Note found on race morning next to my running shoes
I was coming into this race at only a moderate level of fitness due to an inflamed IT band which occurred at the Devil's Lake 50k in early July. I took 7 days off after the race, then ran baby 2-3 milers in week 2. At the end of week 3 I finally got in a moderate distance run of 11 miles out on the South Farms, and followed that up a few days later with a repeat 11 miler. By that time Howl was less than a week away, so the remaining runs were short and easy. Not exactly a recipe for success for an 8 hour run, but I was already registered, and I had been looking forward to this race for over 6 months. I worked diligently on my IT band in the weeks leading up to it, rolling the leg daily, sometimes an hour per session. I created a new strength exercise for the knee, which entails standing on one leg and balancing in various poses, like the people I sometimes see in the park doing Tai Chi. It not only seemed to help the knee weakness caused by the tight IT band, but it relaxed me and created a stronger sense of leg balance.
This week I found myself doubting the soundness of my judgment. A gimpy knee and low fitness level did not sound promising, and the weather forecast predicted a heat advisory of mid 90's and humid, creating an effect of 105 degrees. What was I getting myself into?
The night before the race I had an inspirational running dream. I was running up and down a beautiful grassy summer hill with other runners. I was cranking out a good pace, and it occurred to me after several miles - "hey, my knee seems fine, no pain!". I woke up smiling, breathing heavy, the dream still vivid with detail.
I arrived at Kennekuk Park at 6:30am, checked in, and walked around for 15 minutes. I shook my legs out and they felt to be in average condition, nothing great.
The race director mentioned Scott Hathaway, who died 2 years ago while running the Howl. The Kennekuk Running Club placed a wooden memorial placed on the course to honor Scott. Supposedly if you touched the memorial as you ran by it on each loop it would bring good luck. Not usually superstitious, I felt if any day qualified for needing a bit of running luck, this would be it.
Expecting a scorcher, the weather was pleasant and somewhat cool and breezy at 7:00am, and since we had been having mild summer weather for the past month, I thought maybe the heat advisory was inaccurate.
As I stood waiting to start at the back of the pack, I tried my best not to think of how many miles I wanted to run, or the time I was to spend on the course. I was in a good frame of mind - just run, enjoy it, and see what happens. Soon 270 racers were off and running/walking.
I started conservatively, taking my time, not feeling rushed. How can one feel rushed in the first hour of an 8 hour running slugfest? Being a practitioner of Zen, I knew the folly of rushing around the course, so I took it easy, watching the trees, sky, and green summer landscape pass my eyes. There was no single track to navigate, so speeding and passing when I felt the urge was not a problem. I passed a few people I knew and said Hello. The course was mainly flat grass, dirt road, and one moderate hill about 100m in length - simpler than the Devil's Lake course.
I had decided to wear my minimalist Puma shoes, which look similar to the 1950's running shoes you see in grainy b/w videos on youtube - just a thin piece of rubber and some mesh/canvas siding. They weigh 3-4 ounces, and are comfortable on my feet. I did bring my trusty NB cross shoes as a backup, which have been excellent in long training runs and also at Devil's Lake.
There were 2 aid stations on the course, one at the start/finish area, and the other at mile 1.5 of the 3 mile loop. Each had a running water hose and salted potatoes, which pleased me.
The first 4-5 loops went by quickly, without much drama. I discovered that while I have above average speed for an ultra, I would morph into a turtle when at the aid stations - eating potatoes, grapes and pbj's, drinking water, soaking myself under the hose, walking 100m, and finishing off with some light stretching. Walkers which I had passed a quarter mile before the aid station were well past me by the time I had started running again. As the race progressed I decided that I did not want to alter my natural pace in the aid stations. It felt like a normal time to me, even though compared to others I was slow. When I did finally start to run again, I felt refreshed and could resume a solid pace with confidence and energy.
With the passing of each loop I continued to touch the wooden memorial. I knew my knee was eventually going to tighten up and cause me pain, and my best case scenario was to make it to mile 20 before having to deal with it. Maybe with the help of the memorial I could hold off the knee pain for just one more loop...
