I was puking my guts up two hours into a 30 hour adventure back from India.

Turns out that maybe you shouldn’t try every kind of alcoholic beverage right before hopping on your 3am flight out of Chennai. It was a wedding reception, mind you, and my body was barely holding on after three days of festivities. The drinks were free, and after giving a pretty decent toast (including a Civil War joke and the phrase “total badass”) to the happy couple, I decided to get in the spirit of things.

It was somewhere around the third trip to that Qatar airliner bathroom where I hit a real low point. Having been to college, it was fairly clear to me what the problem was. Good luck, though, convincing a flight attendant from Qatar that you are just “sick like that night we chugged Jose Cuervo” instead of a Coronavirus host. This was about one week to the day before things really started shutting down worldwide, and there were a lot of nervous people in transit.

I needed to hydrate, start getting a few snacks in my belly, and find any motivation to get through two more layovers and another 24 hours of airplane food riddled with curry. Luckily, I was getting to the meat of an audiobook by David Goggins called “Can’t Hurt Me.” He went from over 300 pounds to one of the best ultramarathon runners in the world. David completed his first 100 miler on a whim and quickly worked his way up to the most absurd endurance challenges known to man (Badwater 135, 24 hour pull up record).

I love a good motivational story, and this one made me feel like a proper weenie for the comparatively trivial foot races (and hangover recoveries) I have completed in my many years. I’ve participated in two marathons, four halves, a handful of challenging trail runs under 20 miles, but that is the extent of it. For a while now, it has felt like I was on the downslope to dad bod mediocrity.

Having grown a smidge wiser in my late thirties, however, I’ve started contemplating the enjoyment of thoughtful exercise. Running has always been a competitive thing for me, but what would happen if I just strapped on my CamelBak and didn’t care about splits? I could listen to more motivational audiobooks, relax a bit, and head off into the woods for a few hours. Maybe long distances wouldn’t be so terrible if I simply slowed down.

Upon my return to Alabama, I put this idea to the test. The quickly hashed out goal was to jog more than an hour, but ten miles was looking like an easy task until I almost pooped in the neighbor’s bushes at mile 9.8. Time to carefully walk it home without anyone seeing where my right hand was positioned.

Next thing you know, the calendar was marked for a local trail race in May. It had a 10k, 50k and 12 hour all-you-can-run event. Seemed like a mid-range option was notably absent, but I had two months to sort out the details. Then everything got canceled…

Thankfully, the concept of “Virtual Races” started to catch on, and the organizers eventually pivoted to an online event. Participants could run wherever they want, simply sending in a GPS file of the effort. To further embrace the theme of social distancing, my uncharacteristic optimism had me thinking about a loop that would keep it all on our property. I’ve really lost it now!

Outside of a few casual mentions and putting in for a vacation day, I didn’t really tell anyone what I was doing. My parents would undoubtedly give me a speech. The neighborhood running group would call me stupid. It was best if I didn’t set myself up for failure.

Speaking of failure, I did one hour long run around my house loop and it suuuucked. 30 feet of elevation change and tricky footing over the course of a 200 meter loop gets old very quickly. I needed every break I could get, and 250 of laps around my hillside lot was a death wish. At least I was starting to get practical.

As the week of the race approached, 9.8 miles was still my longest training run. But that didn’t stop me from deciding 6 hours of effort would be my self-imposed cutoff. If I made it to 50 kilometers, then it would be considered a success. That’s an 11:23/mile pace to all of you viewers at home.

I awoke at 3:45am that Friday morning. Everything was laid out. With Vaseline applied, an audiobook specifically about running ultramarathons downloaded, and a last-minute safety poop in the books, I shuffled out to the street. For giggles, I sent a “before” selfie to our WhatsApp group of dude friends. When my Australian buddy (probably drunk at the time) immediately chimed back with interest, I felt obliged to continue updating the boys on the hour mark. Let’s do this thing before I fully awaken and realize what is happening.

Hour 1

Having wisened considerably on my route, I knew there would only be a few places in the neighborhood of Vestavia Hills where I could keep things flat. My first destination, the high school parking lot, also had lights that made running at 4:30am seem less ominous. The first hour was run entirely in a circle on the flat part of that parking lot, but I changed directions a few times to spice it up. I was enjoying the audiobook and keeping a comfortable pace around 9 minutes. A quick walking break for snack number one with hour 1 complete. 6.8 miles down.

Hour 2

Since this was initially on the schedule as a trail race, I felt obliged to go off-road for the middle part. Sunrise lighting my path, I headed down to our nearest park for a delightfully shaded forest loop. Things were continuing to go uncharacteristically well (no emergency poops yet), but my average mile pace was going up slightly due to the terrain. Did I mention the humidity? Even though the temp outside was sparingly mild, I started to realize that my water supply wasn’t going to last very long. Piling on to my paranoia was the fear that I had fallen behind a bit on snacks. When you are burning around 1,000 calories per hour, replenishing 100 at a time with GU packs won’t work indefinitely. Doubts began to creep in as I eclipsed the first half marathon in just under 2 hours. Friends, who were now up early with their kids, filled the WhatsApp discussion with encouragement slash comments on how sweaty I was.

