Scott Jurek said it best. “Sometimes we just do things.” For
someone who is historically overly analytical about pretty much everything,
this can be a frustrating statement. Although I hold dissecting situations in high
regard, I have found that over-thinking aspects of life can be more detrimental
than flipping a quarter to make a decision. Simply put, I have 99 problems and
83 of them are completely bogus scenarios conjured up in my mind encouraging
stress for no logical reason. However, I can’t discredit this more
comprehensive reasoning completely; it’s served me well. Covering your bases on
possible hypotheses can definitely encourage more favorable outcomes. I’m a
huge fan of using the SWOT technique (Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities,
Threats) in major decisions, both professionally and personally. Only good
things emerge when a person is able to step outside themselves, check their
emotions and biases at the door, and truly examine a situation. Yet, it can be
exhausting if you can’t keep it in check. Guilty…throw the book at me.
There comes a point for everyone that we need to mentally
check out, stop analyzing and over-thinking, and just be.
Enter: Ultrarunning.
Many people use running as an opportunity to temporarily
escape from the pressures of career, relationships, life. ‘Temporary’ is the
key word here, even for us 100-mile ultrarunners. We all find solace and
different ways to de-stress and they’re as unique as the trails we run on. For
me, ultrarunning is that platform to sanity that allows a healthy liberation from
all things “adulting”. I find this perfectly healthy…exceptionally healthy…No,
strike that, I find it mandatory. I’m learning to be a little more proactive
about it and projecting my schedule and availability to hit the trails. If a
month or so goes by and I don’t have a goal race in mind, there’s a problem.
Every part of my life benefits from an occasional mental departure from
overextension and strains of methodical thinking. Don’t mistake this with
ignoring a problem or avoiding responsibility; It’s simply a reboot to my
system. If you can’t relate to that, you’re fooling yourself.
After my Tunnel Hill 100 race in November, holidays and life
seemed to fly by. It wasn’t until mid-January that I started thinking about racing
again. I had one or two good runs on trails after Tunnel Hill, but due to
Iowa’s lovely weather in combination with a demanding schedule, that was about
it. Luckily I’m a treadmill whore so beating the hell out of a few machines at
the gym was and is a welcomed task.
As January progressed, I felt like the restrictions keeping
from my trail running passion were more of an asphyxiation than a temporary
problem..and I needed to breath again. The timing is typical for me. Last
Spring it was Hells Hills in Texas; the year before it was Black Canyon 100k,
then Rocky Raccoon 100. I guess a Southern escape is becoming a bit of a
tradition for me. After chatting with similar-minded ultra-running friend and sipping
a few tasty beverages, we started scrolling through races on Ultrasignup.com and
various other race websites. Heed my warning: Never, ever, ever, ever, consume
alcoholic beverages with crazy pals and search for races!
I noted that I could pull of a 50 miler or 100k since all my
training has been treadmill, but nothing beyond that. A friend ran across an
intriguing race in state I haven’t hit yet.
Enter: Red Dirt Ultra in Louisiana.
It seemed perfect, there was several distance options
including a 100k. This was ideal for what I was looking for. Then my pal, JC, started
talking crap. “You mean that you aren’t going to challenge yourself? You are
going to ‘take it easy’ and do the 100k?? You must be getting soft.” Silence.
((Another swig of Firetrucker’s Uptown IPA)). Screw it, I’m in for the 100
mile. Moments after I finished registration and it was official, JC spoke up
again. “Dude, I was kidding..but have fun.” ((Another round of beers)).
Since it was mid-January and Red Dirt 100 was the first week
of February, I had a couple weeks to figure out how my 100% treadmill training was
going to compliment the race, or at least get me through it with limited physical
and mental torment. Logistically: no bueno. Depending on sheer mileage for a
race plan was out the window, so I was going to have to get creative with the
assets that I could control. This left me with the undertaking of maximizing nutrition,
focusing heavily on efficient running form, and using gravity to my benefit.
