It was no
secret going to RR100 that I was not a happy camper. A little over a month
before the glorious countdown to the start of Rocky I re-aggravated an angry
hip flexor tear and happened to add to the pain by tossing in a small adductor
tear as well. Running was not an option for a couple weeks and my typical
focused, ‘hunter’ mentality was shot to hell. Life was not pleasant for me and
the people close to me leading up to the race. As usual, I found myself a
recluse, unintentionally cutting out socializing with friends and avoiding
situations where I actually had to contribute to life: notable character flaw,
I totally own that. Several of my friends who know this about me recognized my
psychotic downslide and tried to make me laugh, kept their distance, or both. I
appreciate these people for not calling it as it was and telling me to kiss off
permanently. Those are my kind of peeps and even though it wasn’t readily
apparent, I am grateful as hell for them in my life and am inspired by their
tolerance and understanding.
My daughter
is a trooper and deserves a humanitarian award for dealing with my bipolar,
rollercoaster as well. Most of my efforts on not being a total bitch were
focused on her and I feel I did a fairly acceptable job. Her comments like “I
can see you haven’t had a run in a while” and “you need just need to work out,
or a coffee” were reality checks and comic relief. I think I needed both. I
have a wise 11 ½ year old who is blessed with more patience than I have.
Planning
for RR100 had begun a couple months prior. I was stoked to lock in my homeslice
and Hawk pacer, Keith. Keith and his better half (my sister wife), Holly, were
key in keeping my spirits high and perspective optimistic during the influx of
doubts and insecurities. Good people-they’ve got a friend for life in my book.
It’s rare that I you find people that you can vent to, be inspired by, and
even tell stories about pooping in garbage cans to without being judged. I
probably shouldn’t have sent that picture however. My bad.
Nearing the
race, my selfishness diminished slightly and it became very clear that I may
not even make it to the start and Keith’s flight was already booked so I
encouraged him to sign up and snag a buckle himself. Convincing him to run for
HIM and not me was like trying to steal cake from a fat kid-not easy, damn near
impossible. I never once doubted his motives and he always was focused on my
best interest. Luckily, he was able to see ‘reason’ and didn’t completely blow
off the idea of running if I ABSOLUTELY knew I wasn’t going to take Rocky on.
There aren’t too many athletes that can sign up last minute for a competitive
100 miler but my bad ass pacer is one of those beasts that can. My pacer is
better than your pacer..so let that marinate for a bit. BAM.
Weeks out
to the race turned into days out and I was like an emotional little girl that was too short to ride the
rollercoaster. I hated that. I wanted to run so badly but every time I put a
foot on the treadmill or tried to run the track, I was reminded that my body
was not approving. I cross-trained, took up pool running, added more biking,
and the dominated the Cybex at the Y. I had good days and bad days and was
floored how one day I could actually run up stairs and feel fine and how the
next day walking to the pool felt like pain inflicted at a Nazi death camp.
Massage therapy, Epsom salt baths, stretching, natural anti-inflammatory
supplements and prescription meds were all a part of my normal routine as well
as was cursing my leg, weeping like a Kansas fan, and falling in and out of an
abyss of self-pity and self-defeating tunnel vision. Cutting out cocktails for a
couple months and then caffeine leading up to race week was just an added joy
(sarcasm).
Before I
knew it, I was driving to the airport wearing two compression sleeves, KT tape,
and a leg brace -still having no clue whatsoever if I was going to attempt this
100 mile race. Not ideal.
As with my
prior two hundred milers in the last 10 months, my mom was crew chief and
therapist. She’s awesome. I couldn’t ask for better help. Period. It was good
to see her and I wanted to make her proud. I wanted to make the rest of my
family and close friends proud. I felt the self-imposed pressure of knowing
that if I nut up and attempt this race, that I have some standards to live up
to. Realistically, I know this is ridiculous but it did influence my anxiety
level and psychosis on various levels. And then there was the highly likely
possibility of a DNF. “Death before DNF” has been motto thus far and it’s been
tested a couple times…another character flaw. Over the last year of rookie
ultrarunning, I definitely had made a few questionable decisions about
finishing a race when faced with injury. Concussions, bleeding from the ear,
temporary vision loss, and a rolodex of crap isn’t really promoted in the
magazines. Sadly this stupidity continues to be fed, basically because I
haven’t died yet. Anyways, I like to see things through which means if I start
something, I going to squeeze the life out of every morsel of potential to
finish the job. That is who I am and I make no apologies for it whether it be
ultrarunning, triathlon, relationships, or a container of vodka-soaked gummy
bears.
I am
envious of those who have a better grasp on pulling the plug when needed. I
have not been blessed with the wisdom of throwing in the towel when it makes
sense medically. Or, maybe this..Maybe I have been blessed with the insight
that we can progress against the odds of human understanding and still be
successful. Hmm? Oh snap. It’s no secret that I preach the fact (I repeat:
FACT) that the human body has so much untapped potential and many people will
never see it. Scores of people have no interest in pushing themselves whether
it be physically, mentally, or emotionally. Comfort zones are like your
favorite hoodie: they feel awesome…and if you put up the hood, pull the
drawstrings tight, you can’t see anything beyond the fuzz in your face-Blinded
by comfort and complacency. This is probably one of the biggest unfortunate
realities experienced daily by the human species and it makes me sad and angry.
