My Most Unforgettable Ultramarathon …

And What | Learned From It

By RICH HANNA

In the early miles of the World Challenge 100K in Japan, Rich Hanna (number 162) keeps stride with a French : runner (number 66) who % becomes his nemesis later in the race.

L AKE SAROMA, JAPAN, June 26, 1994—Ultramarathoners always try

to cram in some extra mileage, and Sunday, June 19, 1994, was no exception. Iembarked on some last-minute speedwork at Sacramento Metro Airport before catching my flight to Seattle. To the untrained eye, this “workout” may have looked like tardiness. Nonetheless, my 10-minute tempo run honed my edge and assured my place on the plane.

With four months of anticipation and preparation behind me—along with prospecting for sponsorship, putting on fund-raising races, and selling T-shirts—I headed to Lake Saroma, Japan, as a member of my first U.S. National Ultra Team competing in the World Challenge 100K.

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After the team rendezvoused in Seattle, we began our ultramarathon flight across the Pacific. Two hours into our voyage, the airline subjected us to backto-back torture sessions—Sister Act II and Free Willy. I decided to skip the movies and, instead, I reflected for a while on how I came to be travelling for 24 hours only to run 62.2 miles.

MY ULTRA WHIM

Five months earlier, Sacramento’s Buffalo Chips Running Club member Lee Rhoades had invited me to participate in the upcoming Jedediah Smith 100K, which doubled as the 1994 National 100K championship. Whether it was the complimentary entry or the fact that I was on an extended high from a 2:17 marathon PR the previous month, I accepted the invitation, with the disclaimer that dropping out was a very real possibility.

After a few confidence-building runs in 35-mile territory, I shared the starting line with some of the big names in U.S. ultra circles (none of whom I knew except my friend and occasional running partner, Tom Johnson). Six hours and 47 minutes later, I had won the race and an automatic berth on the U.S. 100K team headed for Japan four months later.

Despite my surprising first-time success, I still didn’t consider myself an ultramarathoner. [had become the U.S. National 100K champion essentially on a whim. I was what one might call The Reluctant Ultrarunner.

Zeroing in on Japan

While the June 100K World Challenge became my focus, I continued with plans for other races. After three weeks of easy running following the 100K National Championships, I resumed my normal marathon training in preparation for the Big Sur International Marathon in late April. In between, I ran the Cool Canyon Crawl 50K as a brisk training run and a few shorter races here and there. My typical marathon training consisted of a long run on Sunday (20 to 26 miles), intervals or speedwork on Tuesday, and hill repeats or a tempo run on Thursday. With recovery runs on the other days, my weekly mileage averaged 90 to 105 miles. Every fourth week I skipped my thrice-a~-week morning runs to give my body a little extra rest.

After a 3:30 victory at Cool Canyon and a 2:27 fourth-place finish on the hilly Big Sur course, the 100K World Challenge finally acquired my full attention. I reserved May for long, slow distance training to accustom my legs to heavy doses of sustained effort. However, the toll that Big Sur’s scenic Pacific Coast Highway had on my body forced my mileage down to around 80 miles per week. With only one run in May over 30 miles, I could only hope that early June would prove a better training ground.

Still in need of one workout that would signal “I’m back!” I turned to one of my favorite marathon prep workouts the first Sunday in June: a morning run of 20 miles at 6:15 per mile (one minute per mile slower than marathon goal pace), then later that afternoon, an 8-mile tempo run at 5:30 per mile (15 seconds per mile slower than marathon goal pace). Designed to counter the unpleasant effects of the late miles in a marathon, this workout has always been a great fitness indicator for me. I altered the workout for the 100K by running 25 miles at 6:45 per mile (30 seconds per mile over goal pace) and upped the afternoon tempo to 10 miles at 5:45 per mile. The workout was a great success and boosted my confidence; however, it was seared two weeks later at 14,000 feet in the Colorado Rockies.

