Go The Distance: A Report in Twelve (Short But Long) Hours

Last winter, when I—Dimity—put together Go the Distance, our first AMR endurance event where you picked your activity, your distance/time, and your duration (6, 12, or 24 hours), I knew I wanted to play too.

I had grand ideas of riding a 9.2 mile loop around nearby Cherry Creek State Park every hour for 12 hours. I could picture it perfectly: I’d set up my car in a parking lot with the hatchback down, snacks displayed like a charcuterie board and a cooler full of icy drinks. Next to it would be a camp chair so I could sit when I finished a lap and get on super clear WiFi. The weather would be sunny and about 60 degrees; just perfect for me to ride nearly 108 miles, for which I would definitely train properly. The wind might pop up in the afternoon and maybe I’d get some strange looks from the people fishing, but otherwise, it would be smooth pedaling.

That didn’t happen. On Saturday, it was 35 degrees and snowing; my snack plan rated a D+ at best; and my training topped out at one two-hour ride. Ridiculously sore crotch aside, the day played out to be much more fulfilling and meaningful than I anticipated.

Here’s what did happen around the event, in an (not-super-short) hour-by-hour replay.

Hour 1: 7 a.m.

Actually, let me start 24 hours before, at 7 a.m. the previous day. I was dozing and drooling on a flight from Philadelphia to Denver; Ben, my high school senior, and I spent the previous week touring colleges in the NYC/Philly area. The flight left at a bright-and-early 5:30 a.m., which landed at almost bright-and-early 7:45 a.m. in Denver, ideally giving me a full day to work and prepare for Go the Distance (GTD). You’re probably not surprised I didn’t have the productive day I anticipated.

I did, however, get inspired. We had a handful of people who, due to busy weekends, were already Going the Distance. Angie and her friend Christine, who live four hours apart in Texas but love to do crazy things together, were two of them:

On Saturday, I wake up later than I want to (see: travel), make my morning latte, and put together a plate of food to get me through at least three hours. I’m not awake enough to think beyond that. I cue up Zwift, an app that will be my virtual road for the next 12 rides. On it, I can join a pace group, do a structured workout, or just ride a route.

Hour 2: 8 a.m.

I spring back onto the bike after foam rolling and some PT moves. As I roll out my quads, I think, “This is great. I’ll do these after every ride.” I also set a goal: 120 miles. My first ride was 8.4 miles, my second was 10.3, which is nearly 20 miles. “I can do that five more times, no prob,” I think to myself.

Ha, you and your fresh legs and big ideas, Dimity.

Hour 3: 9 a.m.

I am still smiling from our hourly Zoom Check-In. I open up a Zoom Room at ten minutes before every hour so anybody who is in GTD can pop in and say hi.

Throughout the day, Elizabeth (in the lower right corner) and Anna (lower left) show up consistently. Elizabeth’s southern twang makes me smile, as does her co-pilot Scout, who rides in the stroller for all of Elizabeth’s outdoor miles. Anna calls in from her car, various parks, and home.

Not shown here: Sarah, who also checked in regularly and is also riding indoors. She ends up riding 100 miles, and, throughout the day, we bond over how uncomfortable those first few minutes of resettling in the saddle are.

Hour 4: 10 a.m.

Forget PT moves and foam rolling; I head upstairs during my break to find some new vittles. While Grant, my husband, thoughtfully restocked our fridge with fruits and veggies before we came home from our trip, red peppers and strawberries will not be enough for me to eat. We’re seriously lacking in snacks and groceries, something I didn’t notice yesterday.

I slap together an almond butter/honey/banana sandwich, using the last banana and a heel of bread. I wonder if I can survive on almond butter/honey sandwiches for the next eight hours, and tell myself to take a frozen loaf of bread out of the freezer. Before I actually do it, though, I walk as fast as I can (read: not fast) up the stairs to change my outfit.

Wardrobe changes are popping up all over the Facebook page. Some people need to change because of weather; others just like a fresh kit to start a new lap. Kelyn, who started her 12-hour GTD at 12 a.m. Saturday because she had a band concert Saturday night, decided she’d just take her sports bra off between laps. A brilliant move, in my opinion: a clammy sports bra can bring your mood—and body temp—down in no time.

Hour 5: 11 a.m.

As I begin each lap, I take a quick scroll through the Facebook page. The check-in has two purposes: most importantly, to catch up with those I haven’t seen on Zoom and also, to make my mind off how my knees and crotch whine before they finally resign themselves to another lap.

I see Kim, who opted for 15 minutes of yoga practice every hour for six hours. “I pushed aside my critical doubting voice that tried to tell me it was lame to just do yoga, and I went for it! I’m so glad I did. Like a lot of us, I usually come last on my to do list—if I even make it on the list at all—so dedicating this block of time was truly a gift,” she says, noting she was more productive than normal on a Saturday morning.

I feel all the things reading her post; who can’t relate to being self-critical or putting themselves last? I am ridiculously proud of her 90 minutes of yoga and for voicing the things that often stay hidden inside us. And, within minutes, everybody doing GTD is chiming in, telling her thanks for her vulnerable post. Way to open your heart, Kim.

