying on the couch). Serious runners have figured out how to get comfortable with being uncomfortable, so they run regularly, then train, and finally race, even if it’s just competition against themselves.

A few runners, though, either take the competition against themselves too far or they genuinely begin to like the feeling that was formerly uncomfortable, and these sorry souls descend into the ranks of ultrarunners.

Technically, an ultramarathon is any race over 26.2 miles. Most popular are races at distances of 50 kilometers (31 miles, sometimes called a sprint ultra), 50 miles, 100 kilometers (62 miles), and 100 miles, all run against other competitors and the clock. These races are generally run nonstop, although the runners will pause for a minute or two every 10 miles or so to refill drink bottles and grab a fast bite to eat.

Another ultramarathon category is the stage race, where runners will run for several days but take a sizable break every day for eating and sleeping. While it’s nice to get a break and rest, recovery is never complete and the days begin to wear, making it awfully difficult to start the day’s run knowing that you’re already sore, tired, and blistered. Having performed quite well in numerous regular ultras and wanting to meet a challenge greater than I had faced before, I decided that I would try a stage ultra. I wanted to make it one of my own doing and came up with the idea of running across Illinois.

I determined the best path would be west to east across the wide part of the state from Hannibal, Missouri, back home to Danville on the Indiana border, which

Danville

A The author’s Illinois route—wide part of the state, west to east.

is approximately 240 miles. A reasonable distance to cover in a day is 40 miles, so I worked out a route where I would have a hotel every evening. Six days is a big time commitment for anyone to come along as a support person in a chase vehicle, so I opted to make it even more challenging by running unsupported— just me and the road and a jogging stroller loaded with drinks, shoes, clothes, and high-calorie food to consume while burning over 6,000 calories a day.

I tapped into a Google map of the route with waypoints added to stay off the interstate highways and indicators of where I would be finishing each day.

Day 1: Hannibal to Pittsfield, Sunday, 4 Oct 09, 36.4 miles, the “gimme”

The first day of a stage race is often referred to as a gimme: legs are fresh, body is fueled, so this is definitely the easiest day. So how come it was so tough for me today?

Ihad some pretty good runs and races back through the spring and summer, but as my Trans-IIlinois run approached, my training definitely wasn’t optimized. About six or seven weeks ago, I fell hard while running the Forest Glen trail and bruised my tailbone. It was difficult to walk for a few days, and I sat on a pillow doughnut for two weeks before slowly getting back into running (with some initial pain) about a month ago. I was able to ramp up distance pretty quickly and had a great 31-mile training run with the stroller two weeks ago—an average running pace of 8:15 a mile, with total time to cover the distance (including a 20-minute rest stop for lunch) well under five hours. Then I got an upper-respiratory infection that laid me low with a stuffy head, running sinuses, and ultimately chest congestion and a hacking cough. I never did run a fever, though, so I don’t think it was swine flu! Anyway, my taper for the last two weeks was an extremely steep one

© Kevin Stroud

<4 Tom, Huck, and the author

at the start of the journey from Hannibal, Missouri, to Danville,

Illinois.

and, while I feel a lot better, the chest congestion hasn’t completely let go.

Rarely is run preparation ever perfect! So feeling very nearly recovered and wanting to begin somewhere picture worthy, I started at the bronze Tom and Huck statue in Hannibal at 8:40 a.m. on Sunday, October 4.

As you can see from the accompanying photo, the stroller is pretty well loaded (over 50 pounds of clothes and gear, including a laptop), and I’ve already figured out that I’ve overpacked.

Thit the Missouri/Ilinois state line about 1.75 miles into my run and paused for a quick pic in the middle of the bridge by the “Mile 0” sign.

One thing I’m sure my regular running friends are noticing is that I’m wearing a shirt in the pictures. I took it off right after the start pics were done and then ran shirtless the rest of the day in beautiful weather with a high in the low 60s, ending up a little sunburned even though the sun now rises fairly low in the sky.

Something I noticed as I was running was that many of the roads I was crossing were listed with ever-increasing street numbers. Today I passed 335th St and was in the middle of nowhere. It’s obviously 335 blocks from somewhere, but I don’t know where they count the streets from. It couldn’t be Hannibal, since that town is in Missouri, and there is no large city right across the river from it, so this remains a mystery to me.

Two other things I didn’t realize were that the terrain is relatively hilly in western Illinois between the Mississippi and Illinois rivers and that running away from a major river system today, my journey would be a net climb.

What turned out to be more than 3,100 feet of net elevation gain, plus my overtapering, made the pace slower than I expected with a total distance, according to my nifty Garmin 310XT wristwatch GPS, of 36.4 miles in a time of 6:51:58 (including a lunch break in Barry, Illinois). Yes, that’s a pace of a little over 11 minutes a mile, but I was consciously running conservatively. Tomorrow, the stage run really begins!