Basically, I was going to have to ‘science the shit out of this’. I had been
training my body to use less carbs and burn more fat (ketosis) since December
and I noticed that my need for external calories had dropped by at least 40% during
endurance workouts. I hadn’t tested this at all in competition, so I had no clue
if I could sustain the needed energy for a marathon..with a 73.8 mile warm-up.
As a pupil of my own experiences, I always try to nurture a
lesson or two out of every race. I started thinking on how to maximize my
strengths while focusing a little time on tweeting my weaknesses. I examined
and modified my daily nutrition and fueling and created a simple weekly mileage
chart. I laughed when I determined that 10 days into my training I would have
to start tapering. Then it hit me: I’m over-thinking this. The whole reason I
craved a race is to escape the stress, not create more. At that moment, I
decided to run when I wanted to run and continued on the nutrition plan that I
was accustomed to and made me happy. On the same notion, I decided to keep this
adventure relatively quiet. This was for me and no one else. I did decide to
text my mother since she is my emergency medical contact and I’ve heard tales
of the Louisiana gators.
Days before taper week I pissed off my left soleus. This is a
beast of a muscle on the lower calf below the gastrocnemius that is imperative
for running. Within two runs it was bulging out next to my tibia and it echoed
the pain of a stress fracture. At that point in training, I was basically
maintaining fitness and wasn’t going to gain any major assets, so I opted to
hit the pool for lap swimming to continue to sustain my aerobic capabilities. I
added pool running for overall fitness and to give me the allusion that I was
still running. The old, dumber me would have just kept running. The more experienced
me is clearly wise AF.
Friday morning I hopped a 5:50 a.m. plane and made my way to
the South. I had no clue what to expect in Louisiana and was eager to check it
out. Upon arrival, a simple survey left me with the impression that Louisiana
is under-appreciated. The architecture and history sprinkled through Alexandria
encouraged a gratification in the unique history. Most notably were the people-incredibly
welcoming and laid back. I was made fun of a couple times for my accent and had
some good laughs over that.
Eventually I headed to the start/finish in picturesque
Kisatchie National Forest for packet pick-up..and I got lost. After some time,
I connected with the RD who was nice enough to text me directions and let me
arrive after packet pick up was officially over. Score. As I received my race
number and swag bag, I was presented with a “Red Dirt Ultra” IPA…Yes, I was
handed a bottle of a custom pale ale. It was beautiful, bold and delicious. After
a long day of travel, I welcomed a drink or four. As the last drop of liquid
heaven graced my lips, I sat there in the middle of beautiful nowhere surrounded
by towering trees. After a short mindful and meditative breathing session, I
let the stress of being lost and late for pick-up go and stopped over-thinking the
immensity of the task yet to come. It was at moment that I realized this was
going to be one hell of a good time.
I drove my little Kia rental to a Subway and enjoyed my
traditional pre-race meal with a couple new friends. Exhausted, I headed to the
rat trap of a hotel that I reserved that was NOTHING LIKE THE PICTURES. Shortly
after an insect inspection, I was off to bed with visions of bed bugs dancing
in my head. Surprisingly, I slept like a rock and was stoked to wake up disease-free.
The alarm that was set for 3:40 a.m. didn’t even have a
chance to piss me off. I was awake at 3:38. Up and at ‘em, I enjoyed my oatmeal,
banana and Starbucks. After a good lathering of SNB, I geared up and jetting
off to the race rocking out to ‘Novacaine’ by 10 years, a little Sepultura,
Ded, and cued the ‘Above’ album from music gods Mad Season just as I arrived.
This album has a lot of sentimental feelings attached to it that I have
transformed from a hindering weight in my life to exultant, welcoming nostalgia.
The ‘River of Deceit’ can be a cold, dark place or a stately proclamation of
artistic, lyrical mastery. I choose the latter.
