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Across The Years 24/48/72 Hr 2000 Report(Part 2): Lynn David Newton

Paradise Regained
-----------------

At 10:00 PM my friend Mike arrived, and none too soon. His wife
preferred to stay in the car and sleep, but Mike came dressed to run.
As a tall former football player and body builder, he had little
difficulty walking briskly at the pace I was reduced to running at by
that time. His company over the next hours proved to be the factor
that reversed the direction of my downward spiral. By the time he
left, my attitude was in tune with the circumstances once again.

As I ran, I projected where I would be come 9:00 AM. I had been
hanging in there steadily all night long. But it appeared to me that
the best I could possibly do by then, assuming I didn't degrade any
further, would still be a mile or two short of last year's total, and
probably more like three or four.

Therefore, when Mike left at 5:00 AM, I decided resolutely to call it
a day, hoping that with a little rest I would be able to salvage a
decent second day. I disappeared inside the tent to get some sleep.

  Better is a handful of rest than a double handful of hard work and
  striving after the wind. -- Ecclesiastes 4:6

Taking Stock
------------

At 5:15 AM I curled up inside the sleeping bag wearing most of my
grubby clothes, with an extra blanket and my winter coat on top. Even
though it was still hard to keep warm, I fell asleep within two
minutes.

An hour later I awoke suddenly, but was not ready to get up yet. At
exactly 7:15 I forced myself up, and changed most of my clothing in
the cold. This task was not fun.

When I stepped out of my tent, Paul was busy inviting people to eat
hot scrambled eggs and bacon with bagels, while also trying to care
for the large influx of fresh 24-hour runners and their crews who were
arriving at the track, ready to begin the climactic day of the event.

After a bathroom stop I started walking slowly around the track. It
was not long before I realized I had developed a blister on the ball
of my left foot. The day before I checked my feet several times, and
there were no signs of trouble. Last year blisters the size of silver
dollars on both feet proved to be my biggest problem. Over the past
six months I studied the techniques for *avoiding* blisters, and for
treating them once I had them. Now I had a real one to deal with, with
a whole 25 hours of running yet ahead of me.

Remarkably, my right foot survived quite well. When I returned home, I
saw no problems at all with it other than the expected swelling. My
left foot, however, has a blood blister under the big toenail, a
second nail looks as though it may turn black, and there is a large
piece of crumpled dead skin extending from behind my second toe,
stretching back two and a half inches. On Sunday morning this had not
yet fully developed.

The Presence of Greatness
-------------------------

At the prerace meeting Saturday morning we were excited to hear the
news that ultrarunning legend Ann Trason would be running the next day
in the 24-hour race. As I circled the track the hour before they
started, I looked for her, expecting I would recognize her, since I've
seen her picture many times.

When 9:00 AM arrived, I was on the opposite side of the track,
completing a lap in the clockwise direction. (They change directions
every two hours.) It was not hard to find Ann. She was already leading
the pack of approaching runners.

Ann Trason is small -- 5'4" and 105 pounds -- with predictably
powerful legs. I can't remember that I've ever seen such
well-developed hamstrings on a woman that size. Her appearance
reminded me of a description I read once of a tiny warbler: 'three
quarters of an ounce of courage wrapped in feathers, as it follows a
course for several days and 2,400 miles, flying across the Atlantic
from Africa to South America.' It seemed an apt comparison.

Trason recently turned 40, and is therefore technically now a masters
runner. She's still inarguably better than any woman ultrarunner on
the planet, and also better than most of her male competitors.

How many runners like me can say they were passed over 100 times by
Ann Trason in the same race? It sounds like a great competitive battle
was going on, eh? Except Ann has always said she doesn't race against
men. And oh yeah -- because it was on a track it meant she was lapping
me as I limped along on my blister. Well, it was still a pleasure to
watch her whiz by repeatedly at elbow distance.

