50 Miles to Redemption II
The 3 weeks prior to the North Country Trail Run had been my best
training for 2009. No knee problems, plenty of energy, and my upper
body and leg strength was solid. It was almost as if I had been given a 3 week refresher on what being young feels like, minus the mental/emotional confusion.
The 6 hour drive north to Michigan gave me time to reflect on the
upcoming race - strategy, tactics, etc. I was not feeling nervous, but
this in turn made me hesitate - was I being irrationally overconfident
in my ability to cover the 50 mile distance?
Perhaps all of the 50 mile blog reports which I had read in the
weeks before the race had given me a false impression that it was a
common thing which anyone could do with a bit of preparation and luck.
Story after story of people moving up from the marathon distance -
after a few months of training, voila, a successfully completed 50
miler. Was it really as easy as they made it sound, or was this yet
another example of how reading books/blogs creates fictional realities
which exist only in my mind?
I recalled 2 books which I had read of the 1972 world chess
championship. Both books covered an interesting scene of a Fisher
blowup - one painting the chess genius as courteous and handsome, the
other describing him as a man-child with a wicked temper. Both were
correct, but if I had read only one of those books I would have had a
gross misrepresentation of the future champion.
So I read many 50 mile race reports, hoping to get an accurate feel
for what I was about to confront. I found myself disregarding the
stories which made the distance seem easy and a finish inevitable, for
surely this was not going to be true for me. I wanted to read
descriptions of epic meltdowns and brutal pain; laying on one's back
after a fall at mile 43, staring at a ruthless gray sky, crying aloud
in an awful animal-like angst. What was more inspiring, I wondered - a
gifted, handsome runner making a 7 hour finish seem easy, smiling and
waving at the camera while crossing into the chute; or a runner with
poor genetics and worse luck, having everything go wrong on race day,
yet still clinging to the belief that the deuce of clubs can, maybe
once, defeat the ace of spades.
In the hotel room the night before the race, I calmly prepared my
clothing, shoes, drop bags. I had been fretting about the 2 drop bags
for weeks, wondering what should be placed in each. I was unable to
make any final plans, wondering about my inability to make what seemed
like a simple series of decisions. But with time now running out, I
quickly placed the needed items in each bag, and moved onto more
interesting things.
The time had come to lay in bed, doing a bit of reading to stoke the
fire in my heart, followed by a slip into dream and sleep. I usually
read stories of running the night before a race, but I decided this
time to return to the source - Emerson. I opened a book of his Essays,
a copy printed in 1883, and found myself reading lines such as "Trust
thyself : every heart vibrates to that iron string." "Whoso would be a
man, must be a nonconformist." "There is a time in every man's
education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance;
that imitation is suicide." "What I must do is all that concerns me,
not what the people think. This rule, equally arduous in actual and in
intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction between
greatness and meanness."......
Standing around the Big M trail the next morning, 5 minutes before
the stampede, I was still calm and serene - truly a case of ignorance
being bliss. The race director was broadcasting music, and this was the
first time I had heard something other than Journey or Lynard Skynard
at race headquarters - it was the Fleet Foxes singing Ragged Wood!? That could be a portent of good things to come, I hoped.
A group of 225 runners, most running 26.2 miles, the rest doing 50,
moved forward into the great, silent light of morning - clear skies, no
wind, 45 degrees. To make the distance true, we ran across the parking
lot and down a paved road for 1oom, turned around at an orange cone, a
volunteer glibly telling us we were doing a great job. A minute later
we entered the soft, loamy single track, which we would not leave
throughout the day.
The hills began right away, and I had no intention of walking them.
It appeared that everyone else had the same plan, for we were all
motoring up and down, at what seemed a quick pace. The path did not
allow for easy passing, so everyone marched in line to the drum beat of
foolishly fast motion. The majority of the blogs I read have imparted
the conviction that the holy grail of running is being in possession of
the ability to start a race moderately while at the same time bursting
with energy, happiness, and love. The runners who cannot follow this
rule are the ones who have lapses in imagination - they cannot picture
what the future holds 2 hours hence.
Fortunately my imagination did not fail me on this morning, so I
began stepping aside to let runners pass 1 mile into the race. This
happened numerous times during the first 3-5 miles. I would hear
footsteps, turn around to see a group of runners hauling ass, then step
off the trail to let them pass. Because of all the starting and
stopping, I was having trouble finding an appropriate rhythm, and I
believed I was pushing too hard. I reminded myself that if I was lucky
I would still be running as the sun was setting, and I presently could
not yet see the sun because it had not risen above the tree line - it
was going to be a long day.