Day 2: Pittsfield to Jacksonville, Monday, 5 Oct 09, 34.2 miles, finding my rhythm

Today was the expected learning experience on stage running—not necessarily tougher than other ultra runs but definitely different. As described above, regular ultramarathons are run on fresh legs and finished in a single shot, while a stage run starts on tired legs. Today I also learned that it’s a whole different mental approach.

In a regular ultra race, you’re running through the woods and focused on the few feet of trail right in front of you to choose your footing among the rocks and roots. While often tedious, it keeps you mentally engaged with the moment. But here in the plains it’s just miles and miles of road, often stretching to a very distant horizon.

Additionally, most runners (including me) mentally divide an ultra race into small pieces such as: How far to the next aid station? Then you do some quick math of your pace and the distance and you know that in, say, 90 minutes you’ ll

@ g °

A A long way from downtown “somewhere”

see friendly faces and get fresh food and drink. In this run, though, it’s just me and the distance for the day and no way to mentally divide that distance into bite-size pieces. So instead of being able to run a handful of miles and then get a boost of accomplishment, I have the entire distance for the day in my head the entire time.

Having said all that, the run today went fairly well. My overall pace was less than a minute per mile slower (including breaks), finishing 34.2 miles in 6:54:02. Normally I won’t be uncomfortable until well past the 20-mile mark, but today’s tired legs put me in the uncomfortable mode at the first step, so I’m happy with the pace I’m accomplishing.

Not a lot of pictures today, but I did cross 475th street, which is evidently a toll road, and it has a classic midwestern background!

Lalso crossed the Illinois River today about 10 miles into the run after a steep two-mile descent that included a warning sign for trucks to test their brakes. One thing long-distance runners agree on is that steep downhills can be tougher on your legs than steep uphills, as they tire out your quadriceps (the Boston Marathon course being a classic example). I just missed getting a picture of the drawbridge when it was up. It came back down before I was close enough to get the shot.

Right after the bridge was an asphalt-manufacturing plant, so for miles in both directions I was passed by dozens of wide trucks making deliveries as I tried to hug the side of the shoulderless road. The buffeting of the wind from their passing was magnified by having the stroller to push, and it caught the wind like a sail.

At about the 19-mile mark, I went very near the town of Winchester and then a couple of miles later crossed Interstate 72. I was hoping that at least one of these would have a gas station or Kwik-E Mart, but no such luck. I would have appreciated an oasis in the desert for an Icee or Slurpee but instead had to settle for a picnic table at a roadside pull-off and a warm drink from my cooler of nearly melted ice.

I arrived at the hotel in Jacksonville about 3:00 p.M., and the location was excellent, with lots of businesses nearby. I ate a huge dinner (appetizer of spinachartichoke dip, then steak, baked potato, and broccoli) at Applebee’s and then was able to resupply at the Shell station Kwik-E Mart right across the street.

Hitting the sack early. My legs feel better tonight than last night, a good sign considering I’m now one-third of the way done.

Day 3: Jacksonville to Grandview/Springfield, Tuesday, 6 Oct 09, 39.4 miles

You know that you’re in for a tough day when you look out of the motel window and see a storm waiting for you. Actually, the worst of the rain had passed by the time I hit the road at 8:15 a.., but I did run in sprinkles for the first 10 miles. The

rain wasn’t bad and was never squishing in my shoes, but vehicles passing by that sprayed me with water were no fun.

Running any significant distance is always a continual negotiation between the mind and the body. Even for distances as short as 5K, the mind is saying “faster, faster, pick up the pace,” while the body is doing its best to ration the energy so you don’t run out before the distance is covered.

Even experienced runners, who know how much energy they have to burn in the distance before them, fight this fight. Especially when the distance to be run is as long as it is here and the running lasts for days, it’s really tough to fight the mind/body battle.

I continually scan the horizon for a glimpse of a water tower to indicate civilization and the chance of chocolate milk or an Icee but never find one today.

My Garmin continually tracks my distance and pace, and I don’t know how I would survive this challenge without it. Every quarter mile is a goal, and every mile is a reason for celebration.

I went past an interesting sign, interesting to me because the Kickapoo and Potawatomi tribes were both native to the Danville area, but I never found the historical marker the sign referenced. I also had to chuckle at running the Trail of Death, as my spirits were so low at that point.

I got a pick-me-up while running into Springfield at about mile 35 today. I can count on one hand the number of people I’m on a first-name basis with in Springfield so was very surprised to get a shout-out from a passing vehicle, which turned out to be Bob Borcherding, Finance Director of the United Way of Central

HISTORICAL

MARKER AHEAD ONE

TN aN

© Kevin Stroud

A Running the “Trail of Death” on day 3.

