In the world of extreme sports, with its rock soundtrack and wild personalities, ultramarathons have quietly grown in popularity.

Eric Bindner, a 51-year-old ultramarathon runner from Denver, remembers the time he almost didn’t finish a race across the Sahara desert. A roaring sand storm had swept over the path, leaving him temporarily blind. “I couldn’t open my eyes at all,” Bindner says. “I’m finished, I thought.”

But a fellow participant from France, who had run alongside Binder for the last few miles, would have none of it. “He grabbed my arm and said, ‘we run.’ He was insistent. He led me along like you’d lead a blind person,” Bindner says, adding the man spoke almost no English. The terrain was too rough for them to actually run, so they walked as fast as they could to the next stage of the race where Bindner could get medical care. It’s just what ultramarathon runners do.

By definition, an ultramarathon is any race longer than the standard 26.2 miles. Most ultramarathons are either 50 or 100 miles, but some multiday races are as long as 1,000 miles or more. Colorado hosts a number of these races each year, from the Leadville Trail 100 (August 22 – 23, 2009) to the Collegiate Peaks Trail Run near Buena Vista (May 1, 2010). While most sports inspire dogged competition, or even cheating in worst-case scenarios, ultramarathon runners actively help each other reach the finish line no matter the elements — or the odds. That was the case in May of 2008, even though the best of intentions weren’t enough to save a fellow runner.

The Trail Sweeper
John J. Marini, a 59-year-old veteran runner from Littleton, suffered a fatal heart attack during the Collegiate Peaks race last year. Brian Pilgrim, a 42-year-old psychologist from New Mexico, was one of several runners who did what they could to help Marini after he collapsed. Pilgrim says he wasn’t sure what had happened when he first came across Marini. It looked like he had suffered a heart attack and fell, and he appeared to have hit his head.

Another runner went to Marini’s aid and began CPR, Pilgrim says. Another quickly arrived to help with the resuscitation effort. Pilgrim ran to the nearest aid station to get additional assistance but suspects there was little anyone could have done to save him.

Marini’s girlfriend, 47-year-old Littleton resident Paula Bowman, was running ahead of him and didn’t learn about his passing until after she finished. “We called him the ‘trail sweeper.’ The worst thing he ever had was cramps,” she says. After crossing the finish line, she overheard someone say a fellow runner had died during the race. One participant, who by day is a grief counselor, was able to immediately comfort her. “He was so strong,” says Bowman, “Nothing ever happened to John.”

Pushing Limits
Even hardcore competitors can set aside their drive to be number one during ultramarathons. Tania Pacev, a 49-year-old veteran ultrarunner from Denver, represents the United States in Olympic-level marathon events. She says a sport like ultrarunning demands the ultimate mental discipline, but it also keeps the athlete’s ego firmly in check. “You learn to be very humble. Your body is going to tell you what your limitations are,” she says. Perhaps it’s that sense of mortality, of not being in full control, that bonds fellow runners. “You’re out there for a long time. You share the same misery,” Pacev says, laughing.

Boulder resident Reid Delman wrestled competitively in his college years, both stateside and abroad. Now, the 41-year-old looks to ultramarathons as another way to push himself. “I needed something else,” says Delman, whose Gemini Adventures company arranges ultra-style races. “I’m not a fast runner, but I needed to keep challenging myself.”

In his spare time, Delman participates in mixed martial arts contests. His competitive desires may fade over time, but they rarely go away. “The fire’s not burning as bright, but it’s still smoldering,” he says, adding his mixed martial arts fights involve nine “incredibly tense” minutes. “With ultramarathon running, you do the best you can for 30 hours. It’s two completely different worlds.”

Jeff O’Reilly, a 49-year-old ultramarathon runner from Denver, turned to the sport after learning he had Guillain-Barré Syndrome, a condition in which the body’s immune system attacks elements of the peripheral nervous system. “It seems the majority of ultrarunners have a story similar to mine,” he says. “They survived some disease, or they know someone who died of cancer, or they have epilepsy or some other challenge.” All of which can lead to some emotional outbursts before, during, and after the races.

“Many of us actually get to the point of shedding tears during some moments during races,” O’Reilly says, “or even in training because we’re overwhelmed by how much we love running and the mountains and the people we’re doing it with.”

Is It Dangerous?
To the uninitiated, an extreme sport like ultramarathons might seem more dangerous than jogging or standard marathons. Dr. Cedric Bryant, chief science officer with the American Council on Exercise, says fatalities are no more common with ultra events than with other endurance sports. But the sport of running ultramarathons is still in its infancy, so exact research and data on its overall health impact is limited.

“They’re beginning to investigate it,” Bryant says. As more athletes take on ultramarathons, “people will pay closer attention to the cumulative effect of all the training and competition, as well as trying to understand the psyche of the people [who do them].”

Bowman says she, Marini, and several friends had been planning to run across the Grand Canyon after completing the Collegiate Peaks event. She ended up going through with the trip anyway, at one point gathering her friends for a small memorial for Marini. Before the canyon run, she instructed her friends about their responsibilities to their fellow athletes. “If someone gets in trouble, we all help. Don’t assume someone else is going to help,” she says. Bowman’s party did run into some health complications, but their preparedness training ensured each made it home safely.

The coroner later told her Marini had suffered a mild heart attack sometime prior to the Collegiate Peaks race, but he may not have known it as the symptoms can be mild tightness of the chest and can be confused with those of a pulled muscle or even a cold. His cholesterol levels also had doubled since his physical the previous year, which could have played a factor in his heart attack. Yet all other health tests he had taken in recent months had come back normal. To the casual observer, he seemed healthier than people a decade younger. He bragged that he was down to his college weight and was running better than he had in years.

The irony is that Marini didn’t have to run the Collegiate Peaks race. He had run it years earlier and hadn’t been a fan of the course at that time — it’s since been modified, Bowman says. And he completed another long race a few weeks earlier, so he didn’t require any additional training to prepare for their planned Grand Canyon run.
But he knew some of his less experienced running friends needed more training to prepare for the Grand Canyon and wanted to accompany them to lend his advice. “He wanted to be there as a support for them; that was his nature,” she says.