I am, however, a little jealous of her productive time. I am riding for about 35 minutes each hour, and somehow I thought I’d have time to send an email or at least answer a text. But between going to the bathroom, eating, refilling water bottles and hopping on Zoom, I’m booked.

This, I realize, is also a gift: a day focused 100% on me.

Hour 6: 12 p.m.

I send a text to Grant, one floor above me, with a grocery list and a plea to please get there in the next hour. I am craving peanut-butter pretzels, and also gummi bears, regular pretzels, licorice, and some protein drinks, which I realize sound good after reading about how others have them.

Again, he comes through like a champ, with one exception: he picks up Red Vines, not Twizzlers. IYKYK.

Hour 7: 1 p.m.

On our hourly Zoom Room chat, we all agree: this is the stretch of the challenge where you just have to put yourself on autopilot, dive deep into the don’t think; just go mentality, and otherwise be distracted. I listen to a review of Taylor Swift’s new album, but know I don’t have the bandwidth to listen the album itself. (When I’m exercising, I prefer songs I’m familiar with–and usually cheesy ones at that.)

That said, April made an amazing playlist for Go the Distance, and if you’ve read this far, thank you. You’ve earned the link: here it is on Apple; here it is on Spotify.

Hour 8: 2 p.m.

I do a recovery ride on Zwift called “Renewal.” It only nets me 8.9 miles, but it’s worth dialing it back just a notch before I take on the last third of this day. (OMG. I still have four.more.hours to go.)

Hour 9: 3 p.m.

Amelia, my daughter who is a junior in college nearby, has popped home to drop some things off. She comes down to the basement to say hi. I pull out my earbuds and we chat for a second before she looks at my GTD tracker. “This is so not my idea of fun,” she says before heading back upstairs.

“Just wait thirty years,” I want to say, “you are my daughter after all.”

Hour 10: 4 p.m.

Three rounds to go. I am buoyed by seeing others finish. Ann Marie completed 46 miles indoor cycling and 9 miles walking. On Friday, she got in the zone by having her Kindergarten class practice their writing with the word GRIT.

Elizabeth, who hasn’t missed a Zoom and who ended up with 13 rounds for 20.2 miles, shows up with her young son, who is about to go to bed. Anna is sitting freshly showered on the couch with a cat in her lap. Heidi drank a NA beer in the shower to celebrate.

And Hilary hasn’t stopped moving all day; after going on the hour for her cycling and running rounds, she walked at her son’s baseball game before swimming for one full hour to bookend her GTD. During that swim, she set a personal distance record—and my guess is that she’ll set another PR at her upcoming sprint triathlon.

They’re done, and I’ve got two hours left. I’m at 99.2 miles, and I contemplate calling it good. After all, this is a DIY Challenge, and I’ve done enough, and stopping at 99.2 miles/10 hours feels like I’m leading by example. Look: you don’t have to get to a round 100! You don’t have to finish the full day! It’s all good!

I won’t do that, but I will feel a little sorry for myself. It kind of feels like I’m in an out-and-back race, and as I’m still heading out, everybody else is heading back. I want to get all the way to the end on my own power, but if I could, I would magically trade places with them.

Hour 11: 5 p.m.

Before I start the penultimate lap, I walk very, very slowly up two flights of stairs, and change my full outfit: bra, top, shorts. I reapply a liberal dose of chamois cream and diaper ointment to my delicate parts. I brush my hair. And then I tell the Facebook group about it all so they will cheer me on. They don’t disappoint.

I place my order, via text, with Grant for a cheeseburger and fries. I’ve been dreaming about dinner most of the day, but now I’m feeling a little nauseous. Cathy, who is doing her GTD in Colorado Springs, has been outside all day, and has sent her husband off for pizza.

Instead of my usual 35-minute ride, I push myself to go for 39 minutes and get to 11.4 miles, which tips me over the 110-mile mark to make final lap a tiny bit easier. You’d think I wouldn’t notice four more minutes on the bike at this point, but you’d be wrong.

Hour 12: 6 p.m.

This is it. I put on my “Get It Done, Dimity” playlist (not worthy of being shared…trust me) and pedal 9.4 miles.

There are very few of us still in motion today—Cathy will take her last lap at 9 pm, totaling 30+ miles on this snowy Colorado day—and a handful of women are getting ready to GTD tomorrow, Sunday.

People are checking in on the Facebook, talking about this random weekend when we all did this random challenge together. They’re talking about how they ran the longest they ever have. Or how they used it process a tough time in their marriage. Or how they went much farther than they thought they could. I am liking posts and typing Nailed It! to as many as I can until I get to this one, written by a runner who prefers to fly under the radar.

“When I got the Google form to pledge a distance for this challenge, I almost dropped out. But the BAMR community has been nothing but kind and supportive since I wandered in years ago,” she wrote, “So I swallowed my panic and gave it a try. I have intermittently been in tears throughout the day just because this was actually fun.”

I couldn’t have summed up Go the Distance any better: Kind, supportive, sometimes teary, and, yes, actually fun. And next year, it’ll be even more fun when the sunny day in Cherry Creek comes to life.