At the beginning of the 7th loop the bottom of my feet were starting to rub raw. This has happened to me only once before, when I was on a 3 hour hike this past spring. Once the soles start to burn it becomes too painful to move forward, and I was getting dangerously close with each passing step. I believed that if I could make it back to the car at the start/finish area and change into dry socks and the NB Cross shoes I could avoid a foot meltdown.
Around noon, about a half mile into my 8th loop, I saw Barry walking, so I decided to give my feet a break and walk a bit with him. I had changed my shoes and socks, soaked myself, and was now trying to stay cool in the noon heat. I noticed that Barry was slightly incoherent of his surroundings. I walked at his side for 20 steps before he realized there was someone next to him. When he saw me there was a long pause before he recognized who I was. Each time we spoke there were extended delays, as if our thoughts were stuck in a steaming, gooey mess. Barry mentioned that this was going to be his last loop. It was understandable, considering the heat. It was 92-94 degrees, sunny, humid, with a steady breeze. Thinking of having to run 3 more hours was intimidating, and I knew the best way to approach it was to go loop by loop, segment by segment, step by step. I decided to share this idea with Barry, suggesting to just take it one loop at a time. I bid him farewell and started to run again.
I was 25 miles into the race, 5 hours had gone by, and my knee had not yet started to hurt. Just as it had seemed incomprehensible that my knee would have begun hurting at mile 3 at Devil's Lake, I was just as stunned that my knee seemed fine today. During the few training runs I had done in the month leading up to the race, my knee had felt weak, wobbly, and insecure. But today it felt normal, even strong.
The thing that was bothering me were my legs. I still had 3 hours to run and my quads were trashed. This I could understand, as the lack of long runs leading up to this race had caused them to lose strength, and now I had to pay the debt. Like Barry, I did not think I could complete the full 8 hours. As I left Barry, I could barely lift my legs off the ground. The heat was falling upon me in heavy, almost visible waves. I decided that it was lame to stop running before 30 miles, so I was going to try my best to reach 10 loops. I was on loop 8, however, and was doubting my ability to even start loop 9. If my knee had been hurting I would have been in a big heap of hurt, but, it wasn't hurting! Even with my quads unable to function, and the intense heat, this felt easier than Devil's Lake - there, it was pain; here, it was merely discomfort. Muscle fatigue was a joy to endure compared to confronting a knee injury. All of these thoughts and images made me happy and confident that I would be able to endure, that I could complete 10 loops.
When I reached the half way aid station I soaked myself under the hose and ate the normal stuff, but found it difficult to begin running, so I walked instead. I was unsure if I would be able to run again - I was tired, overheated, feeling just awful. It did not occur to me that I had fallen into a deep valley of energy loss. When it happens during training runs my quads are not sore, so it is easy to identify as an energy loss. The discomfort in my quads and the raging heat had masked the energy loss, so I believed I was cooked for good, hearing the fat lady singing in the distance. Sensing doom, I forced myself to begin running, shuffling the final mile to finish off loop 8. I hobbled to my car which was parked in a baking, shadeless field of dry grass. I guzzled cool lemonade from my thermos, it hit my stomach just right! I reluctantly drank warm V8, which made me want to puke, but I needed the sodium and the nutrients. I downed a gel, ate a few blueberries, and then grabbed a deliciously ripe and cold kiwi as I started my way to the scorer's table.
At the completion of each loop I was required to check in with my personal scorer, who would mark the completed loop and make note if I was still on the course. My scorer had a great attitude, each time I passed through he would call out my name and offer encouragement. His friendliness boosted my spirits, and I was thankful that he had volunteered a day of his life to help out a bunch of crazy runners. While I was refueling at my car I had overheard a runner, one car over, talking on his cell phone - "yeah, this heat is too much, I'm calling it quits." A few runners were dropping out because of the mid-day heat, and as I approached my scorer he yelled out, "I got you, James, 8 loops completed. Are you going out for the 9th?" This was the first time he had asked if I was going to continue, and I thought a second or two, then replied halfheartedly, "yeah". I thanked him as I made my way to the aid station to eat salted potatoes and soak myself with water.