A The Illinois Capitol Dome, covered in zinc to resemble silver.

Illinois and a client of NexLAN, where I work. I didn’t have long to chat but appreciated the handshake and positive affirmations! Shortly after that, my path took me right by the state capitol, and by that time the sun was out.

A few miles later, I realized I was running on the original Route 66 and passed a landmark that let me know that I was following in the footsteps of a running acquaintance of mine, Phil Rosenstein, who completed his Trans-America solo run in the spring of 2009. Phil ran Route 66 from California to Chicago and then continued on to New Jersey.

The miles are catching up with me. Today was the longest distance yet and, with a time of 7:39:42 for the 39.4 miles, almost 30 seconds per mile faster than yesterday—not really a smart move at this point, but I so wanted to be done!

Day 4: Grandview/Springfield to Clinton, Wednesday, 7 Oct 09, 41.7 miles

I’ve given up on holding a particular pace. It’s all about survival now. I know it may sound silly to be worried about minutes per mile in something like this, but as a locally competitive runner I’ve always kept a close eye on my pace, even when training. It’s disheartening to know that, even though at the age of 44 I can crack out a mile under 5:30 or a 5K right at 18 minutes, I’m averaging something that looks like a pace from The Biggest Loser (my favorite TV show!). What a blow to the ego!

© Kevin Stroud

I’m breaking down now, though, in ways that I didn’t expect. Of course, that’s because I was prepared for the ways that I expected to break down—nutrition is good, chafing is minimal, no blisters, regular stretching for Achilles tendons and iliotibial bands, and so forth.

But I’m suffering terribly from what I call “stroller elbow,” which is like tennis elbow and is mostly sore triceps from using my right arm to constantly push and align the stroller and its 50 pounds of cargo. On a straight road with no traffic nearby, I push the stroller ahead of me and then run as much as a dozen paces to it before having to push it again. I like doing that because when I hold on to the stroller my stride is somewhat shortened, but it’s like doing thousands of mini-bench presses a day.

My upper stomach and abdomen muscles are sore from the same action. Normally I work out at a local gym three times a week, doing lots of core work and upper body (I run enough that I never do anything “below the waist” in the gym), but six weeks of my bruised tailbone and upper-respiratory infection knocked me out of the gym just prior to this run, so my triceps and abs could have been better prepared.

I’ve received a couple of e-mail inquiries asking about the black socks that I’m wearing, but those are actually toe socks (where each toe has its own little sock!) from a company named Injinji. They’re excellent for preventing blisters when ultrarunning, but I have a small callus on my left big toe. That made a blood blister yesterday that I lanced and then filled with super glue (another ultrarunning trick is to use the skin of the blister itself as the cover for it), so I had to deal with the discomfort of that today. At least it doesn’t look any worse.

lappreciated having a sunny day, but sunburn is really getting me down since I can’t keep sunscreen on when running for eight-plus hours and sweating the entire time. I’m wearing a shirt and doing my best to reapply sunscreen as necessary, but the sunburn is hitting unexpected areas: my calves, inside my right ear (since the sun is almost always on my right), and even high on my right thigh where my shorts expose skin that doesn’t normally see daylight.

The worst part of the breakdown, though, is the bones in my feet; they just ache. There are 1,760 yards in a mile, and a stride averages around one yard, so 40 miles of running in a day is more than 70,000 footfalls on blacktop or concrete, or about 280,000 in the four days I’ve been running so far. Sure, I’m alternating two pairs of very new shoes (so the cushioning in them is fresh), but I’m used to running on woodland trails that are a lot more forgiving.

I know I can’t keep up 40 miles a day forever; just two more days to go.

About 10 miles into today’s run I went through the very tiny hamlet of Buffalo Hart and saw a sign to the town of Buffalo, Illinois. I had to get a picture of the sign since that’s the name of the east-central Illinois ultrarunning club I run with—the Buffalos.

Sag Res

A This sign reminds the author of his fellow Buffalo ultrarunners.

I plotted my route using Google Maps, but I’m not familiar with the roads and towns I’m passing through, so it’s always a surprise as to what I’ll find over the horizon. I knew that at approximately the halfway point today I would be passing the outskirts of a fairly sizable town, Mount Pulaski, and I was really hoping I would be able to take a break there and get fresh drinks, ice, and snacks. I finally got to the intersection I thought would have a Kwik-E Mart but could see it about a mile off my route, and I nearly wept. I debated adding two miles to the run (a mile there, then a mile back). I know that two miles doesn’t seem like a lot, but when I’m already over 20 miles for the day, with another 20-plus to go, it’s not an easy decision. I opted to continue on and lie down under a shade tree. Beauty is where you find it.

