Sorry I have not posted in a while. I knew this month would be difficult. Law school final exams are right around the corner. It is hard to blog on a regular basis during this time. But, I've got some exciting blog projects lined up. I am working on an article called "The Women of Badwater," covering the stories of such runners as Connie Dockendorf, Cheryl Zwarkowski, Jamie Donaldson, Mimi Anderson, and Catra Corbett. Should be fun!
In terms or racing, I just got back from Arkansas from the Ouachita Trail 50 Miler. I ended up with a DNF at mile 30-something. I ran out of time and missed the cutoff after being forced to walk due to a crappy knee (fell and banged my knee at mile 17). But, it was a beautiful course. This ended up being a lousy race, but an okay training run. Race report to come.
I am now training, with the help of Lisa Smith-Batchen, for a 200-mile run in October in Yellowstone. I am very excited about this project and will use the run to raise money for charity.
So, times may be tough, but the future holds a lot of promise. Keep strong, run your heart out, and stay healthy!
I wanted to quit the first 25 miles. As I scrambled up Sky Island at mile 18, I became so overwhelmed with he prospect of putting up with this torture for 80 more miles. I felt like I was in over my head. But, I saw a sign out there. The race director, Joe, had placed little placards throughout the course. Each placard had a saying on it. The one that stuck in my mind read: "If you're going through hell... keep going." I kept repeating that to myself over and over. Ultrarunners hit a lot of mental walls during these long distance races. The key is to recognize that it will pass. Things will get better. Keep moving. Don't stop.
Getting some rest the night before the race.
It was wonderful to see all the new and familiar faces out there. The thing I love about these ultra races is the sense of solidarity you have with the other runners. Each person is going through his or her own private drama, but at the same time, you are all united in the experience. My friend Dave Carder would pass me by and I would ask him how he was doing and tell him to keep it up, that he was looking good. He is a solid runner, fast and strong! I ran stretches of the race with Steven Monte. I ran my first 100-miler with Steven last year and he is a great guy. While we were running, we talked about - Christ, what did we talk about? Talking with him really helped pass the time and lift my spirits. Then, I would see my friend Lee Irons. Lee was super fast. He would pass me up and ask me how I was doing. It made me happy to see him doing so well in the race.
Coming into the Lodge, the main aid station.
I love running in the dark. It's a lot of fun, running as a group with your flashlights and headlamps on. Adventure is in the air. You can sense the excitement. I started off the race a little faster than I anticipated, completing the first 25 mile loop in 6:30. I got a little scared when I realized how fast I had gone, so I slowed down a bit and threw in some power walking. Fortunately, the mistake didn't prove fatal. Still, I must learn to not get too excited at the beginning of these races and charge out super fast. Slow and steady is the key.
Lee Irons and I right before the race.
By the time the sun came up, things started to get really warm. Almost hot. I took off my jacket, but even that wasn't enough relief. The day was a lot hotter than I had expected. As a result, I was sweating a lot and losing a lot of salt. I was taking two Endurolytes every hour. But, I noticed as I was going uphill, my thighs were cramping up. I put up with it for a good while - maybe 10 or 15 miles. When I finally got to Equestrian, I mentioned to the volunteer at the aid station my leg troubles. Olga was her name, God bless her. She told me to take four Endurolytes, not two. She also gave me a shot of tomato juice. I did as I was instructed and sure enough, the cramping stopped.
Feeling good at mile 65.
Calorie-wise, I was taking in about 250 calories every hour. That included one bottle of Heed (the Heed powder was pre-measured in a plastic Ziplock baggie at every aid station), one GU gel, and either a piece of banana or a piece of PB&J sandwich. If I felt rundown or fatigued, I simply scarfed down a handful of M&M candies.
My drop bags served as little portable aid stations.
By the time I started my third loop, night had fallen. I came in to the Lodge to find my mom waiting for me with Doug Ratliff. I met Doug at Badwater last summer. he is a great ultrarunner and a damn nice guy. He really helped me out. After scarfing down some hot soup and putting on my jacket, I felt like a million bucks. I ran into the night.
Race day also happened to be my birthday. On Oct. 30, I turned 25. My race number, coincidentally, was 25.
The rest of the story is history. I got lost. Wasted a lot of time trying to find my way back to civilization. Ran the last five miles to the Lodge. And so on. I honestly don't feel so bad about this DNF. I felt worse after Rocky Raccoon last year. Here, I know I didn't give up. I feel that had I not gotten lost, I would have finished. Hell, I was on track for a 30 hour finish. At mile 55, my time was 15:25:03. All things considered, my pacing was good (albeit a little fast for the first loop), my fueling was spot on (aside from taking too little salt in the day), and my legs and feet felt great. My training paid off. I was doing 120 mile weeks prior to the race.
