On April 2nd, 2011, I was poised to run my first 100 mile race at the Philadelphia 100 Endurance Run. Things don't always work according to plan. What happened instead was a 24 hour collection of zaniness and comaraderie that changed everything.
Chapter III, in which Pete prepares to enter the Lost City of Insanity
Tuning
Race day was approaching, or so I thought. The Philadelphia 100 is quite a low-key affair. I had emailed Lauri, the race director, several times to let her know I was "entering" the race, but had not heard back. Finally, getting a bit concerned, I posted to the Ultarunner listserv, I got assurance that the race was indeed on for its 3rd year, followed shortly by an official acceptance, which consisted of a 2-word email: "You're in!". What was strange was that the closer the race got, the less obsessed I got about it. My taper the last 3 weeks went fine, though my shin began to act up a bit again. My last weekend before, I ran a tough 12 miles that included dragging through my nemesis, the Tyler Arboretum White Trail. This is a 9 mile loop that has 4 or 5 good climbs; I somehow convinced newly annointed trail partner John C. to join me, and we both struggled a bit. I didn't feel too well the rest of the day, and found that I was suffering from the beginning of a mild respiratory infection. Still, I went out the next morning to Ridley with Jeff L., who has run at about the same pace as me over the years. I was feeling great and absolutely cruising through a fast and hilly 6-mile course that had him panting at times, while I wasn't even breathing hard. I knew then that I was ready.
Calculation
My race planning has been detailed before. I found myself actually getting complacent about the race planning. What had been amazing, though, was the outpouring of volunteers for pacing me. I'd let the group and a few others know that I was attempting this, and many stated their interest in helping. After much contemplation, I thought that running a sub 24 hour time was achievable. This was a tough decision, because by inserting a time goal, the character of the race changed from a journey to an accomplishment. Also, I had no idea whatsoever whether I was capable of this--I'd run a sub 10 hour JFK50 in 2008, but who knew whether this would scale appropriately, especially since I'd never run anywhere near this distance or even overnight? Finally, my competitive nature won out. So I figured out a schedule that I thought would work OK, with an exact time goal for completing each loop. I did this mainly to accommodate anyone who wanted to run a loop with me, because I felt that if they were making such a big sacrifice to come down and help, it would be most ungracious to keep them waiting around before I showed up. This proved to work out perfectly, because I ended up internalizing this structure and thus generated a driving, if somewhat artificial, motivation for myself.
Togetherness
Once I posted my schedule, the outpouring of spirit really began. PhillyFit leader Paula and long-time group member Jeff L. immediately pounced on the schedule and started organizing people. I had hoped for a few pacers, but it seemed that everyone in our winter running group were somehow entranced by the event and wanted to run part of it. Very quickly and shockingly to me, the nighttime loops were the first to go! Who wants to get up in the middle of the night, drive a long way to downtown Philly, and walk/run at a jerky and unpredictable pace, and in cold and uncertain weather? I was very touched by this and honestly amazed at the goodwill. Soon, I had at least one pacer for each loop!
In the final week, it became quite challenging for me to balance other obligations with raceday preparations. There were several email and Facebook threads and parallel efforts to help organize that I did my best to inform and help coordinate, but it became pretty chaotic at times. I was also fixated on the weather forecast, somehow finding myself checking several different outlets on an almost hourly basis. My biggest fears were continual wind, as along the river it can blow pretty hard, and the constant toll that the pavement would likely exact on my legs and feet. The outlook was unsettled (61 and Sunny! 45 with rain/snow mix! 50 and 25 MPH winds!) and was constantly changing. This was fine a week out, but when it got to Wednesday and looked like a storm would linger over the first day, my enthusiasm began to wane. Finally, the forecast clarified, with no rain, a high in the mid 50s, and a low in the upper 30s--nearly perfect!
Threshold
Everything was coming together from without. Jeff L. especially was dictating instructions with such detail that they began to far surpass anything I had thought of. These included texting policies, gathering cell phone numbers, and procedures for how to pace me. All of these were most thoughtful and greatly appreciated. Me? I had some vague sense of what I needed to bring in my head, but as usual, I'd procrastinated preparing a prerace list or pacing chart. At the last possible instant, about 4 PM the day before, I finally got serious. I began to assemble everything I needed, helped (again) enormously by Lori's both thinking for me and buying some stuff ahead of time, as well as her taking on the kids while I began the military-style operation of procuring supplies. This quickly devolved into a ludicrous activity, where I collected enough stuff to probably be able to run across the country. I had 2 big coolers of food and drinks, 4 pairs of gloves, 3 hats, a large container of medical supplies, and many other things that I never touched. I guess it helps to be prepared, but I had so much stuff that I could hardly fit it in the car! In retrospect, all I really needed was water, gatorade, Ensure, PB&Js, a couple of warmer shirts, and a few other small things, good knowledge for next time (err, I mean if I ever coach someone else in a 100).
What had not worked for me in training was to adhere to the 1st law of ultrarunning: "start off slow, and then back off." Despite many attempts, I just couldn't seem to run slowly. I'd slow way down to 12 minute pace only to find it was really 10 minute pace. How was I supposed to run slowly? Then, during my 45 miler, I figured it out. If I couldn't run more slowly, why not just run less? I started experimenting with a novel twist of this strategy. I'd give myself a certain amount of time to run a 1/2 mile to match a race pace, such as 12 minutes/mile. If I got to the half mile mark in less than the 6 minutes I was allotted, I would start walking until those 6 minutes were up, then begin running again to the next marker. By doing this over and over, I'd bank additional distance with each walking stretch that I wouldn't have to run, so the walks would get longer and the runs shorter each new segment. Also, I was giving myself an extra 30 seconds per mile with each new loop, so there should be less running each loop. My last loop, at 15:30 pace, would likely be all walking if I could keep up a fast walk (of course, I hadn't really practiced walking, so I wasn't sure how long I could hold up with it). I had long been an advocate of Galloway's run/walk strategy, but this was taking it to an extreme. The progressive slowing also went against the advice of many experienced ultrarunners, who preach a slower, steady pace. The advantage I saw was that my strategy would both adhere to the rigor needed to keep each loop on schedule, and would give also me the structure that would help my confidence as I proceeded through it. Well, we would soon see whether this would work.
Of course there is no way I'd be able to figure this timing in my head as the accumulating miles began affecting my brain. So this would require an elaborate pace chart detailed to the half mile, because I'd need to figure out when to be where for each section. Also, I'd need to let my pacers know this and, ideally, keep track of this for me and my progressively meandering mind. So, at 9 PM on race eve, there I was on the computer trying to create my pace chart. Finally, I got it all together around 10:30, I suspect long after every other race entrant had gone to bed. Whatever.
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter IV
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