Hells Hill 50 Miler, April 1, 2017
At 4:45 a.m. on April 1st, you would have found
me sitting in my rental compact car in field with high grass a few yards from
Texas longhorns. I’m sure they could sense my alien Iowa presence as I pinned
on my race number and rocked out to a little Hell Yeah (I found this choice
comically fitting for prerace hype). There I was, 980 miles from home, sitting
in the dark in my rental car about to step up to the start line of the Hells
Hills 50 miler near Smithville, Texas.
A few minutes later I wandered up to the start line and
chitchatted with a few racers, fist bumped other Altra folks and adjusted my
headlamp.
410. This steep figure marks the days between this fateful
morning and my last major ultra. I’ve never had such a gap between races but
then again, I’ve never had a year like I had endured. There were a few life
changes and events that filled my agenda and sucked the life out of my days: I
embarked on a major career change; I sold my home of 14 years; I moved to a new
city; introduced the idea of a new everything
to my teenager and battled related domestic ripples from this decision. I was
booted with a fractured fibula and was highly encouraged to pursue surgery. I
declined. I cross trained hard on the bike and kissed concrete in an epic bike
accident that left me with a grade two AC shoulder separation. Two surgeries were
suggested and I declined them both. Surgeons continue to curse my name. My body
is now a wonderland. I gained a new respect for water polo and concurrently
dropped 5 pounds in two practices. I bought a rabbit and then got rid of the
little f^&*r a couple months later. I mourned the loss of a family member.
Synchronously in the 410 days: I found my niche in a new business
world; I escaped from a structure that housed over a decade of bad karma; I
relocated to a new community that continues to feel more and more like home every
day; I have become strategic and confident in managing unjust domestic
situations; I’ve changed the trajectory of my daughter’s life by providing her
more opportunities. I’ve learned so much about the human skeleton in
correlation to physical and emotional stress; I’ve changed my diet. I’ve
learned to listen to my body more intentionally and accepted that aging is a
bitch. I appreciate the male banana hammock and have discovered the scary fact
that cute, little bunnies growl.
Epic revolutions and life events in those 410 days.
My desire to race and experience the masochistic euphoria
only captured in an ultra never wavered. I longed to be shoulder to shoulder
with my ultra family and craved the pain that both slowed my race pace and
increased my mental drive. I missed the sunrise that historically emerged an
hour or so into the race after staring at the beacon of hope and direction
provided by my headlamp fueled by fresh batteries and fear that those
Energizers are legit. For months, I longed to be with my fellow ultra freaks
and hear and recite those encouraging, supportive phrases as you pace and pass
each other on the course. 410 seemed like a lifetime but it fueled me my
eventual return to trail racing.
At 4:59 in the pitch black of Texas, it all hit me like a
ton on bricks…more like a ton of bricks that were on fire…with scorpions. As I listened
to the RD count us down I did my ritual head to toe check. Altra Lone Peak 3.0’s
were my weapon of choice, as always. Tied and double knotted. Race ankle chip
was there (for now…as it so played out), UD Jurek hydration vest was stocked
with 2 9-ouncers and my Honey Stinger gel rested patiently in a side pocket,
ready to serve. Under it all was the glorious, incredible, heavenly smooth
glide of Squirrel’s Nut Butter. I was ready to embark on a Texas adventure.
This race was the first time that I decided not to run without
music-at ANY point during the race. Typically I reward myself with music midway
through the course as it can be phenomenal for mental concentration and even a
distraction from physical pain. I had been training mostly treadmill again due
to my outlandish schedule so I’ve become accustomed to Godsmack, Metallica,
Dope, Disturbed, FFDP, AIC, and a few other foul-mouthed inspirations that give
me the fuel needed to punch a priest, if necessary. I wouldn’t do that though,
I’m just a little princess. However, I decided to leave the Ipod at my rat trap
hotel. I wanted to hear everything from the crunch of the rocky course, my
laden breathing patterns, my fellow runners, the Texas critters, and my own
cursing. And most importantly, I wanted to hear my pain. No distractions; just
a full on facial of quad burning vicious discomfort. I felt I owed it to myself.
Plus, it would give me a more accurate assessment of where I was in my
training. I knew I wasn’t 50 mile ready especially with factoring in the hills,
heat that I was not accustomed to, and recovery fibula injury that had yet to
be trail tested.
I hadn’t felt the typical prerace jitters and adrenaline
that I had since I began my ultra career in 2013. This scared me. Is my passion
fading? Was the fear of my injured leg choking out any option for excitement? I
couldn’t even summon a pre-race poo.
