I decided to enter this race at some point in June. My amazing friend Deanna was in the midst of training for her first 100 mile run(Burning River 100) and she had decided to come back home to Kansas for her last long training weekend. I had always wanted to do a race with her because neither of us were runners back in the day when we both lived in Lawrence. And to clarify, when I say "do a race with her", what I really mean is "be entered in the same race she is entered in" because she is WICKED fast, especially on trails. She WON her first 50 mile run. Yeah. So anyways, this race was 2 weeks after my Ironman, and my logic was that I'd be plenty in-shape, somewhat recovered, and I'd have no pressure on myself to maintain any kind of pace. Essentially it'd be something new and fun to do.
I had run a total of 2 miles on trails in my entire life going into this event as well. But I had done 2 marathons(3 counting the one at the end of the Ironman), so to me it seemed completely legitimate to think that 31 miles wouldn't be THAT much worse than 26.2, with a little added difficulty because it's a trail race. Yeah. I actually thought that.
The Ironman happened. Woot.
Coming off the Ironman, I still had some aches and pains, mostly in my hip(gluteus medius) and ankle(achilles tendon and plantar fasciitis). I somewhat underestimated the amount of time they'd need to heal(as of this post, the ankle is not healed). I decided not to worry about the injuries and stuck with my plan to complete the race, and also invested in my first pair of trail running shoes, which I expected to look nice and new for about another week. I was able to get in a few short runs to get used to them as well.
Deanna showed up from NYC a few days before the event and we got to hang out for quite a bit. Her giddiness at being "home" again was immediately apparent, and I was incredibly excited to see her as well. I got to give her an impromptu driving tour around a city that I'm barely familiar with myself, but she seemed impressed. We invented a silly game that I'm pretty sure nobody but us would ever understand/enjoy/appreciate. Murp. Her friend Jen, also from NYC, flew in as well. She at first seemed cool, until I realized that she was, in fact, "really cool". The day before the race, we all drove down to packet pickup at GG's where we happened to meet Sophia, the co-race director, badass trail runner, and leader of the Mud Babes trail running group. I introduced Deanna as "my friend who is going to win tomorrow". Deanna, in her very humble and embarrassed way, assured us all that this was "just a training run" and that she hadn't been training speed. Sophia took one look at her and proclaimed, "No.....you really are going to win...I can tell."
After packet pick-up, we drove up to Wyandotte County Lake and walked around on the first mile or so of the course. It was muddy, rocky, undulating, and technical. And it looked FUN! To foreshadow somewhat, I really had no idea what I was getting myself into. As opposed to my Ironman, which received a full year of mental and physical preparation, this 50k.....my first ultramarathon.....my first trail race.......it received almost no preparation of ANY kind.
Like most weekends, I had things to do both nights because I don't know how to say "No". I had to bartend the late shift the night before the race, and I had to play a gig with my band the night of the race. So I left Deanna at her host's house and headed to Lawrence to bartend at the Sandbar. I drank water all night and finally got out at around 4 am. I drove back to KC and hit the sack for an entire 2 hours of sleep before I woke up and got ready. The three of us groggily hopped in my car and drove up to the race site. After finding parking, we sunblocked up, bug sprayed up, stretched out, psyched out, hyped up, and exploded.
Oh....wait.....we didn't explode. We walked over to the starting area. Other racers were milling around, filling hydration packs and bottles, stretching, warming up, and mostly just being social. There was a considerable collective buzz that you find before a lot of races, but this was a bit different than I had ever experienced. I've done road races and triathlons before, and in general the pre-race buzz is pretty friendly, but there is also this sense of intimidation and macho bravado that is just under the surface. Today, I did not get ANY of that. Maybe my senses were a little dull from the 2 hours of sleep, but every person I looked at seemed genuinely happy to be there, and happy that we were there. As the day progressed, I would learn that trail runners are quickly replacing triathletes as my new favorite kind of athlete. They are all incredibly friendly, approachable, encouraging, and competitive without being dicks.
I had a rough idea of how fast I was going to be running that day. I took my fastest marathon pace....roughly 9:00 per mile.....and factoring in my general fatigue from the Ironman, and the effect of running off-road, I figured that I'd probably end up around 11-12 minutes per mile.
