Transitioning from Marathons to Ultras

[NOTE: This article originally appeared in Texas Runner and Triathlete Magazine. It has edited to include references to events that occurred since the original publication date.]

Recently, Matt B., a fellow Type 1 runner who I’d had the honor of running with during the 2016 Capital to Coast Relay, signed up for his first 50-mile trail ultra run. Matt’s a fantastic runner and has headed up the type 1 relay running team I helped form, Team Diabadass, ever since that time. Now that he’s moving on to what I jokingly call “harder, longer things that last more than 24 hours” (a “bro” reference to badassery and Viagra), he’s in for some real fun…and an eye-opening journey of discovery.

Matt, this is for you.

As a Type 1 diabetic who only started running at age 40, I had a lot to learn when I first imagined running a marathon. When I started running 50Ks, 100-milers, 200+ milers, and eventually across entire states nad the US, I ended up un-learning a lot of it.

As a marathoner, you learn about shoes, runner’s gels, hydration, sizing up your shoes to avoid black toe, long slow distance, tempo runs, intervals, tapering and how to push past the pain at Mile 20. Your races begin and finish in daylight.  You run on closed, paved race courses. There are aid stations every couple of miles.

Unless your marathon features extreme heat, cold, humidity, elevation, sand, wind, or biting insects, they’re all fairly predictable.

Ultra is different

While technically an ultra is anything longer than a marathon (50Ks bridge the gap between marathons and ultras!), the most popular ultra distances are 50-100 miles. Moreover, 200+ mile events are increasingly common.  Races last 24 hours to 10+ days, depending on distance, conditions and pace. The focus is often distance, not speed. Night running is standard. You’ll need a headlamp and reflective gear.

Trail ultras like the Habanero 100 use point-to-point or out-and-back routes on public or private trails. Some trails are super-technical. Some are well-maintained; some are not. Some feature thousands of feet of elevation change, water crossings and trail hazards.

Road ultras like the Honey Badger 100 and the Vol State are typically point-to-point or single loops on state highways and paved, gravel or dirt county roads. You run on the shoulder (if there is one), against traffic. You get cockleburs in your socks if you don’t wear gaiters. At night, it can be frightening as sleepy drivers drift toward your illuminated vest and headlamp. Road camber (downslope) on the shoulder can cause back pain, sciatica, and even more serious conditions like cauda equina, but unless you’re running the whole continent, those things, while painful, are top-of-mind but transitory.

Multi-day “transcendence” ultras like Across the Years often take place on a flat, paved or well-maintained 2-3 mile loop, and last from a few hours to nearly a week. Runners rack up hundreds of miles, overcoming the psychological challenge of never-ending repetition and intense head-to-head competition.

Needless to say, ultras can be, and often are, more about the mind and spirit and less about the physical challenges of running, no matter how slow that might be.

Equipment

Typical equipment for an ultra runner includes a lightweight chafe-resistant running vest with storage room for food, water, electrolyte tablets, headlamp, batteries, a light jacket, a cell phone, and minor first aid. Many also take anti-blister socks, sports tape, and GPS beacons. Toilet paper is a wise choice. If you see a runner who started with socks but didn’t finish with them, you’ll know why.

Self-supported road ultra runners, especially transcontinental runners, sometimes invest in a baby carriage to haul water and supplies. If you prefer a crewed road ultra, it’s a good idea to make friends who own a van or large SUV. If you plan to run across a continent, you might want to consider actually buying one.

Generally, if you’re not crewed, the rule is: pack what you need, but need what you pack. Research every aspect of what’s in your pack in order to minimize surprises and handle worst-case scenarios. One of them will turn up sooner or later.

At some point, it will start to look more like a hike than a run, and that’s okay. You’re gonna be out there a while.

Aid stations

At marathons, aid stations come every 2 miles or so. It’s hard to miss them and easy to take them for granted.

Most trail ultras offer aid stations only every 10 to 20 miles or so. But what aid stations they are! In Born to Run, Christopher McDougall says “ultras are just eating contests with a little exercise and scenery thrown in.” That’s pretty true. At ultras, the food varies, but many have baked potatoes, soup, quesadillas, sandwiches, fruits and vegetables, potato chips, M&Ms, and more. Some longer ones even have sleeping areas–not that anyone ever takes more than a 10 minute nap, because the clock is always ticking.

The feeling of being pursued by the clock never entirely goes away, and it weighs down so heavily on some ultra runners that spotting an aid station can be like finding an oasis in the desert. It’s tempting to linger, and you WILL stop, but you still have the rest of the desert to cross. You eat what will fit in your mouth, stow what will fit in your vest, and keep going.