Years will scroll by and opportunities for greatness will be bypassed without
recognition. Physical health will suffer for those who don’t feel they have
what it takes to make nutritional and lifestyle changes to ward off those extra
pounds and, in turn, possibly avoid preventable diseases. For others, they may
go in and out of relationships, running when conflict or discomfort arises,
self-medicating or seeking immediate gratification and projecting unrealistic
expectations.. and yet they will never truly find lasting happiness. The list
of missed opportunities is extensive and growing as people refuse to ask “what
is my limit to my potential?” and fail to acknowledge that they have the balls,
and have always had the balls, to actually do something about. But, I digress..
Clearly I
look at my ridiculous distaste for the DNF or DNS (Did not start) as a
beneficial character trait, versus flaw-even though my doctor, loved ones, and
certain body parts my contest that. Remember the He-Man cartoons? Random
thought: He-man was ripped but I bet he can’t run a sub-8 marathon. Some assets
are obvious, but occasionally these assets mask short-comings.
Life
sculpting experiences have emerged my insane dedication to my goals and noted
perspective, and I am grateful for that. I am encouraged by some great friends
that understand this and have unfriended a few that preach against it. Sure,
tell me your opinion, I respect that; however, don’t disrespect my passion
because you don’t understand. Ignorance can be offensive and opinions/people
are disposable in my book.
Attending
Rocky packet pick up in Huntsville was bittersweet but proved to be critical to
my decision-making and insight. The event was well-organized and reeked of
glorious, eager ultrarunners and badassness (new word-credit S. Whitmore). It
was splendid to greet friends and make new ones. I will always welcome these
beasts into my life and will genuinely support this community. I looked around
and was immediately reminded on why I was there. It wasn’t about the painful
triple digit mileage that loomed in the horizon, it wasn’t the buckle or the
delicious aid station food, it was the entire experience. Being surrounded by
these like-minded maniacs fueled and challenged me to take a good look at my
motives, separate my ego, and live for the day I was blessed with.
Sitting in
the car after trail briefing was monumental. I took everything in, weighed the
possibilities of actually starting and completing the race and then decided
that it doesn’t matter. I will gladly DNF before DNS. I wouldn’t know unless I
tried and if I chose to play it safe I wouldn’t be any better than the majority
of the population that failed to look beyond their favorite hoodie. Medically
there was risk-no doubt about that, but the emotional and spiritual gamble
outweighed it. Right or wrong, that’s how I roll. I had to trust my training,
knowing that even though I was 189 miles behind my self-authored training plan,
and placed faith in the fact that I had been working on strengthening the
muscles and tendons around my injuries that may…that should…at least give me a
fighting chance for completion. I embraced the possibility of DNF and chose to
focus on the minutes or miles that the ultragods allowed rather than what I may
be denied. My passion for ultra finally trumped my ego and it felt friggin
fabulous. I won’t go back to that mindset. #SayGoodbyeDon’tFollow
Race
morning rolled around and was stoked to learn that Keith was able to sign up
and take on Rocky 100 solo. This took a huge weight off my shoulders and I felt
that it was the best option and use of his time, interest, and skill to earn a
buckle instead of the impending possibility that I may not even make it to
mile 60 when pacers were allowed to finally lace up. I proceeded with my
typical race morning routine and lined up blindly with friends and a couple of
hundred soon-to-be running comrades.
Nothing is
more exciting than the RD shouting down the countdown to start. I may have
pee’d a little. Regardless this warmth (or energy) encouraged a bit of
adrenaline that suffocated out any pain for the time being and I started off
the race feeling great. As with any mass start, jogging and walking was the
only option in the beginning due to population of Rocky runners jockeying for
position. I can be kinda bitchy about this and don’t like to be restricted, so
in true Steph-fashion I almost immediately bailed on my start run crew and
hurdled a few bushes to trudge to some open trail in the front. This always
puts be with a few elites which is a comfort to me. Running with these trail
masters is humbling, educational, and inspiring. Great conversations graduated
to laughs and even a marriage proposal. I said yes but then became slightly
gassy and may have scared off my chance for matrimony. Damn, I liked his socks.
Before I
knew it I had locked in a great pace and was maneuvering myself through the
rooty, winding trail guided by adrenaline and my headlamp. It was beautiful,
magical, and painless for the first 20-25 miles. I was afraid to internally
celebrate this because I just waiting for the next stride to drop me in my
tracks.
Physical
limitations are real and I was reminded. Due to some serious tightness and teasings
of pain around my injuries that was starting to emerge, I shortened my stride a
bit-taking more steps to cover the same amount of distance. This is VERY hard
for me. I naturally have longer stride and cutting it meant slowing a bit and
exerting more effort unnecessarily-not ideal for a 100 mile endurance run. But,
I was “listening to my body” and its orders were clear. Thank you sir, may I
have another.
