running on - Dean Karnazes

tnf 100 going to extremes
Recently Dean announced that
he was going to run a marathon in
every country on the planet.
G
Running on
Our man catches up – and tries to keep up – with ultra runner Dean Karnazes in the TNF 100.
Story Chris Ord images Mark Watson & Lyndon Marceau
6 2 out er edge
Going for a jog with American Dean Karnazes
is like going for a swim with Grant Hackett,
or hitting a tennis ball with Rafael Nadal. It’s
asking for punishment of the most brutal kind.
This is the man famous for running 50
marathons in 50 states in 50 days. He then ran
back across the United States to get home to his
wife and kids. But he’s more than your average
marathoner. Most of his runs are off road and
extreme.
Last year, 47-year-old Dean won the 4Deserts
Challenge, encompassing four 250km races
traversing the world’s four harshest deserts:
the Gobi, Atacama, Sahara and Antarctic. He
has run further than any other human being
in recorded history. Recently he announced
that he was going to run a marathon in every
country on the planet.
The man eats, breathes and sleeps running…
literally. He carries a credit card so he can order
pizza and Chinese take away on the run, and
recalls often falling asleep while running. Once
he woke up as he was veering into the middle
of a busy road.
Ultra-marathon Man does have a human
side, you just need to go back to the genesis of
his obsession. At the age of 30, with a glittering
corporate career bolstered by an MBA and a
promotion, Dean found himself peering into
the bottom of a tequila glass ruing life as a suit.
However successful, he was running on empty.
At the bottom of that tequila glass, many
men might find the inspiration to simply
order another round. He, on the other hand,
found the will to go for a life-affirming run.
Even then, while regular folk would wait until
the morning hangover had slunk off before
running toward a better life, Dean laced up and
hit the pavement then and there, in the dark,
leaving a wake of tequila vapours and his old
life behind to trot out an impromptu 30 miles
(48km). No training.
Kilometre 54
Unlike 17 years ago, Dean’s not ambling out
for a leisurely jog when I join him. He’s midrace, slogging it out in The North Face 100,
an endurance trail run that leads competitors
through the prettiest, but most leg-demolishing
sections of the Blue Mountains National Park.
The TNF 100 traverses 100km of high peaks
and low fern-flushed gullies, fire trails and
walking tracks, including a decent length of
the notorious Six Foot hiking trail. The total
vertical ascent is 4500 metres, and runners do
the same back down.
Does he really want me puffing and panting
next to him, spluttering out questions as we
go? It’s like wandering onto the court during
the Australian Open shouting, “Hey Raffa –
mind if we go doubles while we chat?”
Dean’s not happy. A human fallibility at
odds with his inhuman running machine
reputation has spilled out. It’s hard to hide
blood. “Took a tumble not far back,” he
says, taking five at the midway checkpoint.
“Smashed my knee on a rock.”
It’s here that team-based competitors pass
the baton to their running partner. A crowd
has gathered, but Dean doesn’t see them.
He’s hurting. You can see it in his face. “I’ll be
honest, I’ve got nothing left. Not sure I can go
on. Just need some sleep.”
I’m not one to scoff in the face of a Great
Man’s vulnerability, but I’m thinking “Bollocks
to that – I’ve got a story to get, a job to do.”
Technically, so does he – he’s paid to be here,
to run as a publicity machine.
A medic tends his wound and I introduce
myself as the village idiot who wants to run
alongside him for a short stretch. “How far’s
the next checkpoint?” he asks anyone in
earshot. The chorus of answers from assembled
fans, as though making a great offering to a
noble but not easily impressed king, is typical
of the Karnazes factor. He gathers an adoring
crowd wherever he goes. People cheer him into
checkpoints, pine for his autograph, banter
with him like they’re old mates. Apparently,
the cult of celebrity stretches to ultra runners.
Later in the day, talking to other competitors,
it seems that at least two in every three have
entered because of him, most having read his
best seller Ultramarathon Man: Confessions of an
All-Night Runner. The adoration extends to the
many websites devoted to him.
“Every time I read your book, I want to
just lace up my shoes and go run!” says Kate
who has either only gone for one run or really
should buy a new book before she wears the
pages – and herself – out. I’d suggest 50/50:
Secrets I Learned Running 50 Marathons in 50
Days, Dean’s second book.
So how to stop this man, the fuel to so many
other runners’ fires, the man who never quits,
from quitting a race he’s guest of honour at?
How do you inspire an inspirer?
So what if he ran a 325km race last weekend
in the States. So what if he didn’t get off his
fourteen-hour flight from LA to Sydney until
yesterday? Jetlag shmetlag.
It’s at this point I recall something of Dean’s
running philosophy: he argues that the first
half of any race is run with one’s body, and the
second half with the mind. We’re sitting at the
halfway point. Time to switch engines, Dean.