Road ultras are usually either crew-supported (“crewed”) or self-supported/self-crewed (“screwed”). If you’re running screwed, you’re forced to handle everything: food, water, first aid and deciding whether you’ll snooze under a bush or in a motel or RV. And all of that adds weight.

That’s why finding a table with food and water you didn’t have to carry there is such a blessing.

Fueling

Regardless of whether your ultra has aid stations or just a start and finish, you have to eat. Gels alone won’t cut it. Ultra distances tap deep into energy reserves, depleting glycogen, burning fat, and breaking down protein. You have to replace all of that.

Pack food that’s a) high calorie, b) has fat, carbs and protein, c) goes down easy, and d) you will eat. Personally, I like full-fat yogurt for the protein, fat, and sugar, plus it’s cool and moist. Payday candy bars will do in a pinch, and they stow well. The point is to get “real” food, even junk food, that’s dense in calories and can provide you energy past the usual 4-6 hours you’d be running a marathon. Nothing is off limits unless it give you the runs or ties your stomach in knots.

Runner’s gels usually cause digestive distress after 20 miles or so, and marathoners can either “hold it” or pop into a porto-let along the route. Ultra runners are a little more careful about avoiding fiber, too much of a sugar hit at once, and other things that might make them ill, because, well…pretty soon they find out what bears do in the woods, and it’s never pleasant.

Eating gets to be a problem. Yes, you need the energy, but if it puts your stomach off, it’s easier NOT to eat, and after a while of pushing hard to crank out the miles, you tend to lose your appetite.

Eat anyway, or you’ll start breaking down your own body for fuel, and the side effects, including rhabdo, can be toxic and permanently damaging to your kidneys.

Running vs walking

I once had the experience of seeing LetsRun trolls tearing down my transcontinental running pace with comments like “I could butt-walk faster than that.” Maybe so, bro, but I’d like to see you try.

In fact, it is rare to maintain a marathon pace for 50-100 miles (or more) without getting injured or so exhausted that you can’t finish.

That’s why most ultra runners follow Jeff Galloway’s run/walk/run strategy. They conserve energy. Walking gives your feet a “moving break” that doesn’t impede progress. You can eat and drink while walking. It’s productive time, not slacking off. It’s part of the plan, or should be.

Refusing to slow down for even a short break accelerates muscle breakdown and pain — and you’ll slow down anyway. Take the break. Sit on a rock or a guardrail. Tend to what’s bothering you, then get going — or you’ll drift off to semi-consciousness while your muscles stiffen, and you won’t be any closer to the finish.

Sleep

Speaking of consciousness…

100-mile ultra runners can often skip sleep for the typical 24-30 hours it takes to finish a run. But most would agree they can’t skip sleep for more than 48 hours without severe consequences. Sleep deprivation leads to hallucinations or race-ending misjudgments like getting lost or forgetting to eat or drink.

Ask me how I know.

160 miles into the 223-mile Capital to Coast run on only 7 hours of sleep, I approached a guardrail to sit down for a second. It transformed before my eyes into packing boxes, then a fire ant mound, while I watched. It was surreal, and for a brief moment, I could tell how thoroughly messed-up I had gotten.

I was lucky, not smart. My crew called a 15-minute catnap that got me going strong again, but it was a warning to me about pushing it too hard.

Don’t be like my ultra friend who was so sleep-deprived during the 6633 Arctic Ultra that he fought off EMTs because he thought they were hired assassins. True story.

The ultra mindset

Ultras reward strategic thinking, mental stamina, self-discipline, and pain tolerance far more than they demand speed, training miles or special equipment. Analyze your vulnerabilities and address what is likeliest to tear you down before you reach the finish.

As a Type 1 diabetic, for me that’s blood sugar control plus stress, difficult to manage even under non-ultra conditions. For you, it may be heat, cold, night running, or something else.  

Know your weaknesses. Study your failure scenarios. Master them. Leave nothing to chance. Then hunker down and get ready to grind out the miles as best you can.

Transformation

Many ultra runners report after a long run feeling relieved, depressed, elated, humbled, and grateful all at the same time. They also often feel stronger, more centered, and more capable.

Ultra running taps hidden reserves of strength, persistence, and mental fortitude. You’ll find that those reserves often flourish as you push them. At least that’s how it’s been for me.

And as the sun rises on the last morning of your first ultra, you’ll likely appreciate a hot meal, birdsong, and the kindness of strangers more deeply than you ever had before.

Welcome to your brave new world.