I noted that everyone present appeared to watch for her and gave her
all the space she needed to do what she was there for. During the race
she rarely talked to anyone except her husband Carl Anderson, himself
an elite ultrarunner, who crewed his wife with meticulous attention.

Remarkably, this was not to be one of Ann Trason's greater days. Can
you imagine setting four world records and still finishing 21st out of
44? Because there is no DNF in fixed-time events, that's exactly what
happened, as in front of all our ogling eyes she progressively set
world women's masters records for 30, 40, and 50 miles, then 100K,
before finally crashing and dropping out after 80 miles. Such an odd
statistic is likely only in a fixed-time event.

While I'm talking about greatness, I shouldn't fail to mention James
Bonnet-Castillo, the race director's son. We have already come to take
him for granted around here. At age 14 he has already been one of the
best ultrarunners around for the past three years. Two years ago he
finished Across the Years with 101 miles, last year with 105, and this
year with 111. Everyone who has had a chance to be around him close up
knows he is completely self-motivated, beautifully coached, and best
of all, is a sweet and modest young guy. Everything good thing you
have heard about him so far is true. Keep that in mind, because before
long his reputation is likely to begin to grow to legendary
proportions.

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch ...
--------------------------------

The rest of us ordinary mortals were busily engaged in lesser combat.

In my own case, I had gotten badly behind schedule, as I spent much
time trying to maintain myself during the daylight hours on the second
day, without getting any momentum going.

By mid-morning I concluded that a shower would be a lovely idea, so I
grabbed my stuffed gym bag and a towel, and headed around the track
with it, so as not to have to backtrack. As I passed by a tent on the
opposite side of the field, a crewman watched incredulously as I
approached. "I like to increase the challenge!" I explained as I
passed by, which left him roaring with laughter.

The shower was wonderfully refreshing, but time-consuming. It was now
late morning, and promised to be warmer on this day than the day
before. Not wanting a repeat of the previous day, I planned to take a
nap during the hottest hours, and then dig in when it started to cool
again.

At 2:00 PM I headed for the tent, which was warm inside, though not
too much for comfort, while Suzy made another laundry trip to wash my
stuff for evening. I opened the flaps on both ends to increase
circulation, and spread out on top of the hammock-style cot. Once
again I was able to sleep for only one hour, but effectively. The
cheerful noise outside, the light, and the warmth inside the tent all
worked against my sleeping any more. I laid there until 4:00 PM, but
never did get any more quality rest. I should have gotten up and
started logging miles.

Our Town
--------

The race site becomes like a little village, with tents belonging to
runners and their crews scattered over the field, and some set up in
outlying areas. A warm sense of community develops that seems contrary
to the underlying truth that we are collectively engaged in a
competitive sporting event, as runners and crews invariably work
together to assist and encourage one another. You also get to know
what a lot of people look like from behind.

The crewing for runners I witnessed taking place on the part of family
and friends during this race was generally outstanding. One group on
the far side of the field had an elaborate camp, and were supporting
at least two runners. There may have been a third. Another group had
been there my first day, then gradually folded up stayed around long
enough to get well-lubricated on Carlson's beer by late afternoon. The
last three guys remained behind, sitting together on a bench as if
they were in the bleachers at a football game. Every time a runner
came by, they would stand up and do the wave. They kept this up for an
hour, to everyone's amusement, particularly their own.