The answer to his checkpoint question is
11km. I suggest that perhaps he push on for
a ‘measly’ eleven so we can chat. Something
clicks, and for a beaten man about to sleep,
a gear changes. A glint flashes in his eye, the
sparkling All American teeth flash and, after a
peruse of the carbo-loaded table, we’re away.
For Dean, 11km is a cinch. For me, on no
training – not to mention no breakfast – it’s a
marathon.
Kilometre 54.5
One of the world’s best-known ultramarathoners says he wants my quads. For an
instant I’m flattered, but he’s simply drawing
a mental boost from the thought of refreshed
thighs. How my chicken legs could possibly
provide any mental comfort I couldn’t tell
you, but my inflated ego now believes I can
crack this 11km.
Ten minutes later we stop to inspect Dean’s
bulging calves as they convulse with what
looks like a million maggots running their
www.ou te r-e dge .com.au 63
going to extremes tnf 100
Tough minds
Strong bodies
Big hearts
www.mindaustralia.org.au
Runners descending Mt Feathertop, March 2009
100
miles
100
km
48
hours
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This is gonna hurt. Outer Edge deputy editor Chris Ord (rear
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own under-skin ultra. “Want my calves, too?”
Dean’s steely glare confirms my doubts about
the genuine nature of his quad coveting. It’s
getting dark. We run on.
In his book, Dean writes of his calling: “It
wasn’t acclaim I craved, but adventures that
involved out-of-body experiences, intense
pain, nights without sleep, and a supreme
sense of accomplishment.”
“It’s good that you’re with me now,” says
Dean, getting his wish. “You’re seeing me
at my worst, at my lowest. I’m nearly falling
asleep, hallucinating, I wanna quit. This is
what it’s all about.”
“When I’m pushing and I’m in pain and
I’m struggling to go on, in that struggle I
think something wonderful happens, a magic.
I’m never more alive than moments like now.
I’m not a religious man, but I find something
higher, something pure when I push myself to
these limits.”
6 4 out er edge
Kilometre 67
Espressos do not count as performance
enhancing in the sport of ultra running.
Sitting in a café near the Blue Mountains’
famous Three Sisters, the only thing that
sets us apart from the other customers is the
running shorts and hydropacks hanging off
our backs. In Dean’s books, pacing yourself
legitimately includes stopping all together
and if you’re going to stop, there may as
well be choc chip cookies and macaroons
involved.
Perhaps it’s the caffeine, could be the
surreal nature of discussing our kids over a
cuppa while mid race, or maybe the promise
by Dean that, despite a serious lack of
conditioning, my body should be able to
‘survive’ the folly I’m about to undertake – I
agree to continue on to the next checkpoint
22km away. The leg alone is 10km more than
I’ve ever run in my life. Make that a double
espresso, please. Good thing is, Dean’s
stopped talking about sleeping and started
talking about finishing.
Leaving the safety of the barista’s bemused
stare, we trot off along clifftops backed by car
parks, down sets of steel stairs more used to
the patter of Japanese and German tourists
on daytrips than the clobber of lactic-laced
runners’ legs. The view would take my
breath away if I had any. Leaving the safety
of handrails we delve into a wilderness not
typically experienced by daytrippers. It’s a
600metre-plus drop to the damp forest floor,
roots and streams and wayward branches all
tugging at concentration otherwise occupied
by the incredibly complex task of throwing
one foot ahead of the other in succession.
Bantering as we push on, Dean predicts the
race record won’t be touched. “This is without
doubt the toughest 100km trail run on the
planet,” he says. “And with Andrew Kromar
[last year’s winner and race favourite] pulling
out [due to an ankle injury] I can’t see how
anyone will get close.” Turns out he’s wrong. The eventual race winner,
first-timer Andrew Lee, (above left) finishes in 10.20.51, two minutes
faster than last year’s record. I reckon he must train.
Dean is never in contention. “I’m never a chance to win a 100km
race,” he says. “Too slow.” His preferred ‘winning’ distance is anything
over 250km. “That’s when my mental and physical capabilities come to
the fore.” His physical capabilities have been studied: the secret to his
injury-free – until now – running is perfect balance and alignment of
his musculoskeletal rigging.
His mental rigging is still unchartered. He threw away the security of
a steady job, uppercrust wage and so-called career prospects to make a
living from ultra-running, a marginal sport where prize purses barely
cover the flights, let alone mortgages and family health insurance.
“That’s where the MBA and marketing experience comes in handy,”
he says. His books, appearance fees and speaking engagements allow
Dean to pursue running. The real cost is a punishing training regime
of a marathon a day, and then a few longer runs for weekend fun.
