I won't give a standard race report for this year's FANS. I'm sure Julie, Carl, Karen and Adam will have all the info you could want on their blogs. Wayne volunteered all night and Kurt will probably have some interesting comments about Sonja's rough day.
The first 11 hours were fine. I started very conservatively and felt great at 5 hours, when others were already dropping from the heat and humidity. If I hadn't run into problems, I'd've run more than 100. As is happens, Pete wins the contest for guessing mileage; I ran 85.24 miles.
"I hurt myself today to see if I still feel." - Nine Inch Nails, "Hurt"
Those who've been reading this blog know I have a high tolerance for pain. I can run on a broken ankle, for example. People run races like FANS to test their limits; just how much pain can I tolerate? I decided I was going to run all 24 hours, no matter what. By 2 AM, it became a dark night of the soul.
I don't want to cheapen the experience by talking it to death. It was self-torture. I bled. I cried. I hobbled on, hour after hour after hour. One runner prayed to St. Jude for me.
Today, I'm house-bound. I can't stand for 30 seconds or walk 30 feet. I can't wear shoes. High doses of painkillers don't mask the pain, but do make me drowsy enough to sleep.
This was transformative pain. I am not the same man today as I was Saturday morning. I now know how much pain I can tolerate - and, now that I know, I will never risk it again.
Fortunately, none of the damage is permanent. I probably won't have much to report for a while, but the Superior 100 is still my goal.
Sunday Night Musings
1 week ago