Hells Hills 50-miler

Hells Hill 50 Miler, April 1, 2017

At 4:45 a.m. on April 1^st, 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, 1^st 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.