(Author pauses to laugh)
A few hundred runners line up and somebody yells "GO!" and we go. The trail is wide enough to accommodate a body, maybe two, but headroom is also at a premium, so really it's a single file affair if you don't want to be headbutting branches all day. The folks in front, it turns out, are there for a reason...mainly that they want to be at the front of that long single file line of runners. Passing is possible, but not always easy. I settle into what seems like a comfortable pace, but I'm breathing harder than I'd like. Mainly I was hoping to keep up with Deanna for at least a respectable amount of time. Had I known that I was running WAY faster than I should have been, I would not have attempted such a foolish thing.
One of the mottos for this race is "If you look up, you're going down". I couldn't have agreed more. Every step required careful examination of the terrain at your feet. Mud....rocks.. ...roots......deep trenches. Often it wasn't enough to just miss an obstacle, but your foot had to land at a certain angle to avoid losing traction, losing balance, or rolling an ankle. The hills were STEEEEEP. At first, everybody was walking up the hills, and I assumed it was because this early in the race, there was still too much congestion for people to really open up. As the pack spread out, I noticed that everybody was walking up the hills because That's What Trail Runners Do. Yeah. Nobody runs up hills this steep because it is simply too much of a waste of energy. The real difference between the fast people and the slow people is the fast people will get to the top of a 200 foot mud scramble and still have energy to immediately resume their previous pace.
So the uphills were strenous, but some of the downhills were downright dangerous. If you went any faster than "snail pace" there was a significant risk of severe personal injury if you failed to properly negotiate a descent. Like breaking your ankle, cracking your face open on a sharp rock, or falling off the face of the earth, it seemed. My first and only fall came around 2 miles in. There was a tree that had fallen and required you to duck underneath it. Well, I was so concerned about not hitting my head that I completely failed to consider what may or may not have been impeding the path of my feet. Trip. Thud. I nail my left knee HARD, and scrape my right leg. Ouch? Yeah....ouch. The guy behind me asks if I'm ok, and I assure him I am, before I have actually convinced myself of that fact. I get up and begin running again, wincing in pain as my left knee screams, "Wait....are you unaware of what just happened to me?" I had just found a good groove when this happened, so I was frustrated to lose my groove after falling.
By this time, Deanna and the fast group she was with had long since dropped me. I was ok with that, I was still moving, and my breathing was a little less labored. It was also around this time that I began to experience shooting pains in my hip. This seemed worrisome, but I figured if it really started to get a LOT worse, I would just drop out. I wanted to finish, but this was not a high priority race so I couldn't rationalize injuring myself for it. That pain would eventually subside as the pain in my muscles began to take center stage in my brain's pain-prioritizing regime.
The day wore on, the sun came out in full force, and I started sweating. I was using my camelbak which carries about 2 liters of water. I skipped the first water station because at the time, I was moving and was still concerned with how fast that was happening. A while after that station, I began to regret the decision not to stop because I was kinda starting to run out of water. And it was getting hotter and humid-er. Occasionally the trail would break out of the woods and onto smoother terrain or a road, but at the expense of having to leave the shade behind. The sun was brutal.
Oh how those miles passed slowly. Deanna had once excitedly assured me that trail running provided so much enjoyment and distraction that the miles just FLEW by and before you knew it, you were done. This was not quite the experience I had. I think with the right perspective going in and a more realistic understanding of my abilities, it COULD have been. I looked at my Garmin at one point and saw that my pace was slower than 12:00 per mile. So maybe I'm just not used to running this slow.
Did I mention the hills were really steep? One hill in particular...probably a 300 foot climb that was so muddy, the only means of ascending was a rope that had been rigged to provide runners with something to pull themselves up. When I got to the top of the hill, I saw Deanna and got really excited that maybe I wasn't as slow as I thought! I found out later she had accidentally gotten off-route and lost some time. She had positive words for me, insisting that I was "rocking it", though I am pretty sure I could have been crawling on all fours, crying, and asking for my mommy....she would have still found a way to motivate me. That's why she is one of my favorite people on this planet.
I simply stopped looking at my Garmin. One, it was never reassuring to know how slow I was. Two, GPS doesn't really work that well in the woods and by the end of the race, it was reading several MILES short of what we had actually run. Worthless. The only thing I could actually count on was the clock to keep track of how long I had run, but the battery eventually died anyways. Next time I'll just not wear it.
