Ultramarathon Man by DEAN KARNAZES Page B

becoming clearer. I put my head down, ignored the pain, and started back up the rise at a brisk pace—which, after running twenty-five miles, was about the equivalent of a moderate walk.
    Though my legs screamed for mercy, each step brought a brighter view of the sky above, and the air seemed warmer and drier the higher I climbed. Perspiration poured down my face, despite the cool fog surrounding me. Then, as though I had abruptly punched through a breaking wave, I found myself standing on top of the clouds. The sky was filled with stars that seemed to shine brighter than I had ever seen before. I felt I could reach up and grab a handful of sky. I was mesmerized by the stillness and the silence, totally absorbed in the moment.
    For the first time this evening—hell, for the first time in years—I felt like this spot was precisely where I belonged . . . never mind that I was half naked, in the middle of nowhere, and nearly incapable of taking another step forward. That was inconsequential. I was happy—entirely content just standing there. I had listened to my heart, and this is where it had led me.
    The sun was coming up when I reached the town of Half Moon Bay along the San Mateo coast. I had run for seven hours straight through the night and covered thirty miles. I’d long since passed through delirium and was now in a semi-catatonic state. Events seemed to unfold in front of me as though I were watching a motion picture. In other words, I needed coffee. Badly.
    Many of the inhabitants of Half Moon Bay commute “over the hill” into Silicon Valley, which they were now beginning to do in a frenzy of traffic. It was as if someone had switched the projector to fast forward, and all the commuter ants were busily scurrying around in hyperdrive.
    I found a pay phone and placed a collect call to home, waking Julie.
    â€œWhere are you?”
    â€œIt’s a long story. The short version is that I’m out in front of a 7-Eleven.”
    â€œSeven-Eleven on Geary Street?”
    â€œNo, 7-Eleven in Half Moon Bay,” I said hoarsely. “Can you come get me?”
    â€œHalf Moon Bay?! How did you get down there?”
    â€œI ran.”
    â€œYou what? You ran? From where?”
    â€œFrom the house. I got here about five minutes ago.”
    â€œYou mean you ran all night?” she said in shock. “My God, are you okay?”
    â€œI think so. I’ve lost control of my leg muscles, and my feet are swollen stuck in my shoes. I’m standing here in my underwear. But other than that, I’m doing pretty well. Actually, I feel strangely alive.”
    I could hear her moving around the room, gathering her things. “You don’t sound too stable. Just hold tight and I’ll get down there as soon as I can. Is there anything I can bring you? Food? Clothing?”
    â€œYeah,” I said nonchalantly, trying not to alarm her. “Please grab our insurance card. I might need to stop by the hospital on the way home.”
    When Julie found me she was stunned, and delighted. She wanted to know all about my adventure, and I was eager to tell her the story, except that I passed out in the car scarcely a minute into the drive home. The last thing I remember was a string of drool dangling off my yapping chin as Julie gazed over at me in bewilderment. Then things went black.
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    And that’s how I became a runner once again. In the course of a single night I had been transformed from a drunken yuppie fool into a reborn athlete. During a period of great emptiness in my life, I turned to running for strength. I heard the calling, and I went to the light.
    For weeks after my thirty-mile jaunt I was nearly incapacitated from muscle spasms and inflammation. But it was a good hurt, one that would make Coach McTavish proud. As I limped around my office, trying to appear natural, I reminded myself that pain and suffering are often the catalysts for life’s most