Hour 3

I knew hour three would be tough, namely because I was now clipping off distances my legs hadn’t experienced in over 10 years. The halfway mark would also offer up a good indicator of my chances to hit 50k within 6 hours. I had resolved to run (let’s call it a jog by now) until the end of hour 3 to give myself a chance. Leg cramps popped up, unfortunately, and that objective was not achieved. I knew it was in my best interest to get back to the house ASAP to restock. 19 miles in as I walked the only notable hill back up to our street.

Hour 4

This is precisely when the situation went pear-shaped. You might be thinking “Hey Chappy, what’s 12 more miles after you have gone this far?” While your optimism is appreciated, dear friends, I was in a very bad place. My body started to cramp in brand new ways. It was all I could do to ascend the 6 steps to my back deck. While I was bent over, struggling to refill the CamelPak and screaming obscenities, my lovely wife opened the back door to greet me. “You should stop. Just stop. This is obviously a terrible idea” she encouraged. I’m sure the visual was unsettling, and frankly, I was a broken man. My midsection was locked in one giant cramp, and I felt like a muppet achieving the simplest of tasks.

At this point, rain was falling and there were still 11 miles remaining. I’ve never DNF’d a race in my life. Despite the fact that I had basically concocted my own twisted challenge in this scenario, I was hoping the Advil, pickles and most of a water bottle would lend a hand. The focus now was to just keep moving, whatever that meant. I grabbed all the remaining stock and set out for another hundred or so loops around the high school parking lot.

As a forgettable 60 minute period concluded, I had only added 4 more miles to my total. It was going to be close…

Hour 5

Due to the rain and general lack of optimism, I had failed to update my dudes since the 19 mile mark. Messages like “Chappy, proof of life please” kept popping up on my watch. I was 100% walking at this point and my average pace was climbing beyond the mid tens. Advil helped as it started to kick in, and so did some solid food. I resolved to not leave it all up to the last hour, and so began running the slightly downhill side of the parking lot loop. I looked up and opened my mouth for rain as a feeble attempt to save my onboard water supply. Without an easy way to refill, I knew this would have to last me to the finish. Slowly but surely, I started to find a rhythm in my jog/walk approach. I was somewhat pleased with my resolve when I finally told the crew that I was 27 miles in. This was doable.

Hour 6

50 kilometers equates to 31.16 miles in America units. My watch readout only goes to tenths, so I had planned to bank an extra .1 at the finish for a secure grand total of 31.2 miles. The rarely seen Optimistic Chappy came out for a bit as I stared down the final 60 minutes. Cramps returned, but the mileage eclipsed in hour 5 had proven that this hybrid approach was fast enough to get there. My desire to get it over with pushed the jog section further. I had eaten all the snacks, including every edible part of an apple, and my water supply was seriously low. The watch became my obsession, as each tenth slowly ticked over.

The thirty mile mark got me all emotional, because I could taste it by that point. I thought about my girls, who were surely disappointed I hadn’t done this all in our back yard. The impending cold beer and pizza also might have had something to do with it…and I was totally going to load up some extra shredded cheese.

After a few more loops of the parking lot, it was time for the short trot back to our house. My parents, who still didn’t really know what I was doing, casually called as they were out running errands in the Friday morning rain.

“Hey, whatcha doing? Sounds like you are out running” remarks Brenda. “Well, funny story,” I began. “About to finish my first ultramarathon. I’m at mile 31, with .2 left to go.” My Dad couldn’t help himself with the obligatory “Please be careful and don’t hurt yourself.”

“Dad, I can literally see the house at this point. I’m done. No need for speeches.” “Just take care of yourself, is all I’m saying.” as he still couldn’t help himself. “Ok, I’m going now, parents. Going to wrap this thing up, eat all the pizza, and drink all the beer.”

With that sign off, I decided to run the driveway with intent, and heard sweet little voices yelling “Daddy, Daddy!” as I hit the virtual finish line with 15 minutes to spare. It was over, and even as the cramps all came back at once, I couldn’t have been much happier on my wobbly legs…

Almost two weeks have passed since, and I don’t have any lingering injuries. Seems that being a jogging/walking enthusiast has its benefits. I’ve ridden the wave long enough to sign up for another virtual race - commitment that somehow spans 717 miles over 140 days in the spirit of Forrest Gump. You might say it is a fitting next step. We’re over two months into spending nearly every waking moment in the same place, and I can go as slow as I want. Maybe I just feel like running…

*Many thanks to Southeastern Trail Runs & The Trak Shak for being awesome*