Sandbagging The Last of the Felascans

These backyard ultras are weird.  I feel like maybe we’re only doing it once so we can feel justified in declaring them silly and moving on.  So that we are not all the people at my work who say things like “Why would you do that? “, “THAT’S you’re minute per mile pace?”, or “That doesn’t seem that hard - you just walk and eat and sleep.”  Ignoring the legit questions from the first two people, I feel like I have to do at least one of the backyard ultras before I can be dismissive and patronizing about them like that third shitbox and never do another one.  

4.2 miles an hour?  That seems pretty slow. The same 4.2 miles every hour? That seems kind of boring.  But if I’m not totally full of shit and I’m actually seeking the thing I say I am (see “My God… Why?") then maybe this is a guaranteed way to get there. If what I really want is to find that deep, dark, terrible place where I collapse into self-hatred and have nothing left but to decide whether to quit or not, then this is it, right?  No pretty scenery, no trailside naps when the hallucinations start, no 30 minute aid station resurrections. Just endless, slow, painful running until I simply can’t. Or I win.  

The San Felasco loops look very runnable. ~35 feet of gain per mile during the day, even less at night.  The trails there are not technical and the night loop sounds like jeep road. So if I have food, water, lube, ice, back rubs, warm hugs, etc. available every hour, how long can I last at this very reasonable pace on this course?

I guess that’s the real draw.  How hard IS it?  When does it go to shit?  Surely I can do a 24-hour 100 miles if the weather is decent on a flattish loop. What about 150 miles in 36 hours?  Maybe. 200 miles in 48 hours? No way.  So somewhere in there is a true limit?  But if all these limits are as imaginary as I say they are, when does it stop?  I have no fucking idea. And I guess that’s the point.  The doubt. The fear of how bad it is going to hurt. The question of whether I can actually stare down the discomfort and just keep going.

So maybe in the end we will really like this format. It is certainly a cheap, simple, and direct route to the yawning expanse of despair and possibility I keep advocating for. Or maybe I’ll find all that and still hate it because it’s missing that larger sense of adventure you get from chasing the same thing over multiple days in the mountains.  Or maybe I’ll roll my ankle on the first loop and just hang out in the chair all day.  Or maybe Doug and I will be the last two left and have to decide whether one of us wins or we both infuriate the RD with a simultaneous DNF in a blaze of misguided and confusing Brolo self-promotion. Fingers crossed.