At one point I went off-route myself, and would not have noticed for quite awhile until I came upon a huge spider web that was blocking the entire trail. Unless I had suddenly taken the lead of the entire race, this was not a good sign. So then, along with 2 other runners who had followed me into foolish trail oblivion, I began to backtrack. I came to the point where I missed the turn. No less than 10 fluorescent orange trail signs marked the turn. Figures. It could have been worse....I met somebody who apparently went a full mile out of her way before getting back on route. Ouch.
I don't remember when exactly it was, because I had no real consistent concept of how far I'd gone, but somewhere roughly halfway through the first lap(15 miles each), I began to doubt my ability to finish. I worried about my hip. I worried about my ankle. I worried about my knees. I worried about blisters. I worried about my RESOLVE. I knew I could finish the 1st lap, but I didn't know whether or not I'd have the willpower and the guts to start down that trail again. I was in so much pain already, and I knew it could only get worse. There was another race option that day, and it was a 1 lap 15 mile race. I thought to myself, "Hey, if I decide to just do one lap and call it good, maybe they'll still give me a medal even though I was signed up for the 50k". That seemed like a legitimate proposition, especially since there was a very real chance of injuring myself.
These thoughts began in the back of my conscience as microscopic seeds of doubt, but once they were planted, they grew. A new section of trail was part of the course, and the side-to-side angle of that section was wreaking havoc on my already tender ankle. I was beginning to doubt I'd even be able to finish one lap. The painful camber of that section of trail finally eased up as we progressed to more established trails. I stopped at one aid station to remove my shoes and examine the state of affairs regarding my feet. I had felt a few hotspots on the balls of my feet, and I expected the worst when I took off my socks. Luckily, there was no blood, but I definitely had two brand new blisters growing on each foot. I used some spray on body lube that they were giving away and hoped for the best. I sat there for a good long while, stretching, eating, filling my camelbak, and rehydrating.
I was about 90% convinced that I'd finish 15 miles and call it a day. And I was completely demoralized. I had been running for almost 4 hours and hadn't even made it halfway. 4 hours alone in the woods with just my aching body and my poisonous thoughts. I was not happy.
And then the gods of running sent an angel down from Minnesota. Her name was Jen. She is the one I referred to before who had missed a turn and ran a mile out of her way. That is the only reason we happened upon each other, because she was making up for lost time. I can't remember how our conversation began, but with a few miles left in the first lap, we were talking. I voiced my concern that I "couldn't" finish the 50k. She thought I could. The leaves of my fully blossomed Self-Doubt Tree began to wilt ever so slightly. Hmmmm. Not so sure, Jen, but I'll enjoy your company while I have the chance.
As it turns out, my mood and motivation rose significantly. As it turns out, I was miserable the entire first lap because I had nobody to talk to. Nobody to keep me motivated. Nobody to tell me, "Yeah, I know what you mean, but it gets better." I can't quite express the enormous impact it had on my psyche to just have SOMEBODY to pass the miles with. And the moment of truth was fast approaching...could I muster the courage to even start the 2nd lap?
There is an incredibly muddy section within the last few miles of the course. And when I say "incredibly" I am not just using an overly descriptive word for the heck of it. These bogs were 15 feet across in parts. Sometimes you could get around the side, but sometimes it was even WORSE around the side. Sometimes you just had to go straight through the middle and hope for the best. It was thick, slippery, "shoe-sucking" mud, and a lady behind us actually did lose a shoe. Bummer for her. I was able to keep my shoes on, but a couple times I was astounded to feel my leg plunge calf-deep into the muck, and even more astounded to be able to get it back out without face-planting.
We negotiated the ridiculous mud and continued onward, until all of a sudden we broke into a clearing and there it was. The Finish Line/Beginning of the 2nd Lap. I still hadn't decided which it was for me. I approached the Ambiguity Line and raised my hands up in triumph...just in case it was my finish...though I felt like maybe I had a little fight left. I grabbed some water and a cookie or something...who knows? Jen met up with her husband who had a clean pair of socks waiting for her. Damn...why didn't I think of that??? As I stood there contemplating what to do, it dawned on me just how crazy trail runners are. I had just run 15 miles on trails, and it was harder than any full marathon I've ever done. Not even close. My legs already felt the pain you feel at mile 25. Except I was maybe only half done.
