When ‘Fat Ass’ is a good thing

Image by Dawn - Pink Chick via Flickr

No crowd support.  No mile markers or big, yellow raceclocks.  Not even an official “Go!” to start to the race.  Just a map, a few thousand acres of passably-marked woods, and 400 other crazies, each with his or her own reason for showing up to run in subfreezing temperatures on a perfectly good Saturday.

Welcome to the world of ultrarunning, Fat Ass style.

This was the scene last Saturday when I ran my first ultramarathon, a 50K trail race in northeast Maryland.  Among the other conspicuous absences: sponsorships, race t-shirts, photographers, medals, medics, and that little comfort I’ve come to appreciate called “certainty you’re running in the right direction.”  And, oh yeah, an entry fee.

“Fat Ass” is the name given to a race of this style, usually an ultramarathon and almost always on trails, with minimal on-course support or other such luxuries.  Though there is an official Club Fat Ass, there doesn’t appear to be any governing Fat Ass body (insert anatomical joke here).  As best I can tell, if you want your race to be a Fat Ass, all you have to do is call it that.  Just don’t charge any money for it.

The Fat Ass phenomenon started back in 1978, when a guy named Joe Oakes had so much trouble finding a 50-miler to qualify for the Western States 100 that he had to enter a 50-mile relay, designed for teams of seven, all by himself.  According to the story, he had to make up seven different names to sneak in as an individual.  After Joe started his own “Fat Ass 50″ the following year, the idea of free, no-frills ultra races spread, and Fat Ass swelled to what it is today.

If the Fat Ass idea isn’t most people’s cup of tea, that’s partly by design.  The stripped-down format of the races undoubtedly serves to sift out less committed runners, especially those who have jumped on the fast-growing marathon bandwagon and who take little else from the accomplishment of running 26.2 miles than a t-shirt and a medal to show off to their friends.  To enjoy this style of race, one must truly relish the pain of running so far, so alone, and with so little to show for it. (Other than, perhaps, a skinny ass.)

There will certainly be more Fat Ass races in my future, if only because that’s what so many ultras and trail races are.  Would I have rather pay 50 bucks and get the standard marathon experience, complete with chip timing, course marshalls, and a t-shirt?  Maybe.  There were a few times during the race when the guy I was running with and I exited the woods and were surprised to find other runners crossing our path — we were all left wondering who had cut the course.  And at the finish, we met several runners whom we had passed early in the race, standing there already enjoying some hot soup!  Did we run extra, or had they inadvertently taken a shortcut?

Fat Ass is here to stay, and for the committed ultrarunner who runs a race every month, the concept saves some serious coin.  For the competitive racer, the timing and course-cutting issues are a concern, but that competitive racer would do well to stick to races with prizes anyway.  Fat Ass embodies the spirit of trail running, the hardcore, get-dirty, run-for-the-sake-of-running attitude that is the envy of a lot of so many runners and non-runners alike.

But you know what?  I kinda like getting a t-shirt.