Event schedule
Fri 19 March 18:30 Registration/briefing/dinner
Sat 20 March 04:30 Race start
Mon 22 March 04:30 Race cut off
Mon 22 March 08:30 Presentations
To register visit www.mindaustralia.org.au
The course was tough...
and we navigated the highest
mountains in Victoria...
I had my doubts at moments...
But there was no way
I was going to quit!
Jessica, first female to complete
the 2009 Alpine Challenge
Kilometre 79
The lush ferny greens turn to grey then pitch black as the last of
the light steals away to the west, leaving the blackness to swallow
straggling runners who are mounting headlamps. One of them – the
one who should be sipping cab sav on a flight home right about
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now – is re-thinking his impromptu extra
leg in the dark. Perhaps sensing a publicity
disaster – ‘Journalist Lost Covering Ultra
Adventure’ – but more likely because the
ultra-running crowd is an ultra-friendly one,
The North Face Marketing Manager, Stephen
Winnacott, passes me his spare light. His
generosity doesn’t extend to carrying hapless
media types through the bush and he soon
disappears ahead, his reserves the reward of
…training.
My creaking knees are protesting at the
lack thereof and they start to seize up. Just as
Dean seems to be awakening from his sleeprunning, my body should be put to sleep,
such are its failings. I walk backwards up a
hill to keep the pain at bay. Other body parts
burn with agitation. If only someone had
advised me the number one rule of ultras:
always use Vaseline between your cheeks.
Kilometre 86
A common notion among marathoners is
that you hit the physical wall at kilometre 32.
By my count, for me, that’s now. Yet even if I
wanted to I can’t stop – we’re still 3km from
the next and final checkpoint. Between us
and the finish is nothing but dense bushland,
gorges, rivers and enough anguish to flood
them all. The breakdown baton has long
passed from Dean to me. The banter between
us, ebbing and flowing for most of the trail,
has run dry. Dean has shed his human skin to
reveal one of steel.
It’s the flip side of many extreme athletes.
Personable, approachable day-to-day, but
get them in their zone and you’ll encounter
a cold, even arrogant alter ego. Dean is no
different. Reviewing Dean’s book, John
Medinger (who is also a friend of Dean’s)
writes: “The most serious flaw is that he
initially comes across…as overly egotistical.
He crows about being ‘ripped like a prize
fighter’ and having ‘less than five percent
body fat.’ Deeper into the book he becomes
more self-effacing, but the initial impression
remains. This is ultimately ironic because in
real life Karnazes – while hardly lacking in
self-confidence – is caring and genuine.”
When I’m pushing and I’m in pain and
I’m struggling to go on, in that struggle I think
something wonderful happens, a magic. I’m never
more alive than moments like now.
Kilometre 95
The mental wall strangles you at 40km,
after which, they say, every kilometre in a
marathon feels like the first forty. ‘They’
obviously haven’t done a marathon over
mountains. 5km to go. It may as well be
500km.
Dean knows he’s escaped the sting of
failure. Feeling the pull of the finish line he
pads off ahead of me. My sense of comradery
pushes me to stick with him but he’s gone
into superhuman mode. I’ve melted into all
too human mode. I plod. I throw my limbs
forward. Dean’s not coveting them now and
I’m positively hating them. My jog recedes
to a stumble, which falls submissively to a
hobble. No one in front, no one clomping
behind. The only sign that I’m not completely
lost is the little reflective ribbons that mark
the course. They seem to be falling down.
Then I realise: the trail is plunging into a
ravine. There are no lights, no finishing
line crowd noise from the inky morass of
trees lining the river far below. This can’t be
happening.
I try every trick in the book. I turn the
distance into football fields. Ten laps to
go. That’s a warm up. Except I’m already
overheated. The trees captured in the throw
of my headlamp go fuzzy. I want to sleep.
Am I asleep? That step looks awfully comfy.
Perhaps I can nap a while? No. Never stop.
Dean said that. You stop, that’s it. Perhaps
this is just one of those dreams – the ones
where you’re trying your hardest to run but
your legs won’t obey, except in ultra-slow
motion. Is this real? Is this what Dean does
for a living? For pleasure?
The reflective ribbons rise up. One foot.
The next. Forward. A ridge. I’m moving
toward something. It’s as though I’m in a dark
tunnel with a bright light at the end. There’s
a giant gate in the middle, bathed in light.
Strange. It’s like a blow-up castle. Oh it has
The North Face plastered all over it.
Kilometre 100
Cramps shoot up my legs just as I collapse
over the line. Where’s Dean? I’m here for an
interview. Already tucked up in his luxury
hotel room as it happens. I hope he’s having
nightmares about an idiot journalist’s quads
being transplanted for his.
Log on to outer-edge.com.au or youtube.com/
outeredgemag to see an extended interview with
Dean. The next TNF 100 will be on 15 May
2010. Entries open in December.
thenorthface.com.au.
www.ou te r-e dge .com.au 67