What Was | Thinking?

In April, I agreed to participate in a high-altitude race in mid June conducted by Peak Performance Project—a group of Italian researchers, medical doctors, and psychologists trying to test the limits of human endurance on some of the highest mountains in the world. Looking at my participation as a free trip to chic Aspen and a chance for a good last long run before Japan, I was violently snapped out of my foolish motives. Ice scorched my right leg from my ankle to my butt as I slid out of control down a snow face during the descent of the 14,000-foot Castle Peak. Only two weeks before the 100K World Challenge and my confidence tumbled down the mountain in an avalanche.

OF RICE BAGS, PARK GOLF, AND JAPANESE TRADE

Willy was almost free now as my attention turned to the week-old scabs on my side that forced me to stand for almost half the flight. The thought of seven more hours on the plane made my leg throb and my mind go numb.

Almost as distressing was the thought of catching another plane in Tokyo, boarding a train, and then entering a taxi for the final leg of our trip to our hotel in Sapporo. From Seattle, we took 20 hours, 45 minutes, and 36 seconds to reach our first finish line—a room the size of an average kitchen with two hard beds and pillows that felt like bags of rice. We stayed in Sapporo, Japan’s fourth-largest city, for three days before taking a 5-hour bus ride to the athlete’s village at Lake Saroma in northern Hokkaido. Apparently a retreat facility, the village contained a cafeteria, an indoor basketball court, dorm-style bedrooms, common shower and bathroom areas, classrooms, and park golf equipment (which I’ explain shortly).

Respecting Japanese culture, we all left our shoes in the front entrance area and scuttled around in slippers throughout the complex. The slippers were

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one-size-fits-all: size 5. Designed for volume sleeping, each bedroom slept eight or more in bunk-type beds with another rice bag for your head.

In tribute to the French team down the hall, my roommates and I reauchambeaw’ d (our French word for the game paper, scissors, rock) for bunk choice. No one had a sleeping preference prior to the race, but after it, climbing to the upper bunks was going to be extremely uncomfortable. Of course, I lost and wound up on the top bunk.

On Friday, June 24, two days before the big event, the team decided which handler would be responsible for which runner. After the meeting, the team changed into presentation warm-up suits for team pictures prior to the bus ride to Yubetsu—the site of the opening ceremony and the start of Sunday’s race.

The three sponsoring towns of Yubetsu, Saroma, and Tokoro created an Olympic atmosphere with the opening ceremony. Athletes from 25 countries marched behind their nation’s flag in the half-mile parade, which also featured marching bands. Speeches from local dignitaries, a food and beer fest, and Japanese music and dance all followed. After gorging on squid-on-a-stick floating in beer, some athletes, caught up in the moment, pined to perform the traditional Japanese line dance.

One hundred uncoordinated foreign ultrarunners trying to dance was great comedic entertainment for scores of local youngsters. The locals mimicked our smiles and practiced their English skills: “Haro” (translated as ““Hello”) and “One and a two and a three.” Obviously, Lawrence Welk existed somewhere on this island. After losing all dignity, the athletes returned to the village for that all-important good sleep the night before the night before the race.

CANUSA Park Golf Challenge

Saturday offered the first opportunity to relax and do your own thing around the complex. My fellow Americans and I escaped the mounting tension by playing Park Golf. Rarely seen (if at all) on U.S. soil, Park Golf is a mix of miniature golf and croquet and is played around the perimeter of the athlete’s village, which has landscaping similar to what you would find surrounding your mountain cabin (and we all have one of those). We considered the game a perfect opportunity to gain an early psychological edge on one of our competitors so we challenged the Canadian men’s team to a match, setting the stage for the first ever CANUSA (pronounced Kan-OO-sa) Park Golf Challenge.

