This
weekend is all about extremes: extreme swimming, extreme running and the
extreme eating habits of athletes before extremely long sporting events. I am
writing on a bus, on my way down to Guarujá as part of the kayak support crew
for 11 athletes who will be swimming 24 kilometers (15 miles) non-stop to
Bertioga. We just made a routine stop at a road-side restaurant. This is just
part of what we picked up as both snack food for today and human fuel for the
approximately eight-hour race tomorrow:
While
swimming tomorrow, the athletes (like our awesome model pictured above,
Letícia) will periodically wave their arms to signal to the kayakers to paddle
over and give them food and drink. Presumably, we support crew have been
trained well enough to be able to distinguish the come-here-please-and-feed-me
wave from the
I’ve-been-swimming-for-five-fucking-hours-straight-and-cannot-help-looking-like-a-dilapidated-Dutch-windmill
wave. The kayaker will then proceed to feed his or her assigned swimmer whatever
the swimmer wants. Those of you accustomed to observe people run distances no
longer than half marathons (or maybe even marathons) might now be thinking that
the athletes will request a gel, a protein bar or a Gatorade®. Oh, but how so,
so, so wrong you are, dear reader. These swimmers have prepared nutritious kits
filled with really healthy food like gummy worms, Mentos®, Coke®, M&Ms®,
Pringles®, pretzels, ham and cheese sandwiches, Frosted Flakes® and
artificially flavored strawberry sucking candies.
Normally,
I would be inclined to pack a more balanced lunch for my expected eight-hour
kayak adventure (which, I must point out, does not consist of a relaxing day
calmly admiring the natural surroundings because I will be incessantly making
sure my assigned ultra swimmer can actually feel her toes and has not let her
mind wander to delirium so I do not have to dive in and pull her unconscious
body onto my candy-laden kayak). But, while I would like to extol the virtues
of always eating food that might actually ensure still having tooth enamel the
day after tomorrow, I know that at this same time the following day I too will
be partaking in this delayed Halloween-cum-Super-Bowl-Sunday smorgasbord. Why?
Because on Sunday I will be running a 50-kilometer ultramarathon through the
trails of a steep mountain range. My race-day food will include additional
tasty treats like a whole baked potato, a generous portion of ziti and
family-size bags of potato chips.
Why do
people who represent the epitome of discipline (training up to three times a
day, putting in five to six kilometers in the pool or mid-week
half-marathon-distance runs, plus gym time, day in and day out) suddenly act
like kids in a culinary Disneyland? In fact, none of us eats like this before
shorter swim meets and sub-26-mile running distances (ok, Letícia is an
exception and has a diagnosed acute addiction to sucking candies), but once we
break the four-hour barrier and go for distances that will keep our bodies in
motion for anywhere from six to fourteen hours, we seem to opt en masse to
salivate over everything our mothers so stealthily kept on the topmost shelf of
the cupboard when we were growing up.
The
answer occurred to me as I was chatting with one of the swimmers who has done
this particular race before (once having finished and once having felt the need
to quit mid-race): there is a wholly unique psychological process involved in
the over-four-hour race, and this special mindset is most visibly manifest not
so much in technique (which changes little beyond generally sloppy arm or leg
movements over time) but in facial expression and alimentary habits.
Ultra
athletes are not quite racing for time; well, some may be, but most of us are
usually just in it to finish, to finish intact and to improve our own personal
records. What we are doing when we ultra race is testing the extent to which
our complex thinking mind can master our instinctual body. This is why we may
sing a favorite song in a mental loop for 45 minutes straight. Or why we may
whistle when we come up for air. Or why we guiltlessly ingest
whatever food we associate with unfiltered, child-like joy. Because only the
mental conviction that you feel like a million bucks (or that you soon will
feel like a million bucks) or that you are just freaking awesome is what will
take your body past the four-hour barrier and through the hours and hours and
hours that are clearly beyond your natural physical limits. And nothing gives
you that necessary instant sensation of kid-like bliss like a shot of sugar or
the delectable crunch of greasy potato chips enjoyed the way your mom
spent your childhood warning you against.
To all my
ultra-athlete friends, I’m raising up a whole tub of ice cream and jumbo bag of
potato chips in your honor this weekend! Let's eat!
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