Race morning in the woods of the mighty Kisatchie was dark
and chilly, but incredible. I looked into the mass of blackness guarded by stately
trees and realized that this was legit. “Hello Darkness, my old friend..”100
miles…Game time.
As the countdown ticked by to the start of the adventure
before us, I welcomed some greetings and anxious conversations. The race
director chatted with us briefly and stated that the trail head entrance is a
little tight, so those who are actually ‘racing’ should come to the front. Without
hesitation or even thinking, I instinctively took a step forward. Well that’s
interesting…this was not in the plan.
I smirked at my own ignorance and ridiculous competitive
spirit as I took another step forward towards the lead pack. There were several
obvious competitors that were ready to rock and roll. This encouraged me and I
felt like James Hetfield stepping towards the stage before sold out concert. I
felt anxious, focused, and excited to be in that very moment, at that very
place, with these incredible people that I now welcome as my extended ultra
family. Let’s do this.
And so it began..We were released into the dark Louisiana
woods guided by our headlamps and passion for the trail. The course loops were
ideal. The first loop was 38ish miles and then two 50k’s totaling that
monumental triple digit feat: 100 miles. F yes. I don’t care how many hundreds
I do, the concept is just as sexy as it was when I toed my first 100-mile start
line only a few years ago. There is so much to be discovered during those hours
of physical, mental, and emotional exasperations. Like a drunk after bar close at
Abelardo’s, I was hungry for it.
Immediate adrenaline kick launched me onto the course in a
small lead group. I struggle with pack running, especially when guided by
headlamp. I don’t like not seeing what’s ahead of me and I can only stare at
someone’s Altras so long until I get frustrated. I tend to have a bit of a
longer stride and push the pace a little early to get my cardio on point and my
breathing in rhythm. Then I pull back on the reins a bit (usually..well,
sometimes) to a comfortable endurance pace. Within a quarter mile I politely
requested a little room to pass and extended my stride. I could finally breath,
nothing in front of me but darkness, trail, and an unknown course. Everything
was new and exciting. Prior to the race, I reviewed the generalities of the
course map but didn’t spend much time on it. I like the surprises and knowing
that I would be venturing these trails twice more, it was a ‘learning loop’. I
wanted to get a feel for the ground under my feet, trail obstacles, sections
that I needed to dial back on, and opportunities where I could haul ass.
I felt awesome. My comfort level grew as I was adapting to
the trail and I was able to extend my stride out and match my breathing to it
effortlessly. Temps were perfect and the pitch black Kisatchie embraced me as
if I was a native.
The course was delicious-varying widths and occasional
surprise Louisiana hills with technical rocks sections kept me alert and
focused. Knowing that my training was subpar, I dedicated my attention on
maximizing what I could control. I kept a close watch on my form. Smaller
steps, chest out, head up, with conscious use of my upper body, propelled me up
the hill sections. For the downhills I put my body and mind in neutral, cutting
my efforts dramatically and letting gravity work on its own. The key to this is
engaging a controlled, relaxed state of every muscle that was firing and let
the cosmos carry you as gravity and mass propulsions allow. I call these ‘free
miles’. Newton would have been proud of my cognizant management of a gift
blessed on us by the universe. I ensured that I was landing lightly during the
downhills to prepare for the brutal abuse that 100’s tend to inflict on my
quads.
My gear of choice was not typical for me but I have no
regrets whatsoever. I chose neutral footwear with a flexible, mesh-like covered
toe box that would allow for maximum variability due to the rolling hill
terrain and good water drainage as I had peeked at the forecast and I knew shit
was going to get real. Little did I know what was to come..
I have tried and used many hydration packs in my short ultra
career and have been impressed and disappointed. Today I chose to use a $39.95
no-name pack with two front water bottle holders and mesh pack pocket. It was
cheap in all aspects of the word but lighter than an empty beer can. I’ve never
raced it in. It was a purchase on Amazon when I needed something that Sadie (my
daughter) could use for hikes at Ledges State Park. Gone are the days of me
dropping serious dime on packs; this bad boy is a winner.