During this first 5 mile segment, other than pushing a bit too hard,
I noticed how good I felt. I was stepping quietly on the trail so that
I could not hear my feet grazing the ground. As I passed a runner he
said, "your too quiet." I knew he wasn't talking about my lack of
morning wit, so that made me feel good. I made sure to look closely at
the surrounding landscape, and was surprised how hilly it was. The
course description on the entry form ("The trail is a single-track
hiking trail with enough hills to make for a challenging race. There is
no high altitude to contend with, no rocks to jump over, and no stream
crossings to wade through, just a beautiful forest with a few roots to
remind you you’re not on pavement.") made me think there would be
25-35% hills. Why I thought this I don't know - perhaps if they would
have left out the part on what the course did not have, I would have
focused more on what it did have - a fair amount of hills, as in 70-80%.
The first aid station at mile 4 popped into view quicker than
expected. I recalled my first ultra at Farmdale, and how it seemed as
if an hour had passed before arriving at the aid table. So I was
already into the desired running trance, and as I headed to aid station
two 3 miles away I caught up with a man who seemed to be uncomfortable
with his form. When he noticed me behind him, he told me his stomach
was upset. We started a conversation and I found out this was his first
50 miler also. He was a 3:30 marathoner, so a little faster than me. He
asked if I had any time goals for the race. "If I'm having a good day
I'd be happy with 10 hours, but most likely I'll be finishing between
11-12." "Hey, I'm shooting for 10 also. We should run the race
together." This request/suggestion struck me as an unwise idea -
because of his stomach issues he was moving slower than I wanted to at
the moment, and later on he would probably want to go faster than my
pace. I learned a while ago that following another's pace, even in a
spirit of camaraderie, kills the race. Running slower than I should be
uses just as much energy as running too fast. I was uncertain how to
answer, so I didn't say anything. We ran along for about a half mile,
and when he started to walk a hill I decided it was time for me to move
ahead. We slapped hands as I passed, wished each other luck, and went
our own ways.
The single track was beautiful, the day was warming into the 60's,
and the forest was quiet and heavy with tree sap. I glimpsed the sun
rising into the tree line. I was not wearing a watch, so the sun was my
time piece. My plan was to keep running until the sun was sinking into
the western trees. I was now in the midst of the challenge. After
thinking and analyzing about this day for months, actually, for the
past 20 years, I felt satisfaction in having come so close to achieving
this crazy dream of mine.
I was wearing a black long sleeved shirt over my black singlet, and
planned to remove it at the 13.4 mile drop bag/aid station. I was not
carrying a water bottle, but planned to pick one up at my drop bag. I
had filled it with a lemonade/chia seed mixture, knowing it would go
down well at that point of the run.
When I rolled into the 2nd aid station at mile 7.1 I felt my lower
knee give way for a moment. I groaned - how, why, and what the hell?! I
had felt nothing but love from the knee for the past 5 weeks, and now
on race day, only 7 miles in, it decides to shoot me into runner's
hell? After eating a salted potato and a pbj slice I made my way back
toward the trail, the knee feeling fine. Perhaps the hilly terrain
irritated it, but hadn't I worked hard on the hills at home? I decided
that if the knee was going to be in constant pain, I would stop at the
end of the 25 mile loop. There is always another day to fight.
I tried to forget about the knee, and it was easy enough because it
wasn't hurting. I had moved somewhat quickly through the two aid
stations, but still slower than most of the other runners who were
nearby. The trail was starting to get quiet, runners were spreading
out, and I got into a nice groove, experiencing the silent drama of the
woods. I was feeling fresh, and I wanted this feeling to last as long
as possible.
As I left the 3rd aid station at mile 10.2 I overheard one of the
volunteers ask who was running 50 miles. Only one man raised his hand,
and I took note of him. About a mile down the trail I stopped to
stretch my legs on a ridgeline. I saw the 50 mile guy run by, along
with a few marathoners. When I started running again they were out of
sight, but because I was running all the hills I soon caught up to Mr.
50. I decided to follow him and he turned back to me and introduced
himself. I usually dislike talking during races, but I was feeling
comfortable and we discussed our running histories. His name was David,
and he had run numerous 50's and was hoping, like me, to one day
attempt a 100 mile race. We discovered that we had both run the Grand
Island Trail Marathon back in '07.
Arriving together at the half way aid station, mile 13.4, David did
not stop to eat or drink, he just kept motoring along. I was sorry to
see him leave, but I had been looking forward to this aid station
because I could shed my long sleeved shirt (it was now in the upper
60's) and drink my lemonade. I also drank a V8, ate a few nuts, and
grabbed a kiwi for the trail.
The woods were now dappled in warm light, and I ran in solitude,
enjoying the quiet, just like on a training run. I was feeling strong
and fresh, and the food and drink had nourished me. I was able to keep
a steady pace throughout the next couple of aid stations. Miles 13-21
had the least amount of hills, so there was some easy flat running
through small stretches of sun drenched land.
