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Across The Years 24/48/72 Hr 2000 Report(Part 3): Lynn David Newton

Graveyard Shift
---------------

Okay, so that meant it was now the year 2001. Big deal. What it meant
for fifty-plus runners still on the track was that it was time to get
down to the serious business of finishing the last nine hours of this
race.

Suzy endured this evening much better than the first, because she
holed up with timer Steve Finkelstein in the nearby timing equipment
booth, where there was a space heater, and read the latest mindless
Danielle Steel novel. From then on there was not a lot I needed from
her except an occasional admiring glance. By midnight I was prepared
to go the night solo. I had what I needed in physical support, so Suzy
returned to my brother's house.

From then on it was a long grind. It was important to keep moving, not
just because of the mileage, but because if I stopped I might get cold
and would stiffen up and have a hard time getting started again.

Shortly before 2:30 AM I became disoriented. I was bundled up in a
long-sleeve Coolmax shirt, a Marmot coat, a hooded sweatshirt, and a
hooded winter coat, with my hat on, and my Oakley sunglasses, which I
wore even at night, because it kept the cold wind from drying my eyes.
Engulfed in hoods, all I could see was the white line in front of me,
and every once in a while would peer out to remind myself where I was
on the track, and which direction I was going. A female runner, I
don't know who, passed me by and said: "Maybe you're about due for a
nap!" I hadn't planned on it, but the power of suggestion suddenly
moved me to be kind to myself.

There was no way I would lie down in that tent again. I'd never be
able to get up. Instead, I picked up my folding camp chair and a
pillow, and took it into the warm gym lobby, where others were
sleeping, and parked myself against the wall. I shut my eyes and
managed to sleep for a while sitting upright. Various ones who came in
to use the restrooms made enough clatter that sleeping soundly was
impossible.

I was in there for perhaps 45 minutes. That was all the sleep I needed
to complete the race. On two more occasions I did sit down for just a
few minutes. The first time it was outside. Paul stopped over and made
me consume some Hammer Gel. I'd sort of lost the taste for it by then,
and wouldn't have swallowed any if I hadn't been coached into it. The
second stop I put my chair back in the tent to reduce the wind (there
wasn't much) and cold. I knew there was a danger I could fall asleep,
but I didn't let it happen.

From 5:00 AM on, things picked up. I got into watching certain
individual runners. One of the most fun to watch was Brenda Klein from
New Mexico, one of the runners being crewed from the camp across the
field. I never did actually see her walk at any time during the race,
although she did change clothes a couple of times. She just kept
trotting along relentlessly, sometimes singing to herself, and almost
always in the company of one or more crew members, who at times almost
seemed to be towing her behind with their steady encouragement. Brenda
finished with 101.16 miles, reaching 100 miles just a few minutes
before the end. I congratulated her on my last lap around, saying I
had been watching her all day. If you have seen Brenda, then you know
that watching her is not exactly hard to do.

Aki Inoue put in the most spectacular performance of the event, if you
discount Ann Trason's world record setting flame-out. Aki began
running the 48-hour race at an 8:00 per mile pace, and ran hard the
whole first day, reaching 100 miles quite early. However, like most of
us, he overestimated his ability to handle the warm day, and fell
apart for a while. On the second day he walked almost all day long.
When I talked to him briefly he sounded like he was finished with
trying to run much. But when it got cool again on the second night, he
suddenly burst into high gear. He finished the race with 204.80 miles,
39 miles ahead of second place Debra Richmeister, and 88 miles ahead
of me. There was over 15 miles between me and the next runner, so my
place in the standings was pretty much engraved in stone the instant I
completed 408 laps.

And In the End
--------------

  ... In the evening weeping may take up lodging, but in the morning
  there is a joyful cry. -- Psalm 30:5

It doesn't get light until after 7:00 AM on January 1 around here. But
when the sun came up, and the warmth returned, bringing yet another
beautiful Arizona day, the excitement built toward the end, as
individuals fought to put in the extra effort to make personal goals,
and in close races, to slug it out to bring their place in the
standings up one notch. An amazing 13 persons finished the 24-hour
race with more than 100 miles. Six of them finished with between 411
and 406 laps.

