(And what | learned from it.)

one foot in front of the other. I also needed a black 50-gallon garbage bag to keep me going. The garbage bag was the best aid-station gift I had ever received and still holds its place as the most useful.

Training to run 100 miles, or to just cover the distance, is training to suffer. I envy the runner who covers the distance with no suffering at all, and I doubt this runner exists. Running is not about being comfortable: we can be comfortable on Sunday night after our weekend long run is in the log books.

Icame in to the sport of running so that I could feel the sweat leaving, so that I could earn my rest and a beer. I started seriously running in my early 20s. It was a thrill and a new experience to tough out a five-miler under the scorching sun. The 15- or 20-minute cool-down after the run was one of the best parts. It is hard not to love the euphoria of a glass of ice water as you sit in the sun and the ground beneath you is drenched with the sweat that proves that you worked hard and pushed yourself and maybe even suffered a little.

It does not take long for your body to adapt to a five-mile run, and bouncing up from the five-mile to the 10-mile long run is the natural thing to do. The five-miler turns into a warm-up, and to get that same after-the-run, endorphin-induced buzz, you need to up the ante. It’s the same with the 20-mile upgrade. I still remember my first 20-mile long run. That same day we attended a friend’s wedding. I think Late 10 to 15 of the small sandwiches that were offered at the reception. The 20mile long run produced a hunger that could not be filled.

Ican’t neglect to say that Dean Karnazes’s book, U/tramarathon Man, started me on my way as an ultrarunnner. Like a slew of other runners, I read the book and had to quench my curiosity about what running 50 miles felt like. So I ran my first 50-mile ultramarathon and torched my IT band, but I finished. While my IT band healed and I recovered, I started planning and daydreaming about running beyond the 50-mile mark.

Fan WISCONSIN, June 5, 2010—To finish, I needed to do more than put

Most ultrarunners would agree that once you run a 50, the 100-mile ultra is inevitable.

I lived in the Midwest, and at the time it was not the mecca of 100-mile ultramarathons. The Kettle Moraine 100 was the closest, and this helped me with my decision to sign up.

The KM is an epic 100. The site history has a description of the course by Peter Gagarin from a 1996 issue of UltraRunning magazine:

“The Ice Age Trail rolls and turns and twists through southeastern Wisconsin, in places a bit rocky and rooty and nasty; in places the most beautiful pine-needlecovered trail you could ever hope for; in places a steady progression of short, sharp ups and downs; in places very gently rolling. There are no deep canyons, no mountain passes, no thin air, no claim to be the toughest 100-miler. But 100 miles is still 100 miles. You still have to deal with Mother Nature, with the night, with blisters and chafing and sore muscles, with trying to keep eating and drinking and running. These factors are always there.”

Did I think I could run 100 miles? No. Did I know that thousands of runners had broken trail for me? Yes.

Once signed up for the race, all a runner has to do is train and train and train— and suffer a little in the training.

Courtesy of Clint Cherepa

A At least an ultrarunner can suffer in the bosom of Mother Nature.

Tran and ran and ran, as any ultrarunner should. As I finished my training block and entered into a taper, I ran and often pondered the golden question of every first-time 100-mile runner: “Am I running enough?”

It was too late now.

One of the things I love about ultramarathons is the week and days leading up to the race. The game of managing your time on feet, calories, and water intake and taking extra care to not stub your toe is comical.

Race-day morning was beautiful, exactly the way an early-summer morning should be in Wisconsin: warm, balmy, and calm. It was going to be a perfect day to run 100 miles. The race vibe was like any other—perfect, with racers of all sorts, short, tall, thick, stout, lean, sinewy, minimalist, and tech-laden. The race start had them all. Going into the race, I felt pretty sure about my fitness. I had put in the miles.

The bog

The first 20 miles of the race went like any other. Walking the hills, slowly running the downs and the flats, I stuck to the midpacker strategy.

Around mile 20 you hit a section that does not appear daunting but slays the unprepared runner. The Kettle Moraine website warns, “This is one of the most debilitating parts of the trail. It is not because the terrain is hard but because it is in the open meadow (virtually treeless) during the middle of the day when it can be hot and humid. From Antique Lane to Hwy 67 the trail is easy to follow and is commonly in an open prairie and marshy area. There’s localized high humidity due to the fact that these soggy meadows represent the headwaters of Scuppernong Creek. However, the trail is mostly dry.”

