My First Savior – “Rockstar” Training
Partners
It would be a disservice if I didn’t
preface this all by giving a huge shout out to my training partners in crime
who committed to this crazy 50k endeavor from the very beginning. When
you look down the barrel at a training plan like the one I threw on the table,
you know you’re going to be spending a lot of quality time together. That
means you’re either going to love each other or hate each other by the
end. More specifically, I already struggle with feeling like I’m “a bit
much” or that it’s better for others to experience me in small doses, so I’d be
lying if I said I didn’t experience some concern about what the effect of
spending large amounts of time with me would have on my 50k training
compatriots and our relationships. At the end of it all, they still seem
willing to spend time with me, so this is no small success for me.
We all boarded what Tracy fondly
calls the “crazy train” together at the end of December and beginning of
January. Despite a bout with pneumonia (Tracy) and training through some
illnesses (Michelle & me) that left us wheezing into inhalers along the run
(Tracy & Michelle) and running with vertigo (me) in the middle of it all,
we somehow found ourselves in the taper phase after our final long training run
which we completed by running the Wicked Marathon in Wamego, KS at the end of
March. While it was indeed a milder winter than usual, we still had
plenty of runs through blizzards and freezing cold temperatures. I specifically remember slogging up Hayward Avenue in snow above the ankles behind Steve on an early morning before work. Personally, I had a few breaks from the cold weather running with my trips to Florida which were welcome reprieves and only felt mild guilt at my friends cold weather training run posts during these times. I think
we managed to rise above more than a few mental training challenges afforded by
cold weather training. It seemed when one of us was flagging another
would rise to the occasion and take the “I’m doing it anyway” approach, offer a
plan, and somehow get us all out the door.
So. Hats off to my 50k training
compadres. My teammates. Truly, it would have been a colossal
challenge without you.
Our Adventure Begins
It brought me great joy to pay my
first visit to the American Gothic House in Eldon, Iowa with my well-trained
friends on our journey south to Missouri. Steve humored me a few times by
posing in the classic Grant Wood American Gothic pose. Michelle did a handstand on the front porch.
Tracy did a stirring impression of
the woman wearing a colonial apron in Grant Wood’s American Gothic alongside
Michelle sporting a mean scowl, bib overalls and a pitchfork. Steve
purchased an American Gothic House disc golf disc and took it on its maiden
voyage by playing a few rounds of golf at the disc golf course next to the
site… in the rain. There is no reasonable explanation for the giddy
happiness this “detour” brought me. It just did. My traveling
companions can attest to this truth.
Our stop in Hannibal was at
Logue’s Restaurant, an eating establishment touting family style cuisine, for a
late lunch. It’s location? Huckleberry Heights Drive. That
was the closer. Sealed the deal. As Tracy likes to say, “I’m your
huckleberry…” I agonized over the menu as sometimes will happen to someone as
indecisive as me. When there are too many delicious options, I sometimes
resort to investigating the food holiday calendar to narrow down the playing
field. It turns out it’s National BLT month. So BLT it was. Always a safe option. Bacon never disappoints. And beets. Their advertisement
touted their dessert menu. Pecan pie would have been ideal (it was National Pecan Day!), but they were
out so their cheesecake was a satisfying alternative.
Once checked into our hotel in Fenton
and Tracy had given us all lessons on how to use our new vests and deflatable
water bottles (that was quite a sight, I’m sure… all of us parading around the
room in our new One Direction vests), Steve found a disc golf course at St.
Louis’s Wilmington Park. I wasn’t up to the challenge so while the others
played, I managed to catch a few winks with my feet up in the car. At
sunset, I did meander around the park a little to take pictures and enjoy the
warmth of Missouri spring air. So amazing and strange to see a family
grilling out in the park, to hear the sounds of singing frogs, quacking ducks
and buzzing mosquitos, and to be able to walk around in shirt sleeves. What was this new strange world we were visiting? The disparity was
welcome, but disconcerting.
