When people hear that I completed the Great World Race, their first reaction is usually about the distance.
Seven marathons. Seven continents. Seven consecutive days. That’s fair. It’s an unusual thing to do.
But what many people don’t realize is that I wasn’t just managing the demands of an extreme endurance event. I was also managing Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), a genetic connective tissue disorder that affects everything from my joints to my skin.
For me, preparing for the race wasn’t just about mileage, pacing, and recovery. It was also about figuring out how to keep a body with faulty connective tissue functional long enough to circle the globe on foot.
What Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome Means for a Runner
The simplest way I describe EDS is this: the connective tissue that’s supposed to help hold my body together doesn’t do its job particularly well. Joints can become unstable, muscles often have to compensate for that instability, and injuries tend to happen more easily than I’d like.
Running with EDS often means becoming a student of your own body. I’ve spent years learning which aches are harmless, which pains deserve immediate attention, and which support systems help me stay active.
That doesn’t mean I’ve solved the puzzle. It simply means I’ve gotten better at adapting.
When I signed up for the Great World Race, I knew the biggest challenge wouldn’t necessarily be running a marathon. It would be getting up the next morning and doing it again six more times.
The Exoskeleton Bag
Of all the luggage I packed for the race, one bag was more important than any other: I called it my “exoskeleton bag.”
For most runners, race gear means shoes, clothing, nutrition, and maybe a few recovery tools. My packing list included all of those things, but it also included an impressive collection of braces and supportive equipment designed to help compensate for joints that don’t always cooperate.
Inside that bag were:
- Two hip braces
- A reversible hip and hamstring brace
- Two knee braces
- Four ankle braces with varying levels of support
- An IT band brace
- A back brace
- Approximately sixteen rolls of kinesiology tape
All of it came with me around the world.
I wasn’t necessarily planning to use every item every day. But when you’re about to run seven marathons in seven days, having options feels a lot better than wishing you had packed them.
Why I Brought So Much Kinesiology Tape
I spend an embarrassing amount of money on kinesiology tape. In many ways, it’s become part athletic equipment and part security blanket.
For me, kinesiology tape serves multiple purposes. It provides some extra support for unstable joints, helps manage areas prone to irritation, and offers an additional layer of protection against friction and chafing. Because EDS often comes with fragile skin, preventing irritation becomes almost as important as preventing injury.
The irony is that the same condition that makes my skin fragile also makes it remarkably resistant to adhesives. I buy the strongest tape I can find and still expect it to peel off sooner than it should.
By race week, taping had become such a routine part of my preparation that I could hardly imagine lining up without it.
The Unexpected Antarctica Hack
One of the stranger uses for kinesiology tape happened in Antarctica.
Experienced cross-country skiers sometimes place tape on exposed skin to reduce windburn, and I decided to borrow the trick. During the race, I wore kinesiology tape on my cheeks as a protective barrier against the brutal combination of cold wind and blowing snow.
This may not be standard marathon equipment, but then again, Antarctica isn’t a standard marathon venue.
When you’re standing on the southernmost continent preparing to run 26.2 miles, normal rules stop applying.
Chafing: The Problem Nobody Wants to Discuss
Most runners are happy to talk about training plans and race results. Very few want to discuss chafing. Unfortunately, chafing does not care about social norms.
Because of my skin issues, I don’t leave anti-chafing strategies to chance. For the Great World Race, I packed multiple types of anti-chafing balms and creams and used them generously throughout the week.
When you’re racing day after day, even a small hot spot can become a major problem. Over the course of seven marathons, preventing irritation becomes significantly easier than treating it after the fact. That’s one lesson endurance athletes learn quickly.
Recovery Became a Full-Time Job
One misconception about endurance racing is that success is determined entirely by what happens during the race itself. In reality, a huge portion of success comes from what happens afterward.
For me, recovery has always required a little extra attention. The cumulative impact of running on unstable joints means that maintenance isn’t optional. It becomes part of the process.
In addition to the braces, tape, and mobility work I’d already built into my life, I added another tool shortly before the race: compression boots. My friend Sarah and I bought an inexpensive pair and hoped for the best. We barely understood the instructions, and they looked comically outmatched next to the high-end recovery systems some athletes were using.
To our surprise, they worked remarkably well. The downside was that they occupied a ridiculous amount of suitcase space.
The upside was that after a marathon, I suddenly cared much less about efficient packing and much more about anything that helped my legs feel human again.
Managing Risk Without Eliminating It
One thing living with EDS has taught me is that risk management and risk elimination are not the same thing.
Before the race, I worked with medical professionals, incorporated mobility work into my training, paid close attention to recovery, and carried enough support equipment to outfit a small sports medicine clinic. None of those things guaranteed success. What they did was improve my odds.
People occasionally assume that having EDS means giving up ambitious athletic goals. My experience has been the opposite. The condition requires planning, adaptation, and humility, but it doesn’t automatically dictate what is possible.
It simply changes the way I approach challenges.
What the Great World Race Taught Me
The biggest lesson I learned from the Great World Race wasn’t about mileage or endurance. It was about adaptability.
Every runner faces obstacles. Mine simply happened to include unstable joints, fragile skin, and enough kinesiology tape to secure a major construction project.
Would I have preferred a body that required less maintenance? Of course. But over the years, I’ve learned that success isn’t about comparing my circumstances to someone else’s. It’s about figuring out how to work with the body I have. The Great World Race didn’t cure my EDS. It didn’t make the condition disappear.
What it did prove is that even with a connective tissue disorder, a suitcase full of braces, and a highly questionable amount of tape, it was still possible to stand on seven starting lines around the world and keep moving forward.
Learn more about Ellen’s journey with The Great World Race at sevenmarathonsbook.com.
ELLEN HUNTER GANS is a 41-time marathon finisher, IRONMAN triathlete, ultramarathon champion, and 100-mile race finisher—all things that would shock the coach from her one wildly unsuccessful year of JV track. She has also participated in The Great World Race which involved running seven marathons on seven continents in one week which she has chronicled in her book Seven Marathons. Seven Continents. One Week.
