Ultra anyone?
Last month's Outside Magazine covered the ongoing publicity battle between unltrarunners Peg Reed and Dean Karnazes. For a vast majority of people (at least, those who hadn't seen the Dateline piece), this was an introduction to the little-known sport of ultramarathoning.
Defined by grueling distances and sometimes extreme conditions (the Badwater Ultramarathon leaps to mind-- a 135-mile race from the salt flats of Death Valley to a finish line that lies halfway up Mount Whitney), ultramarathoners prepare by keeping up with a constant training schedule that borders on the insane. Reed, for example, runs a marathon or more a day; she just breaks it up into 5 mile chunks between shuttling children to school and after-school activities. Karnazes is an early riser, covering half of San Francisco and finding himself well into Marin by dawn.
Truth be told, the thought of running a hundred-plus miles could not appeal to me less. In fact, the thought of running ten miles addles my already-overwrought brain. And yet, before I question another athlete's motives, I take pause and consider what does appeal to me. Cycling a hundred miles? Over and over? Day after day? Oddly, I am intrigued.
We all take on sports for different reasons, but in the end, what keeps many of us connected is the challenge: some perceived, intangible, self-defined goal. Once it is achieved, once the goal is realized and becomes tangible, those that are serious about their sport-- or, perhaps, delusional-- extend the goal. Thus begins the insanity.
I am reminded of that Robin Williams bit where he is pretending to be a dictator, draws an imaginary line a few feet in front of himself, saying, "This is the line of death! Cross this line and you die!" Noting his foe, Williams pauses nervously, and takes a large step backward and redraws the line closer to himself. "No, NO--THIS," he declares,"THIS is the line of death. Cross THIS line and you die!" And so goes the bit.
And so, I imagine, goes ultramarathoning, and yes, ultracyling, and until recently, being a Red Sox fan.
Defined by grueling distances and sometimes extreme conditions (the Badwater Ultramarathon leaps to mind-- a 135-mile race from the salt flats of Death Valley to a finish line that lies halfway up Mount Whitney), ultramarathoners prepare by keeping up with a constant training schedule that borders on the insane. Reed, for example, runs a marathon or more a day; she just breaks it up into 5 mile chunks between shuttling children to school and after-school activities. Karnazes is an early riser, covering half of San Francisco and finding himself well into Marin by dawn.
Truth be told, the thought of running a hundred-plus miles could not appeal to me less. In fact, the thought of running ten miles addles my already-overwrought brain. And yet, before I question another athlete's motives, I take pause and consider what does appeal to me. Cycling a hundred miles? Over and over? Day after day? Oddly, I am intrigued.
We all take on sports for different reasons, but in the end, what keeps many of us connected is the challenge: some perceived, intangible, self-defined goal. Once it is achieved, once the goal is realized and becomes tangible, those that are serious about their sport-- or, perhaps, delusional-- extend the goal. Thus begins the insanity.
I am reminded of that Robin Williams bit where he is pretending to be a dictator, draws an imaginary line a few feet in front of himself, saying, "This is the line of death! Cross this line and you die!" Noting his foe, Williams pauses nervously, and takes a large step backward and redraws the line closer to himself. "No, NO--THIS," he declares,"THIS is the line of death. Cross THIS line and you die!" And so goes the bit.
And so, I imagine, goes ultramarathoning, and yes, ultracyling, and until recently, being a Red Sox fan.
posted by @traciAWESOME
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