My recovery has been phenomenal. The day after the race I ran 3 miles. The next day I ran 5. I feel fit and strong, ready to tackle the 100-miler yet again, smarter and better prepared.
As I write this, I am listening to Laura Nyro's "Save the Country" - a great song by a great artist - and I am struck by a particular verse:
I got fury in my soul./Fury's gonna take me to the glory goal.
I dig it. I, too, have fury in my soul, and after this past weekend's DNF (stands for "Did Not Finish") at the Cactus Rose 100 Mile Trail Run, I am more determined than ever to become the best ultrarunner I can be.
How can I express all the things that are running through my mind - the anger, the pride, the joy, the sadness? I'm a bundle of emotion, all tightly bound together, with no way to exorcise the pain or get away from it. But, I'm okay with that. I don't want to avoid the agony. It's characteristic of ultrarunners, I think, to face pain and process it, embrace it and learn from it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Can you run 5 miles in an hour?" The question was sort of laughable. Of course I couldn't. I had been running for well over 75 miles. My quads were screaming. I could feel two big blisters on the bottoms of my feet. I just wanted to stop. But something told me not to throw in the towel. Here I was at the main aid station (nicknamed "The Lodge") which served as the start and end of each 25-mile loop. I had taken a shortcut from Boyles to The Lodge to call it quits. There was no way I was going to make it the five miles from Boyles to the Lodge in time to make the cutoff. No way. The officials at the Lodge looked at me with concern.
After being lost in the Bandera wilderness for nearly six hours, I had finally made it to Boyles. I wasn't injured and I was in fairly good spirits. But, I had spent so much time being lost, wandering aimlessly through the nasty, rugged trails of the Texas Hill Country that I now had only an hour to make it to the main aid station to meet the cutoff time to start the fourth and last loop of the race. Why did I take the shortcut back here to the main aid station to quit instead of just running the damn five miles? Was I really a quitter? Did I not have the right stuff, the stuff to finish? It was just five miles. Oh, but what a five miles! If you've ever run the trails of the State Natural Area in Bandera, Texas, you know how grueling those five miles can be.
The terrain is rocky, unforgiving, and extremely technical. There are almost no flat running sections. You are either clamoring uphill or tearing, trying not to tumble, downhill. I hear it is one of the toughest race courses in the country. Five miles in one hour? I don't think so. When I realized the certainty of my defeat, I walked the quarter-mile shortcut back to the Lodge to tell them I was going to have to quit. But, something felt wrong just giving up like that. I had worked so hard to get to this point. All my training, all my time and energy and money... I couldn't let it all go to waste. Besides, I felt pretty damn good. Aside from my legs being a little sore and my feet hurting, I was in great shape. I had to give it my best shot. I snapped.
"Drive me back to Boyles. I'm going to do the five miles," I said.
"Okay, but you have to make it back here by 7:15 a.m. to start the next loop," the race official told me.
"I understand."
I stuffed my pockets with energy gels and PB&J sandwiches and refilled my water bottles. I jumped in the passenger side of a truck that pulled up and got a ride back to Boyles. Once there, I very quickly jumped out of the truck and began ascending Boyles Bump, a grisly little 300-foot climb. Then, I shot down the side of the hill, only to encounter another hard climb, a repulsive roller called Cairn's Climb. I ran like I've never run before. I was bawling. Angry tears fell hot down my cheeks. I knew it was all in vain. No matter how hard I pushed, I knew I probably would not make it in time. But, I had to try. The sun was coming up now. The fiery red of the horizon struck me as an odd sight to behold, reinforcing a startling fact: I had been running for over 24 hours straight.
Those five miles stretched on forever. I had a lot of time to think out there. Mostly I thought of my friends and family. I thought of Steven Monte, Dave Carder, Lee Irons, and Lynnor Matheney, who were also running the race and who, I knew, were out there somewhere, in pain, like me. I thought of my dad, who, just a few weeks earlier had his leg amputated due to complications from diabetes and who wanted to be there to support me at the race so badly that he mustered the strength and courage to make the trip to Bandera just to see me run.
I thought of my mom, the strongest person I know, who has loved and supported me through all my triumphs and failings and who, I knew, would be there for me at the finish line no matter what. I thought of my sister, who brings joy to my heart even in the darkest of times. I thought of my friend Aleia, paradigm of loyalty and love.
I thought of Lisa Smith-Batchen, one of the most amazing athletes I know of, a strong and loving person, who has accomplished so much and who will always remain my greatest inspiration. I thought of Shannon Farrar-Griefer, a badass ultrarunner and beautiful woman, whose determination to endure is nothing short of amazing. I thought of Eric Clifton, an uncompromising athlete, who runs the way he wants to - fast - and will settle for nothing less than his very best in a race.
I thought of all these people. And I kept running. Always, always, moving forward... Part 2 to be posted soon.