Within a few miles I was leading the 100 milers. This wasn’t
due to an unhealthy competitive move whatsoever. I just wanted to be by myself.
This is my preference in most ultras. I love seeing people, cheering and
encouraging them on, but only in passing. I don’t like to chat and run as I
tend to be very focused on footwork, tracking my vitals, and enjoying the mysterious
darkness lit up only by my Black Diamond headlamp. Night running makes me
hyper-sensitive and it’s an ideal way to truly experience a foreign environment.
Red Dirt Ultra aid stations were on point. Volunteers were
so dedicated to the runner’s needs and clearly had experience in ultra and crewing.
I can’t tell you how pleasant this was and how much of a relief it was knowing
that educating a volunteer was not going to be necessary. As I would run up to
an aid station, pulling out my water bottles, and vol would instinctively reach
for the bottles and ask what my preferences were. Killer food and solid
nutrition options served by a crew that could definitely handle the
rollercoaster of emotions from ultrarunners complimented the experience
significantly. The South knows how to do it.
A slight set back reared its ugly head on an out and back
section of loop one. I was running strong, leading the pack. Myself and another
runner were accidentally sent in the wrong direction adding an additional 2-2.5
miles to my race. This happens. Luckily the RD was completely understanding and
was generous in adjusting the mileage/race. Looking back at that situation and
how I responded really bothers me. When the volunteer caught up to be to tell
me I was going the wrong way, apologizing profusely, I was a real asshole. I’m
dropped a few words that were just not cool. Later on in the race, I made sure
to verbalize my regret and apologies. Par for the course, the volunteers were
rad about it.
I lost my lead at that point during the confusion and for
the next 10 miles or so was running angry and stressed. I passed people
aggressively that had gained time and distance on me as I embarking on the scenic
detour. My demeanor and attitude had a detrimental effect on my race. Shortly
after I got back on course and lost focus (due to my temper tantrum), I rolled
an ankle. I hobbled for a minute afraid to put direct pressure on it.
Eventually I stopped, sat on the trail and manually pulled my foot away from my
body as it was favoring one side. A small pop and jolt of pain instantly made
me nauseous but since I hadn’t taken in much nutrition at that point, I didn’t
hurl…yet. Pissed that I was losing time, I stood up and gently put weight on
it. It didn’t feel fabulous but my unreal pain tolerance encouraged me to get
after it again. I tightened up my shoe as much as I could to restrict swelling
and was back chasing the pack that I was once leading. On occasion when I
landed on it wrong, it felt like an ice pick was going through my foot but I
was still mobile and progressing so F* it.
Still upset, I jetted into another aid station where I was instantly
adopted by crew volunteers. I was racing solo in Louisiana and not having a
crew wasn’t ideal. From that point on, it was a non-issue even though I was acting
like a bit of a douchebag. God bless Southern hospitality. One gal in particular
had my back at each aid station as if we had a premeditated crew plan. (You
know who you are; thank you my friend!) While fueling and swapping gear from my
drop bag, I expressed my discontent about losing time from the extra mileage I
ran and she said something that changed my race. “You’re going to have to get
over it.” I paused for a second and felt lightning bolt of reality strike my entire
body. She was absolutely right; I did need to get over it. This was less than
15 or 20 miles into the race and I wasn’t even having fun at that point. What a
waste. So, at that very moment, I did exactly as she preached; I got over it. I
reclaimed my focus, ate my pre-planned nutrition and headed out to do what I
came there to do with the love and passion that lead me there in the first
place. I tried not to be an asshole after that and feel I was marginally
successful.