We put our faith in Steve, our travel
guide extraordinaire, and went with his suggestion to eat our pre-race meal at
Athoninos Taverna on The Hill in St. Louis. The caprese salad, toasted
ravioli, and goat cheese & anchovy pizza was a delicious precursor to the
following day’s fare of oatmeal, Snickers bars, peanut butter & jelly
sandwiches, GU gels, potatoes, gummy bears, grapes and potato chips. The
walk through The Hill district back to the car on a spring night hinting at
summer wasn’t all bad, either. Our last supper was followed by a quick
grocery run to Schnuck’s to make sure we had rounded out our nutrition options
for the next day.
Sleep came quick and was sound. I must have been tired, because pre-race, this never happens. I can only
hope my sleep being sound didn’t result in sound that kept my roommates
awake. If it did, they were polite and didn’t complain. Which leads
us to…
Race Day
Race morning. Alarm sounds.
Flurry of race morning activity. Water bottles filled. Michelle agrees to
slather Tracy in Body Glide. I decided to apply Body Glide later. A
fateful decision I would regret later. “It’s 6:30,” says Michelle. “What? Already?” says Lani. “According to my watch it’s 6:25,” says
Steve. I think Tracy’s in the bathroom. If she says anything, I
didn’t hear it. Five minutes later we’re in an elevator headed to the
ground floor.
Check out complete. Car
loaded. We’re on our way. It’s starting to look “bluffy”. Maybe “Ozarky” is a better descriptor? Limestone walls on each side of the road
giving us a preliminary glimpse at what our days running terrain will have to
offer. It’s just like I remember it. But somehow I think it is not
matching up in my fellow training partners brains the way I had described it to
them. Too late now.
We arrive in time to park and walk to
pick up packets. I feel like timing might be tight so I pack all my stuff
to the packet pick up table. Instead of a t-shirt, we get a trucker hat
with the race logo. It. Is. Awesome. It’s already one of my
favorite parts of the event. Race director tells us gear drop off is up
the hill from the start line. Steve and I start walking. Turns out
it’s easily a five minute walk. I guess he wants us to get our sea legs
under us.
We all meet up behind the start line
with not a minute to spare. Seriously. I think we had 30 seconds to
take a start line selfie. Or less. The race director shouts,
“Go!” We all go. Straight up a paved hill to the trail
entrance. Why not? The trail starts out pretty technical (a lot of
rocks and roots and twists and turns and ups and downs) and is primarily single
track. Everyone settles in single file. I have been seduced by the
collective swell of adrenaline and pre-race energy into a pace I cannot
sustain. Michelle and I bound up rocks and pass other runners. We
are mountain goats. We have springs in our feet.
Soon we settle into my favorite part
of any race. That lovely enjoyable place at the beginning of any event
which is not the start, but still early enough on that people still happily
chatter to friends and to strangers who are friends because of running commonalities. Spirits are high. Eyes are bright. Smiles are frequent. We
bound downhill over piles or rocks knowing it’s never going to feel quite like
this for the rest of the day. I run a little quicker here enjoying the
company of my training partners knowing it’s the only time of the day that I
will run with them as our training has revealed they can sustain a pace faster
than mine. It is not long before they all are ahead of me and then out of
sight. People start to naturally split off into different pace levels and
spread out - everyone content to run their own race. In this stretch
it’s also becoming apparent heat is going to be a factor. My shirt is
soaked through, my water bottles empty and it’s not even 8:00 a.m.
My Second Savior – Aid Station #1 and
Potatoes
Aid Station #1 appears quicker than I
expected. I am pleased to see Steve, Michelle and Tracy. I’m not
too far behind yet. Tracy points out the potatoes. This also
pleases me. I had been lamenting to my teammates earlier about not packing
my own potatoes – a nutrition option I hadn’t tried yet, but felt would help me
with more sustainable energy. All this underscored by my ultrarunning
friend, Adam, having advised that today potatoes would be my friend. Problem solved. I cram a handful of potatoes in my mouth one by one.
It is immediately clear the support
of this race will be topnotch. “Can I fill your water bottle? What
would you like to drink? Water? Tailwind? Coke?” The table is a colorful
assortment of bowls brimming with gummy bears, potato chips, trail mix, Peeps
(hey, it’s Easter weekend!), Rice Krispie bars, peanut butter & jelly
sandwiches, cooked potatoes, Gu gels, etc. Aid stations and the people
manning them will quickly become one of my favorite parts of this race.
