FANS 24-hour Run - June 7-8, 2003

Who knew that pavement would be so hard? I thought FANS would be kind of like a 24-hour track run. I've done 2 of those. Plus I've done one 12-hour track run. Pavement is different. For a 24-hour run, many ultrarunners have this magic goal of doing 100 miles. I don't know why. I guess it's just a nice round number that they think is somewhat attainable. So that was my goal. Since I've done it on a track, I figured I could do it at FANS, as long as I was healthy. Don and I flew out from San Francisco to Minneapolis for the FANS 24-hour run and to see Don's family. The day before the race, Don and I went with his mom and sisters to check out Lake Nokomis, where the race would be held. We walked a loop so we could see the whole course--all 2.4217 miles of it. It was raining and not warm. We met Propeller Head (Gordon Chace), and it was even too rainy for his propeller to be on his head. I thought it was fortuitous that we were there for the arrival of the portapotties. I got all excited. Portapotties are like luxury after you've had to go on the trail. Well, I try not to go literally on the trail, but off to the side of it at least. Sometimes there really is nowhere else to go. Enough of that. This run had portapotties at the start/finish and real bathrooms a little farther along the course, and a few other portapotties along the path around the other side of the lake. We went off to purchase our remaining race supplies, food for dinner, and ham and cheese sandwich makings for the race, and then back to the family house. After dinner we got to bed pretty early for the morning wake up call at 5:40. At the lake I weighed in at 133. (That's a little heavy.) I started to think maybe those people who try hard to weigh in light had the right idea, but it was too late now. My theory had always been that it was important to get the correct weight. If you are down 7%, which means you are dangerously dehydrated, you would want to know and not be allowed to continue. Don's family was getting organized with a tent and tarp, and all of our supplies. We had drink mix powders, Hammer Gel flasks, extra clothes, extra shoes, and other odds and ends for nighttime. Don's sister Juli was running in the 12-hour race. She had not done an ultra before, but she had run the Twin Cities Marathon last October. She decided her goal here would be 31 miles, and she would be able to walk a lot and still achieve that. We gathered for some pre-race explanation from the race director, and then it was time to start going around that lake. Around and around. Well, first we did a short out-and-back to set up the mileage for crossing 50 miles at the start/finish line. Then we were off around the lake. It didn't take long to settle into a rhythm. Then the hours went by fast. I wasn't too hot, but I was feeling really sweaty and clammy because of the humidity. I picked up my little chamois cloth thing and ran with it attached to my bottle, so I could wipe my face, and my hands wouldn't get so sweaty holding the bottle. Don's sister Rosemary was crewing for us, and provided a new bottle of water or other requested mixed liquid at every lap. She got the system down really well. As she handed over a bottle, she would ask what I wanted on the next lap. I tried the new Perpetuem drink from e-caps on a couple laps. It tasted fine, especially with ice, and didn't upset my stomach. I was also using Hammer Gel, but kept forgetting about it. The group of volunteers counting the laps was making me laugh. They were clapping every time a runner came by. That's a lot of clapping on a course with such a short loop. They came up with more creative things--on one lap they all did the wave, which continued on through the aid station tent and to the medical staff. I just kept smiling. On one lap the volunteers asked, "Where is your smile?" I was staring at the clock, and admitted I was trying to do simple math, but that ability was already gone.

