The Barkley Marathons

punskilled:

Or, why humans are definitely space orcs

My uncle recommended the documentary on netflix “The Barkley Marathon: The Race that Eats its Young” (which i recommend) and it’s an incredible race, with race used at the extreme of its definition. It’s run by a man nicknamed Lazarus, and it’s unbelievable. He got the idea from a prison break, where a prisoner only got like 8 miles in 55 hours, and figured he could do better, he could do 100 (he couldn’t but other people can!) 

It takes place in the backwoods of Tennessee and consists of 5 “20″ (believed to be more like 26) mile loops (so 100-130 miles, though a “fun run” is just 3 loops) through some of the worst terrain, with like 10,000 feet up and down of elevation change, through briars, under the prison through this river, etc. The time limit is 60 hours, and there’s no aid besides water stations of gallon jugs (which may/may not be frozen since its in March/April).

The entrance application is secretive, but includes an essay, $1.60 (his “retirement fund, since he doesn’t give change), a license plate from your home state/country for first timers, a requested clothing item (whatever Lazarus needs that year, it was shirts until he got enough shirts, etc) for folks that have failed and are returning to do it again, and a pack of camel cigarettes for those coming back after a success (for some reason). There is one person who is entered that they’ve deemed to likely have the least success, who is the “human sacrifice” and gets race number 1.

The course changes each year, and there’s no map handed out, they have to copy the official one and read vague descriptions of the way to go. Along the way there are books that they must rip out the page matching their race number that act as checkpoints. The race start can occur at any time, with the only warning being a conch blown 1 hour before the start, which is signaled by Lazarus lighting his cigarette. 

Lazarus just sits at the start/end line, smoking like a chimney, and checking people in as they complete loops or drop out. Those that drop out get taps played for them. The camp lets runners eat or nap (theyre still on the clock tho) before setting off again, and it’s like a weird human pit crew deal. The race takes every amount of “space orc”-ness that humans have.

The ultramarathon started in 1986, and didn’t have a finisher until 1995. There have only been 18 finishes by 15 runners. One kept coming back to win it for a third time in 2016. The record time is 52 hours.

Humans are space orcs, watch the documentary to see