Eat and Run: My Unlikely Journey to Ultramarathon Greatness (11 page)

Run an event enough times and you'll identify the spot where your race really begins. For me and the Western States 100, it's the Rucky Chucky river crossing, mile 78, a final chance to cool down before grinding out the last 20 miles.
 

Every summer, I loved living dirtbag style with the king of the dirtbags, the Dust Ball. We'd camp at Robinson Flat, just off the Western States Trail, and I'd whip up gourmet meals in my VW Westfalia.
 

Eating while running is a critical skill for any ultramarathoner. Here I am at mile 50 of the 2003 Western States, chowing down on a homemade burrito.
 

Running can be lonely, and ultrarunning can be lonelier, so when you can connect, you do. At the finish of my record-setting Western States 100, I soaked up energy from the cheering crowd in Auburn, California.
 

Finishing a 100-miler was great. Winning was greater. Setting a course record was greatest of all. At the 2004 Western States 100, I did all three. Notice the sky. It was the first time I finished the course in daylight.
 

In 2005, two weeks after my seventh consecutive Western States 100 victory, I set out to conquer the Badwater Ultramarathon, a 135-mile endurance slog through Death Valley. Mile 12, 120 degrees, and I'm leading. What could go wrong?
 

At 48 miles in, I was over 5 miles behind, ready to quit. Those who described the insanity of the Badwater were right.
 

Getting Enough Protein

One of the biggest questions I had as an ultrarunner contemplating a vegan diet was how to get enough protein. Here are a few of my tricks: In my breakfast smoothie, I add some nuts and a hit of plant-based protein powder (brown rice, hemp, pea, or fermented soy protein). I’ll also have a grain source for breakfast, such as sprouted-whole-grain toast with nut butter or sprouted-grain cereal or porridge. Lunch is always a huge raw salad—I love my Lacinato kale—and I’ll up the protein content with a soy product (tempeh, tofu, or edamame), a big scoop of hummus, or maybe some leftover cooked grain or quinoa. Dinner might be beans and whole grains, maybe some whole-grain pasta. If I didn’t have soy at lunch, I might have it with dinner. Add in some Clif Bars and trail mix as snacks throughout the day and some soyor nut-based vegan desserts and I get more than enough protein to maintain my muscle tone and help my body recover.

I seek out traditional whole foods rather than highly refined meat substitutes. I look for products that have been sprouted, soaked, or fermented to help break down the indigestible cellulose in plant cell walls. Among soy sources, I favor tempeh, miso, and sprouted tofu, which are all more digestible and have less phytoestrogen (a naturally occurring substance that some—in spite of medical evidence to the contrary—suspect might mimic estrogen’s effects in humans) than isolated soy protein. I eat sprouted-grain breads and tortillas, and at home I often soak my whole grains and beans before cooking.

Minnesota Winter Chili

The night I tasted this chili is the night I decided I could be a happy, athletic vegetarian. One mouthful made me realize that vegetarian food could taste just as good, and have just as hearty a texture, as meat-based foods. The bulgur wheat is a source of complex carbohydrates, and combined with the other ingredients, it makes a complete protein. There’s nothing like it after exercise, especially on a cold winter night.

Add the oil to a large pot. Sauté the vegetables and spices in the oil over medium to medium-low heat for 10 minutes or until tender. Add a few tablespoons of water if the veggies begin sticking to the pot. Add the remaining ingredients except the cilantro and simmer over medium-low heat, covered, for 30 minutes. Stir and simmer for an additional 20 to 30 minutes until the veggies are cooked through. Season with salt and, if more spice is desired, hot sauce or cayenne pepper to taste. Serve, sprinked with the cilantro. Leftover chili freezes well.

MAKES
8–10
SERVINGS

9. Silent Snow, Secret Snow

WESTERN STATES 100 TRAINING, 1999

The mountains are calling and I must go.

—
JOHN MUIR

I tiptoed up the stairs from the basement, careful not to wake the family still sleeping, pulled a curtain, and watched dry flakes glinting in the watery light of a crescent moon. It was mid-December, 1998, 5
A.M.
, no warmer than 10 below. I pulled on polypropylene long underwear, a windbreaker, and a fleece, then my warm-up pants and thick wool socks. The path I had chosen—the path I hoped would fulfill me—would eventually take me through canyons of 100 degrees, deserts so hot that scorpions scuttled for shade. But the path started here, now.

Another layer: Nordic ski hat, Finnish ski gloves. It was a path not many other people could discern. High school valedictorian, college graduate, licensed physical therapist, and husband, and I was back in Duluth, about $20,000 in debt, squatting in my in-laws’ basement, riding my bike 10 miles a day, five days a week, to Ski Hut. I earned $5 an hour. It was still warm inside my bed. Outside: black night, white ground. I
thought
it was my path. I laced up my trail running shoes. Shortly after returning to Minnesota, to help with traction in the snow, I had added sheet metal screws to the soles.