Shortly thereafter, I learned the lesson of the day: It’s hard to keep chewing your beef jerky when you run by a pungent possum roadkill!

Someone actually stopped to check on me today. I was at about 35 miles and pushing the stroller up a large hill when a little old lady pulled over and asked me if I was OK. I told her that I was fine, just running across Illinois for fun, and would be stopping for the night in less than 10 miles. I must have looked pretty bad (haven’t shaved in days because of my sunburned face) because she then asked if I had money for food. I assured her that I wasn’t indigent, but I’m not sure she was convinced!

Today was the longest distance yet, 41.7 miles, in 8:47:11—nearly nine hours of running—but the day is done and only two to go. Feet don’t fail me now.

© Kevin Stroud

Day 5: Clinton to Champaign, Thursday, 8 Oct 09, 40.3 miles—mission scrubbed!

I always glance ahead at the weather forecast the evening before and knew it didn’t look good for today, but since I can’t do anything about it, I don’t pay too much attention until the morning.

This morning . . . it’s atrocious out there! I heard the storm start about 5:00 A.M. (yes, loud enough to wake me) and was hoping it would blow over by 8:00 A.M., when I normally start, but that’s not happening. It’s raining sideways: sheets of rain and constant winds of 15 to 20 mph, with frequent gusts to 40 mph.

This central-U.S. system is the talk of the day on The Weather Channel as it stretches all the way to Texas (they’re calling it a “storm train”), and there are flash-flood warnings all along its path as it slowly moves northeast, dumping inches of water as it goes. It’s not supposed to completely pass for 36 hours, which means these are the conditions expected tomorrow, too.

In the radar map, I drew a red line of my planned path today (Clinton to Champaign). While the trip might be easier pulling a boat than pushing a stroller, I’m close enough to home to know what’s on the route now, and there is nothing in between the two towns for shelter.

Idon’t mind running in the rain—it can be great fun, especially in the woods— but on a dark country road, where vehicles are traveling at 60-plus mph with their windshield wipers on, it doesn’t appeal to me.

Even worse, though, is that now the temps are in the upper 40s, and with the constant rain and slow pace, the danger of hypothermia is serious. My body-fat percentage is definitely on the lower half of the bell curve, so I regularly suffer from shakes in conditions like this.

If it were a matter of “the serum must get through,” then I would be gutting out the miles right now instead of typing this. But being completely on my own (which was the goal!) with no chase vehicle or other support for the 40-plus miles, the risk-reward curve of running in this weather has tipped the scales. Sadly, my legs actually feel great!

I definitely had fun and learned some things about stage running, and I hope that I entertained friends and family along the way. Thank you all, sincerely, for the numerous e-mails and calls of support—much appreciated—and more adventures to follow.

To quote J. R. R. Tolkien: “Not all those who wander are lost.”

Epilogue

I’ll often revisit an adventure a few weeks later (and it’s been three weeks now), when the events are still fresh enough in my mind to be clear but removed enough so I can get some perspective and see what I learned.

The storm train continued to bring rain nonstop for 36 hours after I decided to quit on the morning of October 8. The total precipitation was almost 4 inches in that time, with the mean temperature in the 40s, so I know I made the right choice, not having expected or prepared for such a cold and wet spell so early in the fall season. Lesson learned: When possible, prepare for events and conditions that are impossible. I had way too much regular gear and could have carried less of that and a full rain suit. Then the only obstacle would have been dodging vehicles, and I’m just probably dumb enough to have tried that if I weren’t also suffering from hypothermia at the same time!

There was a gathering of the Buffalo on Thursday, October 8, with nearly 20 head of the herd in attendance, appreciating the distance covered and commiserating with me over having to stop. A few had run stage races and could relate to the challenges, and those made for the most interesting conversations over pizza that evening. Lesson learned: Especially when an adventure doesn’t turn out as planned, it’s great to be able to wind down with people who have been there and done that. This is the first time I had ever failed to finish a race I had started (if you can call this a race), so it was especially disappointing. There are quite a few more experienced Buffalo that I look up to who can’t say that, so I knew it was just a matter of time before I too could claim a DNF. Having compatriots who could truly relate was a huge help, especially in light of comments such as, “Well, when it started raining on Forrest Gump, he just put on a poncho!””—which obviously came from a nonrunner.

I traveled quite a bit in October, so I didn’t just return to Clinton a few days later and run home from there since I thought it would be cheating with the long break since the first four legs of my run. I still dream of doing the trip in six consecutive days. I had a great time, my legs were in great shape, and I learned a lot in my first stage run. Hopefully, the lesson learned is, you don’t have to

succeed the first time. OE