Veteran ultrarunner John Dodds in his report "2002 MMT 100: No Mas?" provides a hilarious glimpse into the challenges during (and after!) a tough hundred miler. A few of the best (mostly-family-audience-safe) bits:
Did there ever come a time when you're engaging in an activity, and you slowly realize that maybe this activity isn't for you? This happened to me at the MMT 100 while I was running at night on my way to Powell's Fort. Due to severe chafing, I had taken off my running shorts and was running half "nekkid." I looked down at my hands, and they were so swollen they looked like they belonged to the Michelin Man. Together with my performance last year, I've turned misery into an art form. ...
and
... Before the 2002 MMT, I had run and finished three 100s. They could have been more pleasant experiences. In fact, my next 100 was going to be a test to see if I could have more "fun." That meant no chafing, no queasiness, no listlessness during the night, etc. If it weren't more fun, then I might just come to the slow realization that running 100s just isn't for me. ...
and
... As I sat there at Powell's Fort, I looked at my watch. It was 0540. I had 2 mountains to climb and 12 miles to go. I was in no condition to run, and I figured it would take me about 6 hours to walk (too painful to run). I had replaced my running shorts with sweat pants from my drop bag, figuring that would help with the chafing. It didn't. And off I went. As I said, I finally made it to Elizabeth Furnace and sat on a bench there for a long time. I had to go to the bathroom and asked if there was one there. They pointed about 100 feet away. I groaned. How could I possibly walk that far? I figured that walking to the bathroom would be a test. If I could get up off the bench and walk, then I could make it over one more mountain and make it to the finish 5 miles away. I know this is going to seem somewhat unbelievable, but once I sat down in that restroom I was very comfortable. It was dank and cool. Having minimal mental faculties at that time, I figured I had 2 options: (1) I could sit in there until the aid station closed and ride to the finish with the volunteers (this was my preference), or (2) I could spend another 3 hours in pure misery climbing up and down over another mountain. I decided to press on. ...
and
... And then there's Gary who got stronger and faster during the run and set a PR of 27:21. I can't wait until I get as old as him so I can be a good runner. Several days after the run, my daughter, age 7, was pointing out a flower to me in the yard. I told her that I run with a person who points out all the flowers he sees on the way. Displaying a wisdom beyond her tender years, she asked me: "Isn't that annoying?" ...
and
... After the race when I took my shoes off, I discovered that the lump on the bottom of my left foot was not my sock scrunching up as I had thought. It was a huge blister. This had been bothering me for some time during the latter portion of my "walk" but it didn't seem to be all that important considering the chafing problem. Another problem that developed about midway was a tenderness in my left ankle. I don't recall ever turning my ankle, but it got sore as time went on. The next day my ankle and foot were all swollen, thus putting pressure from the inside-out on my blister. I could barely walk. The evening after the race, I was lying in bed on a towel (to protect the sheets from a seeping butt — not pleasant but true) with nothing on except two icepacks on my feet. The phone rang, and I was annoyed because I just knew it was going to be a cold call from someone trying to sell me part of a time share in some Loosiana bayou. But it was worse — it was Gary. "Hi, John, do you want to take off next Monday and go run the Priest?"
But we had a good conversation, centering mainly on anti-chafing measures. It was a very detailed discussion, using complex terms in reference to the male anatomy that would have made a Supreme Court justice blush. Over the next several days, my chafing wounds went away (it was so pleasant not to wear regular underpants plus flannel boxers with my suit here at work). My foot was back to normal size by the following Saturday, and I was walking without a limp. The dead layer of skin has come off the bottom of my foot, leaving a healthy-looking membrane that keeps the muscle enclosed. And what about running? Well, I haven't yet. But: I have since bought new underwear, new shorts as well as a new pair of shoes. As the saying goes: I'm all dressed up with no place to go. ...
... and that's ultramarathon running!
(cf 2010-05-15 - Half Massanutten Mountain Trails, ...) - ^z - 2019-12-03