“I’m 34 …”

A (24-hour) race report

The good news: At this stage of my athletic life, my entry into races is limited to two fixed-time ultras each summer. Thus, you don’t have to be burdened often with reading personal race reports on this Substack.

The bad news, if you are easily bored or distracted with such ramblings from writers like me: I just did the Sri Chinmoy 24-hour ultramarathon at Rockland Lake State Park last weekend, for the second year in a row. And this is my race report! So, feel free to hit pause and move on with your day as needed.

OK. If you are still with me, here’s a little background.

The Sri Chinmoy Marathon Team is a nearly 50-year-old group that puts on many, many races around the world. Inspired by its founder -- Indian meditation master, author, poet and philosopher Sri Chinmoy -- they are a group of kind-hearted, incredibly caring human beings dedicated to allowing men and women like me to explore the limits of human movement.

Later in the summer/fall, they put on a 3,100-mile race (yes, that is the correct distance) in New York City, and this weekend’s race proceeds go toward that monumental event. There’s so much more to the SCMT that one simple paragraph cannot encompass. I encourage you to look into them more and strongly encourage and support your participation in their wonderful events.

The Rockland Lake race consisted of a 12-hour and a 24-hour ultra – fixed time ultras basically means that you go as you please and cover as much distance in the allocated time – as well as a “Midnight Marathon,” which, yes, started at midnight!

The 2.94833-mile loop around Rockland Lake is scenic (in the daylight, especially!) and mercifully flat. As loop courses go, it’s actually a bit on the longer side.

Highly competitive runners are quite familiar with this loop as elite-level marathon and half marathon races have been hosted on this very same course. In addition, lower Hudson Valley residents are certainly accustomed to it, as throughout the 24 hours on the loop, there were dozens of walkers, joggers, cyclists and others out there sharing the paved path with us.

Several park users caught my eye and asked, “what’s going on, is there a race here?” You see, fixed time ultras don’t look and feel like, you know, actual races! When I said, “yes, there is a race” and then they asked how long it was and I told them, they were incredulous. “You mean, it goes on all day?” My reply: “Yes, and for some of us, all night too!”

With an event like this, my goal is quite simple: Relentless forward movement. This is similar to the title of a somewhat obscure book on ultramarathons, and it fits here. Another way to state my goal: Stay on the course (and, thus, on my feet) as much as possible.

I didn’t run a step of the race. I walked. I tried to keep my breaks (bathroom and food) to a minimum. When a friend -- a long-ago runner on our Marist team -- stopped by with his young son and checked in with me, about 10 hours into the event (just after a heavy downpour that soaked me for an entire lap), he asked, “wait, are you going to SLEEP at all?” My answer was: “Gosh, I hope not!”

Staying awake the entire 24 hours is perhaps the biggest challenge. It’s not natural; it’s not normal. As the sun began to set, my circadian rhythm started to kick in and my internal clock was telling me, “OK dude, time for bed.” But alas, I literally had many miles to go before sleep.

How did I stay awake?

I listened to an audiobook; I listened to music; I chatted with fellow 24-hour competitors; I consumed as much caffeine as possible. And I tried not to think about sleep. But alas, on Lap 19, in the middle of the night, pitch black, no one around, it was hard to ignore the fatigue, deny the natural inclination to, you know, sit or lay down and close my eyes.

My internal voice said, “just get through this lap, take a sip of coffee, and sit for a 15-minute nap.” It was hard. It was really hard. I began weaving back and forth. A park bench in the dark, covered in goose poop, seemed quite appealing. But no. I was going to make it back and finish this lap. Finish this lap. I seem to remember blinking for a long time, zoning out and nearly walking into a tree. I think that happened; I’m not sure.

By the time I got back to the very well-lit start/finish area, and the friendly and cheerful race folks, I heard “Number 34, Peter, that’s 19 laps, 56 miles, looking good!” I was back to being somewhat alert. I stopped briefly at the picnic table with my gear, took a long swig of lukewarm coffee, grabbed a portable charger for my cell phone … and embarked on Lap 20.

Along the course, a little past the one-mile and the two-mile points, there were aid stations. Again, well-lit and well-manned by friendly Sri Chinmoy race volunteers.

They also functioned as checkpoints for the very meticulous lap counters – no electronic timing here, just old-fashioned pencil and paper, so it was important to be noticed. I made sure turn off my headphones, flash my bib number (34) and announce, “I’m 34” to make sure that was noted and that every lap was, indeed, counted.

Other than staying on the course as long as possible, my distance goal was 100 kilometers, a nice round number. The 100km marker was on the course a little past the start/finish line, at the beginning of Lap 22. Illuminated only by my headlamp, I got to this point at around 4:30 a.m., took a picture, felt a brief pang of self-satisfaction … and then, kept walking.

Some quick math in my head – muddled, of course, by my sleep-deprived brain – confirmed that matching my 2024 total of 25 laps completed was not going to be possible in 2025. Persistent, sometimes heavy, rain for the first 10 hours slowed all of us down a bit (the weather in 2024 was perfect). Also, not insignificantly, I am a year older, with the first digit of my age ticking up last August. As a result, I wasn’t fully confident that I would be able to achieve even 100 kilometers.

But alas, with that milestone behind me, it was back to “keep moving” and “one lap at a time” mode. While partial laps were counted, I was intent on stopping at the most doable full lap and literally “calling it a day.” That happened after Lap 24, with the Sunday morning sunshine supplanting overnight coffee as my source of energy.

Soon after passing the 100km marker, the darkness gradually receded and a new day slowly dawned. My strategy shifted. I decided to turn off my headphones and turn on my senses, realizing the truly miraculous beauty and blessing of a sunrise. The promise of a new day is greatly heightened and enhanced when the old (previous) day never really ended.

“Stay in the moment” is something that I preach to my athletes and something we hear all the time. It has become a bit of a cliché, actually. When in the middle of a 24-hour walk, it becomes a bit easier to stay in the moment, because you are experiencing each moment in real, forward-moving time.

My internal dialog narrowed to these thoughts: I’m 34. This is lap 21, 100km marker coming up. If I keep going, I can finish 24 (laps). Don’t forget to eat something after this lap, that PBJ and cup of Coke was good last time. Stuff like that.

Our normal daily routine fills our internal dialog with so much incongruous chatter. When your goal is relentless forward movement, that chatter quiets down to those few mantras.

Hey there, friendly aid station person, I’m 34. See me. Hear me. Talk to me. Mark me down. Thank you. Watch me move. Slowly. Steadily. Forward. Hope to keep moving. Hope to see you next lap!