Melting All the Way: The 2015 Christmas in July 24 Hour Race Report

It’s July 17, 2015, and here I am getting ready to run my first race of the year.

For 24 hours.

Go big or go home… that’s the most fitting cliche for the moment. I have a feeling that in a few hours I’m going to want to go home.

But I won’t. I’m here to move. For 24 hours. Whether I log 100 miles or 50, I won’t quit… unless a bone is sticking through my flesh. Please don’t let it come to that.

Think positively. 100 miles would be nice.

Last year, at this same race, I fought my way to 94 miles, something I felt really proud of. But the idea that I was only 10k shy of a century mark has been gnawing at my conscience for a whole year now. In my mind, 100 miles is definitely doable. In my body, hmm… not so much.

While I have been running regularly since my first 100 mile conquest, my training focus was on boxing all winter and spring. My “long runs” became 8-9 easy miles or a fast 10k with weights in my hands. The result was victory for my fight game, but when I started to stretch the legs out in May, my body had a hard time reckoning just how much work it takes to build up the endurance necessary for the extra far efforts. I got in few long runs with Edna on the weekends, then we went to China. My training stalled.

I have heard it from many before in relation to training, but this was the first time I experienced it in earnest: life got in the way.

So what!? Life rocks, man!

Indeed, it does. Life rocks. And if ultrarunning has taught me anything, it’s that the only limitations in life are the ones we put on ourselves. This maxim is not an invitation to recklessness, but rather a mantra for transcendence based on hard work, dedication and basic intelligence. Having already gone the 100 mile and 24 hour distance, I knew that even with limited training my brain could take over through any rough patch.

Ultras are mostly mental. I reminded myself of this. Training or not, I think I can get 100 miles. Let’s see what reality has in store!

Hours 1 – 7 (10:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m.)

This feels weird. Even though I’ve done it before, starting a race at 10:00 p.m. still feels a bit strange, like putting on someone else’s shoes before running for 24 hours weird.

Nope, these are definitely my shoes. I look down and second guess my choice of year-old, 900+ mile Nike Vomeros. The tread is still intact despite a ratty affair of frayed rubber from the toes. I wore these in the second half of last year’s race after my beloved Hokas left me blistered. I love the Hokas, but my memory of maceration is hard to kill and on the roads for this long I’d rather just start with a sure thing.

The RDs announce something in a megaphone that I can’t quite understand, and to the tune of quiet lightning in the sky, we’re off!

Everyone starts fast, of course. It’s halfway decent out right now, with temperatures in the high 70s. The forecast for the daylight hours calls for intense heat and humidity, so all 67 of us starters go out with what I assume is the same mindset: bank miles now, while we can.

The course is a .97 mile loop, same as last year, only in the reverse direction. Right away I can feel that it’s a bit easier than last year’s, which had a little more uphill to its design. An easier course is not something I’m going to complain about, so I just put my head down and go into spin mode.

Bank miles, bank miles…

Trying to maintain a 6-mile an hour pace, at the lone aid station I grab water and something to eat (whatever looks good at the time) every loop or every other loop. The soft lightning in the sky offers a little entertainment and I start to wonder if it will rain. The forecast said only a 20% chance, so I’m thinking it won’t.

While I’m thinking about it, the course gets crowded as the 12-hour runners join us. Among them is my buddy, Adam.

Adam and I go way back. We met each other during orientation week of our freshman year in college (1997? DAMN!).

This is Adam’s first ultra. Having shared some training runs with him and watched his build-up for his first marathon some time ago, it’s a joy to share some miles with him now. We are in a groove, both trying to get in as many decent miles as possible before the wheels come off late, and the time is flying by.

Also sharing miles with me in this first part are Nate and Todd, both of whom I’ve known for a few years now. Our constant chatter is a good deterrent for my already tired and tight leg muscles. Already? Damn. Keep drinking water. Maybe it’ll get better.

I keep drinking water. It’s not getting better.

But oh look, now it’s raining, and that’s… something different.

Why not? Ultras are the ultimate test in chaos management. Always expect something to go wrong. Heat, rain, gastrointestinal problems… plan for the worst, hope for the best. I’m trying to find joy in the sloppy, slick conditions. The rain is nice and cool.

