I ran my first 100k. Although it was actually 65 miles since they threw in some bonus miles. So, 100k plus 3 miles. It was a doozy. I felt like I was as prepared as I could be. In hindsight, I still feel that way. And I knew that showing up prepared did not mean that it was going to be easy. It wasn’t. It was crazy hard. I think being a trail run made it extra hard for me. My knees appreciated the cushier ground. The rest of my body was less grateful for the terrain. Particularly the rocks and roots and all the elevation changes. As with all the hard things in life, I’m very glad it’s over. And I’m so happy I finished. It was worth it. I’d heard that it would be worth it. And I suspected that it would be worth it. And it really was.
When I got up on race morning, I was a little anxious. The forecast had been for a dry race, but the skies had opened up the evening before to a torrential downpour for a couple hours. Sleeping in the tent, it seemed as though it rained through the night. I figured it was going to be a rainy day. I drank a little iced coffee, ate a banana and got ready to go. Didn’t realize until we got there that it wasn’t actually raining all night. It was just the rain falling off the trees and hitting the tent. Normally one of my favorite sounds. That night it was a little different. Like, I’d wake up for a second and think about how nice it sounded. Then be like “oh yeah. Uh oh.” Just back and forth like that all night. So I was relieved to learn that it wasn’t raining. Although we did have mud to contend with in the morning, it certainly could have been much worse. And the temps were pretty ideal throughout the day. Considering the fact that it had been literally 100 degrees just two days before, a high of 72 was a miracle. Shout out to Mother Nature and the super weather for race day. It was awesome. Too bad there were so many rocks and roots on that trail. Plus the elevation. Really dragged down Mother Nature’s yelp review. A lot. The trail was very narrow in most spots. A single file situation. The first mile took 17 minutes because we were marching along like little ants and weren’t able to pass. Once we finally broke free, we ran for awhile with a gal running in a pair of yellow crocs! I’m a croc enthusiast. But it has never occurred to me to run in them. She said they’re the only shoes she’s found that don’t give her blisters. Based on what my feet looked like after this adventure, I’m seriously considering running in crocs.
The first 20 miles or so were feeling good-ish. Felt good endurance wise. Knees felt good. Ground was all squishy and delightful…except for all the rocks and roots hidden in there. And the sketchy logs laid over the streams and big puddles. Navigated my way over the logs surprisingly well. Me landing a foot squarely in a big pool of muddy water would have been the expected scenario. Didn’t happen though. Go me. I did start stubbing my toes really early on in the day and that was a persistent problem throughout the entire race. So persistent. So painfully and unbelievably persistent. It was infuriating. I’m still mad at roots. I am putting all positive references to that word on hiatus for the time being. And it will all be reflected in my yelp review of Mother Nature. I didn’t like stubbing my toes early on. I hated it during the mid to late parts. But by the end I basically didn’t care anymore. At some point it was like something just snapped in my brain and I fully accepted the suck. It was like “this blows. Everything hurts. It’s not going to get better until it’s over.” But it still went in ebbs and flows. Just the cycle of the ebbs and flows got shorter.
This trail was like a metaphor for the whole experience of running. Literal and metaphorical ups and downs. Some parts were so pretty and felt so rewarding. Other parts hurt and made me want to just lie down on the ground. But one of my biggest takeaways from this experience was the realization that ultra running is a team sport. Not the running itself. But the people volunteering at the aid stations and the other runners you spend some time with or pass along the way. The encouragement you get is everything. Your mind is going to keep trying to tell you that you should quit. It’s not possible. You will feel better when you just stop. You need those reminders that it is possible. And that it is worth it. In the grand scheme of things, this is a very small amount of time. It won’t feel like a long time when you look back on it. But it’s going to be a really big deal to finish. It’s the kind of accomplishment that changes how you identify yourself as a person. Your bad ass status will be cemented. At any point in the future, if you aren’t sure if you can do something or withstand something, that doubt can be removed.
