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Across The Years 24/48/72 Hr 2000 Report(Part 1): Lynn David Newton

What's Happening
----------------

Between 9:00 AM, Saturday December 30, 2000 and 9:00 AM Monday January
1, 2001, I participated in the 48-hour event at the eighteenth annual
Across the Years, Decades, Centuries, Millennia Run, Walk, Nap, and
Eat race, held at Canyon State Academy (formerly known as Arizona Boys
Ranch) in Queen Creek, Arizona. This year the Arizona Road Racers
(ARR) club event included also 72-hour and 24-hour races. Ten
participants logged distance in the 72-hour race, six in the 48-hour
race, and 44 in the 24-hour race.

This was the most challenging and exhausting physical activity to
which I've ever subjected myself. By the end I had completed 470 laps
of the certified 400-meter track, for a total of 116.82 miles, or more
accurately, 188,000 meters. We Americans are ill-equipped to handle
anything in meters so always make the conversion to miles. This effort
was good enough to garner me third place out of six runners.

Pollyannish Optimism
--------------------

Despite running almost the same total number of miles this year as
last (1928 versus 1956 last year), the quality of my running has
degraded significantly of late. I've concluded the downturn is caused
by a combination of age, being too fat, and being a wimp.

In 1999, before the 24-hour race at Across the Years, I ran Twin
Cities Marathon in October, and Tucson Marathon in early December.
There were few long runs in between, since I was recovering from the
marathons.

This year I made my task more difficult by running first St. George
Marathon on October 7, and Tucson on December 3, but inserting Just
Another Mad Dog 50K plus a four-mile bonus fun-run afterward on
November 11. My paces in all these were down significantly from what
they were one and two years ago. It's become increasingly evident to
me that my future running profile is to be characterized as an
increasingly old, slow guy who endures reasonably well.

Other than those three races, and one 20-mile training run in October,
I've run nothing longer than a half marathon distance since September.
Short or long, it's all been glacially slow.

When I signed up for the 2000/2001 48-hour ATY race, I created a
trifecta of goals:

o To cover more mileage in the first 24 hours than I did last year
(81.52 miles);

o To continue on to 100 miles, hoping to arrive between 26-28 hours;

o To reach what I hoped would be 130 miles in 48 hours. In my wildest
  dreams I thought I *might* even get as far as 160 miles. That
  fantasy was based on beginner's naïvety.

Well, I signed up all right. But oh, by the way -- did I remember to
do an adequate amount of training? Somehow my sense of self-confidence
had grown radically out of proportion to what it should have been.

Getting Ready
-------------

The two days before the race were characterized by nervous
anticipation, as I gathered together the many items on my elaborate
list.

There were two final things left to purchase. The first was a large
sponge, which I kept saturated with cold water during the warm
afternoons, and used to mop and drench myself at the start of a
walking lap. The other was a three-pack of ladies Knee-High nylons to
wear as undersocks.

The race site is just an hour's drive from our house. A perk that I
enjoy at ATY, an advantage other runners do not have, is the happy
coincidence that my younger brother lives barely nine minutes drive
from the race. We were able to use his home to sleep the night before.
Suzy (my wife) also spent Saturday and Sunday nights there, so didn't
have to endure the cold tent -- something she is not inclined to do
even under the best of circumstances.

We left home at 1:15 PM. Even with the stop at Target for shopping
were at Canyon State Academy by 2:30. It was a beautiful, cloudless
day with the temperature around 72 F. As I walked onto the track from
the parking lot, I experienced the warm feeling of someone arriving
home after an absence. Immediately I was greeted by name by a number
of runners on the course who know me from last year and from the Net
running lists.

The first thing I noticed was how improved the start line was.
Previously it had been just a white line across the track, but this
year, in addition to using the ChampionChip, ARR put up an impressive
gated chute with big banners on either side. The lap-counting
equipment and other net-connected equipment were in a covered booth
with a space heater on the grassy field side.

This was to be ATY's first high-tech edition. Regular progress reports
would be posted to the Net. One advantage of such a long race and
modern technology was that they were able to take pictures of race
participants in the middle of the race and have them printed, and put
in a plastic magnetized frame ready for pickup before the end. (See
http://www.eecs.umich.edu/~lnewton/gallery/aty/aty01.jpg for mine.
When we get the film developed, I'll put up a whole gallery of ATY
pictures on my Web site.)

