by Ulrich Kamm, C-861, written in 1989

Traudl is standing in the pouring rain. In her extended hand she holds something to eat for me. Her eyes look at me questioningly. Silent, I pass by her, staring ahead. I have difficulties with speaking, the stress is too hard. Eight judges watch every step on this one mile course.

So my tendons hurt after a short time because of this strict style of walking, which is unusual to me, I think again and again: "You must achieve it; this time there is no alternative". Much too long I have been waiting for this race - half of my life so far. 21 years ago my Dutch friend Frans Staal spoke to me about "Centurion" during the 160 km walk Nijmegen - Rotterdam. But until recently I was not sufficiently experienced, I missed the psychical strength as well as the certainty to be able to make 100 miles in not more than 24 hours.

This event exists since 1877, its definition saying "a Centurion is one who, as an amateur, has walked in competition, in Great Britain, 100 miles within 24 hours". 846 persons have completed this race until 1988, thus becoming a member of the "Brotherhood of Centurions", which is, according to their own statement, the most exclusive body in the world. No other organization demands the same high standard of performance. Among the members are also 10 Germans, the last of them being successful in 1978.

At 5 p.m. 77 runners from 6 countries have started. Now it is past midnight. After an intense heat and a stifling atmosphere at the beginning, it starts raining. The field is thinning; more and more competitors quit. One of the reasons certainly is the extremely monotonous course in the area of a police school in the north of London, shielded from the world outside; you are never distracted. Yet, at the moment, I am still ahead of the schedule, which I have fixed myself. Again and again I pass the "Aid Station". Only at this spot supply is permitted. After 80 km - half of the race - I take the first rest: restroom, washroom, a short massage. 15 minutes later I go on. So far I do not have serious problems. The awareness of having twice achieved 100 miles in 24 hours in May, causes some certainty: in Basel/Switzerland it was 165 km, and three weeks later in Mittersill/Austria, 164 km. But, psychically it makes a big difference whether you want to walk any distance in 24 hours, or 100 miles in just this space of time. One minute longer - and everything was in vain!

Hour after hour passes away. The speed lessens because of my great fatigue. I am not always successful fighting it. It begins to dawn very slowly, after a seemingly endless night. The storm chases black clouds across the sky. Heavy rain, even a short thunderstorm, depresses my mood. Wet clothes press against the body. The shoes are full of water. On each foot I have a blister. When they burst, a stabbing pain goes through my body. With every lap my legs get heavier; my wish to stop gets stronger. But again and again there is half of the oval around the sports ground, the long straight, the alley, ...

Regarding the desolate conditions, the lap counters and all supporters, too, are really admirable. They are soaked as well and chilled because of the lack of exercise, but they endure indefatigably. "Rice pudding, soup, tea, ..?" they ask me. "No, I'd prefer a new pair of feet or at least a warm bed", is my answer.

For Traudl, my wife, who has supported me with dedication at all races for 15 years, this one is the hardest. About 5 times an hour I pass her. Each time - for 24 hours - she is standing near the track, offers me something to drink, to eat, or dry clothes, lotion, and everything else I need without stopping. She smiles at me, encourages me, in spite of me hardly speaking any word during all the time. She uses the few minutes until my return in order to prepare the things I may need after the next lap. But, to see her again, is an immediate objective that each time gives me some strength.

After 18:11 hours Ed Shillabeer reaches the goal... Less and less walkers remain on the track. Two of them were disqualified because of incorrect walking style. After 68 and 84 miles I take a rest of 5 minutes, which is contrary to my usual habits. But I simply need that occasionally as a reward, on this monotonous course.

Finally the end: the bell rings - it announces my last lap. All fatigue is gone, I walk faster and faster. And then I have reached it - the finish line! A dream of 21 years comes true! 23:03 hours! Traudl comes up to me with bright eyes - without her assistance I would hardly have achieved it.

I am 33rd of 42 who are successful this year. Phil Hastings, our English friend is also there. He has repeatedly accomplished this enormous performance. We were his guests and welcomed to stay in his house before and after the event.

I receive a beautiful prize, and in return I give the organizers two pennants of my club "SC Prinz Eugen Muenchen". Gradually the strain and the tension vanish. With some pain, but overjoyed, I limp away to change clothes. Is there anything on earth that is nicer than a hot shower?

What remains for me of dreams, of outstanding wishes, in this extreme type of sport? A 48 hours or even a 6-day-race, maybe? And in the USA there is an event which so far nobody finished: "Barkley Marathons". Am I crazy, or do I still have the ambition of reaching new bounds, which long, long ago most people possessed?