Ben said "go".
The pack moved forward, and I along with it. The snow was roughly ankle deep, but beneath the thin frozen crust it was quite fluffy, providing less than desirable traction. Gaining speed was a difficult thing because instead of propelling you forwards, any force applied to the ground by your foot would simply cause it to slide in one direction or another...usually either backwards or to the side. And there were 300 of us running in a dense pack, all doing this exact thing. Falling would have been unpleasant, and in hindsight, especially so due to the fact the we had just spent a bunch of time inserting metal screws into the treads of many of their shoes.
Luckily I did not fall, and I was not overly concerned with speed. The pack naturally thinned out, sorted itself according to the initial pace of the various runners, and stretched out into a long line that ran across a bridge, across a field, up a hill, briefly onto a road, and then made a sharp left turn into the woods. I found myself bringing up the rear of a 10 person group of moderate pace. I was very much focusing on not overexerting myself too early in this race, because I already knew how that would feel later in the day. I was also not too keen on letting this group choose my pace for me. And I prefer to be in front, so I can see the trail ahead of me and choose my own footing. After a mile or so, I make the pass and raise my pace slightly to leave this group behind. So far I was running comfortably and I wasn't breathing too hard. The sun was over the horizon and shone brilliantly through the trees. I was happy and I had the trail all to myself for the moment.
I hit the infamous "Wyandotte Triangle", a rambling wander through the woods that was absolute murder last summer. Sharp turns, sudden short and steep climbs, low hanging branches, logs to jump over...it was fun this time. I made quick work of it and moved on to the bridle trails which traverse a ridge before taking endless switchbacks down a ridiculously steep hill and spit runners out into an immense field just north of the dam. Across the field, trudge up a hill, aid station, trudge up MORE hill, exit stage right...back onto the trails.
The next few miles have some of the steepest sections of the entire course, both uphill and downhill, and provide some fairly hair-raising dropoffs, should one decide it prudent to lose one's footing. This would end up playing a factor later in the race as trail conditions deteriorated from the 1000+ pairs of shoes that would pound into it that day. Eventually, the wild descents and back-breaking ascents lead to familiar territory. The final aid station was the start of the Veteran's Day race last fall, which overlaps with the WyCo Ice 5k course. This is where the badasses are truly separated from the rest of us. The Hills. Never. Stop. In the last 4 miles of this course, there are no less than 4 enormous, steep, and neverending hills. And possibly more. I honestly do not recall anything other than suffering. There is a point where you meet up with the road, and you can HEAR the commotion from the finish line area, but you still have 2 more big ugly hills to deal with, as the course cruelly teases you and then thrusts your pitifully sore body back into the woods.
Finally that last stretch, a tiny steep hill with a random iron post sticking in the ground. I always assumed it was to grab onto as a means of getting over the hump, and I always grab it. It's 50 yards downhill to the finisher's chute. Friendly faces abound. Sophie, Ben, Dick Ross happily snapping pictures. 1 of 3 laps complete. 10 miles down, 20ish to go. I cross the timing mat just under 2 hours(1:55), which astonishes me. Much faster than I anticipated. I head over to the Home Base aid station, grab some snacks, refill the hydration pack, quick stretch, mental pep talk, and off I go to begin Lap 2 to the sounds of cheers, music, and cowbells!
Lap number 2 was oddly enough exactly the same as lap 1. Except different. Same trail. The snow was slightly more packed down, and in parts it was slightly sloppier. The legs were definitely fatigued and those steep hills were slightly more torturous and unforgiving. And it was definitely slower. I had brought a miniature video camera that I've used on trail runs before to attempt to capture some of the course and the overall experience. I didn't do a great job, but I'm working with what I have and at some point will finish editing the footage and post it. One thing I did do was capture on video one of my two falls from the day. At the bottom of the really steep downhill with all the switchbacks that I had run somewhat recklessly and successfully managed to NOT fall on...once I got to the flat terrain at the bottom...I fell. Just a little slip, but my body momentarily was horizontal on the ground. Nothing hurt but my ego, as I was literally moments away from raising my arms in triumph and letting out a whoop of celebration...thump.