For a couple of hours it comes down hard, then lets up some, then comes down hard again. I just smile. Ah hell, going to be out here a long time, I think to myself. Might as well try to enjoy it.

I am. I am enjoying it. Finding out more about myself through intense, focused exercise is the cornerstone to my understanding of self. But 6 hours in and already it’s quite apparent to me that today is not going to be a day for 100 miles. My hamstrings and calves keep tightening up. I stop and roll them out with a foam roller a couple of times and do my best to stretch here and there, but the only real thing that stops them from seizing up is going slow. Or walking. And the sun is coming…

Hours 7 – 17 (5:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m.)

As the sun creeps up over Lisle Community Park, the rain has stopped, and we are treated to a picturesque suburban landscape of a happy little lake surrounded by lots of green. The strung up Christmas lights decorating the course give way to the inflatable snowmen, Santas and reindeer — just more reminders of the ridiculousness of our task. Run around a circle for a day! In July! With Christmas stuff everywhere!

I can’t help but laugh. This is ridiculous! Why are we doing this again?

My feet are squishy and soft from the rain, my stomach is growling from hunger and my legs are already shot… with just 17 MORE HOURS TO GO! WOOO HOOO!

“We forget the pain,” I say to someone. “We always forget the pain. When we sign up for these things the only thing we remember is the satisfaction of crossing that finish line — of putting our feet up at the end of the day knowing we did some epic shit. But we always conveniently forget about the pain.”

I won’t forget about what I’m feeling right now. This sucks.

BUT I’M SMILING! Edna taught me that.

“Always smile,” she says. “You’ll feel better.” She’s right.

And now, as the heat and daylight starts to settle into my pores, I feel the strong desire to be by her side. I run/walk my way until I catch up with her.

“Mi amor,” I say, “I want to be with you. Is that okay?”

She gives me that look that says: Is that okay? Of course, it’s okay. It’s awesome! Where have you been?!?!

Good, it’s settled then. We go forth together.

Maybe she thought I meant for just a while, but no, I mean, for the rest of the race. If I’m going to continue suffering, I want to be next to someone I like.

Of course… you could just…. quit, y’know. Stop running. Stop doing this. No one would care.

I would care! Sticking with Edna will help me fight back the urge to go home early too. We don’t quit. We came here to move for 24 hours. We’re moving our asses for 24 hours. The best we can.

We put our heads down and go to work. Together.

Run for a bit. Walk for a bit. Run for a bit. Walk for a bit.

Repeat.

A lot.

At some point there is bacon. And pancakes. I lose my mind. I eat as much as I can fit in my mouth.

Heads down. Going to work. Together. Run.

Walk. Run. Walk.

I’m… falling…. a… sleeeeeeeeeeeeeppppp

Time for a Red Bull, what Edna calls “El Diablo”. *CHUG CHUG CHUG*

BAM! We have wiiiiiiiiiiings! ZIP! BOOM! BAAAAHHHH! Heads down. Going to work. Together.

Repeat.

Run. Walk. Shuffle?

Yeah, it’s a shuffle now.

It’s hot. We’re baking. Ice. We stuff ice in our hats, shorts, faces. I want to peel my skin off and put ice in my veins.

The 6-hour runners finished a long time ago. The 12-hour runners finished at 11 a.m., Adam included. He did awesome, logging 44.77 miles! His wife and kids come to cheer him on to the finish and in doing so, give Edna and I a much needed break.

See, even after 12 hours we’re still all smiles! Once Adam and his family are gone — and all the other 12-hour runners — reality sets in: we have a long way to go. Also, the sun is brutal!

Edna and I move the best we can. Sweating. Slogging. Surviving.

I keep moving… one foot in front of the other… but my eyes… they are getting heavy… and… and…

“MI AMOR!” I hear.

The scream snaps me awake and I find myself a footstep away from walking into the lake.

“Where am I?” I ask, momentarily confused, unsure of who or where I am and what I am doing. I look at my watch. It’s 2 p.m. I’m running for 24 hours.

“This is some crazy shit,” I say to Edna.

“Mi amor, tenemos que tomar una siesta.”

