24 Hours in Hell: A Runner's World Relay

It all started with a letter. Yeah, an actual snail-mail letter in the Spring just as Track season ended. A York College miler wanted me to join others in mounting an attack on the Pennsylvania record in a Runner's World 24-Hour Relay. The ten-man team was to consist of mostly Division 2 and 3 alumni runners, with a few high schoolers thrown in. We had a pretty darn good bunch and a real shot at the record. I accepted without ever realizing what I was getting into. I would live to regret it. I even named our team the SPCA, short for Southern Pennsylvania Coalition of Athletes. The pun with the name was intentional, although I didn't realize how cruel it would become.

Runner's World had come up with a set of rules to torture runners who just couldn't get enough pain in their usual races. Ten men would alternate in succession, 1 mile at a time on a 1/4 mile track. If anyone missed a turn, they were out for good, and the team had to go on with just 9. This was more of a detriment than you would expect and it was actually counterproductive to ditch a slow runner to continue with just 9, as soon all 9 would slow more than the "slow" runner ever could.

The Relay in Fort Meade, MD had been run for several years and was one of Runner's World Premiere events. The organization was precise and meticulous. To keep times, each team had to have a representative at the start/finish line to record all the times. A man actually read the time of day out as every runner crossed the line for the 24 hours, and the team's rep had to write it down, add up the times and report to the main scorekeeper. Each and every runner at the event had all their times added up on a big scoreboard.

The event started at noon, and our team met at 11:00AM for a strategy session. We were up against the 2-time returning champions, the Alligator A team. There were probably 10 competitive teams and 30 or 40 teams made up mostly of Marines from Fort Meade. There was also a 50 mile race run concurrently, making the track very congested at all times. It turned out our "strategy" turned out to be running fast and winning, which fit right into my thoughts after a fairly good senior HS season. I was put in as our 3rd man, with the organizer leading off and a good friend and local coach as number 2.

At the noon gun, our lead-off man sprinted off into the lead, which we never relinquished. His 4:24 or so was the fastest mile of the whole event. I tied on my usual spikes, grabbed the baton and took off at a fairly good pace. My 4:47 or so was easy, and for the next 15 miles I put in consistent 4:51 to 4:53 miles, and with the error in the reading and recording of times, that meant they all were 4:52. I was very good at pace in those days, and always knew how fast I was running. I actually thought this was conservative at the time.

I never took my spikes off and had nothing to eat the whole 24 hours. I did drink ERG from a 2 quart ziplock bag I had mixed and sat on a lounge chair between miles. The 45 minutes between each one was getting shorter and shorter by this time, and I was now getting hounded by people asking who I was. I was too stupid to realize that others were looking at the big board and figuring out that a 17 year-old high school geek was in the lead for the event. The other teams were sending spies around to find out what was up. A runner form the Alligator A team started upping his pace and eventually overtook me. He was a runner from Auburn, who someone at the time told me was a sub-4 minute miler. (This turned out not to be true, but it made me feel better when I couldn't keep the lead.)

The first hint that something was wrong came on that 17th mile when the time was 4:59 with the same effort as all the others. It took longer to loosen up between each one and my times started sneaking above 5:00, despite increasing my effort. My ERG was gone, and I now started to drink whatever was around. I even thought about eating something, although I know that wouldn't have turned out well. I even dug into my bag for the Ben-Gay, which remarkably gave me one more sub-5:00 mile before the bottom gave out. Peeing red before the last couple of miles was creepy, but by then the way my legs felt, I didn't care.

At noon, the gun went off again, and everyone had to stop and wait for the measurement of the last 440 yds. Times and distances were added up and the SPCA were indeed the winners, with a total of 269 miles and 0 yards, (our last runner knew to stop right at the line so he wouldn't have to stand around for the measurements). I ended up 2nd in the individual race, with a big trophy and an average of 4:58 per mile for 27 miles. I was told by the organizers that this was a "world record for 17 year-olds", but I doubt this was true. Even if it was, six days later someone demolished it anyway with a 4:47 average, a 17 year-old in Ohio named Alan Scharsu. I found this out when we were roommates in 1980. Small world, I guess. Our Pennsylvania record was never recognized; we didn't realize we had to run it IN Pennsylvania.

The next day was the worst I ever felt after running. My whole body ached, but I still went out and slowly ran 15. The whole experience definitely took something out of me. I have always said I was never the same after it, but then it might all be in my head. People tell me that all the time!