I did my best to thank volunteers, high five runners, and
give homage to the trail. I moved rhymical with the ebbs and flows of hills and
cruxes of the course. I remained relaxed, loose, and kept my focus on form,
especially upper body arm swing and head positioning. Where the head faces, the
body follows. Looking down is only for safety precautions. And most importantly,
I enjoyed myself and lived in each moment that I blessed to experience. I was
in my zone and I felt incredibly blessed to be sucking wind with my fellow
ultra freaks.
Not long after passing a few aid stations the weather
changed dramatically. I nice drizzle of rain felt pleasant and gave the lose
sand areas of the course a little more grip. The drizzle quickly emerged into
large heavy drops and seemed like missiles plummeting their targets in the heat
of battle. Things got interesting after that.
My rolled ankle decided it was enough and was giving me
clear signals to back off the speed a little. I did the best I could, but effort
restriction is not a strength of mine. I did subconsciously catch myself
picking up pace again after this nemesis retreated. The pain would hit out of
nowhere and I was getting queasy from it. I had to remind myself to drink as I
had no appetite and no signals to hydrate. I timed my calorie intake and ate
something, anything, on schedule. This worked well until the throbbing ankle turned
my queasy feeling into full on puking. It was semi-controllable after the 2nd
or 3rd time and I learned that if I stop and braced myself by a
tree, I could get back running again much more efficiently within seconds. I
realized quickly that any attempts to refuel have been blown to smithereens for
the time being. I was out of calories and low on hydration. Eventually I won
that battle and lost the urge to yack. I’m guessing this was because there
wasn’t anything left in my stomach. Shortly after I hit another aid station and
cautiously filled up with broth, boiled potato, and Ensure. I waited for the GI
explosion, but everything remained in its rightful place. I felt like a new
runner. Next challenge...
After my inaugural 38-mile loop, I took advantage of the
opportunity to put on my rain gear at the start/finish where my primary drop
bag was. A light, semi-transparent breathable running jacket seemed ideal at
the time. My typical race visor was replaced by my SNB hat for full weather coverage.
On to lap 2: another 31 miles.
I took off for the next 50k fully aware that the weather was
likely going to get worse before it got better. It was a rough several hours as
the rain picked up and tried to beat us down. Not long after I took on the second
lap, I stumbled on a hidden root and wiped out. It was pretty graceful actually
and with nothing seriously injured, I bounced back up and pressed on. Moments
later I happened to glance down at my right hand to discover that it was half
covered in blood. WTF? I had no idea where this was coming from, truly perplexed.
I approached another runner and prepared to pass. Without breaking stride, I
asked “Is there blood on my face or head?”. As if a normal question, he looked
up and replied “Nope”. I guess that covered the serious parts of my body, so I
recalled my mantra: If the bone ain’t showin, keep on goin.
I arrived in good spirits to another welcoming aid station. I
clearly recall the moment, standing there nibbling on Gingersnaps, when the
rain transitioned to from manageable showers to Mother Nature’s wrath. She was
clearly one angry lady and the skies darkened. “Hand that witch a Midol.” The
dramatic transition happened within seconds. I looked at the aid volunteers and
just smirked. This is where the race begins. I shoved a few more bites of
whatever into my mouth and shivered a bit as the rain had beckoned in an
instant cold front. I thanked the vols and took off into the downpour with a
fist pump and “Yee haw b!tches!” I heard the laughter behind me as the rain pounded
down on every part of my body. My rain coat was useless and I wished the ventilation
that was intended for breathability wasn’t so damn breathable. I was getting
cold, so I ran faster. Crossing the streams transitioned from an attempt to
avoid wet feet to an opportunity to clean off the mud that seemed to add 10
pounds to my shoes. It was obvious that the streams were rising quickly and the
rocks that I used to balance myself on during the first loop were now just a
blur under the increasing angry current.