I was at the front of the pack with what I thought the lead
runners would be and I instantly realized that this startline placement was
foolish. Too late. The RD kicked us off and then something amazing and
refreshing happened; it hit me. The adrenaline spurred, the passion that was
previously foreign reignited like a flame bursting from a smoldering fire pit.
Within 10 yards of racing, 410 days were erased and I was doing the only thing
in the world that I wanted to do. Game on beotches.
5:01 a.m.-An immediate hill welcomed us to the course like
the waiter that bowed to the first-class guests on the Titanic. I smiled and
found a pair of Altras ahead of me with my narrow, headlamp spotlight on the
narrowing trail to pace. Within minutes we were single track on a very winding
and rocky course. Zig zags and rolling “Hells hills” concerned me a bit as the
fear of getting off course crept up. The pack thinned and before I knew it, I was
running solo in the pitch-black abyss of Texas woods. With no music, I was
fueled by the hoots and hollers of runners as the zig zagging course was
spotlighted with random headlamps bouncing down the trail. It was euphoric and
beautiful.
It was hard to get comfortable in my pace as I was a
stranger to the course and technical factors of the race. I had to focus on my
footing as I was terrified I’d f’up my ankle. Luckily the course markings were
phenomenal. Kudos to RD Chris McWatters..without question, this saved my ass. I
only had to stop and retrace once and I’m sure it was my fault. Damn those
Texas woods are dark.
Finally I got into my rhythm and relaxed a bit. I smiled as
I realized that I was completely alone at this part in the course. I enjoy that
time. I readjusted my visor and headlamp and took a sip of water when BAM!
-Epic barrel roll encouraged by a sneaky little root covered my pine needles
and my own lack of focus. I rolled hard onto my left shoulder (the “good
shoulder”) and slid like I was drunk diving a slip ‘n slide. I finally came to
a stop in absolute darkness. My headlamp had flown off and was out. It was so
quiet and my increased breathing patterns laced with vulgarities that would
make Edsel Dope blush seemed to resonate through the woods. The shock wore off
and I my rib cage was hurting as I was feeling for the headlamp on all fours. I
could see a quality porn scene emerging here. In less than 30 seconds I found
the lamp and fumbled to find the switches. Nothing. I moved through every
setting and got no response. I crawled to a tree to help myself up and dropped
the headlamp again in the process. This is where the ultra gods threw me a
bone. The headlamp hit the trail again and turned right on. Without hesitation
that possessed piece of plastic was back on my head and I was running a sub-8
pace. Adrenaline and endorphins booted my wipe out pain for the time being and
I raced down the trail, a little more cautious and a lot more religious. Can I
get an AMEN?!
I ran hard for a mile trying to make up for my time rolling
around in the dirt. I know that I didn’t necessarily need to do this since it
was so early in the race, but it sufficed my mental strategy. A portion of the
course was just for 50 milers, I fun jaunt around additional trail. I loved the
fact that we had the exclusive pleasure of adding on some miles from the rest
of the pack that was running the races with lesser mileage. It was like a badge
of honor to make that turn and I held my head a little higher. Masochists unite!
I was blessed to catch up to a chase pack of males and got
into the action. We teetered back and forth on lead runner and pushed each
other. It was incredible. If I could have gotten naked and rolled around in
that moment, I would have. Not the dudes, just the moment.
We were close to nearing that last portion of the first 16.5
mile loop when we ran down a hill into a heavy grass area. A couple water
crossings at this point were more of an annoyance but I knew they would be a
welcome cool down in the last 2 laps. We zig zagged, up and down a few hills
and then ran passed a 7-foot painted rabbit. This took me off guard, naturally.
No one said anything so I broke the silence with a “WTF?”..we all had a giggle
and pressed on.
The aid station peeps were helpful and motivating. This race
was cupless and they were quick to fill our bottles or offer the community cup
for instant mass hydration. Ultrarunners don’t believe in communicable germs.
Lap one ended with the welcoming sunrise. A short stop at my
drop back and refilled bottles and I took off on lap 2 of 3.
Lap two was like running a whole new course as I had the
blessing endowment of light. I found it very interesting how visually assessing
the hills at distance affected my psyche. I recalled what I recently read in a
documentary on the psychological effects of anticipating an event. At this
point in the course, spotting a hill was translating to pain. The brain
processes anticipated pain and creates a type of chemical soup that feeds into
your system and directly drives physical a response, physically and mentally.