Within seconds after arrival I ran into race director Paul Bonnet, who
introduced me to the reporter from the East Valley Tribune he had been
escorting around the site. The reporter interviewed me for fifteen
minutes. The output of that aside was an article in the paper which I
am told featured me, although I have not yet seen it myself.

Before putting up our tent, I handed Paul a hard copy of my free book
"Running Through the Millennium"
(), about training for and
running ATY last year, to put on display at the main check-in table. I
also left a packet of explanatory blurbs, with the Web address, so
seekers could find it. During the race several people expressed
interest in this, saying they'd picked up leaflets, intending to look
it up.

Plenty of prime locations were still available as campsites. It took
only twenty minutes to set up the tent close to the start gate, and a
few more to spread things out in an orderly fashion. This was to be
our home for the next two days.

We lingered at the track until 4:30, watching the 72-hour runners,
plus one early-starting 48-hour and 24-hour runners, getting pumped up
on the atmosphere. Afterward we drove into Gilbert to eat at a small
pasta joint called Chianti, where I enjoyed nutritious and delicious
non-acidic linguini in clam sauce in light olive oil. It was precisely
what I needed.

For the first time I broke my rule against consuming alcohol the night
before a race. How could I visit a restaurant called "Chianti" and not
have a glass? Prerace rules don't seem to apply quite the same in an
event of this scope. I wasn't any more worried that a small glass of
wine might affect my performance negatively than I was concerned that
I might get a bad start if I didn't crouch in starting blocks.

To our surprise, my brother Dean was home when we got there. He had
told us he would be gone. A veteran outdoorsman, he had just gotten
back an hour or so earlier from a mountaineering expedition in Mexico,
where he climbed to the 15,200-foot point of an 18,600-foot peak.
After regaling us with tales of this adventure, he took us outside for
a relaxed hour looking at planets through his new telescope.

Then it was to bed for me, by 9:10 PM, where I slept
restlessly but comfortably.

Race Day Before the Start
-------------------------

At exactly 7:000 AM my unfailingly accurate internal body clock told
me it must be that time. When I pressed the Indiglo backlight button
on my Timex Triathlon 100, it showed me the time, lit up brightly for
a moment, then ceased functioning. After a year and a half my watch
battery chose that precise moment to die. This turned out to be a
blessing in disguise. The race clock was set to real time. I had
utterly no use for a watch during the race, and it would have only
been one more thing to lug around the track with me.

We got ready to leave quickly. Everything I didn't need to start the
day with had been left in the tent. An advantage of not having to fly
to the race was being able to bring any gear with me that I might
conceivably need. In the end I used enough of it that Suzy made two
laundry runs to my brother's house.

Significantly, I opted to try and stick with one pair of shoes
throughout, which I believe was a wise decision. They never felt too
tight. Maybe the shoes expanded somewhat with my feet, which are now
approximately the size and shape of loaves of freshly baked bread.

Another useful piece of gear that remained on my body at all times was
a pair of gaiters made by Tucson ultrarunner Joe Dana, who ran the
24-hour race. Last year my shoes collected a large array of green
track chips, which ultimately contributed greatly to some bad blisters
near the end. This year I had no problem whatever with things getting
into my shoes, thanks to the gaiters. However, I got blisters anyhow.

We arrived at 8:10 AM, with enough time to dress, check in, and eat a
little breakfast, with barely five minutes to spare, thereby reducing
stress from fretting. The race packet included a yo-yo, which seemed
strangely significant.

Jordan Ross, a doctor of osteopathy, and one of the 24-hour runners,
was present with some medical students, conducting some research.
Volunteers were asked to fill out a simple survey form and submit to a
thirty-second structural exam before starting, and to do likewise at
the end of the race, which I was happy to do. Meanwhile, the crew was
available to provide medical services during the race, including
osteopathic treatments. Jordan also managed to run 80 miles himself on
the last day -- not bad for a doctor on call.

Saturday's starters consisted of five of the six 48-hour runners (the
sixth had started the day before), and a couple of early-starting
24-hour runners. Since the clock was on real time and rolling
inexorably, there was no doubt about when the race would begin.