I’m pleased to report a U.S. victory, although results were unofficial due to a protest filed by the Canadians. Some countries prepare for an ultra event of this caliber with cloistered meetings to coordinate detailed race strategies. North Americans play Park Golf. Meanwhile, the rest of the village teemed

U.S. and Canadian teams relieve prerace tension by competing in the first-ever CANUSA Park Golf Challenge.

with local media interviewing runners and photographing meetings of the international teams. Even the CANUSA challenge received some media exposure.

Final Plans

Carbo loading with pasta the day before long races appears to be popular in all comers of the planet. Following the spaghetti lunch, the American team gathered for a final “plan of attack” meeting. The faces of the runners showed that serious psychological preparation had begun. The team managers informed us that crew members would only be allowed to assist runners at three locations on the course: 30K, 65K, and 80K. Aid stations would be situated every 5K, but “custom” bottles would only be allowed every 10K.

Shortly after the meeting, my room transformed into a Cytomax/Metabolol bottling factory, as Tom Johnson, Brian Purcell, and I readied our solutions. We were somber and tense. This was the locker room before the big game, and it was off-limits to everyone.

Asevening approached, the athlete’s village buzzed with runners and coaches moving quickly in and out of bedrooms and hallways. Tom and I talked more strategy with our handlers. We demonstrated how to pour bottles of Advil into our mouths during the race without forcing us to break stride. Strategy talk soon gave way to lighter topics, such as what time after the race we would meet Canada for Round 2 of the CANUSA Park Golf Challenge.

Trademania

With the 8:00 p.. “lights out” order for the team drawing near, several of us sensed a unique opportunity. Not sure when we would again be surrounded by so many people from so many other countries, we hurled ourselves into feverish trading: Shirts, hats, postcards, key chains, pins, jackets, ties, scarfs, PowerBars, soap, pictures of the wife and kids (or sometimes just the wife)—you name it, it all changed hands. Mike Knezovich, one of our handlers, appeared to be the instigator of the frenzy. Opening the village’s first black market, Mike could get almost anything you wanted and for the right price. At one point, he coordinated a five-way trade with South Africa, New Zealand, and Poland

team members. One German run- their room into a “Metabolol Factory,” ner almost traded away his racing —_ as they prepare their aid station bottles flats for Mike’s 1992 Bay-to-Break- for the race.

ers T-shirt. Trademania closed with the passing of 8:00 p.m.

Now, there was nothing to do but lie awake in bed and worry about blisters, . stomach problems, leg cramps, and DNFs. My goal of a top 10 and/or 6:35 finish seemed a bit remote, especially since I was still banged up from my Aspen folly or, in my case, fally.

Hanna and teammate Tom Johnson turn

TAIKO DRUMS AND A BARKING GUN

Leaving the athlete’s village at 3:00 a.m., buses transported the athletes to the start in Yubetsu—45 minutes away. Whether it was the lack of sleep or the prospect of running 62 miles, the athletes’ demeanor had changed significantly. Every competitor wore his anxiety, which replaced the previous days’ feelings of easy-going, international brotherhood. Buses carrying the approximately 300 international runners arrived at the starting area amid 2,500 Japanese competitors and many more spectators.

Yes, ultrarunning is so popular in Japan that the Lake Saroma 100K, one of more than thirty 100K races held annually in Japan, attracts more runners than the United States draws to all of its 100K races over a three-year period. And if you think entry fees for U.S. races are ridiculously expensive, it may cheer you up to learn that the entry fee for the Lake Saroma race was 14,000 yen— $140.

With the dull pounding of a Taiko drum (perhaps symbolic of impending doom for many) in the background, the competitors were called to the start line. Call me a neophyte, but the sight of some competitors actually running strides to warm up was almost too much to take.