This made complete sense to me when I read it and was stored for immediate retrieval,
luckily when I needed it the most. What I needed to help my hill performance
with a body that was not race ready was a good dose of dopamine. I needed a way
to ‘embrace the suck’. Within seconds, the power personal self and cognitive
awareness demanded my body to resort to its own self-created dopamine-producing
back up plan…all without me actively aware I was doing this. Recall that I didn’t
use music? Well, historically music and specific songs in general, have been
ideal to help me through long, boring treadmill runs. I have my ‘go to’ songs
that I seek when I am hurting to get me through it on the ‘mill. Most recently,
Metallica’s new album and song “Moth Into Flame” (especially the intro) has
been a great adrenaline kick during my training. I have probably listened to it
dozens of times now.
Back to the trail..back to the race…At sight of the next
hill, my body did me a solid and reverted to its back up dopamine and endorphin
release. Instantly, without even thinking about music, the intro of “Moth Into
Flame” played as if on cue in my mind. In turn, a delicious, motivating ‘brain
chemical soup’ surged through my body and I took that hill like I owned it. It
was only a few seconds after reaching the summit that I was able to process
that just happened and I used it the rest of the race flawlessly. The mind is
an incredible, untapped, astounding resource. Use it or lose it, my friends. #RaceSecretRevealed
Rolling through the rest of lap 2 gave me a new mental
strategy and it was amusing to try and tap into other stored motivating assets.
I switched up the songs in my head a bit but learned that I wasn’t really in
charge on the shuffle button.
The heat was revealed sooner than later. At race start, it
was 100% humidity and zero rain. I’m not sure how this fluctuated through the
day but I definitely struggled to stay hydrated and clearly I was not alone. I
stopped to make sure a couple racers were ok when they were standing staring
off into the cosmos, leaning against trees, and sitting on stumps. I shared my
precious water once to a racer that was borderline heat stroke. That’s what you
do in ultra, it’s instinctive.
Before lap 2 ended I took another nose dive on some lose
gravel. No major events accompanied this graceful display of beauty other than
an immediate expenditure of energy that I didn’t have. My steps were slower,
stride was shorter, and I was drenched in sweat. I had to urinate, so I
did..without breaking stride. Those Altra compression socks are very absorbent
for being so light. Lap 2: completed.
I’m convinced that McWatters extended the initial hill
kicking off lap 3. I’m not sure how he did it but I was forced to walk part of
it. I knew this lap was going to be brutal. Halfway through my final loop I was
prepared to be passed by a local female hero that is accustomed and trained to
the Texas conditions. I was ok with
this. My goal and desires were fulfilled by fully embracing the experience that
I felt surge through my body at 5:01 a.m. that morning. I was back; I may have
been undertrained and not setting CRs, but every ounce of my being (that I didn’t
sweat out already) was immersed by the sheer joy of being back in my
environment. I smiled as much as I could, even when everything hurt. I kept
focusing on the fact even though I stepped awkwardly on about 500,000 roots and
rocks, my recovery prevailed. My ankle was enduring.
Aid stations added Whiskey to their menu of options and I
considered it momentarily until I remembered that I didn’t like whiskey, with
the exception to Fireball. I graciously passed and pressed on. I connected with
a runner after about 10k into our final lap and we teamed up against the course
and had some nice splits. With 5 miles left, I was confused on my status. I had
passed several females from shorter distance races but had no clue if I had
been passed by others. A question from an aid station worker “You were first
female from this morning, right?” confused me. Was I passed or was she deep
into whiskey sampling?
The last leg of the last lap was run on absolute desire. I
had nothing in the tank and was taking steps that were half as short as my
typical long stride. I was spent. My quads were swelling as was the rest of me from excessive salt and caffeine intake. I dealt with chronic side stitches for about 20
miles that echoed throughout my body the longer I ran, but I reverted to my
mental metal to rock me through that. Finally, I saw the arch, heard the crowd,
and ran down the final chute to the finish line. I crossed that bad boy after 9
hours and 20-some minutes, 1st Overall Female. I was shocked,
excited, humbled, and honored to accept my winning trophy that now sits proudly
in my home as reminder of the day I got my mojo back and learned to “embrace
the suck”.
410 days of chaos, monumental life changes, grief, and
absolute bliss fueled my return to racing. As always, I am a student of
life..as always, I welcome new teachings.
Trail on, my friends. Embrace the suck.
