Once upon a time on a random evening after a good run
I finally made a commitment: sign up for my first 100-miler. My own personal
desire to take on this bad boy was fueled by the race that I chose: the
Potawatomi Trail 100 in Pekin, Illinois. My initial reason for taking on a spring
race was because I wanted an early season race. My thoughts behind this were
this: I wanted to learn about what it takes to take on 100 miles so I could
dominate a race of the same caliber later in the year. April sounded good.
Second, it had to be close by for time and financial purposes. Third, I wanted
it to be 100% trail, hilly, and unforgiving. This is basically because I didn't
want to attempt an 'easy' 100. I wanted to feel the full force of a century
monster and I wanted no mercy. I'm sick, I know. All signs pointed to the
Pot100 so I jumped on board, blindly..naive…but excited as hell. Reading through the course description and
skimming through the website was very encouraging and I basically decided that
I might as well just go for it. Life's too short to talk big-I'm all about
action (check my references). Contemplating logistics lead to me really not
having any excuse-legitimate excuses-not to suck it up and commit. So I did.
With a simple finger stroke it was done. Clicking on "complete
registration" reminded me of the anxiety, excitement, and feelings of
obliviousness as when I jumped onboard for Ironman Wisconsin. Oh snap; this is
legit. No turning back..only moving forward. BRING IT.
I've experienced so winning moments from a single move
of a digit, but this moment was epic. "Click"…committed..Instant urge
to hit the bathroom. Jumping onboard to this challenge awakened the drive and
focus that I have learned fuels a big part of me. However, ultra is still very
new for me-only been cranking out distance running since October so I felt like
a Smurf in the land of Giants. Lucky for me, I like blue.
As expected, strategizing and research began almost immediately.
I started asking my ultra friends a lot of questions, reading up on
nutrition/hydration, checking out gear, listening to podcasts and being entranced
by YouTube lectures featuring Scott Jurek (The Master), Michael Arnstein
(arrogant but skilled), Tim Olson (my hero: passionate runner), Sebastien (Goofball,
optimistic beast), Anton (stud, embraces the purity of the sport)..the list is
extensive. I learned a lot from hanging on every word from these amazing freaks
of nature. Surprisingly, almost more of my education came from the rookies in
the sport and my own established endurance training. As a veteran competitor, I've learned that
adapting to someone else's game plan will never be completely beneficial for
me. I take bits and pieces from my cohorts and resources, plug in what fits and
disregard the rest. I have never followed a 'basic' training plan, taper plan,
or nutrition guidelines and I'm learning more and more what works for me. For
Ironman, my strategies were simplistic, personal, and manageable. I decided
early on that strategizing my 100 mile ultra would be no different. If it ain't
broke…
So, I created my own training plan. It wasn't too
horrible, in my opinion--early week low mileage and two harsh, back-to-back
long runs to finish the week (..with quite a bit of crossing training to fill
my time and keep advancing). I wrote by calendar out for the months and weeks
leading up to race week, plotting specific mileage, hill work, sprint work, and
treadmill strength cross. As with any plan, it was unique to my needs, time
allowances, and ego. Because of winter was a clear gift from Satan himself, I
will freely admit that all but about 8 runs were treadmill. Seriously. This
terrified the hell outta me but I guess I am proof that the right kind of
treadmill training will pay off. It really wasn't that bad and am now very fond
of it. I find it idea for a variety of target workouts. With the horrible ice,
snow, and cold that plagued Iowa for months, the long runs were indoors. I do
not believe that risking injury on ice or crap conditions advance training and
endurance at all. All it does is scream "liability" to me. I fondly
recall my 40 mile long run on a treadmill as more mental than anything, but I
am so glad I did it and would do it again. Treadmill is great to practice form,
breathing and incline (hill) technique, mental fortitude, and ideal for
sampling different nutrition options during long runs. Seeing a friggin buffet
on the machine that I was owning for a few hours was a common sight at the Y. 'Check
My Brain'
The weekend before Pot, the weather finally
cooperated. So, naturally, I got out there and over killed two heavy back to
back days of 2 1/2-3 hours each with strong hill work. This is when I pulled
something in my hip flexor area. Long story short, taper week was not a joyous
occasion. I was terrified that I wasn't even going to be able to race due to
not being about to knock out 2 miles easy on the treadmill after I injured
myself. I cried, cursed, cried, cursed heaving until mid-week when I got
serious about therapy and got a killer (painfully amazing) massage. I followed
through with an intense resting, icing, and elevating routine. No running. I
suck at tapering and I hate it with every ounce of my being. Necessarily evil,
but still EVIL. Taper week is always hell for me. I get fat, bitchy, anxious,
and am hypersensitive about everything. I typically hibernate, cut off ties to
the world and feel sorry for myself--a self-admitted character flaw that my
friends and family have grown to accept. However, this time around it was
different. Thursday night I went out with some awesome people and finally made
it home after an eventful night of cocktails and rock music around 2 a.m. No
way in hell would I do that if I was prerace for triathlon, but ultra is a
whole new ballgame. I love ultrarunning..I love it like a fat kid loves cake.
