Evolution: those tiny changes over millions of years, giving some animals shells; some animals shell shattering teeth; and some animals shoe designing skills, with a skinny latte to go.
Biomechanical experts reckon it won’t be too long before we, and by ‘we’ I mean the human species, evolve to reach the optimum combination of perfect leverage through muscle firing fibre type, power to weight ratios, and technique. We will be able to run distances unachievable on a tank of gas, and at speeds that would impress a cheetah wearing trainers.
When it comes to flat out speed, Usain Bolt might be the nearest to this in human history. Well, he might if he did up his laces, tucked in his top and went full whack until the end of a race, instead of waving the crowd with 15 metres to go. Until then, he’ll just have to settle on having Fonzarelli levels of cool.
Me, however… I’ve got some distance to go until I reach my zenith. My diet isn’t bad but is prone to a bag of peanut M&Ms; my biomechanics are improving, but still suffer from weak hip flexors and bum muscles (which is damning, considering how vast my posterior was before I started running); and I’ve got a full time job with a lot of sitting down, which is great for drinking lattes, but not for running. Or having a shell.
Despite this, my times are coming down, and the length of time for which I can run at a decent speed is going up. So while my mid-forties bring Darwin-esque levels of grey facial fur, I’m looking forward to actually getting faster and fitter over the next few years. And in one key event, I’ve spent a few years dreaming of crossing the finish line, with a digital clock above it to herald my completion.
It is an event in which the clock does not operate in tenths of a second. There is a good chance that the biggest number on that clock will read in slogged, aching, blister-weeping hours. Almost glacial, self-inflicted, aching hours. Digital sticks of muscle thumping, mind game cackling hours. Its athletes are examined not just by biomechanical scientists, but by sports psychologists. These athletes can run for periods longer than many of us can stay awake.
These athletes are ultra-runners. An ultra-anything is pretty extreme; an ultra-runner is extremely extreme.
I know a few people who have completed an ultra. They have two things in common: a stamp of achievement in the form of a running tops with the name of their ultra, splashed across the front; and a smile of pure accomplishment when they talk about their run. But it’s not the constant topic of conversation. It’s something they quietly just got on with. Me? I’m enthralled at every word of every check point, incline and weather report. I ask them about it quite a lot.
Take Scott. Among other events, Scott has ran two sets of thirty miles in a day, supporting other runners, with a quick kip in a car between jaunts. When I asked him about it, he just replied, “I was a bit tired.” That is stamina, with hat made of stamina. And a mental fortitude that explains why he doesn’t usually bother eating on a run of less than marathon. Anthony, too, has been there, got the t-shirt, bandana, and a host of warm tales, followed by encouragement to actually do one myself. Morag ran her first ultra last year, and when I asked her about it, smitten with the notion of this zone of contentment, she had a serene look of calm achievement. Kind of like Cain in Kung Fu but without the need to fight the bandits raiding a defenceless village, although I’m sure she could. These are some of the most unassuming, yet dedicated and helpful runners I know.
Their training sounds simple: train for a marathon- which is hard, mentally draining, and an organisational feat in itself- and add on a bit more. Run two marathons back to back, then you’re ready. Let’s get this straight: that’s run the furthest that only 1% of the population will ever run, then do it again the next day.
Something else they, and other experts, reckon an athlete should make, is an affirmation of intentions. Paula Radcliffe used to do it. Say what you want to achieve out loud; the real words float about until you consume them, and achieve their purpose. A dream becomes an intention, which becomes an action.
I’m saying it out loud because, given my injury history, it’s ridiculous. I’m saying it out loud because it’s just plain ridiculous full stop: I want to run an ultra.
So I’m putting it out there, floating. And if I bump into you, you can ask if I’ve booked it yet, listen to some excuses, and tell me to get on with it. Tell me that biomechanical experts reckon we’re built for this. The big digital clock is ticking.
runnervt 