My Strategy
-----------

Last year I performed well beyond my greatest hopes. When I achieved
my fantasy goal (70 miles) with four or five hours left in the race, I
cut back and coasted the dead of night hours, without trying to push
at all. When I analyzed the results afterward, I concluded: I can do
better!

This year my strategy was similar to last year's: Walk the first four
laps as a warmup, run five, and thereafter walk every lap divisible by
five. This routine is easy to track. For years I've carried a lap
counter whenever I train on a track, which I do so often I should just
have one surgically implanted in my palm.

My hope was to continue this pattern for a much longer stretch than I
sustained it last year, on the theory that even though my general pace
is slower now than it was then, eventually the old tortoise and hare
effect would kick in. I should still be able to walk even when I can't
run any longer. I hoped I might even make 90 miles by 24 hours.

Early Mistakes
--------------

Despite the strong resolve, I managed to go out too hard. From the
beginning I tried to get by with walking only half or two thirds of
the walk laps, and even skipped a couple of walks altogether.

The afternoon, although typical of a beautiful early winter day in the
Arizona desert, got too warm for high-performance physical activity.
Even though I drank endless quantities of Clip sweetened with
NutraSweet and gagged down much Hammer Gel, the heat took some oomph
out of me. Paul warned me that I was pushing too hard. I told him of
my goal to top last year's 24-hour time before worrying about the
second day, which was supposed to be my fun run.

In retrospect I now know this was a mighty big bite to chew. Although
in the end I certainly did well again this year, it was arduous going
almost all of the second day.

Paradise Lost
-------------

For a while I had a great time, knocking down lap after lap, holding
steadily to the plan.

The Arizona desert gets downright nippy at night. It's not at all
unusual for me to chisel frost or ice off my windshield in the early
morning before I can leave for work, and to have the air conditioner
on in the late afternoon. By 4:30 PM the temperature drops perceptibly
with each lap. In the space of an hour the environment can turn from
paradisaic to hostile.

It was not simply the cold that brought me to the low point of the
race, but a combination of factors. I can handle the cold by itself
with no problem. However, Suzy and later my daughter Cyra-Lea, who
showed up in late afternoon and took a few laps with me, became
visibly more uncomfortable sitting on the sidelines. I wanted my
family's presence and support, but seeing them at the side wrapped in
blankets, in obviously miserable discomfort with little to do was not
a part of the experience I wished upon them. By 7:30 I asked Suzy to
gather up the wet and dirty clothing and head back to my brother's for
the night.

Cyra-Lea expressed her willingness to camp out in the warm lobby of
the gym, where several runners threw down cots and sleeping bags.
There was no purpose to her being there at all if she was going to
sleep in an uncomfortable place. She had to be back home in the
morning anyhow, so by 8:00 I sent her off as well, leaving myself
without any crew, but with an abundant supply of Clip, Hammer Gel,
Succeed caps, and Advil ready to snatch as I passed by our trackside
table.

My worries were not yet over, though. A good friend promised that he
and his wife would come by to support me during the night. I started
to fret that they'd get there, see that there were only a few runners
on the track during the late hours, thereby missing the excitement
that's present during the day, conclude they'd landed on the wrong
planet, get cold from hanging out, and would quickly be bummed by the
decision to be there. I certainly didn't want my friends to show up to
do me a big favor and then go away having had an unpleasant
experience.

I rarely experience genuine bad patches while running. Yes, sometimes
a training run can be tedious and less than wildly joyful. But on
Saturday night I was not out for an ordinary training run that I could
blow off without consequence. Rather, I was engaging in what was
rapidly becoming the toughest physical battle of my life -- something
I had trained all year for -- and there was still 37 hours to go.

For the first time I began to entertain negative thoughts about being
there at all -- that it was ridiculous to think that an old wimp like
me could pull off such a preposterous scheme, and that perhaps I
should just pack it up and forget about it, at least for this year. No
one was forcing me to be there. I volunteered and even paid for the
experience.

On the other hand, probably because of the musician in me, I sometimes
perform better in the presence of observers, which in this case I have
in the form of the running lists. If I were to give up so easily, what
would all those people who sent me encouragement and who were hoping
to read good things in my report think of me?

So, "Start running, you big wuss!" I told myself. And off I went.