I head out into the flats along the
Meramac River, once again alongside my teammates… actually, I leave the aid
station a little ahead of them knowing they will quickly catch up. We
reached the first mud crossing together and commiserate about the best way to
get across. There really is no good way. We slide/ski down to the
boggy part where the water is still running and slog through to the opposite
bank. Getting up the muddy embankment is just as tricky. I end up
with muddy hands trying to break my fall and then crawl up the incline. Seems like a good time to add war paint to the mix. I put muddy black
marks under my eyes and make warrior stripes on my shoulders. I am a
warrior. Then as we run through a narrow single track path through the woods and
along the river, I stress about the plants brushing my legs and about whether
or not I’m going to come down with a case of poison ivy (visions of my dance
with this devil and the discomfort it brought last summer still dancing in my
head).
My comrades start to pull away from
me again, one by one. I stop to take pictures of the morning sun
shimmering through the dogwoods before continuing. Not long after, I
encounter the first runner headed back to the start line on the out and back
trail. He is moving quickly and effortlessly “Keep it up,” he
encourages as he moves by, a gesture I hadn’t ever really experienced before
from a front runner in a race. This was not an anomaly. I
experienced the same good will from the next six front runners that came my
way. It became apparent this was not a happy coincidence, but something that
must be common in the trail running community. I like it.
My Third Savior – The Voice
Along the way, there are a few creek
crossings that included rock hopping, a metal drainage pipe, and a board
crossing from bank to bank. There were a couple of logs to climb over
(one more significant than the other), but the trail itself was very well
marked with pink ties in the trees to mark which way to go when it was questionable. As we started to climb the hill towards the turnaround point which also would
be Aid Station #2, I found myself navigating a narrow trail covered in dry dead
leaves. I was also passing those returning on the out and back course
with more frequency. It was at this point I took my first spill. My
toe connected with a rock or root hidden by leaves, my ankle turned and I
lurched forward breaking my fall with my hands. Several concerned
witnesses asked if I was ok. I wasn’t sure. The ankle throbbed as I limped
forward testing. Frustrated, I realized I still had 25 miles to go and
started to have visions of my months of training slip down the drain. Doubt
about finishing suddenly is amplified.
It was the male voice behind me that
saved me from the voices in my head. “Are you ok? You’re walking
fine. Try to run. I think you’re going to be ok. You’re
moving all right. It might swell up tomorrow, but for today, I think
you’re ok.” Later I kicked myself for not turning around to get a look at
my rescuer. “Like my Dad used to tell me, ‘you’re fine… walk it off,
it’ll be ok’,” I quipped back over my shoulder. He laughed. “That’s
right,” he agreed, “You’re going to be fine.” I kept running forward to
Aid Station #2. I never saw or heard from him again. If I did, I wouldn't have known it.
My Fourth Savior – The Angel at Aid
Station #2
Other than my aching ankles, I was
still feeling pretty good at the turn around point. It was starting to
get hot. I hydrated. I ate some chips and drank some Coke. Someone filled my water bottle. I complained I was starting to chafe
under my arms. My failure to remember to apply Body Glide at the bag drop off becoming a glaring misstep in the pre-race preparations. An angel found some diaper rash cream and slathered it
under my arms and then walked me back to the trail and yelled encouragement to
me as I headed back out. I would later learn (thanks to the beautiful connectivity power of social media) that this angel's name was Shari. This would lead me to my second fall of the day. As I moved from the paved road onto the trail, my toe connected with a root and
I again went sprawling. After a few choice words directed at the sky, I
brushed myself off and kept moving. This time there were no
witnesses. I had done a little damage to my other ankle this time, but
nothing like the first go around.