At mile 19 I came upon 2 athletic, muscular men. They did not appear
to like being passed by a small skinny guy, so they picked up their
pace and followed me. One of them was an ultra expert, because he was
giving advice, and I overheard him say, "running these hills is gonna
make you pay later". He was talking with his friend, but maybe he was
aiming it at me? He was probably right, but I had my plan, and I was
sticking with it. I decided to let them get ahead, so I stopped for a
walking break on the flat. About a mile later I passed them because one
of them had taken a fall and was banged up. I asked if he was ok, and
he said yeah, so I kept on my way and never saw them again.
When I was getting close to aid station #7, mile 24.1, I caught up
with David on a long hill. I was still running everything that had an
incline, and David was walking some of longer ones, which seemed more
numerous as we neared the end of the loop. After the aid station we
decided to run the last mile together to the start/finish area. I was
happy to see that the final mile was a gradual down hill, so the last
mile of the race was hopefully not going to be too difficult.
When we entered the open area at loops end a woman called out our
names and said we were 50 mile runners. The crowd cheered, and I was
happy to have reached one of my goals for the race - to feel somewhat
fresh at the end of the first loop. As I left David I said, "now the
real race begins". I noticed that the finish clock read 4:44.
So far I was having a great race, but there was still 25 miles to
go, and anything could happen. I watched David efficiently get out of
the aid station and back onto the trail, while I stuffed my face with
gels, fruit, nuts, and refilled my bottle with lemonade. I figured it
would be a while until I saw David again, but that was ok, we each had
to run our own race.
I started the 2nd loop with a 200m walk. I wanted to make sure I
felt fresh beginning what I knew was going to be a difficult 25 miles.
I looked into the sky and saw the sun high overhead. I was racing the
sun, and keeping up with it so far!
The first 4 miles did not seem as easy as the first time, and the
hills seemed longer and steeper. I surprisingly caught up with David
because he was walking the hills. I passed him on a long ascent, and he
said, "your one tough runner, James." I told him I wished I could move
out of an aid station as fast as he could, and then I left him on the
hill, not to see him again until after I had finished.
I was now on my own, the day growing warmer, quieter, the solitude
creating a nice space in which I could grab hold of a long, eloquent
running trance. Once I had it I did not want to let go. I was alone for
the next 12 miles, gliding with the light, hiding in the shadows. I was
expecting some major problems during this loop, but thus far nothing
befell me but good fortune. No blisters or stomach problems, and I had
only peed once, even my quads were holding up against the unrelenting
hills.
When I arrived at aid station 2, mile 32.2, I saw two young female
runners taking a break at the table. After I dunked my head in water I
asked them how long we had been on the course - I was curious to know
my approximate 50k split. They told me we were at 5:52, so subtracting
12 minutes to bring me back to mile 31 means I hit the split at 5:40. I
was pleased with this, because I remembered my time at Devil's Lake was
6:22.
I ran a bit with the girls until the next aid station, mile 35.2. As
I was getting ready to leave the station I saw one of the girls walk
off the trail into the brush, I thought she had gotten lost, but then I
saw her pull her shorts down. She saw me coming and laughed. I said
"oops!" and quickly turned around and walked back to the aid table to
eat another potato :)
The girl who had pulled her shorts down would slow up on the next
segment, and I only saw her freind, who flew down the trail ahead of
me. Before she was out of sight she called out, "I want this race to be
over!" I realized I was still having a great time, and did not want it
to end. I was in a Zen state, not rushing, remaining centered. The
place to be was here, mile 37, aid station 4 soon approaching.
I was back on my own, passing a few hurting runners who were now
walking. I had the urge to pee at mile 40, so I walked off trail and as
I stood waiting for it I felt my blood pressure drop and I was worried
I was going to faint. Just as I was about to lay down and elevate my
legs my pressure stabilized, and I concentrated on peeing. I stood
there, whispering "no blood, no blood, no blood..." - it was clear.
The woods suddenly seemed sinister and sullen, and I had the sinking
sensation that I had taken a wrong turn and was now lost. This was the
worst possible time to get lost, because fatigue was settling in, and
the last thing I needed was to waste my energy on finding my out of a
dark, lonely forest. As I ran along, trying to recognize a guide post
or tree, I thought of Greg's 100 mile report, and how he believed he
was lost late in his race. He called his sister, and they both soon
realized he was on the right trail. I had no one to call, and even if I
did, I didn't have a cell phone. I considered turning around, but kept
moving forward while trying to decide. I slowed down, and even walked a
hill, hoping someone would catch up to me, but whenever I turned
around all I saw were heavy tree shadows and a silent sun. Just as I
was about to give up hope, I saw a female runner, but she was running
toward me! "Oh no, %$#@, *&^%, !@#$!!, now I was going to have to
turn around and head back to where I had come from. I stood still on
the trail and asked as she approached, "I'm lost, right?" "NO!, Your
doing great, only 1 mile to the aid station, keep on going!" I was so
relieved to hear that, so I continued on my way in a much lighter mood,
forgetting to ask where the heck she was running to.
