Runners

of official ultra-marathons. None were in Tennessee.So Laz set up his own, the Strolling Jim, a 64km racenamed after a champion walking horse. “I wasn’t veryfast,” he says, “and I didn’t have outstanding endurance,but I could take a lot of punishment.”Today, Laz coaches basketball at the local high school;but for most of his career he was an accountant, a job heenjoyed for its mental challenges. “I used to love beinggiven an ‘insoluble’ problem – you can’t figure out how todo it, and you’re frustrated, and you might walk away fromit a time or two. But then you let it roll around in your head.And when you solve it, you say, ‘Man, that was fun.’ Weneed challenge to be happy. We need things to be hard.”Seven hours into the race, three runners have alreadydropped out. It’s not until 11:12 in the morning thatGary Robbins and John Kelly trot up the road togetherto finish the first loop within the 12-hour time limit.Finishing the entire race under the 60-hour time limitis now seriously unlikely.Robbins darts back to his tent to repack food, newheadlights, and clothes, while Kelly, his knees alreadybleeding from the saw briars, gets sprayed with sunblock.It’s forecast to be 27 degrees today. Just as the two mendiffer in their strengths, their camps are also a study incontrasts. Robbins’ giant space-age tent has been dubbedthe ‘Tent Mahal’. Kelly is fed and changed at the yellowgate, in full view. A hush surrounds Robbins’ camp,whereas billowing wood smoke and chatter churn outof camp Kelly, as his family f loods in to offer support.Other runners arrive in groups of two or three. Somefinish the first loop but shake their heads at the gate:they’re not going back out there. After hours of sloggingup 40-degree gradients, who wouldn’t want to give into the siren song of tent and sleeping bag? ‘Taps’ ringsout. The hours pass.Word trickles back that MikeWardian, who was considered aserious contender, was last seencharging through the undergrowthin confusion. A search party is justabout to leave when he trots back in.It’s taken him more than 15 hoursto complete the loop. He’s over the12-hour loop cut-off time.“I’ve never had to chase a cut-off before,” he says, baff led, as ifhe finally feels what it’s like to bemortal. Of the 40 starters, only 24begin loop two.By Saturday night, thetemperature has plummeted from 28back to three degrees. Laz stands atthe gate, accounting for every arrival,departure, and DNF. Locals from thenearby town of Wartburg come towatch the exhausted runners staggerto the gate.Robbins and Kelly arrive togetherfrom loop two at 10pm, andimmediately head to their campsitesto eat and power-nap. They’re bothout of camp again by 11:10pm.Most runners give up during loop two, and thosedropping out now are crushed and sour. There aretales of loose rocks and thorny trip wires. One runnerestimates he fell more than 200 times. The weary notesof the bugler sound through the night.When dawn breaks on Sunday, the campsite has theair of a battlefield encampment. Feet stick out the backof SUVs. Laz snoozes in a camp chair by the gate. MikeVersteeg, who bailed on loop two, strums aimlessly ona guitar. “Why can’t I be good at something that doesn’tmake me feel miserable?” he says to no-one in particular.Megan Farrell, the fastest woman on loop one, whodropped out the night before, is more philosophical. “Ihave a friend who believes in Type I fun and Type IIfun. One is fun you have now. Two is fun you enjoy lateron. This is definitely Type II fun.”At 10:42am, Robbins and Kelly appear in lockstep.“WE NEEDCHALLENGETO BE HAPPY.WE NEEDTHINGS TOBE HARD.”JULY 2018 RUNNER’S WORLD 61