My Fifth Savior – The Wind
At the bottom of the hill there was a
beautiful, aromatic patch of brilliant purple Wild Sweet Williams begging to be
photographed. I went to grab my phone to take a picture and realized it
was gone. Retracing my steps in my head, I realized when I’d done my
second impressive slow motion trip and fall, my phone must have ejected from
the pocket I’d stored it in. Going back to try and find it was out of the
question if I wanted to finish. I’d just have to look for it when I came
back on the second loop. I ambled off down the long, flat stretch of road
that eventually turned and led up and over the railroad tracks and along the
river back to the first aid station. What was striking to me at this juncture of the race was the variance in age of the partipants. I had passed or been passed by trail runners who were much younger and who were much older. It was in this stretch I passed a gentleman I would later learn's name was Norman. He started running when he was 50. I passed a woman who was in her 70s. Someone told me her exact age, but I can't remember. Maybe 75? I don’t remember much else about this
stretch other than things were starting warm up significantly. And that
wind was saving us from the abuse of the sun and heat. There was much thankfulness in my heart for the wind. So much thankfulness.
My Sixth Savior – The Man Who Found
Wonder Woman’s Phone
I was pretty pleased to see Tracy as
I approached the aid station on the return loop. She looked strong. Knowing my teammates were ahead of me made me happy as “finishing” started
to seem more and more achievable for them. But I also mentally started
bracing myself for the possibility they could potentially finish and leave
with belt buckles and I might not. I thought through how I would rally
from a DNF. As I previously mentioned, the head games present some
formidable opponents out there on the trail in the heat of the day. I
also was very aware that keeping ahead on my hydration and nutrition was
imperative. The aid station was a welcome sight. Because. Potatoes!
As I slowed and approached the food
table, I heard a voice behind me yell, “Hey guys, look what I found. I found
Wonder Woman’s phone.” At this very moment I’m pretty sure a light beamed
down from heaven (or was that the sun?) and angels sang (or was that Tracy?)
when I turned around and saw a runner running up to the aid station table with
my phone. What a complete load off my mind for the rest of the day. I almost kissed him. Again, the aid station attendants were my heroes…
filling my water bottle, checking to make sure I was ok, words of
encouragement, smiles and laughs and banter… and then I was off again.
It was here I came face to face again
with a challenging part of the course I affectionately dubbed “Billy Goat
Lane”. It is an uphill climb… piles and piles upon piles of limestone
rocks. There was no question, I would be walking it. I started to
worry I might not make the four hour cut off for the 25k finish. It was
near the top of this stretch I met the 50k front runner coming back out for his
second loop. Again, he moved quickly and effortlessly. This time over the rocks. Was
HE part billy goat? I would later learn, he finished in 3 hours and 58
minutes. He MIGHT be party billy goat. We’ll call him Billy for
short.
Also in this stretch, I started
to hit a real low. I was meeting people coming out for their second loop.
The temperatures were climbing. I was sucking through my water pretty
fast. My body felt stiff, like I had sticks in my legs. Moving was
hard. Time moved slowly. The trail seemed to go on forever. I hurt. Everywhere. I worried about falling. I did fall. I watched terror
cross a woman’s face as I tripped on a rock (for my third and final time) and start to
fall straight forward down the hill toward her as she was coming back up. By some miracle, I stayed upright. We were all spared a bloody mess as it
was a very rocky stretch and my hands wouldn’t have been able stop me from
connecting with the ground with my face first. My nose was in the lead.
My Seventh Savior – A Good-Hearted
Citizen
I finally reached the end of the
trail. Running out onto the asphalt, I could hear the 25k finishers being
cheered at the finish line and smell the hamburgers being grilled. Surprised, I realized that grilled hamburgers held no appeal. The asphalt
sloped sharply down the hill and my quads burned as I started the
descent. A man came up next to me and started to run alongside me down
the hill. I initially thought he was a good-hearted citizen who was there
supporting his daughter and just wanted to encourage me. He was, I guess,
but I would later realize he was also just another amazing masterpiece of the
well-oiled machine that was this race. Pure brilliance to have support
runners to help people down the hill and around the corner to the last sadistic
turn of this first loop.
Sadistic, you ask? Just before
the finish line, the course redirects up the steepest hill I’ve ever climbed. “Just go up to the top of this hill and it loops back down to the
finish line,” he instructed as he dropped me off at the bottom. I would soon
learn his instructions were vague. Lacking detail. Lacking a LOT of
important details. I’m certain it was by design he left out these
details - I'm just not sure if the motive was good or bad. I walked only a few steps up the sharp incline and my heart was
in my throat. It was the hill that never ended. I later learned that some
people run this hill. These are not my people. Just when you think you’ve
reached the top, you realize you’re not even halfway there. When you do
reach the top, it loops around and you do an angled descent down. It’s
just far enough you frantically start looking for pink ribbons because you
think you might be on the wrong trail. And after this one last little mind
game, the trail then angles straight back down the hill for one final
zinger. The course takes you through the finish line (where others are
finishing and you WANT to be finishing) and takes you right back out on the course
for the second loop.