When I first hit this marshy meadow, the midmorning heat was welcome comfort. At around 20 miles I was still feeling fresh and my spirits were running high. It was amazing how unexpectedly this marsh somehow sucked the life out of my legs and soul. I finished up this section and realized that I had not shown proper respect to this flat prairie, but it was too late, the bog had taken its toll.

Errol “the Rocket” Jones

After coming out of an aid station, I came up on a sinewy, steady-paced runner. I don’t know how I knew it was “the Rocket”—maybe he just had an air about him. The air was positive as we ran and chatted about his past 100-mile runs and about running ultramarathons as a vegan. We ran side by side for about an hour. He gave me some words of wisdom and inspired me with his running accomplishments. Running with Errol was so positive that I went on to write a profile of him for Marathon & Beyond magazine.

A couple of fast Southerners

I caught up with a couple of guys from Florida or Georgia. I guess they had taken the heat of the bog better than I had. They were triathletes; we exchanged names and a few salutations and then I settled into their pace. I listened to some of their ultramarathon war stories. They were obviously much more experienced at ultras than I was. From their stories and their pace, I realized that I was very new to this 100-mile distance. Their pace was too hot for me, and I fell off the back end.

Hitting the Wall

I don’t remember hitting the distinct, ever-popular Wall; instead, it was more a case of hitting the sand. At least, that is what it felt like I was running through. I had never experienced this while running 50-mile ultras. I slogged, walked, and pushed and then would try to run for a bit, while wondering how I would cover 50 more miles.

Running in the rain, hooray

After I left the marsh, the midday heat picked up and it got hotter and even muggier. The unexpected Wisconsin heat was taking a serious toll. I was still moving forward but with a parched spirit. And then came those first delicious raindrops. They were cool gifts from the sky above. I ran grinning from ear to ear. / love running in the rain, | thought. It’s like being a kid again. I have always loved running in the rain, whether it is the hard-core aspect of the “I run in anything” mentality or just the sheer joy of running through the elements that runners thrive on. I have always felt that running in the rain rules, even when it is half sleet and half snow.

Still raining—come on

The rain would not stop. I think the total rain time was somewhere around five or six hours straight. The novelty had ended and I was ready for the rain to do the same. Not only were my shoes two water-logged weights, but the extra effort of slip-sliding across puddles and mud holes was wearing my legs out more than I thought was possible. I was beginning to experience soaked-shirt syndrome as my skin continued to prune and chafe. I changed my shoes, and they were soaked again within five minutes. Keep moving forward, | thought. Soon my pacer will be here.

Pacers and puddles

Worrying about logistics, crew, and pacers is a facet of 100-mile races that sets them apart from shorter distances. My ever-loving wife supports me in each and every one of my ultras. She is not a runner, but she understands the sport and

what I need to a T. My sister and her husband drove four hours with a newborn daughter to crew and pace. There cannot be enough said about the importance of crew and pacers, especially for a first-time 100-mile racer.

So far, I had no doubts about finishing. I would just keep on moving, as all the veteran ultrarunners suggested. If there was a point where the temptation to quit flooded in, it was at mile 62.2. This was where I picked up my pacer, and racers have the option to quit and be 100K finishers. I was drenched, freezing, and worn down. I sat for a while and changed my shoes again and my shirt. It helped to have a pacer who had driven four hours just to pace me. Interestingly, my pacer was the person I had run my first 50-mile ultra with. He had not been running at all since then because of an injury, but he was still willing to join me, off the couch, for a 38-mile fun run.

We got going in the rain. And it wasn’t long after this break that I started shivering my guts out, running and shaking uncontrollably: it was a first.

The black bag of my dreams

At the next aid station, there was no need to explain what was going on to the attendants. My gray lips and shuddering body told them I was way too cold. An admired fellow ultrarunner handed me a large plastic garbage bag with holes poked out for my arms. I accepted the bag hesitantly and we moved on.

Within minutes of getting back on the trail, I was warming up. The plastic bag was my own personal furnace. I drove my pacer nuts as I raved about how great my new windbreaker was working.

It’s just darkness

I do not like running in the woods in the dark. I can never do it alone because my imagination runs wild and I imagine everything from sasquatches to mass murderers on my tail. Constantly turning around to see if I am being followed gets old, so having a pacer watch my back as we traveled through the night eased my mind. Again, I can safely say that having a pacer saved me. It was also nice that the Kettle Moraine had a fun run starting between 6:00 p.m. and 8:00 p.m. It was invigorating to see some fresh legs on the moonlit trail. At first the dark was sort of fun, but it really slowed me down as I watched for ruts and rocks.

