For the second half, you’ll have to come up with something else. The first half of an ultra, they say, you can run with your legs. I’ve run nearly 2,000 miles since I ran a race called Grandma’s Marathon last fall, but never more than 26.2 in one stretch, and pretty much every time I get up over 20 miles, all bets are off. That’s roughly twice as slow as my fastest marathon this year, but it’s also a marathon on top of what I’m running this morning. I’d love it if I can do the rest in six hours. Just over four hours into this mess and it’s finally midmorning on the Ice Age Trail 50 ultramarathon, held every spring in the Kettle Moraine State Forest, in southeastern Wisconsin. More gels are inevitable-and salt tablets, too, to stave off cramps as long as possible-but for now I can hold out. They’ll have peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches and Cheetos and Coke and potato chips up ahead, so screw the goo. But I’ve already had three this morning, and I’m sick of the gelatinous, glucosey goo, which tastes like sweat-flavored cake frosting. ![]() ![]() Ought to be an aid station in a couple of miles, and I’m thinking I should pop another energy gel about now. Twenty-three miles down, 26 and change to go.
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