The challenging, muddy terrain impacted my stride without
question. My form was the first thing to go. I was forced to slow down at least
30% initially and then more afterwards. This was not out of exhaustion, but
because my momentum was slowed and halted by the muddy hills that mirrored a
Slip’n Slide that I used to dive on as a kid. There was no avoiding it, we were
at the mercy of every moment and every part of our will was going to be tested.
That second loop broke
my spirits and distracted me from my goal. At that moment I was reminded how significant
the impact of my perception and feelings had on my physical and cognitive
abilities. As I saw the lights of the start/finish proclaiming my completion of
the second lap and 69 grueling miles, I questioned my next steps. I arrived,
almost speechless to the canopy with my drop bag hoping to find relief in the
form of welcoming nutrition and warm clothes…especially warm clothes. Food was
plentiful, I planned my calories well. However, my cold weather gear was in my
other drop bag at an aid station over 15 miles away. I stood there shivering
trying to open my bag but soon realized that I had lost the use of my extremities.
Not to my surprise, volunteers and crew immediately came to aid and opened my
bag for me. I reached for pieces of a cinnamon raisin bagel but was unable to
open the Ziploc bag. I stood there shaking, drenched, and cloudy in every way
possible. I wasn’t thinking straight and couldn’t do the math to determine how
many miles I had in front of me. As if heaven sent, my adopted crew helped me
eat, unzip my drenched raincoat, gave me a long sleeve shirt out of their own,
personal stash. They redressed me and helped me manage the challenging task of putting
on my gloves. I couldn’t feel my fingers or stop shaking long enough to master
the art of guiding my hand in the hole. I was given handwarmers that eventually
gave me feeling in my hands enough where I could manipulate my gear to drink
from my water bottles. I guess that was really all that mattered.
The best gift ever was yet to come. As I stood there, perplexed
on my next move, I looked over through the darkness and stormy downpour to
another runner in the same situation. He just nodded as if to say, “I get it,
I’m with ya”. My admiration for his determination reminded me that I am
stronger than I was feeling at that moment and I had to get shit together. I
had allowed myself to be overcome with focusing on the barriers and neglecting
to embrace my own strengths. Still shivering I summoned courage to get my head
back into the game and live up to my own, ridiculously high, somewhat
inconceivable standards. This wasn’t about running anymore, it was about
conquering the course and perseverance. It was me verses me. I was surrounded
by people that were doing all they could to help me. They didn’t have to do
anything, but they wanted to, and I felt an obligation to their efforts to press
on. I felt that same obligation to myself. Not once did anyone imply that I
should quit; not once did anyone abandoned me when I was absolutely helpless.
It was empowering and energizing, even in that bitter cold.
The shivering was zapping energy and burning calories that I
just didn’t have. My inability to process even the smallest decision at that
point left me meek and helpless. Luckily, I wasn’t alone. My savior came in a
form that no one could predict: a man and a garbage bag. The thought of another
layer against the tormenting weather was a definite morale booster. This was
clearly not my idea as I was likely clinically brain dead at the moment, but
when it was suggested, I jumped on it. Unable to tear arm and a head hole, they
sized me up and created the most ideal second rain coat in existence. Unlike
the breathable, run-specific, overpriced gear I was already wearing, the
garbage bag was not breathable and retained body heat. Now I just had to get
out there and produce it.
I was armed with the maximum opportunity for success and
supported by people that wished me nothing but just that. A deep breath and thank
you’s to my adopted crew launched me off into the dark, muddy mess in a form of
my final 50k, sporting a stylish extra-large, black garbage bag with my hydration
pack over it. The pack kept it pressed tightly against my cold, wet shivering
body. (Yes, I do have picture of this, sexy AF.) 31 miles to go, I got this.
My mind started racing trying to formulate a game plan that decreed
simple, attainable goals. The plan shifted from running another 50k to running
to the next aid station, which was less than five miles away. I thought about
maximizing my energy through the mud and decided to no longer search for the
best line on the trail which weaved me back and forth to avoid the deep puddles
and the thickest mud. The weaving easily added mileage and was exhausting my
hip flexors and quads. I decided that that was a waste of energy and completely
threw that strategy out the window. I focused on running the straightest line
possible, regardless how deep the creek, puddle, or fear was. Taking my chances
with the gators seemed like a calculated risk as well.