The 2nd half of the lap proceeded as expected. My main goal was to only walk on the uphills, and to refrain from convincing myself repeatedly that "this section isn't quiiiite flat, it's still got some incline to it". I would only be lying to myself anyways. Last aid station passes, the brutal hills come and go, along with the associated pain and suffering. Before I knew it, tired as I was, I was finishing my 2nd lap. I was still feeling good overall with 20ish miles down and another 10ish to go. Lap 2 was over 20 minutes slower than lap 1, clocking in at 2:18, but the only thing that was on my mind was the brilliant, amazing fact that I would have a pacer for my last lap!
Allison, whom I run with fairly regularly needed to get in 10 that day anyways, so when she offered to pace me I was thrilled! I've never had a pacer before, and I was excited at the prospect of not having to suffer in silence for the most painful leg of my journey. Having run with her many times before I knew that not only were our paces similar, but she is fun to talk to and was bound to keep me entertained enough to ignore my legs for awhile.
As I rolled into the main aid station, where she had been volunteering all day, she was strapped in and ready to go. I grabbed some more snacks, refilled, stretched, and we set off on my final lap of the day. From the get-go I knew I was going to enjoy this. The conversation got going immediately and the next several miles flew by. Topics ranged from "napilepsy", a rare communicable disease that causes its sufferers to fall asleep while watching movies, to how to practice "safe movie watching" to avoid contracting napilepsy, to zombie films, to why a zombie apocalypse would be the best kind of apocalypse, to "I wonder if the runner behind us thinks we're weird." His name was Jim, and he was quite amused by our discussions. He ended up finishing one spot ahead of me...more on that later.
Running with a pacer, and a good friend at that, was heavenly. My mind was distracted, and the miles passed by pretty quickly. Also, she kept me honest. If the trail was flat and I was walking, she called me out and cracked the whip to get me running again. It was a beautiful arrangement. I told her about where I had fallen on the previous lap and that I'd warn her about the tricky spots before we reached them.
Then we reached them. The first big downhill...I let gravity do the work and when I got to the bottom, I looked back and my pacer was gone. Her shoes had no traction. Not some....not a little....none whatsoever. Each step was a potential assplant/faceplant. She had to take it slow. We got through that section and then the steep downhill switchbacks came. Again I waited for her. At this point, I wasn't even thinking about my time goal because I was enjoying running with her so much...it was just like a Monday at Shawnee Mission Park...no reason to rush. The first time she told me to go ahead without her, I brushed off the suggestion as silly. She made it to the bottom of that hill and laughed at the spot where I had fallen because there really was no reason for a person to fall there.
We crossed the big field by the dam, trudged up the hill, refueled at the aid station, trudged up more hills and then the problems really started. I hadn't considered how treacherous the next few miles would be for her if she had no traction. And upon her insistence, I realized that this was, in fact, a race...and that I did, in fact, have a time goal. A time goal that was rapidly approaching unattainable. The steepest downhill of the entire course...probably a good 30-35 degree angle. In these conditions my choices were either to tentatively and slowly step, carefully evaluating each foot placement for friction potential and substance...or to widen my stance and simply ski down it. I chose the latter and was at the bottom in no time. This was the moment I realized that I was probably going to have to finish my race without her if I wanted to break 7 hours. Her shoes were not equipped to handle these conditions, and I know she wanted me to hit my goal. I held back just enough so that if she fell and needed help, I could still hear her, but once she was past the worst sections, I hit the gas and never looked back.
What happened next shocked me. Knowing that 7 hours was still in reach, and that Allison was back there somewhere rooting for me, I got a 2nd wind that was indescribable. A serious episode of "old man strength" washed over me and for the next few miles, I was an unstoppable ball of fire. With this pace, I just knew I'd make my time. I was even running up some of the easier hills, passing people left and right, and getting pats on the back and motivation from each runner who saw me. I was running with a purpose and it felt great!
I knew that once I passed the final aid station, I would have slightly more than 2 miles left. I made a choice not to stop at that aid station, in the hopes that saving a few extra minutes would give me a little bit more wiggle room once I hit Those Damn Hills. The volunteers welcomed me as I crested the hill and cheered me on as I blazed by them. Exactly 2 miles to the road crossing, one more hill, iron post, then Finish Line! At this point, my Garmin had sadly run low on batteries, but luckily still had enough juice to simply display the time of day. 3 pm was my goal, and boy was it going to be close. I was constantly recalculating the distance left, the remaining time, and the pace I'd need to stay on track. These calculations were not reassuring, especially as the first hill hit like a ton of bricks. BOOM!