Jen then turns to me and asks, "Well....you ready?"
........."Yeah."
"Well, let's go."
And we went. I knew even if I regretted it 100 yards into the 2nd lap, I wasn't going to turn around. The pace was much slower than when I started. Occasionally after walking a hill, she'd start running a little sooner than I was ready for. It was these moments that I panicked. If she dropped me, I was doomed. I dug deep to catch up to her. It was her presence, her company, and her attitude that really carried me through this race. Well....that and a willingness to suffer. Over the course of the 2nd lap, we got past the usual chit-chat that you exchange with other runners. We had another 4 hours to go. We delved into careers, education, societal issues, life aspirations, and we both even discussed in depth the dynamics of her marriage and of my previous relationship. Strangers are sometimes the best people to talk to about these things.
There were points when I forgot I was running. No....that's not true at all. I was always painfully aware that I was running through the woods and that my entire body was screaming for mercy. But I never considered giving up. Something I've learned about myself through the course of progressively more difficult challenges is that I don't have a Stop button. I can always keep going, even if it's in really poor style.
The 2nd lap was exactly the same as the 1st, but completely different. Log obstacles that I ran up to and sprang over....the 2nd time through I would come to a complete stop and basically CLIMB over them. There were a few instances of unsure footing where, instead of leaving me off balance a bit, they would nearly result in a full on faceplant as my legs threatened to outright buckle under the unexpected strain of suddenly being asked to prevent a fall. Occasionally I'd get to set the pace, which was heavenly because her pace was always just slightly faster than was comfortable for me. I felt like she somehow knew exactly how much I had to give, and asked me for just a TINY bit more. Taking my turn setting the pace was always a chance to recover, and then she'd take the lead again and make me push myself. It was a beautiful partnership that lasted through the hills, the rocks, the mud, all the way until about the last quarter mile. At this point she knew I'd make it and decided to turn on the jets and finish strong. I could see the Finish line, so it didn't bother me that she was now running just for herself. Coming into the finish area, I had the distinct pleasure of running through a field that was filled with a flock of Canada geese. They parted as I ran through and I felt every muscle in my legs, hips, back, and shoulders spending their last reserves. As I approached the end, I saw my parents. Again they were awesome and had come up to watch me and Deanna finish. I think my mom took a picture, but I have yet to see proof of this.
8:10:55
I finished. This was nothing even remotely like how the Ironman felt when I finished. No emotional outburst, no crying. I think I really had just nothing left to give. I do remember feeling incredibly satisfied at having fought it out, and at the fact that I was now an "Ultramarathoner"......it has a nice ring to it. I got my medal...got some food...got some water. Pictures with Deanna and Jen. Oh yeah...and to nobody's surprise, Deanna was again the 1st place female finisher. Took off my shoes and socks, fully expecting to find bloody stumps based on how my feet felt. To my surprise, there was no blood. There were a few WICKED blisters, but my feet were still intact. We all washed off our shoes and legs.
Sophia the kickass co-director of the race had known it was my first trail run, and she asked me what I thought. I told her that in addition to being completely unprepared physically and mentally for this race, I had a whole new respect for trail runners. I then told her that "I didn't know I was capable of suffering for such a long period of time." She told me that was an excellent quote, so I made a point to remember it. She told me that some trail running magazine was looking to interview people who were doing trail racing for the first time, and that I might be hearing from her in the Fall. Cool.
After the race, I had enough time to head home with my parents, take an ice bath, shower, eat some pizza, and then get ready to play a show with my band. Yes, I knew about the gig when I signed up for the race. Yes, I was dumb enough to think "Hey, that won't be a big deal." which ended up being pretty indicative of my attitude towards the entire experience.
The lesson I learned that day was twofold. On one hand, I got a nice polite reminder that I'm not Superman, and maybe 2 weeks is not enough time to recover from an Ironman. Trail racing could end up being an incredibly fulfilling and enjoyable hobby for me, but today it taught me humility in a big way. On the other hand, I did learn just exactly how much deeper I was capable of digging in order to achieve something. This was my farthest run ever. It was my longest run ever. And the most painful race I've ever done, including the Ironman.
But I finished. And honestly, that means more to me than anything.