As I approached aid station 5, mile 42.1, the volunteers went nuts,
cheering, telling me I looked great. I knew it wasn't true, but it was
good to hear nonetheless :) After filling up on food and drink, and
even an S cap as a precaution, one of the volunteers told me, "only 7.9
miles to go!" As I walked out of the station sucking on a gel pack I
thought, "only 1 Kickapoo Out and Back and it's all over!" I was
excited because I knew how much I had enjoyed last weeks run at
Kickapoo, and it only took 70 minutes of relaxed running. I'm not sure
why I thought I could run relaxed for this stretch of 7.9 miles, but I
believed I could, so I started up, a little slower, a little stiffer,
but my form was still good, I was still light on my feet, and I was
still racing the sun, which was now inching closer to the trees. The
day was getting on, and so was I.
At mile 44 I felt a peculiar sensation, as if someone were thinking
of me and sending good vibes. I thought of JD, because he told me he
was going to do just that, and I realized that he must be finishing up
his marathon - "GO JD" I yelled into the trees. I wanted to laugh,
but instead was overwhelmed with emotion and felt like crying. A
couple of minutes later I found myself running up a long hill, and I
wanted to cry again because somehow I was still running up a hill at
mile 44. I felt proud at that moment, knowing my training had paid off.
I also knew that I was most likely going to finish the race. I had not
thought of that until now, and it was amazing to imagine achieving a 20
year goal. I still did not believe I could run for an entire day, but
the big old sun was sinking lower, and I could sometimes see my lanky,
crooked shadow running in the ferns beside me.
I reached aid station 6, mile 46. I saw an old guy with gray hair, I
couldn't tell if he had caught up with me, or I him, but we were now
even, basking in the glow of a run almost complete. We took off down
the trail together, and I asked him how long we had been running. "8
hours and 59 minutes" was his reply. "Are we going to finish in under
10 hours?" I asked. "Oh yeah, you know it". 4 miles in one hour, could
I do it? Just like at Howl, I could not add up time and distance
correctly. Of course I could run 4 miles in 1 hour, however, if I
walked a portion of the trail, then....
So I started running faster, feeling more at ease, and even though I
was now walking some of the longer hills, I was still trying to run
some of them, and was pulling away from the old guy. I caught up with a
young lady on one of the hills, and decided to slow down and follow her
into the last aid station. I wanted to make sure I still had something
left for that final downhill mile.
When we reached the final aid station, mile 49.1, I splashed some
water on my head and headed up the final hill. When we neared the top I
called out, "do you have anything left for a kick?" "I don't know, but
I'm gonna run it as hard as I can." I liked her answer, and thought,
"just one Busey Woods loop, and it's all over!" It was as if I had run
a 49 mile recovery jog, and was now ready for my lone interval. I felt
my legs rev and pop and the adrenaline started to flow. I passed the
girl and got into my interval pace, clipping along at 6:30-45 pace - of
course this wasn't too hard since I was going down hill :) But my form
was still there, and I felt like I was just starting a set of reps. It
was too good to be true, but it really was happening.
With 200m to go I pass a guy standing by himself on the side of the
trail and he yells out, "your running too good for this part of the
race, they are not gonna believe you!" I smiled and kept on galloping,
my favorite part of the rep, when I kick it in, legs circling like a
bike, arms moving fast, breath heavy but controlled. I see the path
come to an end and the space opens up to cheering people. "#75, 50 mile
finisher!" People clapping and shouting, I flow in, and finally,
finally! come to a... stop - 9 hours, 44 minutes, 05 seconds after
taking my first step.
I walked around a bit, happy, elated, feeling tired, but strong. I
drink and eat, and then wait at the side of the chute for David. I know
he is going to finish in under 10 hours, and at 9:56 I see him and
before he stops he slaps my hand, and I cheer him to a great finish.
A little later David calls over to me, "James, you want some
chocolate milk?" Whoa, that sounds incredibly right, and soul
nourishing! I rush over to him and take the Deans Choco Chug, pop it
open, and as I gulp it down, I eye the sun, still in the sky, heading
for the trees. Feeling the milk energize me, I realize I still have not
run from sun up to sun down. Today was close, but I fell short. "I have
to make a phone call and run an errand, you gonna be around later,
James?" "I'm gonna walk around a bit, then drive back to my hotel and
crash." We say goodbye, and I walk down the sandy path by myself,
gazing at the trees. Dusk light is coming on, there are runners still
out there, facing down the day.
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