My pace seemed pretty good to me. I had a chart showing a 13 minute mile pace, and I figured if I stayed ahead of that, then everything was groovy. Well, it was until my knee started hurting. My groin wasn't feeling great either. I think this was about 30 miles. Bob Metzger was helping out with the race. He did a lap with me earlier. He reminded me why I was there. "This isn't the main event, right? What about Western States?" He was right. My goal for this race was to come out of it uninjured. Of course, if I could do 100 miles without getting injured I would like that, too. The Western States 100 was 3 weeks away. I made a conscious effort to walk more than run on the next lap. This would force me to stop thinking about the leader board, and focus on feeling better. I realized there was something bad going on with my toes also. A shoe change was definitely in order. I wasn't thinking about how many miles I had. In the meantime, Don was consistently lapping the lake (now that sounds funny), very much focused on his total miles and pace. I sat for a shoe change and foot fix up. I wasn't exactly sure what to do with my feet. I had taped the balls of my feet and my big toes. The big toe taping wasn't working out so well. On the left, it had rubbed the next toe to cause a big ugly blister that had to be lanced. On the right, maybe the taping was too tight, because the big toenail was bruised at the base. I put Second Skin on the left toe and taped it up with Micropore tape. For the right toe, I just cut off the existing tape and hoped for the best. I sprayed my feet with Desenex to cool them down and dry them out, then smeared them all over with Hydropel, which is a lubricant. I changed to new socks and different shoes: Asics Gel Cumulus with insoles that were built up by Dr. Hannaford, (the ultrarunning podiatrist), into sort of temporary orthotics. The shoes I took off were Saucony Hurricanes. I felt a lot better. My toes didn't feel perfect, but better. My groin pain went away completely, at least for a while, and the knee pain eased up. I was back out there heading toward 50 miles. Originally I'd wanted to get to 50-something or even 60 by 12 hours. That plan was gone. I was in a zone where it seemed like I was always somewhere around 50 miles on every lap. Occasionally when Don saw me, he would ask my mileage, and I honestly wouldn't know. The lap counter people were great. It was set up so that the same person counted you every time you came around, until they changed shifts. The person would tell me how many laps and how many miles it was, but I'd immediately forget, since it always sounded the same and I was feeling like I wasn't making any progress. The other mechanism for counting the laps was that each runner had barcoded tags to drop off on each lap. That was like insurance for when they verified all the numbers. Pizza turned up some time in the evening. I had a piece. My stomach felt fine so I didn't give it a second thought. Even though the humidity was high, the temperature was reasonable, maybe even cool at points, so there was no problem with heat/dehydration induced nausea for me. Going into the night was hard. Eventually, I decided to pick up the MP3 player that Don let me borrow. It was his old one. I had loaded it with a selection of music. With this thing, you just start it playing and it'll play through everything. Sounded fine to me. It fit in my pocket. My energy was fading a bit in the night, but then ABBA's Waterloo came on. Can you run and dance at the same time? I had defnitely hit a runner's high at that point. I was giggling to myself. Since the 12 hour run finished, there were fewer runners out there. Also, it seemed like everyone had either slowed down a lot, or taken a break and gone into a tent. I was alone a lot of the time. Maybe it was the illusion of darkness, or my memory is mixed up, but it was quiet.

Speaking of the 12-hour run, at 8:00 pm that part of the run was finished, and Juli was done. I was wandering around the lake somewhere when all the excitement happened. She stayed consistent and completed 32 miles. The family had pizza and Don gave her a small bottle of champagne. And then everything went quiet again. Late in the night my pace had slowed to dragging. I was trying to take caffeine to keep going, but that became very unappealing. I was convinced the caffeine would just upset my stomach. I kept drinking water. I wasn't eating much. I think I was peeing on every lap, but that was tiring, the effort of going into the portapotty, sitting down, getting up again, arranging my clothes. The simple act of going to the bathroom was a major chore. It sounds funny now. I was also carrying a big flashlight--the green 14-LED model. For the first lap in the darkness I carried a little 4-LED light, but that wasn't quite bright enough. Well, that's what I was thinking to myself as I tried to run on the side of the path in the grass when I suddenly tripped on a root and ended up on my back, laughing. I swear there was someone behind me, but when I got up I couldn't see him. I think that falling down is kind of funny, and if someone gets to witness it, they should laugh, too. In fact, what good is falling down if SOMEONE doesn't get to see it? Anyway, back to the darkest part of the night. I was somehow up to third woman on the leader board. I didn't believe that was possible at my snail's pace. I had hit 100K (62 miles) and seemed stuck somewhere around that distance forever. It was colder, so I put on some pants and a long sleeve top (that made going to the bathroom even more of a chore), and I was still walking around that lake, hoping for some fun hallucinations if I was going to feel this tired. I stopped listening to the MP3 player. The music had become invasive. I debated for a while, because the sleepy time was when you needed music to keep you awake, but I didn't want to hear it any more. On this lap I was looking at benches and trying to figure out a way to just sit on one and not get cold. I tried sitting on the wall where the path is next to the road over a bridge. That didn't help. When I made it back, I just had to sit. The heater was on. I was tired. The medical man looked worried. I blurted out that I had gained 6 pounds last time I was weighed in the race. We were supposed to be weighed every 4 hours. I think I missed one. I suggested maybe I should get weighed right then. I was still 5 pounds up. And so tired. So, he told me to eat salt. Have soup, have pretzels, and sit a while til I peeed again. I thought I was peeing enough, but maybe not in relation to all the water I had. The kidneys act differently at night. I wish I understood this part better. I have more research to do on salt and water imbalances. Tired ultrarunners usually do what they are told, and I was no exception. Rosemary was saying all kinds of comforting things. Then, a massage sounded like a good idea. I stumbled over to the table when the massage lady was ready, and she helped me up. I could not pick up my right leg at all--the groin was locked up. As soon as I got comfortable I realized I had to go to the bathroom. She was so nice about it--she helped me off the table and walked over with me and waited. So, back on the table, at least 15 minutes of work on my poor leggies, and I was feeling better. Mostly it was just good to have people be so nice to me. When I stood up I couldn't even stand. Uh oh. So she put me back on the table and did some more. Somehow, that worked and I could stand and walk again. I sat by the heater a little while longer with blankets over me, as the sky began to lighten. After an eternity, I decided to go out for more. More laps. More punishment. More whatever. My legs were working, and I walked through tent town once again. There were sleepy bodies everywhere. The best setup was these two rust colored recliner chairs, which now contained two snoring people. Beware the comfy chair. I was still sleepy. I moved forward, but so slowly. What's amazing in retrospect is that I would have the presence of mind to say my number and hand in my tag when I made it around the lake. It was morning. I waved and smiled at the massage therapist, saying, "Look, I'm walking." She was so happy I was moving that she thanked me. She thanked me? I was thankful to her. I figured one more lap and I could sit out the rest of the race. I especially wanted to be a spectator for the last part. With an hour to go, the race is set up so that the runners do really short out-and-backs along the tent town part of the path. This is so that you don't get caught somewhere out around the lake when time is up. I thought it would be neat to see everyone going up and down, and cheer them on. So, leaving the aid station at about 22 hours, this would be my last lap. I even said, "I won't see you again," to the man in the aid station on the other side of the lake. When I came in to the start/finish, actually feeling better than the previous lap, Bob Metzger was there. I was blabbing to everyone, "I'm done now," but Bob wouldn't have that. He said that we would do another lap. It was somewhere around 23 hours. I was convinced I didn't have time for that. He said I did unless I stood there talking about it, so off we went.

