Hawk Hundred (9/15/14)

"Run when you can, walk when you have to, crawl if you must; just never give up."
-Dean Karnazes. Dean is a smart dude. However, I would like to add: "Embrace the experience, welcome new friends, and slam a beer at mile 50." I believe Mr. Karnazes may approve of my additions.

I took on the Hawk Hundred in Kansas with no expectations whatsoever. The last couple months of running/training have been overly eventful for my liking (fighting injuries) and I was well over 150 miles behind my self-authored masochist training plan for a 100miler. Low mileage and still feeling the effects of the Voyageur disaster (read previous blog for details) suffocated my confidence and forced me to look at taking on another 100 miler as strictly a "fun run" in the midst of the badass mo fo's that make up my beloved ultrarunning community.  Clearly for those of you who know me well, this is a challenge for me. My competitive drive typically trumps "taking in the scenery". Being a rookie in ultrarunning and not as experienced as I'd like to be crippled my optimism a bit as well. However, having run my first 100 in April and having a surprising successful experience for my virgin voyage encouraged me to sign up and see what happens. With my one-year anniversary of ultrarunning approaching (end of Oct.), I wanted try and see if I could squeeze in one more quest for a buckle. Hawk Hundred fit the bill.

Typically taper week is focused on serious race prep, clean eating, nutrition mastery, lots of sleep and all the usual crap that makes that week totally suck when all I want to do is go out and run. As previously rants, I hate tapering and I truly believe my body think it's bullshit too. Cutting mileage and resting just isn't in my genes. So to combat my non-running frustrations, I filled my time with good times with friends including a few late nights at the local brewery (oops) and backstage passes and festivities with the one and only Tesla (double oops). Tesla on 9/11: nothing more American than that.

Anyways, I was blessed to have my mom come down from Minnesota Friday to accompany me to the race. She's a very tolerant woman and has crewed both of my 100's now. I'm guessing she mentally prepares herself for the abuse that she will endure when I race-it ain't pretty. I can be a little demanding. Josef Stalin or Adolf Hitler may come to mind.

Packet pick up, dinner, and briefing was a great time. Hawk swag is killer-love the pull-over the best. I will be proudly pimping that bad boy. I knew immediately upon arrival that this race crew, vols, and runners were right up my alley. Everyone was chill, laughing, and mowing down some brilliantly prepared food. Briefing was quick and painless and we were soon heading back to a warm car (damn it was cold) and off to the hotel to gear up for the adventure that awaited me. I am pretty strategic in race planning, including pre-race scheduling. I got everything knocked out as planned and before I knew it race morning announced itself with a cool 37 degrees. I have to admit, I chuckled when I read that temp. I executed my pre-race morning ritual, grabbed my gear, and jetted to the start line.

Easy parking and pre-race demands were simplistic and ideal. As usual, I went through my last minute preps and was lined up ready to rock minutes before 6:00 a.m. Surrounded by my fellow runners and new friends, soaking in the excitement, and rehearsing my game plan in my head is a solid memory. Adrenaline choked out any injury and under-training frustration, cold, and lack of confidence. I was ready to rock.

The RD gave us the word and off we went. Knowing I would be surrounded by 50-milers and experienced 100-milers, I positioned myself mid-pack in the lead group to try and set an early stride. Great people, good convo, and lots of laughs. After a couple miles I decided to make an early pass so I could get comfortable in a pace that was more familiar to me. I announced my pass and was graciously allowed to set the lead. This provided a little better sighting for me as well. I don't follow well; I like to see a bit further in front of me instead of a few feet of trail and the back of someone Hokas. Plus, I had to pee already and wanted to jet ahead so I could drop my drawers mid-trail solo (you're welcome). It's all good, it's an ultra thing.

The course was beautiful. My headlamp welcomed me to a world that I have grown to love. It was a great mix of technical trail, rooty/rocky areas, and overall majestic terrain. The rising sun illuminated parts of the trail that looked like scenes from Avatar. I was constantly reminded by why I love trail running when the single beam of light from my headlamp revealed glowing eyes that disappeared in seconds, trees that mimicked works of art, rocks that warned and welcomed me at the same time, and the occasional lone spider owning his territory. It was incredible, still, and quiet. I didn't realize it immediately, but soon discovered that I was completely alone and I was totally ok with that.

I was greeted with smile and enthusiastic volunteers at each and every aid station, at every lap. Cheers to the amazing volunteers that were beyond supportive and helpful. I feel it's extremely important to work a race if you are a runner. You learn the importance of the demands and respect the work. Clearly these volunteers were all there for the right reasons and I am incredibly grateful and appreciative.

Running the section next to the lake was incredible. It was a challenging section that demanding a sharp eye and a slowed pace. I thoroughly enjoyed the challenge but even more so soaked in the views. Sunrise and a foggy lake is a partnership made in Heaven. I took a minute in an open section to stop and admire. Immediately I was humbled and felt honored to be given the abilities that I had to earn this view.

Refreshed and renewed I pressed on solo in my lap 1 of my journey. As the sun rose and I was able to see more of the technical components and hazards on the course I experienced a bit of a setback. My recent fall that left me bloody, temporarily without vision/hearing, broken ribs, and a mess of other injuries immediately popped back into my mind. It came out of nowhere and completely immobilized me. Technical components of the course were magnified and seemed to personally challenge me even more. I had noticed a little PTSD during training runs shortly after my Voyageur fall but always seemed to work through it ok. I'm guessing since I wasn't on familiar turf and had no clue where the hell I even was, my anxieties were exaggerated. This plagued me throughout the race, even forcing me to walk down several rocky hills and rooty crossings. I will work though this, that's for damn sure. That was an instant self-discovery moment for me. I have always considered myself mentally tough and determined-able to work through physical pain and exhaustion. However, it's clear that some things in my life I need address more thoroughly and avoid the "band-aid approach" to seek out and acquire resolution, not just temporary contentment. Lesson learned, thank you rocks.