Friday rolled around and I was blessed to drive to Pekin,
Illinois with loved loves and hook up with the rest of my support crew. A nice
relaxing evening, a Coors Light, and good conversation with great people put me
in a comfortable and relaxed state-possibly just completely naive to what I was
about to face. I went over last minute crew instructions and expectations, got
my gear laid out, and curled up for a decent rest with the help of Melatonin
and a little, motivating massage. I was excited, no doubt about that, but
totally felt the rookie humility associated with a virgin attempt at a 100 mile
adventure.
I typically beat the alarm clock race mornings and
this morning was no exception. I laid there in my hotel bed going through my
race plan and checking off the needs. The alarm sounded and it was the Kentucky
Derby; I was up and at it-enjoyed a Cliff bar and Ensure along with some
M&M's and gummy bears (the Breakfast of Champions) and geared up. Before I
knew it we were out the door and race bound. Driving to race sites is always
exciting. My senses are alive and seem to recognize every detail of my
environment. I remember sipping on Frost Gatorade and thinking that it felt
uncharacteristically sweet. I felt pretty good other than my tight hip flexor
and feeling like a fat ass. 72 hours of increased sodium and caloric intake
does not wear well on me. I felt like Fat Bastard from Austin Powers. I want my
baby back, baby back, baby back…ribs
Pulling into McNaughton Park shifted my thoughts from
my swelling body to the pure, undaunted splendor of the event. The sea of
headlights, headlamps, and reflective gear was beautiful-damn, these were my
kind of people. This is one of my favorite moments. Picasso himself couldn't have
awed me anymore than this sensational atmosphere. The tension was thick and was
easy to pick out the rooks from the vets. Nervous conversation, questioning of
sanity, gear checks and rechecks, prayers, and vulgarities filled the exquisite
pre-dawn air. It was dark but I knew this wasn't the first time I was going to
deal with this so I focused on slowing my breathing and using the fresh night
air to further awaken my senses and calm my racing mind. I continued to appear
chill, as usual, but distant (as usual). My mind replayed my game plan like a
CD stuck on 'repeat'. This is me, this is what I do. Before we knew it, the RD
gathered us for the pre-race chat, informing us that 'we will get wet' (the
water levels are high). My self-diagnosed ADD kicked in and I thought about the
rides at Disney World that warn "You may get wet, possibly soaked". I
smiled at this thought and then made a conscious decision to remain focused the
RD. I don't know why but the thought of running for a couple days in wet feet
excited me. I recalled the two sets of spare shoes and multiple socks that were
at my disposal and my mind was at ease. I'm good, I'm prepared. Last minute
goodbyes, a few pics, and all of a sudden I was standing at the Start/Finish
line. A lot went through my end in those few seconds-I thought about my
training, my injury, my strategy, my loved ones that were supporting me, and
then I thought about the garage door. I'm pretty sure I left it unlocked; oh
well.
