Chasing the Sandman (away)

Many times the question had been posed to me as THE DAY approached, “How much do you sleep during a race that long?” My answer would always be something on the order of, “Staying awake for a twenty-four hour race is no problem”.  Well before midnight, a mere eleven hours into my second Olander Park encounter, I found humor in that pat answer.   I awoke out of a hypnogogic state, my left foot on the road and my right foot in the weeds, gazing ahead into a tremendous, translucent Maryland state flag. Now it could be said with certainty, this was going to be a long, long, crazy, crazy, night!  I veered back onto the asphalt course and headed for the nearest coffee maker (my 4-cup Braun, at my crew table).

Fresh brewed Sumatra Lintong brought revival as I ran away from the sand man.  I had to be careful, though, because if I pushed too hard he would catch me again. I was rolling along well when one hundred pounds of pizza (or more) arrived.  I enjoyed one slice and another cup of smooth brew.  The stars were shimmering, the half-moon was rising, and I felt (are you listening, Edward Abbey?)  “Cool as a Christian with aces wired.”

One hundred miles went by in 16:40, more than one hour faster than the previous year. On the way to this new personal best, I again had to fight my way out of sleep’s grasp.  A combination of negative influences had sent me in for a massage around 95 miles:  the yawning sleepiness, the absence of my family (crew), and major hamstring and quadriceps aching (big time!) were taking a toll and crushing my will.  The massage, which proved to be somewhat helpful in the long run, initially put me into a nearly hypothermic state and forced me to resume cruising speed without delay, so as to get warm again.

My crew had began to reappear in the predawn hours, first my wife, Marcia (at about sixteen hours), then son Corey, (at sunrise, appropriately enough), followed soon by daughter Mackenzie, then Logan (number two son).  All awake, and working as a team, we pushed for the lead.  At 8:00 AM, with twenty hours gone, I gained back a lap on first place.  Then two laps later, I gained another.  Two more laps later; I was just over one mile behind.  For three laps, I watched and wondered where the leader had gone.  Then Marcia revealed, “Gary’s sitting inside wrapped up in a blanket.”  It was mine if I could hang on!  And I knew I could.

Hours had weighed heavily at times during this long journey to nowhere.  Minutes had, seemingly, plodded along.  Now, as the end approached, my perception of time’s passing was compressed, and I made a final charge for 140 miles, or at least the course record. Minutes seemed to collide into seconds, trying to get away from me as I cranked up my effort another notch.  A timekeeper said I could get the course record if I “could push it”. No stopping, and hardly any change of pace, would be allowed during the final five miles.  I gained a slight cushion of time by the end of the 121st lap and then hung on for three more exciting loops, all under a nine-minute per mile pace.  Then I kicked with everything I had, close to a six minute-per-mile pace, until a cannon boomed behind me, around the bend.  I stopped and exulted—I felt extremely light, relieved of a weighty challenge.  I felt like a beer!

Robin Alan Fry
Olander Park 24-Hour Run
September 19-20, 1992
139.4 Miles