By the end of day two, Cliff was not only markedly less dead than everyone expected, but had a sizeable lead on his competitors. This was largely due to his coach/insane friend Wally Zeuschner who, after an exhausting first day of running, accidentally set Cliff's alarm clock for 2AM. For the remainder of the race, Wally was right there, informing Cliff that sleep was for pussies, and hacking off foot blisters with a rabbit knife. When Cliff shuffled his way into Melbourne, he wasn't just ahead of his competitors -- he was miles and miles ahead, having knocked a good two goddamned days off the previous record for the course.
Cliff passed away at the age of 81, but his influence on the sport is still evident today. In order to eke out the maximum possible performance, ultramarathoners now go to bed later, get up earlier, and run in an odd gait that makes them look like fitness zombies.
If they were really dedicated, they'd all be virgins.