St. Louis’ 24-hour challenge is still going strong, 4 years after beginning

Mark Fingerhut’s challenge began, as so many recent traditions have, with pandemic boredom. It was the spring of 2021, and Fingerhut, a Dogtown resident who works in the software industry, was weary after a year of being cooped up with no clear end in sight. After discarding a few ideas for COVID-safe adventures, he dreamed up his “stupid” plan to escape St. Louis: a challenge for himself and whoever else was on board to independently set out on foot and see who could get the farthest.

Roughly 20 St. Louisans took up the call that spring to try their luck in what they dubbed the 24 Hours from Home Challenge, and in the fall, they did it again (as the pandemic dragged on, everyone remained stir-crazy). Since then, it’s become an annual autumn event–one that continues to grow. Last weekend, more than 50 people took up the challenge, including participants in New Zealand, the United Kingdom, and Germany. Next year’s, already scheduled for October 9-12, is likely to bring even more.

And that’s without any real attempt to market it. “I think there’s a small group of rabid fans of this challenge, and a few of them talk up the event,” Fingerhut says. “And so I’ve gotten some good recruiting through a few of those hardcore fans, but also, it seems each year there’s sort of a new crowd of people who hear about it, whether that’s through friends or running groups.” But once they try it, Fingerhut adds, many are hooked.

The rules, as listed on the challenge website, are simple: “No cars, no trains, no boats, no wheels, in fact, no transportation but your own legs.” During a designated three-day window, participants choose a time to set off from their residence and travel as far as they can—”walking, jogging, ambling, running, sauntering, perambulating, sprinting or stumbling.” You can just go a few hours or keep going until you drop. Regardless, once 24 hours are up, your challenge is, too. Whoever has made it the farthest from their home—not in terms of miles clocked, but in “as-the-crow-flies/straight line distance”—is declared the winner. That said, as the website explains, “Anyone who even steps out the door to compete will get mad street cred.”

This year, John Pollihan made it the farthest. Fingerhut describes Pollihan as an endurance stand-up paddler (“he’s not unfamiliar with pain”), but his route was strategic. From his home in St. Charles, he made his way to Highway 40 and then the Katy Trail, which then presented a straight shot to Jefferson City. Ultimately, he clocked 100 miles, though his route was “only” 76.51 as the crow flies.

Leah Wilson, who made it 57 miles last year–43.3 as the crow flies–is a regular participant, as is her husband, Josh, who ran 61 miles this year (49.3 as a direct route) from their home in Southampton to Katy Trail’s Treloar trailhead. She says, “In addition to the mini/local adventure aspect, this event is so special because it challenges so many participants to push themselves in ways we wouldn’t have thought to do or wouldn’t have thought we could.”

Fingerhut himself has yet to beat the 74 miles he logged in that first 2021 challenge (52 miles straight-line distance). “I went as hard as I possibly could that first year,” he explains. “But since then, my priorities have shifted a little, just to make sure that this event goes off safely. I find it best to stay available to help out people where I can and still manage to participate.”

The challenge stresses that no one should participate without a designated supporter, both to track their progress and to pick them up and take them home. There’s also a designated race manager, who can watch the contestants’ progress on the app and intervene if necessary. Perhaps because of those safeguards, the challenge hasn’t lost a person yet—or even seen serious injury. Says Fingerhut, “I cross my fingers every year.”

That’s not to say people haven’t had adventures. For both Wilson and Fingerhut, one of the best parts of the experience is the after-party in Tower Grove Park where participants swap war stories. Fingerhut recalls that Pollihan was on the Katy Trail this year in the wee hours of the morning, which is not allowed, and when he heard sirens, he assumed he’d been busted. Instead, police were helping a farmer track an errant cow. Fingerhut has a great story of his own about being picked up by an Uber driver on a rural St. Charles County road at 4:45 a.m., after realizing he just couldn’t go any farther. The driver was incredulous (“What are you doing out here?”), but quickly got on board. “I think once he understood it, he was like, ‘That’s so cool that you guys do this.”

Fingerhut understands why the challenge continues to scratch an itch, years after the pandemic’s end. There’s the physical challenge of pushing past the limits, yes, but also the mental challenge of figuring out a strategy–whether that’s the fastest route or the one where friends will meet you along the way. “It’s beyond just your local 5K where you’re running a set, predetermined route,” he says. “It’s not just a physical challenge, it’s not fully mental, but it’s a good combination of everything.”

After four years and five challenges, Fingerhut is less focused on the miles traveled and more on the many different people who come along for the journey. 

“We have the guys who do go out and do 100 miles, but we have people who go out and do two or three miles,” he says. “I’m proud of the varied levels of challengers that we get, and I’m especially proud when I hear somebody tell me, ‘Wow, Mark, this is the farthest I’ve ever walked outside, or it’s the longest I’ve ever run. Thank you for putting this on and helping me achieve that.’

“I love being a part of people doing something that they’re proud of and that they maybe didn’t think they would be able to do.”