Creepy soup kitchen

Sometime in the middle of the night, I remember coming up to an aid station. It was more of a small tent with cots, campfire, and a huge pot of hot soup. This was the most surreal part of the run. I sat sipping hot soup in the dancing light of the campfire while people, whether runners or crew members, were passed

out on cots. My tired mind tried to wrap itself around what was going on. I had been running for more than 20 hours, and what was I doing hunched in front of a small fire sipping soup? I decided it did not matter. We drank the soup and left.

Crawling along

Before you run 100 miles, you may balk at the idea that you could run a 15-minute or 20-minute mile. But you soon learn it is very possible. I remember my pacer incessantly asking if I could go just a little bit faster. I couldn’t. I was dragging. There was no way that I could get my legs to go any faster. Hitting an aid station always helped. I would leave the aid station pumped to run, but this would last about five minutes until either the energy gels or the motivation quickly wore off. We kept on trucking.

Finishing up

It was interesting that the part I remember least about the race was the finish. I remember seeing my wife, sister, and niece and carrying my niece across the finish line so that she could officially have crossed her first 100-mile finish line. I took off my shoes and admired my dirt-plastered feet. After showering, off we went, too tired for any kind of postrace party, which had long ended.

G £ o ‘S z

After my experience at Kettle Moraine, a black plastic bag is now a standard part of my race kit.

French toast and IPA

We drove to Madison, Wisconsin, to hit up a favorite spot, The Weary Traveler. My wife and sister showed no mercy, laughing as we attempted to get out of the car. But we did it. The name of the restaurant suited how I felt, and the menu had exactly what I needed. I started with an India Pale Ale and then topped it off with stuffed French toast. It was the perfect match.

Who needs sleep?

My poor wife was just as tired as I was since she also had not slept at all and had spent the night driving around, crewing me. There was no way that I could drive, so the only option was for her to drive. The trip was only about three hours long. She made it about two hours before she pulled over and parked in a Starbucks parking lot to sleep.

The aftermath

At the time, I was working as a carpenter, installing a lot of windows and doing a lot of vinyl siding on the second stories of houses while straddling a ladder. The idea of trying to carry a ladder and then climb it made my legs shiver. I was in no shape to even get on the first rung of a ladder.

I called my friend and boss that Sunday afternoon.

“Hey, I don’t think I can work tomorrow,” I said.

“Why not?” he asked.

There was no avoiding it; if I didn’t admit it now, I would have to later.

“T sort of did a 100-mile race yesterday,” I said.

“Yeah, right,” he said.

I tried to talk him into it for a while.

“Tam online, and you’re crazy; you did run 100 miles. Take it easy and call me later,” he said.

At least I had the Internet to back up my claim. Having the results posted on the Internet was like a doctor’s note.

And what | learned from it

Don’t believe someone who tells you 100 miles is not that far—it is. Maybe for the experienced it is just a long run, but for me it was epic. It was not so hard that I wouldn’t run another, but it was tough enough that I had better be trained and respect the distance and terrain.

Set your expectations low. I remember doing long training runs at an eight-minute-mile pace and thinking that I could easily run the 100 miles at a 10-minute-mile pace. I was sadly mistaken. Expect to run much slower than you ever have before.

Hills, hills, and did I mention hills? I thought I had trained enough on hills. The incessant Kettle Moraine hills wore me right down. A small knoll at 85 miles feels like a mountain.

It might rain. While planning for the race, I never even considered the possibility of rain and getting cold. Next time I will have a running jacket, just in case it rains or snows (you never know in the Midwest).

100 = 50 x 3. Running 100 miles is not like running two 50-mile races. Instead, it felt more like running three.

Get inventive—plastic bag. I had never thought of using a plastic bag to warm up during an ultra. Where there is a will, there is a way in ultrarunning.

Hot baths, so bittersweet. Once I got home, I could not resist taking a long, hot bath, and it felt good. But I paid for it the next day because hot baths increase muscle damage.

Pacers are good: My pacer helped me keep going. Even though I was moving slowly, he kept me moving.

No work on Monday. For me, working the next day after running 100 miles would just be unnecessary torture. Might as well make a long weekend of it and take Monday off.

Enjoy it. Running ultras is not something I can do often because of logistics and scheduling, so I might as well love every mile and minute of it. »