She’s right. Ordinarily I wouldn’t want to take a nap during an ultra. I would do my best to push through without sleeping. But during today’s contest I have had a ton of Red Bull and I still can’t keep my eyes open. The heat and humidity keeps slamming the door shut on my consciousness. I need a nap.

At 2:15 p.m. we sink into our camp chairs, feet up, hats over our eyes. I’m out before I can even — zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

Hours 17 -24 (3:00 p.m to 10:00 p.m.)

I wake up to a violent gust of wind that knocks my hat off. “What the…”

The canopy tent under which we sit is trying its hardest to fly off into the distance. Luckily, it’s anchored well and we have a little cover from the choppy sprinkles of rain that follow the strong gusts. Is it going to rain again? I wonder. That’s just what we need. 

As soon as my mind recovers enough to conjure up the worst case scenarios, the rain has stopped.

“I’m hungry,” says Edna as we cautiously find our way back to our feet.

“Me too. Let’s go to the aid station and see what they have.”

Before we can, Nate circles back around to us and asks, as if sent by the gods, “Are you guys hungry?”

How did he know? Was it our sunken cheeks? Our frail disposition? The fact that we’ve been running in circles all night?

Everything moves in slow motion, like a scene out of a Scorsese flick, when you know either something awesome or something awful is going to happen in the next few seconds. Nate walks over to his cooler, lifts the lid and reveals a home cooked Filipino meal of pork sausage, flavor-packed cured beef and sticky white rice. AWESOME!

I try not to shove it all into my mouth at the same time.

Is this an eating contest or a running contest? I’d be doing better if it were the former.

“This food is delicious,” I can’t stop saying. Edna loves it too. I have to check myself to make sure I’m not making hog noises as I (ironically) devour the pork sausage. It’s the perfect combination of salt and fat and flavor and… do we have to keep running or can we just stop and eat now?

Just a few bites before immobility, I manage to put the food away and get back to my feet. Edna follows suit and we head out to finish the rest of our pain-filled voyage.

Heads down. Going to work. Together.

We talk. A lot. We figure if we can get through events like this, we can get through life together. Right? It’s hard to not love someone who is there for you, blisters, chafing and all. Plus, we keep dipping our hands in the same jar of Vaseline (IMPORTANT MEDICAL ADVICE: don’t dip your hand in our jar of Vaseline).

The heat won’t go away. It digs deep into our bodies, slowing us, daring us to quit. But our goal is relentless forward progress and in this we will succeed. You’d be hard pressed to find two people more stubborn than Edna and I and there’s no stopping us today. Our minds are made up.

Someone, a spectator, randomly hands us two ice cream sundaes. It really IS Christmas in July!!! WOW!! We SLUUUUUUUURP the ice cream so fast that our mutual embarrassment for one another cancels out. Life is beautiful ain’t it? You go run in the sweltering heat for 24 hours and some random stranger gives you ice cream. What more do you want?

Heads down. Going to work. Together.

I have been reading “A Brief History of Mexico”, so now is a convenient time to discuss pre-Columbian Mexican history with someone close to the subject. Somehow our discussion meanders off towards Lady Guadalupe and all the iterations of the Virgin mother outside of Santa María.

Meanwhile, time ticks… and ticks… and ticks. There is more ice. More shuffling. Every once in a while we try to “run” but we quickly find ourselves back in shuffle mode. We don’t care. We’re all smiles.

What’s the alternative? Being pissy? Aggravated? We signed up for this shit, man! And we are going to finish. The sun is finally going down now and the remaining field of runners is scarce; but we have survived. We’re going to go the whole 24, which is exactly what we came here to do.

Damn it feels good to reach a goal. That’s why I do these things — these insane tests of endurance that call upon one’s mental and physical toughness to succeed. I love what they do to my mind, the conversations they start; and I love that I always leave them finding out something new about myself.

Today, as Edna and I approach the finish line of yet another extreme event — one that beat us down with intense rain, heat, humidity and and overall desire to bail — I realize that I am a better version of myself with her by my side. I know that I can trust her to help me get where I want to go, in races and in life. We are good for each other. We make a good team.

TEAM JEDNA…

WE CROSS THE LINE…

Me with 70.05 miles, Edna with 65.19 — among 19 of 67 who stuck out the whole 24 hours — both of us with surreal smiles and slightly sunburned noses.