My Most Unforgettable Ultramarathon

(And What | Learned From It)

“Once in a while you find yourself in an odd situation. You get into it by degrees and in the most natural way but, when you are right in the midst of it, you are suddenly astonished and ask yourself how in the world it all came about.” Thor Heyerdahl, Kon-Tiki

around noon, after having run continuously for six hours and a bit more than

30 miles, I found myself atop a ridge in the middle of Kansas, the highest point on the Heartland 100-Mile race course. It was pouring rain and hailing, and lightning was striking the ground all around me. The thunder was deafening. The winds were almost knocking me off my feet, and I still had 70 more miles to run to complete this race! I thought of the quote by Thor Heyerdahl as I too wondered how I ever came to be here attempting sucha feat. You really do get into these things in the smallest of degrees, and it all seems rational and normal until

(sont KANSAS, October 13-14, 2007—On Saturday, October 13, at

something makes you wonder when you lost your sanity.

Iran my first 100-mile race in April 2006 at the Umstead 100Mile Endurance Run. It was a perfect day. I ran well, felt great, had a good time, and enjoyed

The author just after completing
the Umstead 100 in April 2006.

Nancy Wile

every minute of the race. This is not how the typical ultrarunner feels after running 100 miles. It never seemed real, and to this day it still seems like a dream or a fluke. I was never convinced that what I had done was possible for me to do again. I felt that it was a one-time oddity that just happened and that I somehow just got lucky.

I continued to train over the months and in the winter decided that I would attempt to run the Umstead 100 again in April 2007. As I continued to build my training miles, injuries started to occur until a stress fracture stopped me from running for two months. I was almost convinced that I was in fact just lucky to run 100 miles once and that it probably was not possible for me to do again. But as I started running again, I needed a goal, and the nagging thought of attempting another 100-mile race was still in the back of my mind. So at the beginning of July, I decided that I would attempt running the Heartland 100-Mile Run in October in Kansas. I sent in my entry form and set up a training plan. I had enough time to train properly if I did not get injured again.

A last long run, and then disaster

Over the next three months, I would do a 10- to 14-mile run each evening and a longer run on one of the weekend days. Each weekend my long run would get longer. Eventually, I was going out for 30- to 40-mile runs most Saturdays. As September approached, I was feeling great, and with two weeks to go before the race, I made a spur-of-the-moment decision to run the Vermont 50-Mile Endurance Race. The course was very hilly as it wound up and over many hills in the beautiful Vermont countryside. I was running well and hoping to finish in less than 10 hours. With this overambitious goal, I pushed myself beyond my abilities. I finished in 10 hours, 3 minutes but suffered a plantar fasciitis injury. This injury can take months or longer to heal. I was panicked that I had ruined my chance of running Heartland in two weeks. For the next two weeks, I did no running at all. [massaged the foot and

<4 Two weeks before the Heartland 100, the author, shown here with (on left) Sherpa John Lacroix and Nick Palazzo, ran the Vermont 50Mile Endurance Run and suffered a plantar fasciitis injury.

leg muscles as instructed in hopes that I would be able to run part of the race. The foot hurt continually and was a constant reminder that I was going to have a tough time in Kansas. It became very unnerving, and it was all that I could think about. I was advised not to run the race because I could cause further damage to my foot, so I decided that I would have to find another race to run once I was healthy. I even went so far as to call the airline and started to cancel my reservation. I stopped in midconversation and said that I would call back in a bit.

I decided that I was at least going to attempt this run. I would go to Kansas and see how far I could make it. I could not stand the thought of another injury stopping me a second time from another 100-mile attempt. I came up with a motivational mantra: “Failure sucks!” I am not a big fan of failing. Unfortunately, failing is sometimes unavoidable. I conceded that I would probably not be able to complete the entire 100 miles but realized that if I did not at least attempt this tun, I was guaranteed to fail. So for the next week, whenever the foot hurt, I would repeat in my head, “Failure sucks!” Then I would stop and massage my foot.

The Heartland 100 is run across some of the last remaining tallgrass prairie in the country over a very hilly course. Yes, Kansas does have hills—and lots of them! The course is on gravel jeep roads over cattle farms. It starts at 6:00 A.M. in Cassoday, Kansas, and winds through spectacular open range for 50 miles; then you turn around and head back to Cassoday. A 50-mile race is run on the same course, so we would be sharing the course with the 50-mile runners for the first 25 miles, at which time they turned around and headed back. About 70 runners started the 100-mile race and about 50 started the 50-mile race. This race is a very low-key event, and support and aid are minimal but sufficient if you plan

A A curious spectator greeted several runners along the Ridgeline.

