My Quest for 100 Miles

A couple of month ago I heard about this ultra marathon being put on in Oklahoma City called 24 The Hard Way. They offered a variety of races in the way of on-road and off-road timed running events. Well my heart lies in the dirt metaphorically speaking, and I've already done a 50 miler, so naturally I decided on the 24 hour trail ultra. The Double Dirty Dozen. The catch? Yes, there's a catch. This 24 hour run was going to be done on a 2 mile loop that you do OVER and OVER and OVER.

I have goals. Dreams. Aspirations. I really want to do some of the harder 100 mile ultra runs in the future, and I figured this would be a great introduction to the discipline. The course was going to be pretty flat, but the mental anguish of seeing the same trail over and over again would be tough. So over the next couple of months I started preparing physically, but mostly mentally for 24 The Hard Way. I cycled a lot, ran a 36 and 26 mile run, and lifted weights about twice a week. I was ready to roll.



October 24, 2009. 9 am. I've just ducked into the trees along with the other runners to begin my 24 hour quest. It's a sunny, but windy and cool morning. The trail is wet from the previous weeks of rain. Spots are muddy. It cakes to my shoes, adding a couple pounds to each foot. In the beginning hours of the event, the loop seems manageable. Flat. Soft ground. It begins in the trees, a technical section of steep, short ups and downs, a conglomeration of roots, small tree stumps and sharp corners. A third of the way through, the course opens into a soft and flat double track road that winds through the park, climbs a very small hill, and at about the two-thirds mark empties back into the trees where the single track picks up again. This last section of the course is flatter, but still packed with roots and stumps, with some windy sections and a small (I mean small) hill climb to the loop finish where the aid station sits. And your next lap awaits.


Mtn Biker on the trail. Roots and stumps abound.

I spend the first couple of laps trying to figure out pace, how I'm feeling, and the areas where I'll need to begin walking soon. I had spent the last week resting and tapering, and at times felt like I was fighting off something. My body was tired. So I wanted to test how I felt in the beginning stages of the race. Surprisingly I felt great. The rest had been beneficial. My heart rate seemed low, legs felt strong. I felt great all around. Every single lap I would grab 2 cups of water and 1 cup of gatorade from the aid station, run 20 yards to to my support crew (My buddy Charlie Brickman from Colorado and my lovely wife Nicki) and grab some sort of food, and then back off into the trees for the next lap.


Midday coming off trail and into aid station

Almost every time I came through, a new friend would be there to greet me with encouraging words. Many stopped by throughout the day to see all the fuss, cheer, and just hang out. By noon I was 16 miles in, feeling great. I had taken it easy, walked a little bit, ate well, hydrated correctly and was on cruise control. My legs were aching a tad bit, but for a 220 lb guy who doesn't belong in ultra distance events it's the name of the game. I knew my weight would factor in the legs as the crux of the event. I had it covered.


Aid station. Shared by both off road and on road races

12:00 pm was the start of the 6 hour race on the trails and so flooded in new faces to mingle with and talk to. My buddy Kyle Griffith who had ran the Rocky Raccoon 50 with me jumped in and I ran into him a couple of times. When you are on the trail for that long, it's good to see people, chat, feed off each other's energy. Obviously I would be passed many times by speedsters gunning for the 6 hour times. It was fun.


Feeling good

6:00 pm marked the 9 hour mark for us 24 Hour runners, and the end of the 6 hour run. And it got lonely on the trail really quick. At this point I was 44 miles in and still feeling pretty good. I was about a half lap behind the leader, but gaining quickly. I had met a very nice Asian man named Kim earlier in the day. He was a fellow 24 hour competitor, but he had opted to walk the entire distance and time. I had lapped him numerous times during the day, each time I would pat him on the back and tell him great job. He would return by saying "Good job Andy, you strong". It was a welcome sight to see him every so often. He was fit, strong legs, good gait, even composure.

My "runner's high" carried me long into the night. I was still eating and drinking well. I had begun to walk more as the night had come. My headlamp was good, but hidden roots and stumps had caught my toes quite a few times since the sun had gone down, and left agonizing pain in their wake. I needed to slow down. For safety, and for energy conservation.



