My first ultra

Here is an article I wrote that appeared in the Second Wind Running Club newsletter about my first ultra, which was Howl at the Moon on August 7, 2009. For another perspective, read this nice article by Susan Donnelly. I have since signed up for Farmdale, a 32-mile trail run in E. Peoria on October 17.

Running Full Tilt at the Howl: My First Ultra

This is a newbie’s description of an ultramarathon, any race with a distance longer than a marathon. I hope my experience will tempt others who have wondered what running an ultra is like to take the plunge. Just sign up. You can think about it later.

I’m 51 and have been running for about five years, all with the club. I’m an average 10-minute miler, logging about 20 to 25 miles a week with runs that range from 5 to 10 miles. Although I’ve run two road marathons (most recently the Illinois Marathon in 4:33), I didn’t really love them.

I especially enjoy running with the group of Second Wind trail runners known as the Buffalo, some of whom run ultras. They run every week at Lake of the Woods, and the post-run camaraderie in the parking lot is as important as the run. Tony Suttle speaks the truth: “It’s not about the running.” Ultrarunners are a friendly bunch, full of helpful advice, and down to earth. But I thought they were crazy. Some of them were beyond crazy, running multi-day or 100-mile races, for instance. They embrace the weather, running in mud and snow, rain or shine, and sometimes in the dark. Below zero, windy, and icy? Game on! But as I got to know them, they also seemed so normal.

It was in the dead of an April night while I was working the aid station at McNaughton (a grueling 50-, 100-, and 150- mile ultra near Pekin) that I got the sense of what running an ultra was about. Conditions on the rugged course were brutal. It was cold, muddy, and flooded in places, yet runners of all ages came from across the country to run it. Instead of crazy, other words came to mind: strong, intense, core. When you hang around people you like long enough, the nonsense they talk starts to make sense. And the better a runner you become, the higher goals you set for yourself.

Howl at the Moon is a Kennekuk ultra, legendary for its post-race party and recommended by many as a good first ultra to do. The course is mostly flat with little shade and run on dirt roads and grass. Ultras are typically 50- and 100K or miles of trail, and the first one to reach the finish line wins. Howl, on the other hand, is an 8-hour timed ultra. Whoever runs the most miles in 8 hours wins. Miles are accumulated by running 3.29-mile loops. Runners start at 7:00 am and finish at 3:00 pm. If you don’t complete your loop before time runs out, that loop doesn’t count. So at 2:30 p.m., a quarter-mile out-and-back course is opened that lets you keep accumulating miles, in half-mile chunks, until the race is over.

On August 7, the night before Howl, I drank lots of water to hydrate for what was going to be a very hot day. Between bathroom visits and perpetually adding items to pack, I didn’t sleep a wink. I was clearly nervy. I got up at 4:45 a.m. and ate a serving of oatmeal (with chunks of cheddar cheese), a banana, and coffee. I threw my stuff in the car, including gear for camping that night, and started driving. Don Frichtl had set up a table for us near the start line so we could leave our things accessible during the race. In my bag were water, a bottle of Succeed capsules (electrolytes), 8 packages of raspberry Hammer gel (carbs), Body Glide (for chafing), and extra shoes, socks, and clothes (which I didn’t use). In the pockets of my shorts, I had gel and an iPod. Other than that, all I carried was my water bottle. I had on plenty of sunscreen and a hat.

It should be noted that I started running in the upright position at my usual pace, my iPod full of Latin dance music. I needed to go to the bathroom, but I just couldn’t until after two or three loops. Little did I know that I wouldn’t go again until near the end of the race. Early on, it was nice and cool, albeit humid, but temperatures rose quickly to the 90s. A few clouds and breezes kept it from being worse. Each time I passed Don’s table, I popped a Succeed and grabbed a gel, which I gagged down with water as I walked to the scorer’s table. At the beginning and end of each lap, you check in with your scorer, who keeps track of where you are. This became important, as I frequently forgot which loop I was on. After the scorer’s table I’d drink a cup of 50-50 water/Gatorade and fill my water bottle. The second aid station, dubbed Margaritaville and staffed with men in coconut bras, was at the halfway point of the loop, where I’d fill my water bottle again. The only solid food I ate were some pretzels during the later loops.

I ran pretty much nonstop and issue-free for the first seven loops except for the hill after the second aid station that everybody walked. It was fun to see friends and faster runners who were on different loops. I was sweating profusely, and I was bloated, which was a new sensation for me. Sometime later, I noticed that my shorts were no longer dripping wet, so I started to pay close attention to whether I was dehydrating. Several people also noted that I was leaning slightly to one side, which I couldn’t feel at all. I knew I was doing pretty well because my scorer told me I was. Then my iPod fizzled out, which broke my concentration, and I started to talk to other runners. I noticed more people walking, so I joined them. These little mistakes would haunt me later.

The heat was getting to me, but I never felt tingly or weird. I knew I was tilting even more only because people kept mentioning it to me, which became another distraction. Was it something I needed to worry about? Was I going to keel over? The only acute issues I could feel were the blisters on my feet. I was also still bloated and wondered if not peeing was going to be a bad thing. Knowing I would run out of time to do another loop, I leisurely walked the last half mile of loop 10 with about ten minutes to spare before the out-and-backs began. I saw who my closest competitor was, but I was content to tie her. At the time, I was so glad the race was almost over that I lost focus on the race and even started to think about how good it would feel to sit down with a cold beer. When the race was over, we both had done 34.9 miles.

I had co-won the Grandmaster Female division. It’s funny how you think that you’re not competitive, but when you’re in contention, you find that you actually are. Did I have another out-and-back in me? Should I have managed things differently? Could I have? I also got a medal that said, “I reached my goal at the Howl.” On my entry form, I had listed 32 miles as my goal. I was happy.

The seal had been broken: I finally peed, and I continued to pee about every 10 minutes for several hours, but at least it was clear, which meant that I wasn’t dehydrated. My posture straightened out, and I was walking normally again. In fact, I felt fine except for the blisters. And yes, the post-race party was a blast.

Sometimes it takes a village. In my case, it took a herd of Buffalo. I made new friends on the course, which was the good thing about breaking my iPod. Strangers encouraged me, and experienced ultra runners reassured me that the sensations I was feeling were pretty typical. I learned so much from these wonderful people, and I know I’ll see many of them again.

The night I got home from the Howl, I found myself flipping through the complimentary copy of Marathon & Beyond that was included in our race bags. I was looking at the ultra ads, and I couldn’t remember why I thought running ultras was crazy.