Remarkably, by the end I was doing just fine myself. Suzy arrived
about 8:30, and Cyra-Lea came with a friend not long afterward. I had
walked only for the previous couple of hours, but as we approached the
end, I got inspired. Cyra-Lea took off with me as I ran one
surprisingly strong lap in about 2:45, then a second one, thinking it
would be my last. As I approached the line I saw it was 8:55. "I can
do another one!" I called out, and launched into it, while Cyra-Lea
remained behind, helping to hold up the finishing tape. Even though I
had time to shuffle the last lap or maybe even walk it, I hit it hard,
and kicked to the finish. There was a lot of traffic coming across the
line at that time, and I don't know how good a picture Suzy got, but I
know she took others.

And for the finale, our timer set himself on fire. This sounds funny,
but it could have been a disaster. Steve Finkelstein, Arizona's own
ultravolunteer extraordinaire, who works endlessly at many tasks for
the Arizona Road Racers, and who was at the track for most of the 72
hours of the race, not to mention time spent before and after, backed
himself into the space heater, and caught a garment on fire. He was
hurt badly enough that he required and got some medical attention from
Jordan Ross. I haven't heard from him at this writing to know how bad
it was, but he was walking around the site after the race with a
bandage around his leg.

My brother Dean arrived about 9:03, not in time to see the end, but
soon enough for the awards ceremony, and to help with tearing down our
stuff. This year I was less incapacitated at the end myself than last
year, when I was crippled by raw blisters that made it difficult even
to limp to the car.

Some Analysis
-------------

In the end I didn't fully accomplish my goals, but had a satisfying
experience nonetheless.

o I did *not* surpass last year's 24-hour mileage. I still think it
  should be possible to do, and also complete another 24 hours, but
  not without the right kind of training.

o I *did* reach 100 miles, which was great, but I really had in mind
  something more of a contiguous run, continuing straight through 24,
  and not taking any significant breaks until I got there. Instead, it
  took me over 11 hours longer to get there than I planned.

o I *didn't* make 130 miles or more, but 116.82 isn't too shabby. And
  I'm the *oldest* guy who ran 48-hours. Our ages in finishing order
  are: 35, 40, 57, 43, 56, and 49.

So What?
--------

Another race is over and in the books, and I'm busy recovering. Except
for my left foot, and some back stiffness yesterday, I feel fine,
though not exactly ready to go out for a long run.

Suzy, on the other hand, frequently experiences what I refer to as
harmonic maladies. If my foot hurts, hers does, too, I can pretty much
guarantee it, and she'll go to see a doctor about it. Last night she
said to me, "I can't believe how sore I am. I need a massage!" That's
funny -- I thought *I* was the one who ran the race. Sadly, her
massage therapist's funeral was on Saturday morning. (She was a dear
family friend.)

There will be other races. What did I get out of this one, and why did
I do it? Was it worth it? After all, it was just a footrace which I
never had the remotest chance of winning, and even if I had, so what?
There wasn't even a cash prize.

This is that part of one of those verbose race reports where the
author is supposed to wax philosophic about what it all means. I've
always been of the school of thought that says: As much fun and as
beneficial and satisfying as it can be, it's still just running. I try
not to attach too much higher importance to it.

Participating in and winning footraces, as enjoyable as it is, is not
one of the Big Things that gives real meaning and purpose to life. At
least, it doesn't fill that slot for me. I have other things in my
life in addition to running that equal and greatly surpass in
importance and satisfaction anything I do on my feet.

The people who gathered in Queen Creek this past weekend underwent a
tribal experience. But each one inevitably took something different
away from it. Whether we run for 24, 48, or 72 hours, just doing it is
no small achievement, and something to be proud of. Ultradistance
running tests the very limits of our whole being. What each one
derives from it in personal understanding is the reward that person
gets from participation.

I'm a late starter at running. Although I've done periodic jogging
since 1977, I've run consistently and with intelligence, method,
dedication, and heart only since mid-1994. The progress I've made,
particularly in the unusual route I've wound up taking, into the
rarefied world of ultrarunning and multi-day events, has been
satisfying for the health benefits alone, if for no other reason. I
consider running my preferred choice of alternative health care. (I
have nothing whatever against traditional medicine, and don't hesitate
to see a doctor when I really need one. I've just been fortunate to
have little need for it.)

I think I still have at least one more good year in me, one in which I
can set and accomplish some new goals, before aging takes over and
limits what I can do.

It's a brand new year and I have no specific running goals whatever,
other than to say there will unquestionably be some. There are some
races I've been thinking about, but I do few enough of those that the
races are not the big thing. It's all about the running.