Ultrafit: Marathon meltdown

The lights went out for Paul Krumrich 25 miles into his marathon, head swirling, knees buckling, body flopping to the asphalt of Summit Avenue in St. Paul as daylight faded to black. It was Oct. 7, a bit after 11 a.m. on the penultimate mile of the Medtronic Twin Cities Marathon. Krumrich, 34, was on pace to complete his first 26.2-mile run in time for a late-morning victory lunch.

He ended up in the hospital instead, heart racing, core temperature ticking up to 106 degrees before doctors administered ice and IV therapy.

"I woke up, looked around at the lights, and thought 'Is this heaven?'" he said.

More like hell.

For hundreds of runners the heat, humidity and intense sun of this year's marathon -- the 26th running of the Twin-Cities-traversing race, and the hottest yet -- proved too intense: Nearly 900 of the 8,106 runners dropped out, three times the norm. Krumrich's ambulance ride was one of about 50 emergency transfers to Regions Hospital in St. Paul. And for every 100 healthy finishers, three walked straight to the medical tent for treatment, many with heat exhaustion and dangerously high body temperatures, according to Grant Morrison, associate medical director for the race.

"Worst it's ever been," Morrison said.

In Chicago, where the LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon was held the same day, the scene was far worse: Nearly 200 runners required hospitalization, a dozen admitted in critical condition. Hundreds were treated for heat ailments on the course. Aid stations were overwhelmed, with water running dry and cups unavailable for competitors in the back of the pack.

Then, as temps rose in Chicago to 88 degrees with 81 percent humidity, the course director shut down the race at the halfway point, moving in emergency vehicles, air-conditioned city buses, hovering helicopters and bullhorn-wielding policemen to remove the nearly 10,000 remaining runners from the course. Chad Schieber of Midland, Mich., was pronounced dead after nearly completing the race; an autopsy later revealed that a heart defect, not heat, had killed the 35-year-old competitor.

Are marathons too inclusive?

"That Sunday in early October was a perfect storm," said Ryan Lamppa, a researcher with Running USA, a nonprofit clearinghouse that tracks data on marathons. "Chicago had a record field [nearly 36,000 runners] and record temps; the Twin Cities saw a lesser version of the same situation."

Hot or cold, participation in marathon running continues to soar, with about 410,000 Americans completing the 26.2-mile challenge in 2006, according to Running USA. Some marathons, including Chicago's, the Boston Marathon and the Los Angeles Marathon, move small cities of 20,000 or more people through elaborate urban courses. The upcoming ING New York Marathon on Nov. 4, with more than 40,000 registered runners, will be among the largest ever held.

Big marathons involve planning akin to a military operation, with hundreds of staff workers, thousands of volunteers and a massive force of police and medical personnel. But managing so many people at their physical and mental limits can be daunting, and, some argue, dangerous.

"It's a new marathon world," Lamppa said. "The sport has changed dramatically from its roots 20 or 30 years ago, when I think the distance drew more respect."

Lamppa believes many marathon runners today are under-trained. People looking only to complete a course regardless of finishing time feel that they do not need to put in as many pre-race training miles.

In the past, Lamppa continued, athletes worked up to the 26.2-mile mark, running shorter races and training excessively before considering a marathon. "Now Mainstream America is running the marathon," he said.

Average finishing times reflect Lamppa's view: In 1980, when marathons were an elite realm, the average male finisher took 3 hours, 32 minutes, according to a Running USA report. As recently as 1995, the average male marathoner was ticking by at 3 hours 54 minutes, and women managed 4 hours 15 minutes. Today, average finishing times are 20 to 30 minutes slower.

"Completion, completion, completion, not competition, that's the goal now for so many," Lamppa said.

On hot days, that mantra means back-of-the-pack participants are exposed to the sun and heat for much longer periods than the experienced runners, sometimes 6 hours instead of 3.5 hours, for example. They have also trained less. They know less about what their body can handle.

Both pros, newbies needed help

At this year's Twin Cities Marathon, the National Weather Service reported a high temp of 82 degrees with 87 percent humidity. Associate medical director Grant Morrison said care was distributed evenly to slow and fast runners. "There was a steady stream of cases all day, at all levels, most heat-related," he said. "It was a hard year for everyone, not just the beginners."

Average finishing times were about 20 minutes slower than normal this year.

"The weirdest thing for me was all the walkers," said Molly Moilanen, 32, of Minneapolis. She took 4 hours, 8 minutes to complete the race, significantly slower than her goal. "People were walking hills and struggling so much more than most years."

While the weather was tough, incidents like Paul Krumrich's blackout were the exception. But the situation was bad enough that race officials came close to employing a crisis plan that may have meant closing the course like in Chicago.

According to Bill Roberts, the marathon's medical director, cloud cover later in the race saved the day: "Had the run not been covered by heavy clouds, we might have slipped into the [cancel] range."

Before he went down, Krumrich said he felt goose bumps on his sweaty skin. His legs were giving out. A wristwatch heart-rate monitor read 185 beats per minute, Krumrich's max rate. "It was pegged at 185, and it wouldn't go back down," he said.

Krumrich was in the best shape of his life. A triathlete, he'd trained all summer -- running, biking and swimming. He completed a half-Ironman event in early September, which includes a 13-mile run.

But on Oct. 7, Krumrich's first marathon, he didn't know how to gauge what he was feeling. "It was hard, but I thought maybe this is how everyone feels at mile 24 in a marathon," he said.

For runners like Mark Evans, 33, a veteran cross-country athlete who ran competitively in high school and college, knowing when to say when is easier. Evans, a physician's assistant from Appleton, Wis., ran 12 miles on Oct. 7 in Twin Cities before quitting. "I thought 'the heck with it,'" Evans said. "It was stifling hot, my pace was off and it felt just damaging to the body."

Krumrich sensed debility only when it was too late. "I knew something was wrong with my [elevated] heart rate," he said. "Then my legs felt funny."

But Krumrich, an entrepreneur and lifelong competitive athlete, never considered quitting. He ran until he began weaving, drunk-like. He tried to follow a solid white line painted on the road. Then he collapsed.

"I didn't have it in me to say 'slow down, let's take a half-hour off the finish time,'" he said. "It was competition, not heat, that almost killed me."

Stephen Regenold is a Twin Cities writer and author of the syndicated column the Gear Junkie. See www.thegearjunkie.com.