I think at this point I have to admit my obsession: I wanted 100 miles. I had to get it. It's all I thought about during my time on the trail. Every lap I would calculate in my head averages that I had to keep in order to get 100 miles. I was completely obsessed. I wanted a huge cushion for the last 3-4 hours of the race just in case I was wasted to the point I couldn't go on. I was obsessed to the point of unhealthy compulsion. I never even put on my iPod. Ever. If I was listening to music I couldn't figure out these averages of laps and times and numbers and speeds. It became a sickness in me.



By 9:00 pm I was still feeling ok, but my legs were really bothering me. I popped a couple more Ibuprofen. The technical, steep ups and downs of the trail were killing my quads. I was 56 miles in. Ahead of schedule. I wanted 100.

I had various company with me along the way. Sara Haizlip Bell was a part of a 24 hour team with her husband Rob and her brother Ben. She wanted some extra miles, so she ran with me quite a bit. My good friend Maury Birdwell had signed up for the one hour run, but instead decided to bust out 10 miles with me on the trail. Phillip Wilson, my friend and bicycle racing teammate showed up and ran a fun lap with me. I got a good luck kiss from Nicki almost every time through. It was energizing.

By 11:00 pm I was hurting. My hips had begun to ache horribly from all the walking I was doing. When I did walk, it was a fast pace. I wanted to continue on my pace for 100, so my walking gait was long and quick. Unfortunately my body is not used to walking, much less taking large steps in the process. That, compounded with the thrashing my quads were taking on the drops and short steep climbs, and my lower extremities were in a world of hurt. At this point in the game I was only running on the flat double track sections. And that was a struggle. Sara had been running with me for about an hour or so, and the company was good. But I was at a point where talking wasn't much fun. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I passed Kim along the double track. We exchanged pleasantries. It would be the last time I saw him.... 64 miles in.

Around 12:00 am Sara took a break and Charlie jumped in with me. I felt horrible. I didn't want to talk. My pace had slowed tremendously. I had to walk a couple of full laps. I told Charlie, and he was ok with it. So we started on the slow slog through the technical sections of what I had decided to call Bluff Creek Hell Loop. Charlie is a quiet guy by nature. I like to talk. But not many words were spoken in that loop. My thigh muscles literally felt as though they were tearing away from my femur. I don't even know what a hip-pointer is, but I guarantee mine was at a Defcon level 1. My mind was weakening. My pace was slowing dramatically, and my hopes of 100 were slowing starting to slip away. We finished the lap. 68 miles.

For some reason I knew that this next lap would probably be my last. Call it intuition. Call it weak mindedness. Call it premature resignation. I'm embarrassed to sit here and type those words. I've always considered myself a strong minded individual. Stubborn. Willing to endure massive amounts of pain for pursuit. But just before 1:00 am on October 25, 2009, I quit. 70 miles in. I quit. I sat in a chair and buried my face in my palms. I quit. I watched stronger runners on the paved 24 hour race go by. I quit. My energy reserves were still there, but my legs and mind hurt. I quit.

As I limped over to turn in my timing chip, I longed for my bed. But the embarrassment of quitting wasn't worth the comfort of my pillowtop king mattress. Even as I sit here 3 days later, my legs are healing. I feel pretty good actually. I'll go for a spin on the bike today. I don't have any blisters. I have sore ankles. I have a couple of black toenails from those blasted roots. And I have much regret for quitting. Could I have kept going? Probably. I would have had to walk at a snails pace for a while, maybe even slower. Maybe my legs would have rejuvinated? Maybe not. But the problem is I'll never know. I quit. I'll never know if I could have hit 100. I thought it was out of my reach. I still had 8 hours to get 30 miles. But I quit.

Life lessons are awesome. They come in many different forms. This race meant nothing. I had no money to win, no fame to gain. I just wanted 100 miles, and I wanted it horribly bad. When my obsession-filled calculations let me know that it was slipping, my mind weakened and the legs followed suit.

24 The Hard Way was a wake up call for me. A lesson learned. I great experience. I didn't get my 100 miles. I suffered. I learned.

Note to self: Don't quit. Don't obsess. And for God's sake, please lose 10-15 pounds before the next ultra marathon!