Gary Henry

carefully. There are seven manned aid stations along the course, and you pass through all except one twice. We therefore had access to an aid station about every eight to 10 miles.

Planning is everything

Runners can leave drop bags at the aid stations for extra running shoes, clothing, nutritional items, or whatever we think we may need at that point in the race. When planning my run, I would be attempting to complete the race in 24 hours. This is important because I needed to decide what items would go in each drop bag at each of the four aid stations that I decided to use. If my pace changed much, especially if it were slower than I had planned, I could end up at an aid station at the wrong time and not have the items I needed. For example, if I had my flashlights, which I needed for night running, in a drop bag that was eight miles away because I slowed down, this would be a major problem. Careful planning was critical if I was to have any chance for success.

arrived at the starting area at 5:30 a.m. on Saturday. I had my handheld water bottle with my Accelerade drink. On the side of the bottle, I had laminated a pace chart, so that I would know when I should be at each aid station if I was on schedule for my sub-24-hour run. This makes it easy, as no mathematical calculation is required on the run; anyone who has run a marathon or ultra knows that the longer into the event, the less you are able to do basic math. At a certain point in a long run, your body is using all of your energy to make the legs move, and the mind gets very slow and fuzzy. Even simple calculations seem impossible. So this was the simplest method to keep me on pace.

Since it was still dark, I was also carrying a handheld flashlight. The weather was cool so I wore an extra long-sleeve shirt that I could drop as the day warmed up. The weather forecast was for high temperatures in the low 80s. We were to expect a mix of sun and clouds with lows in the 60s at night. Based on midday temperatures in the 80s, I decided to change my strategy at the last minute. I would start out running faster during the cool morning hours and then slow down a bit in the afternoon when it got hot. I was eager to start as I looked up at the millions of brilliant stars above. As I stood there listening to the race director give us the instructions, my foot was throbbing. (“Failure sucks!’”)

At the sound of a clanging cowbell, the race started and we were off on our adventure. The course started on a paved road, and in a couple of hundred yards we took a left-hand turn onto a gravel road that would be our running surface for the entire race. The gravel was actually hard, sharp flint, and large chunks of it covered most of the road. When I took a closer look at it, I realized that flint was what many Indian arrowheads were made from. Now it made sense as to why it felt so hard and sharp.

Making accommodations to the course—and for my foot

Most runners attempt to run in one of the tire tracks, where the flint is somewhat less concentrated. I had quite a bit of pain in my foot each time I pushed off for the next stride. After some experimenting, I found that if I changed my stride to land and push off almost flat-footed, it didn’t hurt. If I could remember to continue to do this, I might be able to finish this run. (“Failure sucks!”) Each time I forgot to change my stride, I felt a sharp pain shoot all the way from my foot up to my lower back. This painful reminder helped me to change my stride most of the time.

I was rolling up and over many hills and making good time. As the sun rose, we were afforded some spectacular views of the prairies. From some of the ridge tops, it sometimes seemed as though you could see hundreds of miles away. The area is desolate. Except for the cattle that roam the range and the wild mustangs, there was no sign of any life out here. There were no houses and no people other than the runners and the race volunteers. Passing through the first aid station, I stopped only long enough to drop off my flashlight and grab a cup of water. The temperature continued to warm slowly. The course was running from the west toward the east.

As I looked to the north, I could see storm clouds and every now and then some lightning. It seemed that the breeze out of the south would keep the storm away from us. I was soon heading into the aid station at mile 25. This is one of the major aid stations; the 50-mile runners turn around here and head back to Cassoday. I realized that it would be getting even more desolate from here on because the 100-mile runners were starting to spread out along the course and the 50-mile runners were gone.

At the aid station, I got my drop bag. I drank a bottle of Ensure and took Accelerade with me in my handheld bottle. Just as I was about to leave the aid station, I realized that the course was taking a sharp left-hand turn directly into the storm! I had no rain jacket, and the

Along stretch of
the Heartland course,
with hard, sharp flint
covering the road.

©Ron Jansen

temperature was dropping very fast. I knew that if I got wet without a jacket, I would get hypothermic and be in serious trouble! I asked one of the volunteers for a trash bag that I could take so that I would be able to stay warm. Instead, the volunteer handed me a throwaway poncho folded up in a nice little case! A big “Thank you” and I was on my way heading up the ridge right into one nasty thunderstorm.