As I began the 9th loop, Brian Kuhn, a local ultra legend who has completed both Western States and Badwater, passed by and said hello. He was moving along at a good pace, and as he was passing I asked him how the heat compared to Badwater. He responded, but I missed his words, and he was already too far for me to ask him to repeat it.
I felt alright walking, and considered walking the entire loop. The thought of walking an hour to complete the loop was depressing. Running or walking, the heat was going to bake me, so I may as well try to run. Taking the first few steps were difficult, but it was easier after a few minutes. My pace was not fast, but the heat warning indicator signal had been activated - a tightening of my left chest muscles, which makes it difficult to breathe. This signal occurs when I am running in extreme temperatures, so I decided to walk again. The course was not as crowded as in the morning hours, and most people were walking. When I crossed the park road I saw an ambulance go by. It would not be the last time, as I heard or saw it 4 more times before the day was over.
I slogged my way to the finish of loop 9, and was unsure if I could continue. I had been moving at a slow pace for the last 5 miles, and I could only see things getting worse. When I reached my scorer he asked, "are you going out for another loop?" I paused, was about to say no, but instead said weakly, "yeah", and I hesitantly began the 10th time around the block.
Something clicked inside my head when I realized I had only 1 loop to go. I could not believe I had made it to #10, and it felt great that I was going to complete 30 miles in tough conditions. I started out running slowly, but things changed in a hurry. My legs had somehow recovered, the quads no longer sore. It was here that I realized I had been in a 75 minute energy lull, and had finally broken free of it. I was now running like I had during the morning hours - fresh, somewhat quick, with easy breathing. I heard another ambulance in the distance as I started passing runners, many of which were limping along. I heard positive comments as I passed, people telling me I looked good, that it was impressive to be running strong at this stage of the race. A little over 2 hours remained, and the heat felt good on my shoulders and face - I was thriving. I reached the halfway aid station, refueled, soaked myself, and continued running at a good pace. "Just a little ways to go", I thought over and over. Unbelievably, my knee was doing well - how I could run 30 miles without it once complaining was a mystery - thank you Scott Hathaway....
Before long I was on the 400m stretch of grass field which led to the scorers table. People were laid out in tents, sitting in collapsable reclining chairs, trying to remain cool. A few runners stretched out, trying to revitalize themselves. I was running fast, clean, and easy - amazing! People took notice and started cheering. One of the top runners, taking a break and drinking from his water bottle, clapped for me. I got to the scorer's table and slowed down to check in. I must have looked ambitious because my scorer, instead of asking if I was finished, instead said "way to go, James, your starting your 11th." That subtle nudge was all I needed, no way I was stopping now, on to the 11th!
I walked snappily to the aid table, feeling confident. Bonnie M. walked over with a smile on her face - "you look great!" she said. I laughed and said, "no way I look great at this stage of the race." I glanced at the clock, 1: 35 remained. I was not thinking clearly and wondered if I could finish one more loop. I asked Bonnie what she thought and she said yes, so I took off running. I was still amped on a supreme energy high, so kept a decent pace going. A mile into the loop I saw Barry again, he was walking with Bill. I decided to stop and walk with them. I was concerned about losing my energy and getting stiff, but I knew this was my last loop and I had plenty of time to reach the finish. Barry looked better than when I had seen him a few loops ago, we had both come out of our funk and were still on the course. I was on my 11th loop, Bill on his 10th, and Barry 9. We walked for a half mile together, talking pleasantly. When we left the half way aid station I decided to start running again. My energy had dropped a bit and I felt stiff, but I worked my way back to a decent pace.
I reached the end of the 11th loop with 55 minutes remaining. I told my scorer I was finished. I did not think I could complete 3 miles in 50 minutes. With 30 minutes to go everyone runs on a 1/4 mile out and back, so I had a 25 minute wait for that to begin.