It's not unusual to take an hour's worth of laps with another person.
During the race I had opportunity to get acquainted with many in the
race: Don Winkley, the ultimate 72-hour winner, who proved to be my
guardian angel (see below); Dennis Kranz (second place in 72 hours),
who lectured glibly on the benefits of pain, blisters, and toughing it
out; Chicagoan Nikki Seger, who won the 48-hour last year and was
running 72 this time; the delightful race founder Harold Sieglaff, who
walks in street clothes, loves music and plays the clarinet when the
New Year rolls around; Christopher O'Laughlin, a nurse who was
available to render medical assistance, and who walked with and talked
to my nurse-in-training daughter for several laps; Debra Richmeier,
who ran like a sprinter most of the first day and night, and who took
second place overall away from me in the 48-hour race by a margin of
nearly 49 miles; Jay Anderson from California, who looks 15 years
younger than the list says he is, and ended the 24-hour race with an
astonishing series of sprint laps to get over 108 miles; Tucsonian Joe
Dana, the purveyor of fine gaiters; and Andrea Feucht, who has a
cheerful attitude and obviously loved being there, despite being a
sandbagger, and kept me company for nearly an hour.

If multi-day runners were being paid millions, and had their status as
a free agent floating on their performance, they might be more
inclined to act like the self-absorbed star athletes we are accustomed
to seeing on TV. But that's not what this sport is all about. Any
runner with a heart who has experienced it realizes there is much
greater value in rendering assistance, even if it means stopping for a
few minutes to do so, and in the process making a new friend!

Two good Samaritans I benefitted personally from during this race were
Stephanie Ehret and Don Winkley.

Stephanie is the wife of 24-hour winner Peter Bakwin. She won the
24-hour race outright both the last two years, but this year was there
primarily to crew for both her husband and her father, Richard Ehret.
Being busy with their needs did not stop her from taking some time to
help me try to deal with the increasingly painful blister I'd been
monkeying with and that had reduced me to a limper. We built up a pad
around the sore spot, which didn't eliminate the problem, but
definitely helped a great deal.

Dinner time came, and pizza arrived. By that time Harold Sieglaff
aimed me at multi-day genius and foot healer laureate Don Winkley as
the on-site expert on foot care. As a runner who has done several
transcontinental runs, and Sri Chinmoy races up to 2700 miles, you
might expect him to know something about this.

Don went to his van and retrieved a magical apothecary's kit of
lotions, potions, and devices. He led me to a spot in the gymnasium
where he could see better and went to work. In twenty minutes he had
lanced, drained, treated, and elaborately taped my miserable foot.
This was the miracle cure that did the trick for me.

Don warned me that it looked like there might be a second blister
developing beneath the primary blister that might eventually act up.
He was right. But I never took that left shoe off again until I got
home eighteen hours later, and I was once again able to run. I'll be
eternally grateful for that assist, and hope someday I can return the
favor to someone else.

Approaching 100
---------------

By this time it was 6:00 PM on the second day. I had hoped to reach
100 miles by no later than 11:00 AM, but still had quite a way to go.
I knew I would make it, but thoughts about total mileage in the
130-160 range had long vanished. At least I was now fixed well enough
that I could begin to make steady progress.

As time passed, I was unable to run many laps. However, I did impress
myself with one burst. As they were bringing out party hats and
paraphernalia for the festivities at midnight, I finally approached
100 miles. At 11:45 I had only four laps to go. After hours of walking
about 6:00 a lap and running no better than 3:00, I suddenly ripped
off four laps at about 2:30 each, and tore across the line for my
much-desired 100 miles at 11:55:40 PM. Paul saw me come across and
hollered the news across the field, so I got to be cheered, as though
traveling 100 miles in 39 hours were some kind of noteworthy
accomplishment.

My next goal was to get *more* than 100 miles, which would obviously
happen, but I wanted to do it as soon as possible. Paul said that if I
got to 101 I would move permanently ahead of another runner who had
quit. So although I was in need of a break, I kept going around until
408 laps (101.41 miles) before stopping.

Meanwhile, midnight arrived, and those who were inclined wore hats,
blew horns, drank cider and made noise. Some boys started the
fireworks in the center of the field, which went off like a backfiring
one-cylinder car. They weren't able to get them to go off in a chained
sequence, so had to light each one individually, then run to safety to
let it go off. Then Paul ran around the field and planted giant
sparklers, handing some to runners to carry. Cute.