Outrun 24: Baby’s first 24-hour

Where?: Chapin Forest Reservation in Kirtland, OH

When?: May 4-5, 2024

Goal: Uhh…

Stretch Goal: Find anything remotely appetizing.

Strategy: Pray?

This is the game plan at mile 50. 11.5 hours in. Are my seams really starting to split before the actual race begins? My cheer team from the daylight hours has dwindled. Off to their warm, luxurious beds and their warm, luxurious homes. But I’m out here doing exactly what I love to do, paying the price for it, and curious as to what I’ll find in this vast, approaching darkness.

——

This race was my litmus test. I’d done a few self-supported solo 50ks in the past, but I had yet to find my limit. I eagerly scrambled onto Ultrasignup the morning that I saw registration finally opened. Relying on a totally juvenile, unstructured 8-month training block averaging 50-60 mpw, I was ready to fuck around and find out.

Around 5am, my sister (who’d be my long-haul crew) and I arrived at the inky-blue park grounds; the overnighters still slumbering in their unlit camps, a few runners quietly organizing gear in truck beds and backseats as the balmy darkness lifted. We claimed our spot near the final bend of the 1-mile loop and began setting up as the sleepy atmosphere started to stir.

We took a stroll around the loop, admired “the hill” which comprised most, if not all of the 64-ish feet of vertical gain of the lap. All of us would grow a deep, intimate bond with this hill over the next day. Whether we wanted to or not. Because in the end, even more beautifully menacing foes would make themselves known.

It’s truly a wonderful course, however. It felt evenly broken up into distinct sections with their own unique landmarks and quirks: parking lot, trailhead, the “crescent” between two trail crossings, the hill, the bridge, rolling bunny hills before a smooth downhill, a few flat curves before heading down the straightaway along the field, final turn down another small pine-lined straightaway towards the hairpin back to the start. Monotony, to my surprise, would not be an issue.

Time to toe the line for the send-off. Balmy, cool, and overcast— not too shabby. An odd sense of tranquility washed over me in the corral. Maybe it was the peace of finally surrendering to the thing I hadn’t been able to wrap my head around this entire time: 24 hours. It was a huge relief to know that for the next entire day, I wouldn’t have to worry about much else other than finding a way to put one foot in front of the other. Nowhere to be, nowhere to go. And then, away we went.

——

Mile 0-20 [00:00:00-03:48:27]

I probably went out too fast. But damn, most everyone else seemed to, too! Maybe it was our collective exaltation of finally breaking free from our antsy tapers… or maybe it was just me. At any rate, it simply felt beautiful just to be moving.

A handful of miles in, I already got to chatting with a fella, as big as a minute and full of zest & zeal. A nomadic ultra veteran who looked like he’d been out in the scorching sun longer than I’ve been alive. But he ignited my spirits and made a few laps whiz by like nothing. I think he ended up carrying many other runners through more crucial hours. That guy definitely got me into the encouraging spirit of the endurance game, and I found a strong desire to pass that energy along.

Shortly after hour 2, my lady showed up with her sweet little face and bearing bunch of goodies that would prove to be lifesavers later on. I took a short break to tape up some hot spots and re-supply, but otherwise I was getting into the groove. Feeling fine. Surprised (and simultaneously concerned) that I was maintaining a consistent 10-11 minute pace.

Mile 20-40 [03:48:27-08:31:53]

I’d known long before the race that my Plan A had a 100% chance of falling apart. So would Plan B, C, and so forth. Plan A was to take a substantial break around every 2 hours— fully pull-off into camp, reevaluate gear, eat, re-up on food to-go, first-aid, etc.

I’d been dropping off my soft flasks for refills whenever I needed and picking them up on the next lap, but at about 4 hours in, I was getting a little worried. I‘ve been blessed with a pea-sized bladder, so not hitting the little boys room for over about two hours was a bit concerning. I didn’t want to dig the hydration grave this early, so I began diligently pounding water and tailwind like they owe me money, passing off flasks every loop or two.

Approaching mile 30, I ended up hiking the hill alongside a guy who’d been constantly passing me, looking consistently strong and relaxed. We both commiserated on starting to feel the burn. “I think I’m gonna stop at 50k”, he said. “Nonsense!” I blurted, “there’s a whole lot of race left, man!” I mean, the dude looked like he was fresh off the starting line, and I told him that. Plus he was only a few miles away from his goal. I caught him a little later on his victory lap. Had to give him props for the extra loop. I hope he got a few more in after that.

Midway through hour 6, more friendly faces of family and loved ones showed up to witness the absurdity. I’d just passed mile 33, and while my pace began to dwindle and dip into 12:00 and 13:00, I was still trucking and my soul still relatively intact. Relatively.