My foot was painful but bearable. Changing my stride caused many other aches and pains as my body attempted to adjust. No time to think about the pain because as I crested the ridge to the highest point on the course, running through an open range, the scariest storm I could ever imagine started to brew. At first, it was a fairly heavy rain, and the temperature dropped to the 40s. I threw on the poncho to conserve heat and energy. I was still soaked from the driving rain, but the poncho helped to keep me warm.

A storm to beat all storms

The wind started to howl, the thunder was cracking, and the hail started. There was so much thunder and lightning that I could not tell where it was all coming from. One bolt of lightning struck the ground a very short distance to my left. All the hair on my arms stood up. I could feel my skin tingle, and I could smell the

lightning strike in the air. I kept on running, knowing that my best odds for not getting hit were to get off the ridge as soon as possible. Unfortunately, this was a long ridge, and it would be four miles more before I would be out of this storm. Just after the lightning bolt hit the ground next to me, I wondered how I had ever gotten myself into this situation. “Failure sucks!” but it does not suck as much as getting struck by lightning would! Time to get moving!

It took about an hour before I made it to the next aid station at mile 31. The rain had picked up even more, but the thunder and lightning seemed to have passed for now. This aid station was on a knoll atop the ridge, and the winds were nearly blowing the large tent away. I headed inside for a cup of hot soup. I was beginning to feel very tired and took a rest for five minutes. I warmed up a bit, and the thought of heading back out into that storm was depressing, but I knew that I had to get going. It was six miles to the next aid station, and most of the running would be along this same ridge. After about a half hour, the storm started to break up, and almost instantly the bright sun was out.

Even though I knew it was going to warm up quickly, I was thrilled to have the sun to help dry out all of the wet clothes. Soon I was at the aid station at mile 37; I was really sore and feeling very tired. It would have been nice to sit and rest, but I felt that if I did, I might not get back up again. I also knew that I had left a drop bag at the next aid station with an extra pair of dry shoes and socks. Just knowing that they were there would help me get to that next aid station, which was only five miles, or about an hour, away. As I left the aid station, the course took another sharp turn toward the east and into a very strong headwind. The wind was probably 30 to 40 miles per hour. It made running difficult, but it also helped to keep me cool because the sun was pushing the temperature close to 80 degrees. So with the headwind and the heat, I slowed the pace as I had planned. I made sure to drink plenty of fluids because I knew that I could easily get dehydrated under these conditions without even knowing it.

For the last 75 miles of the race, I was running mostly alone because all the runners were so spread out. Every now and then, I would catch up to a runner at the aid stations, but it got very lonely out there running alone all day. There were plenty of wild mustangs and cattle roaming the range, and many times I would have to navigate carefully around the cattle as they crossed the road. This section of the course was very hilly with many long, rolling hills. The uphills always seem to be much longer than the downhills.

When I finally arrived at the next aid station, I grabbed my drop bag and changed into cozy warm and dry socks and shoes! It is amazing what a huge difference little things can make. By now, my entire body ached because of my new running stride, but I could not complain because I was still running, making great time, and wearing dry shoes! I took a drink of Ensure and a cup of soup broth, and I was on my way once again. I have learned that when I get to an aid

station, I check my watch and carefully monitor my time while I’m there. It would be very easy to spend 10 minutes or more at each aid station. This would eat up a lot of valuable time and could easily add an hour or two to my race time. Most of my stops were limited to three minutes, but I allowed myself eight minutes at this one to recover a bit before heading out once again.

The leaders come back toward me

The afternoon was a bit warm but very nice. The next six miles would be a long uphill grind into the headwind. Somewhere along this long hill, I started to see the lead runners who had already made it to the 50-mile turnaround and were heading back in the other direction. It was encouraging to know that in only a few miles I, too, would be at the halfway point. The only difference is that these guys still looked great and were running strong. They all assured me that I would enjoy the long downhill and the tail wind very soon!

At mile 47.5, the course turned down a very steep decline and spiraled around the hill. Soon I arrived at the Lone Tree aid station, which is the 50-mile point in the race. Although I was somewhat pleased to be at the halfway point, I was almost overwhelmed to think that I now had to run another 50 miles while feeling the way I was feeling. I was well ahead of oon Jansen my planned pace and arrived at the halfway point in 9 hours, 35 minutes. That was actually a rather fast 50-mile pace for me. I knew that I had gone out too fast but also realized that I now had 14 hours, 25 minutes to run the 50 miles back in order to run a sub 24-hour race. It almost sounded easy until I started back up the huge hill that I had just descended!

