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 REVIEW Mud, Sweat and Tears What does it take to run for five hours? And why would anyone want to? BY CHRISTINA MELANDER |
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Visit the Red Lizard Web site at www.bigredlizard.com for a schedule of group training runs, fueling fêtes at Bridgeport and event information. Two Saturdays ago, I ran 15 miles in two hours in the Jack Frost foot race. I tied two other competitors for last place. To the non- or novice runner, sustaining an eight-minute-mile pace for two hours might seem impressive. But seasoned runners expect something more--namely, they expect to finish the race. I didn't even complete half of it. I'd been curious about the Portland Red Lizard club ever since I'd hear about its unorthodox scrambles, snowshoe races and off-road events--adventurous alternatives to road races. So when a flyer for the Jack Frost five-hour foot race came across my desk, I knew I had to go. Triathletes Kevin Foreman and Lisa Berger founded the Portland Red Lizard club in the summer of 1997. The two lend a wackiness to the fun, informal atmosphere of the contests, establishing them as social events, not just competitions. In a year and a half, Red Lizard's member list has grown to more than 600, but Kevin notes that the club's success is gauged by how long participants linger after a race ends, not by how many compete. Twenty people turned out for the Jack Frost in 1998, but this year Lisa and Kevin were surprised by the flock of local running legends who showed up. Kevin called them a "who's who of Northwest ultra-dudes." Ultra runners are über-distance runners who consider marathons child's play--which explains why they like the Jack Frost. The Jack Frost premise is simple: run 'til you drop or, more specifically, complete as many laps as possible in a five-hour period. Held at Mary S. Young State Park in West Linn, the race began with a 1.15-mile warm-up course. This route brought participants onto a wooded 1.64-mile loop with which they would become intimately familiar. Mixing gravel with packed dirt and gushy mud, the mostly flat path was spiked with a series of fearsome, vertical switchbacks. Fortunately, it's a beautiful trail, and the race-day weather was cool, dry and even partly sunny. The majority of runners registered as solo mud warriors, but some opted to compete in teams of two. I had planned to run a few laps, alternating with a girlfriend, then kick back and observe endurance in motion. So much for plans. Begging off to nurse a cold, my partner wished me well. Slightly revising my modus operandi, I figured I'd run a few miles and then sit out to survey the scene and chat with other drop-outs. But something magical happens when you're surrounded by fellow runners. Hearing footsteps approach, pacing yourself behind a leader and gaining the sense of purpose that's inherent in any race coaxes your body to do things it wouldn't dream of on an everday solo jog. The magic is that no matter how much the soles of your feet ache or your quads scream, during a race it can be awfully hard to stop. Before the race I asked Berger if anyone actually runs for the full five hours. She replied in the affirmative, and I realized that I was sharing sweat with a group of runners. Maybe you know the type: sinewy solid men in their 30s and well beyond who would travel from Idaho and Seattle to rip their calves to shreds. Men equipped with water bottles, walkmans and Power Gel, who know each other from all the other races they've suffered and reveled in together. Men among their kind--out of 63 participants, only 13 were women. But tough as they were, they weren't intimidating. On the contrary, they were encouraging, polite and chatty, and they ran with a smile that said, no, they wouldn't rather be fishing. After momentarily flirting with the notion of pressing on for as long as I could remain upright, I settled on running for two hours before quitting. Muscle soreness set in around mile nine, but I was in a groove and feeling a bit euphoric. This was the endorphine-induced "runner's high." Dedicated runners know the feeling well, but most hopefuls don't realize that it takes more than four miles to achieve; fitness runners may only experience the sensation when a race forces them beyond the comfort zone. Imagine how good overall winner Tom Moritz must have felt: He completed 24 laps, a total of 40.51 miles. To fully appreciate this epic feat, remember that a marathon is 26.2 miles. The Jack Frost is a symbol of spring. Winter may not be over yet, but before your shoes dry out it'll be time to start training for Hood to Coast. My intention was not to run for one-quarter of the day, but rather to observe and try to understand why and how athletes keep charging ahead. For a brief stint, I became one of them and I felt the spark. It was simultaneously glorious and maddening--and it was a wake-up call that alerted my body of the coming summer months. After all, compared to the five-hour foray, the June 6 Columbia Gorge marathon (a one-way Red Lizard race heading east from Hood River) will be a piece of cake.
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