Alas, wrapping up mile 35, my cheer team was as numerous and jubilant as ever, and the sobering truth hit me across the head like a sock full of quarters: I’m only a fraction of the way through this thing. I wearily gazed in bags and rifled through coolers for fuel… and absolutely nothing sounded appetizing. I did not want to eat. I understood I had to, but I couldn’t decide on something to shove down that didn’t look utterly repulsive.

I’m pretty sure at one point I just thought aloud to everyone, “I’m really sad right now…” I’m not even sure if I really meant it. In fact, I’m not even sure what I meant to say, or even sure of what I was feeling. And that’s when I spotted the container of watermelon. God bless my sweet lady. She saved my sorry boo-hoo ass with those watermelon chunks. It was nectar. Pure. Lifebreathing. A borderline religious experience.

My sister geared up to keep me company for a few loops. I changed socks and switched to a fresh pair of shoes. So, with a newfound hope just dim enough to shine, I threw some boiled peewee potatoes into my vest and ventured on.

Mile 40-50 [08:31:53-11:22:10]

Among my bubbly cheer team was my lady’s father, a guy who’s been doing ultras long before I was even a thought. He wanted to get a few loops in with me, and I secretly hoped he would drop some life-altering ultra wisdom on me that would somehow alleviate all the bodily bullshit that was just starting to surface after the 40 mile mark.

We went easy, and I needed it. His pace was comfortable and sustainable, but the pounding was continuing to take its toll. The outer ligament behind my right knee began to smart with each step, and the top of my right foot was getting more tender as we went on. None of it was getting less painful. Instead of some earth-shattering, all-curing wisdom, he gave me something actually valuable: the truth. “I think you’re gonna be forced to walk pretty soon.”

Damn straight. In hindsight, what the fuck else did I expect to happen? I barely allowed myself any significant stretches of walking in the entire race up until this point. I surely wasn’t expecting to keep running the way I was in the first 20-30 miles— but whatever sleeper-cell of hubris that arose within me today was likely going to be served a fat slice of humble pie.

Truthfully, I just wanted nothing more than to give this thing my all. 24 hours was still too unwieldy to fit in my mind. So was 12 hours. So was the next hour. I was approaching the event horizon of the almighty present moment. Plans, expectations, goals… all began to dissolve under any amount of scrutiny. Because those things were becoming so besides the point. Something much greater and truer was revealing itself. A sense of appreciation grew that had little to do with running or suffering. There was so much race left, and even in my shitty state, I felt a great relief.

As I wrapped up mile 50, my cheer team fizzled out along with the light of day, and shit was finally getting real. His prediction was absolutely correct. The time was nigh that I would no longer be able to run with the pain. But I sure as hell could walk. On our last loop together, he left me with another piece of wisdom: “You’d be surprised at what happens in the middle of the night.”

Mile 50-64 [11:22:10-16:46:29]

“Oi sir, what are you doing?”

“Uh... trudging. You know, trudging? …To trudge: the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply… soldier on.” — A Knight’s Tale

—

I’d quickly come to grips with the idea of walking the remaining 12 hours. I texted my folks that the wheels had fallen off and I would endure an indefinite trudge. I was 11 miles away from 100k, which for me was plenty to be proud of. My sister tagged along with me for at least 6 or 7 of those initial “full-time” walking loops. Just chatting, belly-laughing, growing a little delirious, bumping various volumes of Jock Jams during breaks as my appetite started to come alive again.

Cup of ramen in hand on the trail, motes of pollen whizzing by in the light of my headlamp, the tranquil cacophany of crickets and frogs from deep within the perfect blackness… It was simply good enough to just be out there. This bizarre alternate reality was becoming my new home.

After a rest at mile 55, I figured it would finally be a proper time to bust out the big guns: caffeine and tunes. Boy, oh boy am I so glad I held off on my luxuries. Sipping on a can of Guru, jams in the headphones, my trudge became more of a solo top-rocking battle. The course had thinned out dramatically after dark, so the exaggerated bobbing and cartoonish, gesticulative path of my headlamp probably looked amusing from a distance. And completely unhinged up close. I was visibly, shamelessly enjoying myself at this point.

Music felt like the headiest drug, and caffeine… well, it is a drug. I was getting locked in to a pretty decently paced hike (or so it felt), soaking it all in, unbridled from any expectations, and seemingly from reality altogether. I enthusiastically pounded ‘round to mile 60, and by then walking started to feel… actually pretty damn good! Once I passed 100k, I dared a few yards of a trot. Oh shit, okay! That didn’t feel too bad! As I rounded the final bend past camp to wrap up mile 63, I picked up my feet into a careful, steady shuffle. I turned to catch my sister’s attention, punching the air in pathetic, delirious triumph, and her face lit up from above her book.