Each country, from Australia to the United States, occupied a narrow segment of the start line, while the 2,500 Japanese runners gathered behind. As I gazed across the line, it was obvious to me that, although we might not win the competition, we were definitely the best-dressed team. I realized then for the first time that we were wearing the same uniform sprinter Michael Johnson wore (although I chose the traditional shorts over the spandex) in the past year’s World Cup. Silly as it may sound, this was a very pleasant and comforting thought only seconds before the start. The gun barked, and we were off, cheered by the local townspeople (most of whom chanted “Gun Batte,” a Japanese catch-all term for “Go for it!” or “Good luck!””).

We negotiated three quick turns in the first 1K and then headed out to the countryside. I was forewarned that some of the European runners brought a new meaning to the phrase “run the tangents,” and it didn’t take long to see that in action. About two minutes into the race, former world champion Jean Paul Pratt of Belgium, along with a French runner, wasted little time cutting me off entering the second turn. They darted across the neatly manicured lawn of a Buddhist temple, successfully knocking two seconds from their overall time. Fortunately for us honest runners, the course included only a few more turns over the remaining 99K.

THE COURSE

The Lake Saroma course traces the north shore of Hokkaido, Japan’s northernmost island, essentially circumnavigating the Lake—actually it’s anearly landlocked inlet of the Pacific Ocean—including long out-and-back stretches on the two peninsulas between the inlet and the open ocean.

Ultra-legend Helen Klein provided the U.S. team with a video tape of the 1988 race. After viewing the tape, we agreed that the course ran through unattractive open fields with warm temperatures, plenty of long straightaways, and heavy winds. In actuality, the course exceeded our expectations. The flat first

Rich Hanna MY MOST UNFORGETTABLE ULTRAMARATHON @™ 85

30K included one out-and-back section of about SK each way, which provided an excellent chance to see the rabbits, the lead pack, and the rest of the field. From 40 to 65K, the course climbed several long, moderate grades. The last 35K were mostly flat with some short, rolling hills between 82 and 96K. A second out-and-back stretch from 80 to 98K could prove to be psychologically demoralizing, since at 80K the course passed within 2K of the finish.

THE RACE

It was evident that the pace would be fast, as the lead vehicles, camera crews, and helicopter slowly pulled away from my pack of runners. My strategy was simple: Run my own race. The longer the race, the more important even pacing becomes. No matter what was going on around me, I was set on running 6:20 to 6:25 per mile the entire race. In hindsight, that may have been overly optimistic since, in such a long race, slowing near the end is almost always a given. However, in my only other attempt at 100K, I ran very conservatively and finished feeling relatively fresh. Maybe that first race was beginner’s luck. If it was, I would soon find out.

At 15K, a pair of rabbits (Japanese unknowns trying to make names for themselves) led the large pack, which contained the 1992-1993 world champion Konstantin Santolov and about 30 wannabes. I cruised along in the second chase pack, joined by teammates Tom Johnson, Bryan Hacker, and Clement Grum, and about 12 other runners, nearly two minutes back. Our pack remained intact as our crew members greeted us for the first time at the 30K mark. I depended on my crew mostly for encouragement since nearly all of my “aid” lay on the tables situated at each 10K mark. I relied on Cytomax and water in the early going before adding some Metabolol after the halfway point and defizzed Coke near the end. I also downed one GU packet every 10K, starting at the 20K mark.

Like most good ultra events, the race’s aid stations contained a plethora of goodies—only ofa different variety than I was accustomed. Instead of Gatorade, cookies, M&M candies, and bananas, these aid stations contained such wellknown energy boosters as Japanese electrolyte drink (Pocari Sweat), pickled umi (don’t ask), rice cakes, and bean jam buns. Huge tureens filled with water were also rather novel. While leaning over the edge of the tureen runners could use large ladles to pour water over their heads and take a few big gulps. This system brought recycling to new heights. I stuck with the water on the tables.

By SOK, our patience began to pay off, as the hills took their toll on some of the early front-runners. Our pack also felt the hills, and it dwindled to four: Tom, a Canadian, a German, and me. We passed the 50K mark in 3:14, cutting our position from 45th at 30K to 25th. We received word from a press vehicle

that prerace favorites and former world champions Santolov of Russian and Valmir Nunes of Brazil had both dropped out at 60K.

