That one runner went to great lengths - 100 miles - to make the JFK 50-mile race more, uh, challenging, shows the extreme nature of extreme athletes called ultra-marathoners.
The JFK 50 is one of the most respected East Coast ultra-marathons - anything more than the standard 26.2-mile - and last month's 38th version drew nearly 900 competitors to Boonsboro, some from Howard County.
Most ultra courses have cutoff times, meaning runners have to reach a certain mile by a predetermined time; the JFK has a 14-hour time limit for finishing. It's an event hard on the body, even harder on the mind.
"Usually, the longer a race goes on, the more reasons you can find for dropping out - blisters, upset stomach, sleepy, whatever the reason," said Columbia's Tom Green, a veteran of 40 marathons and 125 ultras. "But oftentimes, it's just a cover for the real reason - which is, you just don't want to feel miserable any longer. Make up any excuse you want, but that's where the term `endurance' comes in."
Green is all about testing his limits. Having finished the JFK several times, he and a friend made it different in 1998: they staged their own, longer race by running the course the night before from finish-to-start.
Their plan was to then join the rest of the field in running the 50-miler the "normal" way - except for some delays setting out supplies the night before that got them to the start a half-hour late, "things worked out pretty well, and we ended up finishing in 21 or 22 hours," Green said.
This running subculture might conjure up the image of a solitary runner trudging along mile after mile alone with his thoughts and his pain. But make no mistake: This sport so dependent on individual mettle has, in reality, camaraderie rivaling that of a football team with cheerleaders and marching bands.
"It's the ultimate team sport, because over 50 miles or 50Ks, you have ups and downs, and other people help you through it," said Columbian Abby Glassberg, who wasted no time jumping from marathon to ultra. She competed in the Dirty Dozen 12-Hour Track Run in Arkansas two weeks after her first marathon, in Memphis in 1983.
"It might sound corny, but this is really a metaphor for life," said the veteran of about 25 marathons and 40 ultras - the miles and the years tend to blur so she doesn't know exactly how many.
"You keep going through it, you put your head down and persevere. ... On the trail, you're out there, people tell you things, and you tell them things about yourself you wouldn't tell a neighbor or a friend, because you're out there so many hours, going through the same thing. You help them, and they help you."
Said 1999 JFK finisher Jill Fritsch, another Columbia resident: "It kind of makes me smile about how easy it is to make friends when you are all in the same boat accomplishing a feat that most of the world will not attempt."
And, unfathomable as it might seem, ultra-marathoning is fun.
"It brought back the real reason I got into running," said Tom Brown, a Glenelg resident who started running in 1987 just to shed a few pounds and has added nine ultras to his 33 marathons.
"When you first do a marathon, it's `Can I finish?' After that, it's `Can I finish faster?' After a while, it's like, `Whoa!' Even though you finished a marathon, you got frustrated if you didn't beat the last marathon time. In 50Ks and 50-milers, it's different. It's more, `Can I do it?' Ultras brought that back."
So, if you can't run faster, run farther.
Ultras also gave Brown a memorable birthday celebration. He and several other Howard County Striders who were turning 50 this year decided to plan a 50K (31 miles) ultra that started in Sykesville, ran along the Patapsco River and finished in Elkridge. The race field eventually expanded beyond the birthday boys and was won by the chief planner, Brown.
Finishing is one thing. Starting is quite another.
"To set out on an eight-month training schedule to obtain a physically exhausting and depleting goal contributed to my mental endurance and physical endurance," said Fritsch, also the sister of Bea Marie Altieri, the 1998 JFK women's division winner. "There are times that I remind myself of this feat, and it makes almost all daily obstacles seem small in comparison. "
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