I have heard runners talk about hitting the wall. I kinda understood what they were getting at, but it had never quite happened to me the way they described it. Runners who were 100 yards from finishing a marathon who simply could not move another inch. It had to do with the body running out of nutrients to expend. I had experienced severe dehydration, but never anything like that.
That first hill knocked the wind out of me. It insulted me. It knocked me down and kicked me. I experienced the full transition from Flying High to Dead in the Water in roughly 30 seconds. Something was definitely wrong, but I've been in tough spots before. This is where I become my own coach. I actually say this stuff out loud..."Come on..you got this...come on Danny....don't stop now.....just do it....do it.....GO" and I pick up the pace. Only this time, nothing happens. I start again with the self-coaching "You can do this....you're almost there....come on....come on....". Nothing.....I'm running through molasses. I hit the next hill and I can't even muster a power walk up this thing. Every fiber of my being is screaming at my body to respond, to act, to GO! And my body refuses. I flaccidly tramp uphill, crest the top, and instead of resuming running...I am still walking. Still screaming at myself to go, brain in overdrive realizing how fast I'll have to run to hit my time. 10:00 pace....9:00 pace....7 hours slowly and terribly slips out of my grasp. Realizing this, my willpower follows the example set by my body and gives up.
Maybe my watch is wrong? Desperation. The 2nd to last big hill...it's a monster. At this point I'm wobbly on my feet...lightheaded...delirious...sleepwalking. My feet slip and slide in every direction because they have no cooperating leg or core muscles to provide them stability. I am confident I'll make the finish line, but not so confident I won't just pass out when I get there. It even seemed like a pleasant idea...the snow would feel so cool, and I wouldn't have to be upright anymore. Thoughts of hitting my goal are ancient. Jim passes me.
"Hey man, I didn't think I'd see you again. You were hauling ass when you passed the aid station." I mumbled something in reply, but he was already too far ahead to hear or comprehend. I hit the road crossing...the last uphill. I decide that I am absolutely going to run this last section, if only for my own self-respect. I approach the last little hump with the iron post. I desperately lunge for it, like a drowning man reaching for a life-raft. I miss it entirely and 30+ miles combine with gravity and a spent carcass of a body. I fall face first in the snow and I slide backwards down the hill kicking and clawing the whole way.
This moment, in an odd way, defined the race for me. It was clear to me at that time that I had gravely misjudged SOME aspect of this race. As I lay in the snow, I quietly acknowledged this and stood back up. I again reached for the iron bar, this time grasping it firmly and pulled myself up the last hill of the day. I stood as tall as possible and trotted down the hill towards the finish line. I crossed to the sounds of cheers from friends, visions of Ben and Sophie smiling, Matty yelling that he loved me or something, and then I was handed a medal and a sticker. Ben was immediately at my side, holding me upright in just a subtle enough way that it seemed I was doing it on my own. Dick Ross snapped the photo, and you can tell from my expression that Nobody Is Home.
I was able to stumble over to a table and food was brought to me, probably because I must have been as pale as a ghost. Allison finished shortly after me and immediately began overseeing the process of getting me properly rehydrated and nourished.
My last lap took me nearly 3 hours, yet despite the fact that those last 2 miles felt like an eternity, I only missed my time by a few minutes. Final finish time: 7:05:33. I can be disappointed that I didn't hit my goal, but there's no way I can't be incredibly proud of shaving over an HOUR off of my PR for this course.
All told, this was a truly great race for me. I got to see the results of all the miles I've put in on trails over the last 6 months, all the conditioning I've gained by insisting on running even when the weather was inclement(I ran in at least one blizzard), and I learned another big lesson about raceday planning and what happens when you simply don't. I have a proud new 50k PR and now 2 ultramarathons under my belt. Call me crazy, but I am now more excited than ever to venture into the unknown and go for a 40 miler in April.
To all the volunteers, race directors Ben and Sophia, my trusty pacer Allison, and all the friendly faces that make me LOVE trail running and the people who do it....thank you for making this a great day that I will never forget.
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