I was fucking doing it. Nothing hurt and everything was beautiful again. It wasn’t fast, but it sure as hell wasn’t slow. I stripped off my walking hoodie and theatrically threw it back at camp. I wouldn’t need it anymore. The warmth of the proverbial second wind would carry me.

Mile 64-75 [16:46:29-19:53:07]

I’d found a shuffling stride that was gentle and sufficient enough, and best of all, didn’t absolutely obliterate my right knee or foot. At this point, my toes felt like they were going to explode. All of them. But somehow it mattered so little. My quads were getting ripped a fresh pair of assholes on the downhills. Guess I’ll just twinkle-toe gingerly down those. It mattered so little. The amount of general soreness my entire body was experiencing was colossally esclipsed by the simple novelty that, by means unknown to me, I was running again.

I passed a trio of hikers who must’ve recognized me from the previous walking loops featuring my manic B-boy episode, because suddenly a woman from the group erupts, “YES!! LOOK AT YOU GO!!! LOOK AT YOU!! YOU’RE DOING IT!!” And boy did that have my heart soaring and bursting with fresh colors. I shout back with a corny, “I don’t know what the hell is going on! But I’m taking it!” Or something else also completely stupid and to that effect.

Many of the other overnighters had to have known exactly what I was experiencing. Because so many kind and encouraging words found me on those next 9 loops. And I did my best to give the handful of other night owls their rightful props, too.

My appetite held strong in these hours. Powdered mini-donuts were unexpectedly bangin’. Cold pizza, Pringle’s, overnight oats, cheese quesadillas I’d been picking at all race. Things were good. But as I got up from camp to wrap up mile 72, I could feel my triumphant flight coming to a descent. Top of my foot, behind my knee, my achilles, all of the little snags were surfacing again. I managed to eke out a couple wimpy laps in this state, and mile 75 would be the last hurrah of my second wind. The pains would resume business as usual, and Mr. Trudge would be holding court yet again.

Mile 75-81 [19:53:07-22:20:44]

The long walk. Rain began to patter through the shadowy new leaves above. I was certain I would not have the gumption to attempt a trot for the remainder of the race. Doing my best means a lot to me, but not getting injured means more.

My sister joined me every other lap. I started to grow a little delirious in earnest. Roots frequently mistaken for oversized newts. Shadows and pollen motes playing tricks in the light of my headlamp. I’d turn my headlamp off occasionally and let the impossible darkness swell into life; the brush would softly billow from obscurity into vague form, and finally the trail would reveal itself as my eyes adjusted, like a gentle beacon cutting through the shapeless black under a canopy-cracked steel-pink sky.

I remained pretty quiet. Even when my sister came along. Still had my music going quietly, and a cold brew coffee that made me have to piss literally every ten minutes. Sometimes I’d just piss myself if I found myself bookended by headlamps. I’d already been soaked by some flash downpours— okay who am I kidding. I probably would’ve pissed myself regardless. The race is almost over, and I didn’t give a fuck. I didn’t give a fuck who gave a fuck. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t sleepy. I was walking. Only walking. I wasn’t really thinking about anything. No words. No images. No ideas. No cares.

At this point, dear reader, we were getting close to heart of the onion. The existential onion. I’d been shedding layers all day and night, whether I knew it or not, and now some sample-sized essence of singularity was being unceremoniously revealed. No thinking. Just doing. It didn’t feel great. It didn’t feel bad. It didn’t matter what it was. The most serene emptiness. That serene emptiness pulled me around to close in on mile 80. The sun was coming up again.

At that moment I passed camp for what I planned to be the bittersweet end, my sister pops out of the gazebo and gestures down the path, wordlessly saying “One more?”

The thought of doing the loop even once more made me feel ill. Not physically. But in some intangible way. The thought of trying to get up the hill before my groin muscles and achilles detonate was bleak. Downhills? I’d rather be… fucking buried alive, I don’t know. But I can’t let big sis down. She doesn’t know I’m so spent. Plus, I didn’t want to do my last lap alone.

We brought it in for 81 miles at 22 hours and 20 minutes. I turned in my bib, snagged my medal, chopped it up with a couple ballers at the aid station who were still grinding out loops, then sat down in a lawn chair back at camp and stared purposelessly out into the ether. The same tranquility from the starting corral washed over me again in spades.

——

Nothing but pure gratitude. Gratitude became not only imperative, but a natural headspace in this race. Nothing but affinity and respect for everyone who showed up. I felt immersed in the most wholesome, human, ridiculous, faith-restoring, hubris-obliterating, gentle, zen, and idyllic alternate universe for 24 hours. The real world pales in comparison to this.

I now truly understand why people do these things. It makes perfect sense, and the explaination needs zero words. I got my shit rocked real good, in the most soul-enriching fashion, and that’s precisely why I’m doing it again next year.

——