I walked to the aid table and ate a potato, looking at the clock again. 53 minutes remained. It occurred to me that I was not thinking clearly - why couldn't I run 3 miles in 50 minutes? The only way I wouldn't is if I walked 2 of the 3 miles. A beautiful sense of stubbornness surfaced - staring straight into the face of the impossible, taking it on, ready for the fight of my life. I walked with a solemn determination back to my scorer. He looked up in surprise. I wanted to tell him, "fuck yeah, bring it on, I'm going to fight the impossible!", but instead said, "you know, you only live once. I'm going out for another 3 mile loop." A concerned lady standing nearby said, "you only have 50 minutes left." My scorer responded, "well, I already marked you down for finishing 11 loops, but I can change that. Good luck." I poured a cup of cold water on my head. I saw another runner getting ready to go out, and felt relieved I wasn't the only one. I overheard her talking to her scorer, she was the overall female leader and she going out on her 15th loop, closing in on 50 miles. My spirit awoke to an even greater challenge - if I could run with the female leader to the half way aid station, I would assure myself of finishing the 12th loop. Thinking back on this, it now seems absurd to believe I could hang with a runner who covered 47 miles in a little over 7 hours - her pace would blow me out of the water. But at that moment, nothing seemed impossible - I had contemplated dropping at loop 8, struggled through a challenging and soul-depleting loop 9, and rode an energy high through loops 10 and 11. Somehow I was still going, ready to take on loop 12, with the female leader, no less.
I walked over to her as we were getting ready to begin the final loop, and asked if she would mind me trailing behind her until the halfway aid station. She said no, but she wasn't going to talk much. She attached a wet sponge to her forehead as I replied, "ok, no talking. Good luck!" - and we were off down the trail running hard. I held her pace without much trouble. There were not many people on the course, and the ones remaining were walking or running slow. We passed many people, and it felt good to be running hard after 7 1/2 hours of constant movement. With a half mile to the aid station I was starting to get tired, and considered letting her go, but I wanted to fight the impossible, and refused to give up. "Only 1/2 mile", I thought, "I can hold on...I will hold on!" When I heard the distant music of the aid station I knew I had done it, and as we glided in I thanked her, saying, "I think I am going to make it." She agreed, saying, "you will!".
As usual, I took my time in the station, and knowing I had the 12th loop wrapped up, walked a bit before starting to run the last 1.5 miles. For some reason, 1.5 miles seemed like a long ways away. I wasn't bonking, but after having run 36 miles, it should have felt small. On my own now, I felt the heat more intensely and my tiredness began to make itself known once again. My legs were sore - it was back to reality.
When I arrived within sight of the scorer's table I felt like crying, but I didn't. It had been a long, difficult journey, and I had traveled further than my expectations. My knee had never hurt, I had managed to keep my body temperature in check, and I still had an appetite.
When I spoke with my scorer I discovered that I had run 39.48 miles. I knew the course loop was 3.29 miles in length, but when adding up the loops I always rounded down to 3 to make the math easy. I had forgotten that .29 miles can quickly add up with each passing loop. I erroneously believed I had run 36 miles, but instead was close to my original goal of 40.
10 minutes remained - if I could run one half mile out and back, I would reach 40. Without hydrating, eating, or pouring water over my head, I started running as hard as I could. When I reached the half way turn-around cones, I slowed down, knowing that I could walk the final 400m to reach 40 miles. When I checked in with my scorer one last time, I found I had run 39.98 miles - I had miscalculated by .02! Only 3 minutes remained, not enough time to run 800m. Everything was fine, though - I had expected to run 27, then 30, upped it to 33, had unexpectedly achieved 36, and with a math inaccuracy found that I had actually run 39.48. Running one more half mile got me that much further than I ever thought I could go.
It was a magical experience, so much extraordinary luck taken in one long, special day - similar to walking into a casino and continually placing all of one's money on a single number of a roulette table. Like the scene from Run Lola Run, where she begins with $100, and walks away with $100,000 - each time placing all of her money on the number 20, battling the impossible, and screamingly defeating it.