My Eighth Savior – Well Timed Advice,
A Friend and Marco Polo
I met up with Tracy again here at the turn around aid station. She seemed good. I was still low. Very, very low. I was eating
everything salted I could find. I was sucking down Tailwind and water and
Coke. They filled my water bottle. I wondered if I should pack a
second one for this stretch, but decided against it. The man who found my
phone and his running partner were getting fueled up. I had made the cut
off time by a half hour and was now verbally stressing about whether or not I
would be able to finish loop two by the nine hour cut off. “Just walk the
hills and run as much of the flats as you can,” his running partner advised as
they ambled back out on the course. “You’re doing great,” she called over
her shoulder. I willed myself to believe it. Tracy and I started
out together before she realized she hadn’t picked up her GU gels and headed
back to get them. I knew she would catch me soon enough and that I was
racing against myself and the clock to finish, so I kept going.
Sure enough. Not too far into
the trail, she caught me. The front runners for the 50k passed by with
ease. Suprisingly, I found it inspiring and not discouraging. Tracy moved ahead
of me as the trail started to descend. We played Marco Polo for a
stretch. That was strangely comforting. I couldn't see her, but I could hear her. Thanks, Tracy. Going down “Billy Goat
Lane”, I watched a female front runner for the 50k run (Run!...not climb… not
walk, but run!) up the hill towards me. I expressed my admiration. “You’re doing great,” she replied over her shoulder. I fought the urge to
stop and watch her continue up the hill. It was amazing. On this stretch to Aid Station
#1, I emptied my water bottle pretty quick and rued the fact I had decided
against carrying two. My water bottle was empty and my mouth was
dry. It wasn’t much further, I knew, but far enough.
My Ninth Savior – Good Humor, Chips
and Gummy Bears
True to form, when I finally did find myself at Aid
Station #1, they did their magic. Water bottle was filled. I loaded
up on potatoes and salt and water and grabbed a watermelon salt flavored GU gel
for my pocket. “You guys didn’t tell me how much this was gonna hurt,” I
threw out flippantly at the guy filling my water bottle. He looked up,
smiled and simply replied, “Oh. YOU knew.” I smiled back. He was
right. I grabbed a handful of gummy bears and potato chips mixed. It was
delicious. I grabbed another handful and moved back out on the course
alternately eating my mix one chip then one gummy bear then one chip then one gummy
bear at a time. This, specifically, was the flat track I knew I needed to
run, but did not want to run. At least it was in the shade. Coming
into the downward slope the led down to the flats, I met a mountain biker
climbing up the incline. I complimented him on his efforts as he reached
the top. Later as I made my way through the woods, a loud crashing
startled me on my right side as he moved around me on his bike. “A little
warning would have been nice,” I suggested. I was curt about it. Other than
my body hurting, it was probably the only negative interaction of the day.
My Tenth Savior – Knowing my Friends
Would Finish, Grapes and a Second Wind
Shortly after, I met my friend, Michelle, coming across
the creek bed. She looked strong. “You got this!” she yelled at me
as we passed and high fived on the trail. It made me happy knowing how close
she was to the finish. I continued down the river front single track and then
up over the railroad tracks and onto the flat track that led to the hill ascent
to Aid Station #2. I willed myself to run. It hurt. A
lot. My whole body was stiff. Nothing felt easy or fluid. Up ahead
I saw Steve. I would later find out he as battling leg cramps at this
stage of his race. Even though I was hurting as we passed each other,
again, I again felt a rush of happiness realizing my teammates were on the final
stretch back and would likely finish. This long flat from the railroad
crossing to the turn up the hill seemed like it would never end on this
loop. Everytime I thought the upturn was just around the next bend, I
would see a runner coming towards me from what seemed like forever a way. My body didn’t want to run, but my mind kept telling it to. Sometimes my mind won. Sometimes my body won. Most of the time, my mind won.