What I love about 100-mile races is that regardless how many
times you run a lap, each time it looks extraordinarily different. The weather,
time of day, and own ability to perceive the details of the course keeps you
honest and attentive. Within the first quarter mile, I preformed my routine
head to toe self-assessment. I noted that my ankle was no longer an issue. I’m
not remotely sure if this was the compression or cold water that I was running
in, but the swelling and pain seemed to be prominently lessen. This didn’t make
sense to me, so I chalked it up as a gift from the ultra gods and pressed on. My
quads were a tad tight but overall my legs seemed strong. I felt like I had run
a marathon instead of 70 miles and this gave me a renewed confidence. My lower
back wasn’t horribly pleased with me as I found myself having to look down more
than I would prefer. Next to the new rocks and roots now being exposed from the
rain, there was a fog that clouded my already poor night vision compelling me strain
my eyes for that entire last route. My game plan to plow through the puddles
rather than pinballing around them was a good move. I wished I would have
adapted this strategy on the last 50k, I would have shaved off an hour to my
time easily.
My spirits were a little low coming into aid station 2. A
jovial volunteer pointed out that I was almost done, “only 20 miles to go”. I half-laughed
and then processed that a bit. I pigged out like a champ, retiring there at the
aid station much longer than I have ever done to ensure I was fueled and
hydrated due to my early puke session. I knew the clock was ticking, but the
minutes expended there were golden and necessary for progressing and for my overall
morale.
Off into the night I ran eager to check off that last 20
miles. I imagined it was 19 instead; there something about it being only in the
‘teens’ gave me piece of mind. A few of the downhills that lead into the creeks
were wicked steep, so I had to side step and hang onto branches as the mud took
control over everything. I felt that I was no longer at the top of the food
chain and that nature was reclaiming its original hierarchy in the universe. I
saw the aftermath of those on the course before me. Long sideways shoeprints noted
that I wasn’t the only one forced to take this approach. I saw a few butt
prints as well, unavoidable I’m sure. These efforts were exhausting and a total
time suck, but never once did I fall into the mud. I wavered slightly during
the last few creek crossings as the water as the currents were rushing aggressively
above my knees in some areas. I knew if I were to fall backwards, I would be
out of commission as the rocks and trees down current did not look welcoming. Cautiously
I slowly ventured across, not knowing how deep the next step would be. These
efforts were invigorating however; the water actually felt good on my legs. The
successful creek crossing, without a full emersion baptism, was a relief. I was
elated and verbally let out a “hell yes”. I’m sure Christopher Columbus felt
the same way.
Nearing the final aid station, I began to catch a second
wind. My legs felt renewed and my senses seemed heightened. I was alone, as I
was most of the race, and the deafening silence of the deep Louisiana woods was
hypnotic. The sound of the rain, random movement of creatures just off the
trail, a loud cackling bird that spooked me almost every time, and the slushing
of mud and puddles became calming. My heartrate had decreased as my efforts
were now automatic. I could have run for days. Catching a glimpse of the lights
and sounds from the final aid station before the finish appeared unexpectedly
and I was caught off guard by the excited cheers and motivated hollers as they
saw my headlamp bounce towards them. I arrived zoned out and don’t recall
having much conversation other than curtsying in my gorgeous, dress-like
garbage bag. A volunteer asked if I wanted to sit down which I immediately
declined. I’ve seen many athletes lose focus, motivation, and energy resting
their body. I wanted nothing to do with that. BEWARE OF THE CHAIR.