Returning to start/finish and successfully completely the first 25 was rewarding. Lots of love rolling into the aid station and my crew-of-one was a welcoming experience. A short regroup and gear up and I shot off for the next 'almost marathon'. Kicking off the second lap of any race is pretty strategic for me. I analyzed my nutrition plan, hydration, injuries, and mindset in comparison to the course I just learned and make necessary modifications. There were a few minor changes I had planned to make on lap two, but still significant. The changing time of day and higher sun introduced a whole new course. This heightened my mood and focused in my drive. Great times. There were a few interesting experiences on this lap that made me smile more than usual. Deer were bountiful. At one point, two does ran parallel to the trail. I leaped a bit, mimicking their movement and laughing at myself a bit for doing so. They were like sisters for a few seconds and I felt completely accepted. More nature made its presence known on lap 2. I was making my way down a steep section, heavily wooded when I heard a "snap" (pretty common so not an earth-shattering epiphany) and then something rather heavy hit the back of my shoulder. I turned for a second and what I saw demanded a double take. Apparently a friggin squirrel fell from a breaking branch and I was the lucky target. You don't see that every day. It did a Greg Louganis tuck and scampered off to another tree-clearly needed its own self-reflection. I named him Rocky.

Finishing up the first 50 miles felt pretty damn good so I jokingly asked for a beer. Well, apparently you get what you ask for at the Hawk Hundred. I was presented with a cold PBR so I did what any self-respecting ultrarunner would do and pounded it. I didn't slam it all-duh, I have 50 more miles to go-but it was so cold and refreshing that I definitely considered it. Bad ass volunteers at Hawk. Rock on.

Shortly after taking off for lap 3 my pacer arrived. I was blessed with a great pacer and overall awesome dude to run with. Being an experienced runner himself, I felt no need to have to justify anything I was doing or didn’t do. Pee stops were unexpected and frequent and he respectfully turned away as I dropped my britches mid-trail. He pushed me when I needed it, acknowledge my solid running sets when they occurred, and enhanced the run tremendously.

I was extremely lucky that he decided to take on the final lap with me. We were running pretty solid (for the mileage..) when I hit a rock on a hard landing and rolled my ankle a bit. Immediately I knew that something went seriously wrong, but I cranked up my music and tried to drown out the pain. We were about 80 miles in; no friggin way was I going to bail with just a short 20 ahead of us. Death before DNF. As much as I tried to avoid it, my body was winning the battle. My running turned into hobbling and limping. I was sidestepping descents and attacking inclines like a friggin wuss. I was not loving life. I think I cursed more that day the Hawkeye fans that lost to Iowa State. Needless to say, I was NOT a happy camper and my poor pacer endured all of it.  

That final lap was a true test of mental fortitude. Physically I was a mess. The pain from my ankle was getting me nauseous, making the thought of eating unbearable. My nutrition plan was shot to hell and my calorie deficit was growing by the mile. This affected everything, including my cardio. I found myself winded and having to stop to catch my breath after simple hills. I have never experienced anything like that before so it was enlightening, educational, and frustrating all at the same time. Looking back I'm glad that I had the experience for the nutrition vs. performance lesson, but mid-experience I felt like absolute ass. Encouraged by my pacer and my own determination and stubbornness, we pressed on. The lap was hours slower than I ever would have imagined and we felt every minute. Occasionally I would get really pissed off and kick out a couple solid mile segments but they were few and far between.

Seeing the last few sections that marked the nearing end of the last lap was motivating. As much as I loved the run, the pain was getting intolerable and I was ready to hang up the shoes for the day. We both celebrated as the Finish aid station lights lit up the sky. Apparently I took off like a bat outta hell (according to my pacer..ha!) when we were almost there. I remember nothing about that moment and feel a little bad if I bailed on the dude that pulled me through those final hours of purgatory.

Reaching the finish line was pretty sweet. We were greeted with cheers and hugs. I was a bit emotional-physically exhausted and drained by poor calorie intake, mentally beat from trying to convince myself to run (hobble) through the pain, yet overwhelmed by the accomplishment that overshadowed all those demons. It was done. I had just ran 100 miles and set a new PR. The masochist in me was cursing my time and reminding me how much faster I would have been if I wouldn't have injured myself, if I would have executed my nutrition plan properly, or if I had blasted Alice In Chains louder. It was a complex moment, but I refuse to concentrate on anything other than I just knocked out 100 miles of something that I love. I will not look at my course split stats because I know that last lap specifically will just piss me off and overshadow a memory that is otherwise amazing. I'm a tad hard on myself.

It wasn't until a few minutes afterwards that I realized that I actually was first female and it wasn't until hours later that I learned I set the new female course record for the Hawk Hundred. I am absolutely honored and humbled at these accomplishments but they are merely just icing on the cake next to the joy of the experience. I took so much away from Hawk-race execution, nutrition education, pain tolerance, and most importantly-new friends, accomplishment, and reinforcement that hard work and mental toughness trumps even the most grueling challenges.

Dean Karnazes sums it up more eloquently than I: “Struggling and suffering are the essence of a life worth living. If you're not pushing yourself beyond the comfort zone, if you're not demanding more from yourself - expanding and learning as you go - you're choosing a numb existence. You're denying yourself an extraordinary trip.” Well said…sounds like a plan. You in?