Finally. The upturn. The upturn meant I could walk.
So much relief. As I got close to Aid Station #2, Tracy was running towards me on the train. “You’re almost there,” she encouraged, “Make sure you talk to those
ladies. They are AWESOME!” Another happiness surge. Tracy was
on her way back and looking strong. All of my teammates were going to
finish.
At Aid Station #2, I was met with cheers and
clapping. I was exhausted. I gulped down water. They filled
my water bottle and stashed an extra water bottle in my pack. I ate some
peanut butter & jelly sandwiches and grabbed another watermelon salt GU gel
for my pocket. I asked if I could make it back before the cut off time if
I just walked. After doing a little math, they affirmed. One of them
offered up a giant cluster of grapes. I felt like a sweaty Cleopatra. After examing my underarm chafing (there goes the Cleopatra vision...), asking me how I felt, making sure I didn’t
need anything else, Shari told me I looked strong, congratulated me on my first
50k and sent me back out on the trail. I ate the grapes slowly… one at a
time… savoring… as I navigated my way back down the hill. So delicious.
I’m not exactly sure what miracle happened at Aid Station
#2. I supposed it was a combination of things - the fact I was on my
final stretch home combined with the fact I now knew I would finish even if I
walked the rest of the way. It was possibly the energy pick-me-up buzz
from the delicious grapes combined with the happy, good energy and
encouragement of the women manning Aid Station #2. It was likely also the
relief from cloud cover and the afternoon breeze. Something in my body
released there around mile 24 and I started wanting to run again. I found
my body could do it with more ease. The solitude of the woods was
peaceful. The birds were singing. The air was perfumed with the
smell of Dogwood and Wild Sweet Williams. The frogs were singing. There was an occasional buzz from a mosquito. I saw a small black
snack. A turtle lumbered across the trail front of me. A butterfly flitted across over my shoulder. And as I
moved down to the edge of the river, teenagers were screaming their jet skis up
and down the river with happy yelling to each other as they paused at each end
to turn around.
Astonished
By my return to Aid Station #1, I had been running
non-stop and my spirits were high. I had 3.6 miles to go and I would
finish before the nine hour cutoff with no problem. That belt buckle was
as good as mine. I even found myself looking forward to my climb up
“Billy Goat Lane” one last time. At the top, I felt good enough to run as
I started the descent. Even with the switchbacks and rocks and roots, I
started to run more quickly and confidently on the trail. There was a
back and forth rhythm to it I was starting to master. I passed some
hikers who complimented me on my strong finish. “You are moving really
well,” said one young woman. She seemed astonished. I was
astonished. It felt good. It was fun. I felt like if I needed
to run another 9 miles, I could. The last hill was still waiting for me,
but I knew it was there. I knew what to expect. And I knew there
was a finish line waiting for me at the bottom.
As I approached the bottom of the hill, I heard my fellow
50kers (all three of them and a few race volunteers... the important ones) cheering. The hill was steep and I had visions of tripping and
rolling my way to the finish line. I was determined not to trip for the
spectators. My cheerleaders. My teammates. My finish didn’t need to
be spectacular. The clock read 8:31 as I approached. There were just a few feet
between me and the finish line and I was pleased I could run across it. I
ran straight into the race directors open arms and was handed my belt
buckle. I’m pretty sure my grin was 50 kilometers wide. “You are an
ultrarunner,” confirmed Tracy. I did it. We did it. And it
doesn’t get anymore spectacular than that.
Now. To go take account of and lick our wounds.
And find belts for our belt buckles. We earned them.
Epilogue
The cherry on top was a stop in Hannibal, MO on our way
home for a celebratory meal on an outdoor patio with live music overlooking the
Mississippi River. I’m not sure who ordered a beautiful,
feels-like-summer, music filled night on the Mighty Mississippi for the grand finale, but I’ll take
it. That. And an ice cream cone. Nighty-night.
Written about Mark Twain in Gay Zenola MacLaren's memoir:
He opened the door for me himself. As we said good-bye, he put his fingers lightly under my chin and lifted my head up so that my eyes met his.
"Little girl," he said earnestly, "keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great."
