Like many of you, Jeff Gleason is going to run tomorrow morning and, again like many of you, he's going to run Tuesday morning as well. Unlike you, however, in fact unlike just about everybody, he's not planning to stop.

Gleason's going to run 135 miles.

In the desert.

Uphill.

Naked.

Dragging a cobra.

All right, the last two I made up, and naked is actually a violation of Rule 8 in the Badwater UltraMarathon -- "All racers, crew, and staff must display courtesy, good taste, decorum, and sportsmanship; nudity is specifically not allowed."

But God the heat!

Gleason, a 51-year-old Cranberry resident who, as an accomplished ultramarathoner has run 100 miles more than many people have driven 100 miles, and his six-person support crew were flying to Las Vegas this weekend and rolling two vans the remaining 75 miles west to California's Death Valley National Park.

The race starts at Badwater, which at 280 feet below sea level is the lowest point in North America, and ends at Mt. Whitney, which is 8,360 feet above sea level. Gleason would like to do it in about 35 hours, but when I spoke with him in his office at ThermoFisher Scientific last week, he was thinking mostly about the elephant.

"I'll approach it like I'm going to run five miles," he said, "then like I'm going to run another five. Not like I'm going to run 135. You can't swallow the whole elephant. You cut it up into pieces that you can manage."

The problem with this particular elephant is the sweat pouring out of it from the insane heat, which is the primary variable separating this challenge from any other in Gleason's running life. Temperatures average 115 in Death Valley for a daytime high in July, but they have reached 130.

"It's tough because of that unknown -- how I'll react in the heat, that's the big issue," he said. "Then there's the additional 35 miles, and then there are the two mountain ranges."

So, other than the scorching heat, the soul deadening distance, and the really, really big hills, it's essentially a two-day picnic.

"I always have three goals," he said of the mental approach to these confounding events. "One is finish, two is finish with control of all my bodily functions and three is to encourage another runner along the way, because it really helps when you're struggling and someone says, 'C'mon, you're doing great. You can do this.' Actually though, in this race, I have a fourth goal -- to finish with a decent time -- and a fifth, to raise money."

The race itself benefits the Challenged Athletes Foundation, and the pledges Gleason has secured for his performance will help channel cash for equipment to permanently disabled veterans. All of that is another good thing to think about over the course of 135 miles, rather than think about what the event is doing to you.

That's the main purpose of the crew, which is Gleason's wife Kelly, local long distance runners Lou D'Angelo, Andy Karnabas, Tony Mauro and Scott Finnell, and Scott's wife Judy.

"We've all run ultramarathons [generally 50 or 100 miles], but no one from around here has ever done this," D'Angelo said. "We'll have two vans with three people in each. We'll monitor everything. We really have to pay close attention."

I would have to train for three years just to be on the crew for this caper.

Gleason trained mostly in North Park, mostly running 80 to 110 miles per week, mostly in the heavy clothes he'd normally wear when the local temperature drops to zero. For all that, he knows some bad things will happen sometime between tomorrow morning and Tuesday night, or whenever he finishes the Badwater.

"Things are going to happen and you almost don't know they're happening sometimes," he said. "Scott and I ran a 100-miler once and we got out to somewhere between 70 and 80, 73 miles I think it was, and we were not able to do the mental calculation of how many miles were left. You'd say anybody can do that, but not after you've run 73 miles I guess. Most of these things go through the night, so you're wearing this headlight, and sometimes you see things that aren't there. Shadows turn into animals.

"But I've been pretty fortunate. Nothing too severe."

Nothing other than, you know, the events themselves. Runners have long since discovered running's addictive qualities, but most have avoided the urge to flirt with dehydrative psychosis through Death Valley.

"It's a very gratifying feeling to do something that a couple of years ago you thought would be impossible to do," Gleason explained. "When I ran my first 50-miler, it was a great feeling, such a great feeling that now I'm always thinking, 'what's the next challenge?'"

So, what is it?

"I'm looking at the Grand Slam of ultramarathoning," he said. "Maybe next year."

That's four 100-mile races.

Naked.

Dragging a cobra.