THINKING TEAM STANDINGS

By 65K, only Tom and I remained together as we continued to move through the field while running through the luscious, rural Japanese landscape. Bryan Hacker remained the third American, only two minutes back. His position was critical because the times of the fastest three runners on each team were combined to determine team standings.

As I continued to pass slowing runners, word filtered back that a couple of South African runners dismantled the lead pack by throwing in several surges between 35 and 40K. And I thought strides before the race seemed ridiculous.

Now in 18th place, I approached the 70K mark as the course neared the familiar area around the athlete’s village. In almost every race of any distance, there comes a critical point where a runner has to make a decision: pick up the pace or maintain the one you’re running. In shorter, more familiar distances, the decision is easy. Patience is less a factor. Now with each runner I passed, my strength seemed to double, despite my desperate efforts to remain cautious and under control.

Finally, I could take no more. The shorter distance runner in me wanted out. After evaluating my pace and position, I felt certain that I could not only hold my current pace and pick off more runners, but also increase my speed and place even higher. I didn’t come all this way to leave anything in my tank. My decision made, I left Tom’s company and ran alone for the first time in the race.

On My Own

In the next 10K I jaunted easily and confidently past seven runners, all incapable of any response. With 50 miles down, much of the field had hit the wall, and others were quickly approaching it. This stage in the 100K is similar to the 20-mile mark in a marathon. The prospect of seeing the leaders and other U.S. team members was perhaps the only redeeming aspect of the upcoming outand-back 18K.

Although I passed 50 miles in a respectable 5:14, the pickled umi was actually starting to sound tasty—not a good sign! Almost instantly my pace ballooned from consistent 6:20 miles to 7:45 miles. I could only hope that this was just a bad patch and that with something to eat at the next aid station, I would still crack the top 10. I had a bit of insurance time left to reach my other goal of a 6:35 finish time. I had reached as high as 10th place, but now I was in serious trouble.

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My greedy decision at 70K had backfired. No longer the pursuer, I was the pursued. After completing my first marathon as a wispy 13 year old, I earned the nickname Bambi from my older running buddies. Now I truly felt like Bambi, caught in the hunter’s crosshairs, fire surrounding me.

I drank a bottle of defizzed Coke at 56 miles. A swig of Coke and a couple of Oreo cookies had worked wonders for me late in the U.S. 100K Championship, so I pinned my hopes for a revival on this.

INTERNAL, EXTERNAL BATTLES

As I struggled to maintain my inner composure, I became embroiled in an external battle with the same Frenchman who had cut across the temple lawn 6 % hours earlier. Gaunt and with head protruding forward, he didn’t seem in much better shape than I did.

Finally, we came upon the badly needed aid station. The Frenchman had trouble finding his bottle; in disgust, he knocked over half a table of other runners’ personal bottles. Fortunately, I found my bottle on aneighboring table. After gulping some Coke, I realized that this competition had suddenly become arace within a race within a race. Within the context of a larger race, distance runners of all speeds and abilities often find themselves in multi-textured struggles—the personal fight against fatigue and flagging spirits, the desire to reach personal goals, the battle with other competitors. If bad karma didn’t get the Frenchman first, I would. On behalf of every honest runner, I vowed to beat this unsportsman.

While I was waiting for the sugar to kick in, Tom strode past me and the Frenchman. Mustering my remaining drops of energy, I yelled encouraging words, along with a sarcastic comment regarding the “beauty” of that portion of the course, which one of the team managers had mentioned was the most breathtaking stretch. I could have been running along the French Riviera, and it wouldn’t have made a difference. At that point I only wanted to view one thing: the finish line, with me on top of it.