I few shots of broth and a couple gingersnaps was all that I
could stomach and within a minute, I was charging out of the aid station
gearing up for the final miles to the finish line. I was moving at a respectable,
disciplined pace forging full steam towards any beckon of light or course
reflector. I started talking to myself, out loud. On occasion, my mind wandered
and I lost focus on my footing and stumbled a bit. “Way to go dumbass.” I had a
few other choice words for myself, but soon transitioned my self-coaching to optimism
and encouragement.
Ultrarunners see, feel, say, and do weird shit after the mileage
racks up and I was a spot-on poster child for this. Nevertheless, without a
pacer that race, I paced myself. I thought about what my pacer may say and
echoed the same sentiments. As ridiculous as it sounds, it worked. My focus was
intense, my steps were strong, and I even giggled when I trampled through the
creeks and puddles. Those conditions were so ridiculous that I could either
laugh or curse...truthfully, I did both.
The finish line, glorious fire pit, tents, and time clock were
lighting up the sky less than a quarter mile away. I told myself not to get
pissed when I see the clock as I’m sure those miles mud surfing tacked on some minutes...or
hours. I hadn’t looked at my watch in over 10 hours so had no idea what time it
was, what place I was in, or what day it was for that matter. I just ran. There
was nothing to think, or overthink, and it was the epic prescription for the
experience that I desired.
Nearing the last 20 yards or so, I slowed down a bit and
took a few last deep breaths in the woods of Kisatchie. As I jogged past the
finish line into the welcome of new friends, I felt amazing and choked up a bit
with emotion. I was exactly where I wanted to be, feeling the pain that I
needed to feel, and knowing that I overcame it. This is ultra and I f*cking
love it.
I glanced over at the time clock for the first time and noticed
that I ran 20 hours and some change. In the back of my mind, I was 90% sure...ok
50% sure, that a female never passed me the entire race, but I didn’t count on
my own observation at that point. Edie, the RD verified, that my assumption was
correct.
I finished 1st Female, 4th overall.
Shortly after, I realized I broke the Female record and set the
new Red Dirt Ultra 100 Female Course Record of 20 hours, 25 minutes. Of the 5
completed 100’s, I’m humbled and blessed to chalk this up as my 3rd
100-mile win and 4th national course record broken and set. I fully acknowledge
and appreciate the fact that this is the result of the love, education, and
support that I have experienced from my ultra family and mentors. The life lessons
far outweigh the numbers and buckles and I continue to thirst for more.
As I think about the experience, the weather conditions, setbacks,
the cold, and the garbage bag, I can honestly say that I wouldn’t have changed
a thing. Each variable had a role in the experience. Without the cold, how
would I know if I could overcome it? Without the rain and mud, how would I know
that I can survive tremendous conditions? Most importantly I am reminded on the
true essence of ultrarunning: the people. Everyone on that course and working
the aid stations were bonded by a single passion and I am respectfully grateful.
Despite the uncontrollable challenges faced during this race,
the benefits of this experience are by far the most notable. I highly recommended
Red Dirt Ultra to any runner at any level and look forward to returning to
Louisiana to experience more epic shenanigans and delicious IPA’s.
Logistically speaking, signing up for a 100-miler on a whim
may not have been the most ideal choice. However, sometimes we need to put
ourselves in extreme situations that brings our suppressed, and often
forgotten, attributes to the surface. Testing our perseverance and passions can
sometimes be more genuine in environments that we don’t have complete control
over. Planning and analyzing our lives and decisions remains extremely important,
however becoming a slave to the stresses that emerge from over-thinking
projected outcomes can put you in a state of constant defense. This is a ‘life
suck’ and can drain our limited energy and time from the people and experiences
that make our existence valuable. Focusing on legitimate reality instead of the
twisted, horrific concoctions that our minds tend to develop eliminates monumental
amounts of self-imposed stress. Step outside your comfortable level and see
what you are made of, you may be surprised on what you find.
As always, embrace ‘the suck’…and trail on, my friends.