Before I could finish reciting P4:13 the race started
and we were off. I restrained my
adrenaline and looked at the first downhill to kick off the day. It was fairly
technically and required you to jump side to side in some areas to avoid
breaking an ankle. I loved this race from the first 100 yards.
Course: Pot 100 is broken down into ten 10-mile loops.
This was excellent for strategy planning but not so great for those who didn't
have the mental fortitude to stick it out and avoid a quitting and calling it a
day. I don't blame anyone for their decision; I respect every athlete that took
this big dawg on. The first loop was all about learning the course and creating
a strategy to where I needed to open up my stride to stretch my legs and when I
needed to force myself to cut pace and reserve my energy. Luckily, I didn't
really have much of a choice on cutting pace--the hills owned me, they owned us
all. One was so significant the RD placed a rope to pull yourself up. I used it-
every time. I knew it was an opportunity to completely depend on arms, tri's and
biceps and give my legs a break. The water crossings were sick..in a bad ass
type of way. I thought there was only two, but due to higher side creeks I
think I got wet feet about 5 times a loop. I was unable to hurdle the smaller
ones because I couldn't hyperextend my left leg due to that damn tight hip
flexor. I knew that if I tried, I would have torn something for sure. That
would have resulted in a DNF which is not an option. Death before DNF.
With the first lap done I felt strong and supported by
my amazing, cheering crew and imperative volunteers, I pressed on. Apparently I
got too relaxed because I ended up running over a mile off course on lap two.
This was my fault; I was over thinking, over strategizing, and not paying
attention to the little orange flags. I lost about 15 minutes on lap two and
this stressed me out. I wasn't prepared for that type of mental challenge and
it dominated my confidence for a significant period of time. Cranking my way
back to the start/finish to begin lap 3, I was clearly distressed. My crew
tried to give me nutrition and hydration but I snapped at them, got a little
demanding and announced that I needed to get my ass in gear to make up for lost
time. Fortunately a pacer joined me on the next lap and calmed my nerves
completely. It was exactly what I needed. For the first time in a few hours, I
was able to take a little pressure off myself and enjoy the run. I was reminded
of form, encouraged to hydrate and chow on a few delicious gummy bears, and
take in the experience. I'm pretty sure this lap set the pace for the rest of
my race. I was joined by another pacer for the first mile of a few laps. This
was such a blessing. Starting off a fresh lap knowing that I had 10 miles of
hell hills, water crossings, varying temperatures, and solitude ahead of me was
not fun. But, having someone with me for this start of the course was a life
saver.
Laps 4, 5, 6 were all strong. One of my goals was to
try and remain consistent in my pace when I could. After all, I had no
expectations of a decent finish time..I just wanted to finish (well..something
like that). Laps 7 and 8 were uneventful. I was joined by another pacer for a
strong 9 miles of a course that did wonders to my spirits and provided a good
distraction to a few painful blisters that started popping one by one. For a
short time, I considered stopping to get my feet tapped up and change my socks
or shoes. But, in my mind, that time deficit wasn't worth the pain. So, I kept
going and eventually learned to manage the pain. Mental strength is a powerful
thing. My quads were getting fried but I was amazed how strong I felt. I kept
waiting to hit "the wall" or feel the bonk coming on but it never
came. I just kept running. "JFR", right? I passed several people who
cheered me on and seemed to push me even more. At this point, I starting
looking at my watch and doing the math…holy balls, I could win this and I may
even touch the record. True to my personality, the competitive drive overtook
any pain, doubt, or fear that had crept into my mind over the last 18 or 19
hours. I wanted this and I was going to finish and in true Steph style.