Although it isn’t an enormous amount of time in the grand scheme of things, it sure does feel like a ridiculously long time when you’re in it. Getting that time to feel like it was still moving forward was the real challenge. At many points it seemed to be stalled. You know the theory that Santa Claus is able to make all those deliveries in one night because he is able to slow down time on Christmas Eve? No? There are dozens of books and movies about this. My favorite is The Night they Saved Christmas starring Art Carney as Santa Claus and Jaclyn Smith as the mother of the children in the story. It’s a classic from 1984 that has really stood up to the test of time itself. At any rate, this was largely my experience while running for 20 hours. It’s already a very long time. But it felt somehow even longer. Especially later on. The last few hours felt like at least half of the race. I started making a game of the time. I’m not going to look at my watch until I get around that corner. I’m not going to look at my watch until I count to 500. That kind of stuff. I have this fantasy that I’m going to have some kind of JK Rowling moment when I’m running. I’ll come up with this whole amazing world in my head. I’ll totally escape into it while I’m running so the time flies by. Then I’ll get home and write it all down and become a millionaire. Yeah, well that hasn’t panned out so far. Unless someone wants to read a book about me counting to 500 over and over. I think I also started to get concerned about my well being and sanity. Like, I started having issues with my vision. The peripheral went black for awhile. I don’t mean dark. I mean black. With a clear straight line where the black began. Almost like someone had put a piece of black plastic through the center of my eye separating the front and back. I didn’t know what could be causing that. But I assumed it wasn’t good. Like I was about to faint or die maybe. It was very concerning. I feel like if I had let my mind wander at that point it would mean that I was hallucinating or crossing over the line into the spirit world. So I kept myself focused on the here and now. Reality. Counting. Maybe next time I’ll start imagining my version of a wizarding world or a thought provoking mystery a little earlier on. I’ll work on managing my imagination more effectively. I think all that matters is that I survived out there. One way or another, the brain protects itself.
Another thing that kept me going was Steven. He knows how to play my ego and stubborness. I was seriously contemplating dropping out at one point. The vision thing freaked me out. And the pain in my shins. I have never run through that much pain before. Similar to how they felt when we’d hiked the Presidential Traverse (a 21 mile hike through the presidential range of the White Mountains.) It was significantly more elevation gain, but a lot less time. I didn’t have to deal with the pain as long. Also, there was no Plan B for getting back to the car that day. I had to use my feet. On the 100k, the pain started to feel intolerable. Literally. Like it was not possible to tolerate that much pain. And I knew that I could quit at an aid station and get a ride back. When you don’t have to do something, when you have an option to quit, it creates an option in your head that you need to wrestle with. I started to lose the battle. All Steven had to say was that he thought I should quit. And that he would keep going. Um, excuse me?? No. That’s not how that would play out. No way. Gauntlet thrown. Option to quit gone. Yes, running is mainly a competition with yourself. But, in my case, it’s also a competition with Steven. I’m not necessarily proud of the lengths I will go to in order to not let him outdo me. But, it is what it is. If he was going to keep going, so was I. That’s why running with him gives me an advantage. It’s like an extra layer of mental fortitude. And it’s like being on a team. I’m not only letting myself down if I fail. I’m letting him down too. That’s a very motivating thought.
I often think about how you never know who is watching. But the things we do end up mattering to others. Even if it’s not right away, the things we do make differences. Like ripples being cast out onto a pond, somehow our actions will touch the lives of others. It’s inevitable. In this instance, I did something that seems like it would not be possible. When I was about 20 years old, my mom decided to thru hike the Appalachian Trail. It took lots of planning and about 6 months of her life to accomplish it. And in that moment, I realized that a 50 year old woman doesn’t have limits. That myth was unlearned by my brain. The idea that a goal is just a dream with a plan became a philosophy of life for me. Running my first 100k means I put that philosophy to the test and it passed. I’m a 41 year old mom who ran for 65 miles over hilly, rocky trails. I trained for it and willed myself to finish. I don’t have limits. If I do, I haven’t figured out what they are yet. Maybe someone else will think that if a 41 year old mom can do that, maybe they can too. And maybe my two little girls will think that if their 41 year old mom doesn’t have limits, they don’t either. Life gets to be way more exciting when you start thinking that more things are possible.