The Ultimate Gut Check

I wonder how many race decision are made under the influence of alcohol.

I was already three kir royals deep, celebrating Devon’s epic finish at the Olympic Trials in Houston, when conversation turned my direction.

“So are you doing San Diego?”

I am sitting with Devon Crosby Helms, Larissa Polischuk, Nathan Yanko, Brett Rivers, Georgia Young, and Peter Duryan. Some of the fastest, toughest ultrarunners on the west coast. They are drinking whiskey drinks. And talking about the San Diego 100-mile Endurance Run.

“I don’t know. Is it good?”

Stories unfold. Like sailors telling of things going horribly awry at sea, they talk about long stretches of heat during the day and frigid cold temperatures at night. Runners getting lost. And the wretched medical conditions they develop along the way.

“This distance makes no sense,” Brett says, shaking his head like he’s trying to slough off a bad dream. Brett’s no stranger to running through extreme temperatures and extreme elevation changes over extremely long distances. Last year, he placed 16th at Western States, one of the most notorious hundred mile races in North America. He ran from Squaw Valley to Auburn in 17 hours and 38 minutes. He laughed as he described points during the race when he felt so low he clenched his knuckles and water bottles together in a curled up prayer position while running.

It becomes clear while listening to them talk there is no tangible benefit to running this race. Except one.

“Well,” Brett says, “the best part is at the end, there’s a burrito truck.” Seems like a long way to run for a burrito.

I’ve run fifty miles on four separate occasions. Always the same course, the same race. Every time it was a little different, except for one constant.

Each time I crossed the finish line, I asked myself, “if this was a hundred mile race, could I turn around and run all that again?” And every time it was a clear and simple answer. “No f!#$%ing way.”

“But that’s how it always is,” Larissa says, “like this morning I went out to run 6 miles. And when it was over, I was so done.” The idea of Larissa being tired after running six miles is hilarious. She doesn’t have a car because running is her transportation. Most of us struggle with our schedules to find time to workout. Not Larissa. She starts with running, and fits the rest of her life around it. Like when she worked market hours and had to be at her desk at 7 AM. She woke up at 4 AM and ran in the dark. Every day.

To her point, ultra runners pace themselves differently for a hundred miles than they would for fifty or six. The trick is do go slow and break up the distance into chunks. So a hundred miles becomes a half marathon, then a marathon, then a 50k. Followed by an aid station that’s just 5 miles away, and then another, and then another. Eventually, they reach the 80 mile mark, and they are almost done. Right? Wrong.

At mile 80, everything changes. That’s where everyone hits their wall. They have been on the trail all morning, all day, and now they’re running deep into the night. The thought of having 20 miles to go becomes unfathomable. And that’s the good news. A lot of people don’t even make it that far.

The list of dangers associated with ultra running sound like medieval afflictions. Anemia, hyponatremia, edema, as well as a litany of chronic and common joint and muscle injuries. Not to mention the dangers to your heart, before, during, or after the race.

The heart is made of muscle, and over time elevated amounts of cardiovascular exercise can cause the tissue to build up, thicken, and enlarge. Doctors call it hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, or “athlete’s heart,” which can lead to a heart attack.

There’s also the chance I have an undiagnosed heart defect, like a wonky valve or irregular heartbeat. My heart could be fine under the stress of day-to-day living. But throw an endurance event in the mix, and it could be more than it could handle. That’s what happened to marathon runner Ryan Shay at the Olympic Trials in 2007. He was only 28.

Then there’s my liver. I’ll have to pay close attention to my fluids and salt throughout the race. If I stop peeing, or if my pee turns brown, I could be in trouble.

And no matter how sore my muscles get, taking Advil is a no no. Endurance athletes have died from overdosing on ibuprofen during races.

Even if everything turns out great — I don’t get injured and I don’t die — there’s no way to avoid the debilitating muscle soreness. After a 50-mile race I can barely walk. For weeks. I can’t imagine anything worse, and this will be ten times as bad.

Thinking of all the things that could go wrong made me wonder: what is the point of this race? It’s not safe. It doesn’t feel good. It takes forever to train. It’s definitely not good for my body, (or my dating life, according to my BFF.)

I was about to peace out of this conversation when Brett said, “It’s all about how you manage the lows.” Then my ears pricked up. I chomped on my third maraschino cherry and reflected. If there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s how to manage the lows. To be patient. To know that everything changes. No matter how awful. No matter how great. My life can, and has, changed dramatically. Terrible times always pass, beautiful moments are just as fleeting. It’s the rough patches that teach me the most. I would never trade them for anything. But why put myself through something I know will be awful?

“It’s really the ultimate gut check,” Brett said.

According to Urban Dictionary, a gut check is “a test of will power, courage, fortitude, etc. Rarely does it involve any physical strength or skill, instead being an almost entirely mental challenge.”

There is strength and skill required to finish a hundred mile race, but only for the first fifty miles. It’s that last fifty miles that are all in your head. And that’s where you see what you are truly made of. Fortunately, you’re allowed a little help. Halfway through the race, a pacer can join you. “And you’ll need them” Brett says. “How will I find people to run with me?” I ask. “You’ll find people. And don’t worry, airplane tickets are cheap. You can just fly them down.”

In the extremely niche world of ultra running, it’s considered normal to fly a friend across the state to meet you in the middle of the night on a trail deep inside a national park, where they will run along your side for 10, 15, 20, or 50 miles. After all that traveling they just did for you — you’ll probably look at them, scowl, and say “Don’t talk to me.”

But they’ll have to talk to you, a lot. They’ll tell you not to sit down, even when the aid stations offer you a chair. They’ll tell you to drink, they’ll squeeze gel down your throat, they’ll monitor your salt intake. They will make sure you are peeing, but if you’re peeing for too long, they might drag you out of the port-a-pottie and push you up the next hill,  like Natalie did for me at the North Face race in 2010. And, most importantly, they’ll tell you that the hallucinations that you’re having at mile 90 are not real.

So yesterday, after weighing all the cons (injury, death, hundreds of dollars in race-related expenses, 10-20 hours a week of training, and six more months of being single) and the pros (a free burrito), I signed the release waiver.

I’m not 100% convinced it’s a good idea. But the idea of going on an adventure, where I have no idea what the outcome will be, is exciting.

As for the mental and spiritual journey? Now that’s truly exhilarating. I think it comes with being 40. At this point in my life, I know who I am, I know what I stand for. Now it’s time for me to see what I am truly made of.

Photo Credit: Michelle Pattee

JENNIFER PATTEE is a competitive ultrarunner, outdoor fitness maven, and relentless pursuer of playtime. She founded San Francisco’s Basic Training in 2008 to fill the void for others like her: those who join an outdoor training program with modest goals only to discover their innate athletic ability... more »