The last lap was emotional. As with all my races, my
mom was there, wishing me well and giving me the hope that I needed. She will
probably never understand how important that moment was and I will never forget
it. It was close to 1:30 a.m. and I had 10 hard miles to go to complete my 100
mile finish. My mind was mush but I still managed to figure out that I could
pretty much walk this lap and possibly still take the record. So, I didn't push
it. My quads were pretty deal that I literally inched my way in crossbacks down
the many steep declines. For the inclines, I used my hand to literally push my
thighs down to keep them from wobbling and keep moving forward. I teared up a
couple times, but not from pain. I couldn't believe it; I had no idea that my
potential is not limited by 100 miles. Where is the limit? I intend to find
out.
Ultra is not a glamorous sport. Public urination, snot
rocket launches, aid station food hanging out of your mouth, sodium-crusted
profiles, and dudes stained from bleeding nipples are just a few of the norms. Halfway
through the last lap, as with 4 other times before, I had the sudden urge to
pee. And, as before, I stopped in the middle of the trail and dropped my
shorts. However, because my quads were so shot, I wasn't able to really
squat…so I just went. I didn't realize how bad of an idea this was until it was
too late. Unknowingly, I had A LOT of chaffing issues around that general
vicinity and salt-filled urine was like an electric shock. Cursing my own
stupidity (out loud..everything was out loud at this point), I finished, pulled
up my shorts and tried to walk. This just expanded the area of pain and I
actually yelped a little. Unfortunately I was about 4 miles from water crossing
so I just had to suck it up. It was cold, very cold..and stopping and feeling
sorry for myself was not an option. My teeth chattered a bit and pressed on,
whimpering and laughing at myself the entire time. I'm sure it was a truly
attractive site.
Major landmarks on the course that I had seen 9 other
times were like beams of light. I talked to them. There was a huge rock before
the rope hill; I said "What up cracker" almost every time. Another section
included a very steep downhill that seemed almost a liability to the course (I
see now why we signed waivers). I said "Seriously??" every damn time
I laughed in the face of death on the bad boy. The water crossings were a
welcomed sight the last 40 miles. My calves were instantly refreshed with the
cold, spring water each time I crossed. I loved it-poor man's ice bath. Finally, Golf Hill, the last major hill before
the finish was right in front of me. As in the final 400 yards of Ironman
Wisconsin, I got immediately miserable. I didn't want it to end. I loved this experience.
I loved pushing myself and feeling a sense of drive that pushed me through pain
and exhaustion. I loved knowing that I am out in the woods doing something that
most people will never understand. I loved feeling the since of belonging with
likeminded athletes. I loved the feeling of control over a life that I feel
like I have lost control over. Everything about this ultra overwhelmed me at
that moment when I was creeping my way up the hill. I tried to bask in the idea
that I was just accomplished a major feat, but I couldn't get past the sorrow
that it was almost over. Then, at about 4:30 a.m., I saw the finish line lined
with tents, a couple spectators, and my loved ones. Immediately I smiled, instantly
I was able to enjoy the moment and forget the sorrow. I ran towards them,
soaking it all in, feeling amazing. I had done it. I had ran 100 f#$%ing miles.
I ran into their arms and was so overwhelmed I was almost speechless. I felt emotion
building up inside of me and had to break away from their embrace momentarily
to control it. I can't describe that moment accurately. I learned a lot that
day about myself, my potential, and one more thing…I’m addicted to ultra and I
will run another 100.
Final official time: 22hrs 34 minutes 18 seconds. This was good enough to give me
1st place Overall Female, new Female
course record holder, 3rd place Overall (male and female) for the race, and
10th fastest time in recorded race history (male and female). I am
overwhelmed, humbled, and grateful. This could not have been accomplished
without my amazing friends and family, incredible race, awesome fellow runners,
and bad ass volunteers. KUDOS.
Year-to-date
ULTRA results (official races, other ultra 'fun runs' not listed):
4/5/14:
Potawatomi 100 Trail Race, 22:34 1st
Place overall female, Course Record
3/15/14:
Hawkeye 50k, 4:32 1st Place overall
female
10/26/13:
Surf the Murph 50 mile, 8:45 2nd
Place overall female, 1st place AG
10/12/13:
Running Village 50k 4:30 2nd Place
overall female, 1st place AG
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