(Almost) Vomit-Free

One of the first things I learned about ultra running is that it's not so much about running over long distances as it is about eating over long distances.  So, as soon as I was able to break into distances in the high single digits on my runs (late September last year), I began practicing eating during my training runs.  It sounds silly to say I was "practicing eating," but I was (and still am).  The purpose, of course, is to train your digestive system to effectively and efficiently take in calories (read:  to not puke) while multiple other systems in your body are being stressed by the running.  I won't bore you explaining the purpose of or science behind eating while running (because I can feel my kids' eyes rolling) except to say that, for me, that notion of "not puking" was very appealing.  So, that became my goal:  vomit-free running.       

Last month, on June 11th, I was planning on doing a big training run up and down Horsetooth Rock with Alene.  This was a big run for both of us, and we had been planning on it for over a month.  It was to be her final big training run before her Badwater double.  The plan was to run ten repeats up to Horsetooth, taking all day, covering around 43 miles and climbing over 11,000' -- my longest and most challenging run to date.  I was very eager to test my legs and feet on this run, eclipse my formerly-inconceivable mark of eight repeats and be a part of Alene's capstone training run.     

I'll save the suspense.  I never even came close to finishing the run.     

The afternoon before the run, I ate something rotten, really really rotten.  But I'm not exactly sure what -- it could have been a moldy bagel, which I ate for a snack, not noticing the white peach-fuzz growing among all the seeds and things (they did say it was an everything bagel) until I was about half-way done.  Then, upon seeing the fuzzy fungi blanketing the remaining half bagel, I did what anybody (of my gender) would do:  I wiped off the mold, took two or three more test bites then threw it away because it still tasted funny.  You see, I can be sensible and prudent sometimes.      

Or it could have been some soup I ate that day.  I went to an Asian restaurant in downtown Denver for lunch with some buddies, and we received some complimentary soup.  I remember thinking, upon smelling the soup, that it smelled vaguely, I don't know, human-based.  But even worse than that – it smelled as if whatever human ingredients were in the soup had, I don't know, decayed.  I took a small sip of the soup and discovered its smell was merely a gentle foreshadowing of its actual taste.  So, again, I did what anybody would do:  I added hot chili sauce.  A lot of hot chili sauce.  Enough to almost mask the fetid odor and taste.  Then I ate it because who turns down free soup?     

Well, about eight hours later I realized the huge mistake(s) I'd made by eating that bagel/soup.  Propriety prevents me from sharing too many specific details of that horrible night, but here is what I can share:  the bagel/soup came back with a bi-directional vengeance, I spent the entire night fetally curled on the bathroom floor, and I didn’t sleep at all.  The abdominal pain came in waves, and I alternated between wondering how I’d be able to tell Alene I couldn’t do the big run the next day (I didn't have her cell number) and wondering if I should go to the hospital.     

When 5:00 a.m. rolled around, the most recent pain wave had just ebbed back to a dull ache, so I decided that since I was awake anyway, I might as well drive over to the trail head to tell Alene that I wouldn’t be able to run with her.  I definitely didn’t want to just  no-show and leave her hanging.     

On the drive over to Horsetooth, I was able to hold down a few sips of water, so I optimistically tried half a banana, which stayed down too.  When I got to the trail head and saw Alene all motivated and ready to go, I decided rather than bail on the run, as long as I was already there, I might as well just try one lap (only 4.25 miles, 1,100’ climb)  and see how I felt. 

Well, that lap felt pretty miserable.  I had a fever, my heart rate was through the roof and I was queasy and light-headed.  But Alene politely kept the pace slow so I was able to hang in there.  So, when we got back to the bottom, having survived that first lap, I decided I might as well do another lap and see how I felt.     

On that second repeat things got rough, and I spent most of the time fighting off waves of nausea.  About three quarters of the way up, Alene told me I looked green, which didn't surprise me because I felt green.  We summited and started back down as the bile inched up my throat.  I almost made it back to the trail head, but with a few hundred yards to go, I couldn't hold back any longer.  I wretched prodigiously, paused for a minute, walked a few steps towards the trail head, then stopped to repeat the whole process until my tank was completely empty.  My noble and ambitious goal of running ten repeats up Horsetooth was now reduced to just trying to keep the vomit off my shoes (to paraphrase ultra runner Ephraim Romesberg).     

Eventually, I made it back to the trail head where Alene prepared a salty concoction for me to drink from her handy medical supplies (she's a nurse and has been a medical staffer at Badwater).  As I sipped the swill,  I felt the wave of nausea pass, and within a few minutes, my condition was upgraded to exceptionally unpleasant.  So, I did what anybody would do in this situation:  I decided to run another lap to see how I really felt.    

This, I now admit, was probably a mistake.  That third lap was the worst.  The nausea wasn't so bad, but I started to feel like I might pass out any minute, and my heart was beating wildly.  I knew I pushed it far enough.  When we eventually finished that repeat, I just laid down on the grass at the trail head and immediately fell asleep for 45 minutes.  When I woke up, I forced myself to urinate to check my hydration, and I was shocked because I had never seen my urine so dark and viscous.   I have never been so dangerously dehydrated in my life.  It took another 30 minutes before I felt like I could drive home.  Once home, I didn't get out of bed until the next day.       

Alene, after making sure I had some more to drink, headed back up the trail.  She completed over nine repeats (40 miles) that day before it got too dark to run.        

In the end, I have decided that this particular experience doesn't really count against my goal of no puking while running because this episode was induced by moldy and/or putrid food versus the stresses of long-distance running.  So, while my journey to the Leadville 100 has not been technically "vomit-free," I think it's fair to say it's been "(almost) vomit-free."  And I plan on keeping it that way.