This was the chatty lap. We talked about a bunch of different things, a lot of which I don't remember now. There was some discussion about being competitive with your significant other. I didn't think I was. Don is just faster than I am so it doesn't matter. In fact, when people see how tall he is, they usually feel sorry for me trying to run along with him. I guess we talked about doing the 12-hour instead of the 24, and even having a 6-hour option, which would be great because I was fine for the first 6 hours. Funny that 6 hours can seem like nothing. Suddenly we were back at the start/finish, and I was now ready to stop. I starting telling everyone, again, that I was done, but no. Bob said we had to walk the short out-and-backs, too. So we joined the herd of runners that was running or stumbling along the tent town path. In amongst the runners were oblivious visitors to the lake out on their morning stroll. I was now wide awake and getting excited about the finish. I even decided I was ready to start running. Just 1 hour earlier I thought my body would never run again, and now it actually felt good. Don looked surprised when he saw me. But he'd already run 111 miles, so of course it seemed odd to him to run like that. I was laughing. I think. I kept yelling my number at each turnaround point to be counted. Each time I was asking, "Can we make another one?" and we could. It seemed like it might go on forever. But we stopped with about 20 seconds to go, and then saw the last few people make the extra effort for that one last stretch. That was neat. And then suddenly it was all over. I thought I would cry, but I didn't feel like that. Just that everything stopped. It was all done. I hugged Bob and the family was around me, and I found Don and hugged him. I said something about doing a 48 hour run because I felt so good. I think Don was at the other end of the spectrum. He had used up all his energy and was done. Now all that was left to do was sort everyone out, get all the stuff back into the cars, and head to the breakfast and awards. Since it was up the hill, we got a ride with Juli. Don was outside of the main room where the breakfast was, and while I was picking over the food, a woman asked if "that man who didn't look so good" belonged to us. Yup. I got Don some food while she got him a chair, and we were all set for the awards. They do top 5, and then give special awards named after volunteers. I really did end up as third female (85 miles), thanks to Bob. Don was fourth male (112 miles), and together we received the Pat and Paul Sackett award for couple with the most combined mileage. I finally got emotional when the group gave a standing ovation to a man who had been told he would never walk again, because he completed 50+ miles, wearing a big pack the whole way. Some people have such huge obstacles to overcome, and they still manage to accomplish amazing things.

We headed back to the family house for a shower and naps. My toes were ugly, but overall I felt pretty good. And, after my nap I got to try White Castle burgers for the first time. Good ultra food! Our flight back to California wasn't until Monday, but we sure wished we had longer to stay. By Monday morning I was feeling good and it was a shame not to be able to use my new energy to explore Minneapolis. Maybe next time. There has to be a next time because Juli's daughter Catherine was also out there doing laps (just for fun) and ended up covering 23 miles. So next year she plans to be an official entrant. And of course Juli wants to do it again. The jury is still out on Don and me...