Despite my distress, I resolved my melting will to win as many “races” as I could. I moved ahead of the Frenchman, but I could force my body to run no faster than 7:45 per mile. Evidently the Oreos were the secret because the Coke did little to pep me up. I finally reached the end of the out-and-back-from-hell and had 2K remaining. Still ahead of the Frenchman, I realized that although I had severely slowed over the past several miles, I had dropped only two places. As I consoled myself with that thought, my French nemesis surged past me as we approached the finish line.

My stiffening body had no response. As I rounded the last turn with 100 meters remaining, my quads pounded in rhythm with the Taiko drums welcoming us to the finish—landscaped with hundreds of Tokoro locals, many of whom were schoolchildren in uniforms cheering wildly and waving flags for anyone with a bib number or a camera. Edged out by the Frenchman, I finished in 13th place in 6:45.

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THE AFTERMATH

While enjoying an unforgettable 45-minute shiatsu leg massage by three Japanese teenagers, I reflected on the nearly 7-hour race that only an hour ago had seemed never ending. I hadn’t reached my goal time or my goal place, nor had I won my late-race battle with the Frenchman. The race was surely not my best performance, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. I had won my internal race. I fought a rebelling metabolism, and in the end, I survived. I was proud of my performance and contribution to the team (with Tom finishing in ninth in 6:41 and Bryan Hacker hanging in for 19th in 6:55, our team finished in third place, best ever for an American team).

Icould go to sleep that night knowing I had done the best I could and dream of better efforts down the road—that is, if I could make it to the top bunk. Leave it to the French to invent such a silly game as eB. reauchambeau.

What I Learned…

AVC D SECOND MARATHON: SYNDROME ~ Be careful not to fall into what Ical the ” ‘second marathon syndrome.” Fi

Edged out by his French nemesis, Hanna finishes in 13th place.

time marat! ers and. ultramarathoners. are generally cautious and wel E most overly S| of the distance. After conquering the

contin ued

Rich Hanna MY MOST UNFORGETTABLE ULTRAMARATHON & 89

distance once, we can lose some of that respect and become a little overconfident, which can lead to several potential problems—going out too fast, inadequately fueling or hydrating yourself, not focusing your training on the race, and/or not preparing psychologically for the pain involved. | know several runners, including myself, who consider (after the fact) their second marathon or ultra experience their most difficult.

ENJOY THE ENTIRE EXPERIENCE

Be sure to enjoy the entire experience surrounding a big race, including the long training road to the start line, the city or area in which the race is held, and the camaraderie of your fellow competitors. Don’t place too much importance on setting PRs at each race. Many runners often find the race itself anticlimactic compared to the effort it took to get there. You, too, may find that your most memorable races are not necessarily your fastest.

PRIORITIZE YOUR RACES

Prioritize your races, especially your longer ones. If you are pointing at a particular race, don’t lose sight of that main goal by running several other races leading up to the big one. Go ahead and use long “races” as training runs—as long as you actually run them as such. Wear a heart rate monitor and force yourself to keep your heart rate under your target rate (say 70 to 75 percent of your maximum). If you’re a runner who cannot help but get caught up in all of the excitement surrounding a race, then stick to your normal training routine.

ENJOY BEING PART OF THE TEAM

One of running’s greatest attributes is its individual nature. However, sometimes being part of a team is extremely satisfying. Many of us started running as youngsters and have tasted team competition from grade school through college. My experience in Japan pleasantly reminded me of this aspect of running. No matter what your level, every once in a while make it a point to run as part of a team.

DON’T BE AFRAID OF PICKLED UMIS

If you find yourself in a foreign race, don’t pass up the pickled umis of the world. Who knows, you may discover the next great in-race fuel! Seriously, while you generally don’t want to eat or drink anything in a long race that you haven’t already tried in training, in ultramarathons, you need calories. So if your choice is pickled umi or nothing, don’t forgo the unusual source of energy and find yourself depleted toward the end of the race —R.H.