Naturally
changing run form encouraged over-exertion on opposing compensating muscles. I
knew this was coming. My focus shifted from dodging trail roots to trying to
relax muscles mid-run that were tiring quickly. This processing bit me in the
ass when I lost a little visual focus and landed hard on one of bazillion roots
that signified Rocky’s reputation. I rolled my right ankle a bit, cursed, and
pressed out without missing stride. This immediately changed my game plan,
knowing that within the next 15-20 minutes I was going to have to stop and
tighten my shoe to keep the swelling from taking me out of the race completely
(little trick I learned from Hawk Hundred). I schedule this into my next aid
station stop which called for Ramen noodles, HEED refill, and a handful of
M&Ms…I added Aleve to this menu as well and kept moving, beast mode.
Hawk also
educated me on what a ‘bonk’ feels like and I had an immediate flashback. An
excruciating injury at that race destroyed my appetite and my calorie deceit
became too extreme to support my demands. I bonked hard at Hawk and I wasn’t
going to have a repeat performance. I recalled this lesson learned and I forced in the calories, despite the clear
disinterest in food and never struggled nutritionally throughout the entire
race. Nutrition is key people; do what you have to do regardless if it's
appealing or not, or don’t run 100’s.
It’s that simple.
I was
amazed that lap and lap was passing at Rocky. Being undertrained, I knew my
time goal was not going to be realistic so I focused on completion. The rugged,
yet epic, course took a definite toll on my injured ankle, flexor/adductor, and
spirit but I was determined to not be defeated. I set out an early push to give
myself a cushion just in case the inevitable happened and I had to walk. I’m
not a walker; hate it, even when I know that it’s part of my game plan on
hills/scheduled sections of the course. My walking mimicked more limping than anything and ripped
my heart out when I had to put my head down and allow racers to pass. I was one
angry bitch for several hours, walking about 35 miles or more. I resorted to
music to try and keep spirits manageable but some of the songs encouraged more
rage than contentment. Many comrade racers passed and offered condolences and
kind words. I tried to respond but definitely needed to improve in that area. I
was lacking grace on a major level. I focused on the beauty of the course
during this time, took out earbuds and listened to the toads and mysterious
sounds echoing through the Texas woods. Then my headlamp flickered…flickered
again, and then as if in protest to my journey, died. FML. For about a mile a
slid my feet along the path until I finally tagged the light of a fellow runner
until I got my spare at the aid station. Back at it, I focused on the task at
hand that seemed to be quite the tall order. I teared up and flat out
cried multiple times out of emotional exhaustion, pain, and joy randomly and I
was totally ok with it. Giving myself completely to this course meant not
holding anything back. I thought about what this truly meant in my life and how
I have held in thoughts, feelings, and emotions and how I have likely not
completely committed myself to other life situations as I had thought I had in
the past. I vowed to just ‘let it out’ in future occurrences. I thought about
many people that I cared about as well as a few that I had unresolved issues
with and was blessed with a very interesting experience. I noticed that every
time I got too caught up in negative thoughts or recalling situations with
pessimistic people or those who have screwed me over, I would stub my toe on a
goddamn root. Seriously…It got to the point that it was almost comical when it
happened and immediately shook me back to more positive thoughts. Apparently I
wasn’t completely successful because I ended up losing a toenail. Regardless:
lesson learned. #brain=checked.
The final
two laps were full of gut checks and inspiration. My body was spent and my
injuries were screaming at me. It was a David and Goliath moment when I dug
deep and ran on all I had left: dedication, belief in myself, and heart. These
three aspects took me through the pain, gave me direction, and directly
resulted in crossing that finish line, sub-24 and second in my division. It was
definitely not the time that I had hoped for and trained for pre-injury..not
even close, but the victory was sweet.
If I would
have DNS’ed, there would have been so much that I wouldn’t have experienced and
learned. Pain wasn’t my tutor, but it was definitely in the lesson plan.
Pulling out a completion and my 3rd buckle in about 10 months of my rookie
ultrarunning career felt sick, in an amazing way. I’ll take that. Hell, I’m
proud of that. And for those who look at my finish time and are unimpressed:
rock on, I couldn’t care less. My ego no longer has a stronghold on my feelings
of accomplishments. I look at my shortcomings as opportunities for redemption
and improvement. I will have another day in the sun and you’d better believe
that I’m going to make the best out of it. That’s what is awesome about life,
the sun rises and shines on countless opportunities for taking steps forward
and healing old wounds. It’s up to us if we lace up and join the race (knowing
there may be a possible DNF) or if we lay on the couch in that incredibly
comfortable, pizza-stained hoodie and pull those drawstrings. Choice is an
amazingly empowering thing..and also a great responsibility.
Thanks
Rocky. Thank you to my fellow runners, RDs, volunteers (that pumpkin pie
was fab), crew, friends, family, and doubters. Thank you to the root the
claimed my toenail and shifted my focus from negative thoughts to tomorrow’s
sunrise.
Time to
start planning the next one…
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