As I was heading up this hill, I caught up with another runner. We chatted as we ran, and Isoon found out that I was running with Anita Fromm. She is one of the more well-known ultrarunners and has completed the Badwater 135 Ultra three times. Badwater is the toughest ultramarathon on earth. Run in Death Valley at the end of July, itis 135 miles long and ends near the summit of Mount Whitney. Air temperatures are typically 130 degrees, and the road gets as

The author ran with well-known and accomplished Badwater ultrarunner Anita Fromm during
the Heartland 100.

hot as 200 degrees. It is an amazing event, and I was thrilled to have the honor and pleasure to run with Anita for a few miles. Eventually, Anita picked up the pace, and I said good-bye because I knew that she was running faster than was wise for me. (In 2008, Anita became the fourth woman to run the Death Valley/ Mount Whitney out-and-back, and she did it in record time.)

I was now running on the long downhill (previously the long uphill) with the wind at my back. My feet were getting very bruised from slamming on the rocky surface. It was hard to slow down, though, as the downhill was so nice.

I was soon back at the aid station at mile 58. No need for much of a stop. As evening was approaching, I had left my flashlight and handheld light at this aid station. I would not need them for a couple of hours, but I had to take them with me now. I inquired as to the weather forecast for the night and was informed that it would be clear and mid-60s. It sounded like perfect nighttime running weather. Based on this, I made the huge mistake of not taking the jacket that I had left in my drop bag. I took another bottle of Accelerade and was off and running quickly.

Back to the ridge, minus the storm

There was a long climb back up to the ridge where it was now clear and sunny. What a nice change from the rain of only a few hours ago. Unfortunately, the headwinds picked back up, which slowed my pace considerably. As evening approached and the sun started to go down, it began to cool down quickly. I could tell that it was going to be a long, chilly night. (“Failure sucks!”’)

When J arrived at the aid station at mile 64, the sun had almost set. I grabbed my drop bag, hoping that I had left a long-sleeve shirt here, but I had not. So I drank a bottle of Ensure, ate a cup of potato soup, and was preparing to head back out. I turned on my flashlights and was just starting to run when a lady asked me where my jacket was. Theresa was a volunteer who had run this race before, and she ran to her car, grabbed an extra fleece jacket she had, and gave it to me to use! I could not believe how thoughtful she was. If not for her assistance, I would never have made it through the night run since it did get very cold out there. She told me to give it to the race director at the finish and tell him it belonged to Thetesa. We joked at how nice I looked in her form-fitting powder-blue fleece—not a pretty sight, but very nice and warm.

At least I was not hallucinating yet as is common with many ultrarunners late at night. But there was still plenty of time for that to happen. I still had 36 miles to run, and my legs were just about gone. | felt that I had used up almost all of my energy and knew that I would soon be doing the “ultra shuffle.” The ultra shuffle is very common late in long races, with many runners exhibiting the same form. It looks like a very slow run with the feet just about dragging on the ground as you go. If it were not so painful, it would be funny.

The sun quickly dropped below the horizon, and I turned on the flashlights. My legs were sore, but I was able to keep running at a fairly good pace, and I soon saw a runner ahead. A few minutes later, I caught up with Anita once again and ran the next few miles with her. As she was slowing, she urged me to head along at my own pace, and soon I was running alone once again.

Coyote company

I was not running alone for long, though. Soon I was hearing the howling of coyotes, and I could sense them running along the side of the trail with me. I would swing my flashlight to the side to see if I could spot them. All I could see were the glowing eyes of 30 to 40 coyotes a couple of hundred feet away. For most of the night, I would continue to hear the howling and see the glowing eyes, but the coyotes never came very close. It was very eerie but kind of fun, too.

My pace was getting much slower, and I was getting very tired. I kept feeling that I just wanted to lie down alongside the road and curl up for a short nap. (“Failure sucks!”) Keep on moving. I realized that the faster I went, the sooner I would be done. As I continued to run, I could feel a hot spot on my left heel. I was hoping that I would make it to the next aid station before it became a blister. I had some tape and other items to fix blisters in my drop bag at the next aid station. The constant pounding was causing all kinds of problems with my feet.

When I finally arrived at the aid station, I grabbed my drop bag, sat down, and took off my shoe. I was astounded to see my sock bulging at the heel, so I guess Thad a blister, not just a hot spot. When I took off my sock, I saw a huge blister on the side of my heel. I needed to clean, lance, and tape the blister to relieve the pressure and pain. There were a few problems to complicate the situation. My motor skills were completely lacking, and I was very clumsy. I could barely bend my leg to work on the blister. I eventually lanced the blister and cleaned it, but I