Balmy 40 degree weather greeted us. I hopped out of the van pretty much ready to go. I’d been anticipating this start for about 6 months now and the idea of rolling an ankle or catching a cold in the last minutes before starting… well, it was all I was thinking about. Every breath measured for pure smoothness and every swallow of the throat a little mini physical checkup. Check in the five drop bags that we were allowed and it was time to go.
A quick countdown and then a deafening gun-blast destroyed the morning calm. Most of us running hesitated. I do know everyone jumped. 6am is much too early to be firing guns and there are no false starts in a 100 miler. We were off.
I won’t even begin to explain why I decided to take on this challenge, but I’m sure if you asked every person running, they’d have their own unique reason. These mostly unspoken reasons unite and bond and the fellowship of the runners participating in an event like this, as well all others intimately involved: volunteers, support crews, pacers, significant others, is unparalleled.
I ran by myself for the first 9 or so miles. I chose to just do what I do and not get mixed up in the early conversations and pacing strategies of others. Plus I liked the early morning slow wake up on the feet thing. I am NOT a morning person. NOT. At all.
So after the first couple hours of running, I entered the only real section of 100% trail single-track. I LOVE a good single track so I was definitely going to enjoy it. A nice climb up, running under a great forest canopy, the sun shining without being warm, made for one of those perfect views. I also came up on one guy I know I can run with. Jacob Evans, the character at the root of my ultra running business, was just up ahead running easily. He too was attempting his first 100 miler. We hooked up and began our usual back and forth
You know you’ve got it bad when you start talking about the next 100 you’ll do, with 90 miles left of your first 100. That’s Jacob. We ran through the some really gorgeous terrain and came out of the single- track section at the first of 5 drop bag aid stations. Kota and Jen were out there and would greet me at all of the aid stations where crews were allowed. I do think I was the only whose crew was half pup. At these aid stations I could get stuff I’d brought; new socks, shoes, foodstuffs, etc. These aid stations were the bright beacons throughout the course. I’ve got myself a good team. Just get to the next drop bag aid station and all was well. Keeping them 10- 17 miles apart kept that running pace honest.
A lot of people talk of just letting the miles roll by without thinking. I think those people are telling fairy tales… because no matter how hard I tried, I kept the most rigorous tally of my distance, both miles already covered, and miles to come. I wasn’t paying any attention to time at all, but I knew exactly where I was on that course. The race directors did an amazing job marking this course. A blessing at night! Every five miles there were signs reminding you of where you were and what was coming. Before I knew it we were hitting mile 31, and the second drop bag aid station, Lake Winona. I took some time to switch shoes here.
I ran the first 31 miles in my Montrail Rogue Racers. My favorite shoe. (Although, to be honest, I’ve got about four favorites.) It’s good and light and just perfect for my feet. It is lacking in a good toecap and I tend to slide my feet a lot, especially as I get tired. This sliding, while great for road racing, means I kick rocks, and we were going to be running on either kinda rocky jeep roads or very rocky stream beds for the rest of the 100. I’d also be running at night, where those rocks reach out and grab ya. I’d be kicking many a rock. So on slid the Montrail Masochists. Yes. That is the name of the shoe. It’s as light a shoe as “real” trail shoes come and it has great toecap protection. Back on the road with less than 70 to go.
A few miles on I decided to get back to doing my thing. Jacob and I had come upon a few other runners and each time we did, the pace seemed to push up a tick. Not much, and to the casual observer, it would have been impossible to notice, but I could feel it each and every time. I had a pace and I liked it. Plus I’d run out of stuff to say since, and for those that know me, I’m a man of few words.
Back to being alone, the full weight of the day’s events hit me and I went through the worst of both the physical and mental suffering. I seem to have a battle with miles 35-45. It happened in my 50 miler and it happened again this day. By now all the little things were bugging me and I started to wonder just how much walking I’d end up doing before the day was done. I never felt like quitting but I was seriously considering walking the next 50 miles. As luck would have it, the second 50 would be much more bearable, and actually, unbelievably, more enjoyable.
I figured I’d get some sort of motivation knowing that I’d be running further than I ever had once I crossed that 50 mile mark, and it definitely came about. I weighed in at the 47 mile aid station, and had lost a few pounds. I addressed this immediately with a nice full bottle of good stuff. Apparently I’d been slacking on my hydration, my mind on all those small things. There had been a nice long section of uphill climbing and it coincided with the highest temps of the day, and while I was drinking, I wasn’t drinking enough. After that wake up call, for the rest of the run, I was much more on top of my hydration and surprise surprise, felt much better. I’d finish the run only a pound off my start weight.
The turnaround for this odd out and back course was actually at mile 57. We had completed a 17 mile loop before heading out on the out and back section. At the turnaround I received my first reward. Joyous music!! I had my little ipod shuffle waiting and I got to kick out the jams the rest of the run. Music has the power to move the soul, so I figured asking it to move the legs would be easy. Music did her thing and now we were cooking.
Mile 60 something… It was dark and I’d been running the uphills feeling stronger the longer I went. This was not expected at all and I was worried if I stopped I’d feel terrible again. I was hurting quite a bit and everything was sore but in a muted way, like sound through water or light through dirty glass. The presence was one step removed and the energy continued to flow. So up the hills I’d go. It was getting chilly again and I decided to race light so I dumped everything but one bottle. I’d been eating potatoes the last couple of aid stations and when dipped in salt, reminded me of french-fries. Like manna from heaven! Potatoes, along with a couple candy bars would be my fuel for the rest of the run.
By now most runners had pacers helping them out. They were allowed somewhere after 50 miles, and I think I only saw a couple lone runners the rest of the race. While some racers may have been running together (aka the guys chasing me the last two miles), most were paired up, one racer, one pacer. You can tell a pacer from a racer by the amount of bottles, packs, lights, etc that they are carrying. They kind of reminded me of little, cute donkeys. That’s what I was seeing anyways… Once a pacer enters this pacer/racer relationship… Man, racers are not shy about putting a pacer to work! Pacers can be quite helpful and I was debating my choice to go it alone.
So, why did I forgo running with a pacer? In a word… Old man rocking chair syndrome. I can get pretty grumpy on my long runs. It’s a familiar part of my routine on nearly all runs over 15 miles, and I’m ok dealing with the “everything annoys me” me. Even though it is an amazingly thorough cathartic process for me, I do not necessarily wish anyone else to be forced to suffer while I go through it. This was my main reason for deciding to forgo having a pacer for this race. I knew I’d have more than my fair share of ups and downs and I was just fine keeping that part of me to myself. I really would of enjoyed someone’s extra light and carrying support, but the 75 some odd miles run solo was pretty fun too. My other reason for running solo was purely selfish. I wanted to do this first one myself. However, thanks to all those offering their pacing services, I will probably take ya up on the offer when I’m looking to crack 20hrs. Just so you know… you have been doubly warned. You’ll be running “fast” AND dealing with a sourpuss.
Mid 70’s the mileage. My one and only big scare. Not an animal, not a hunter (opening day for bow season). Just my headlamp. My brand new, fully tested, got new batteries, purchased because my last headlamp couldn’t cut it headlamp. At first I thought my eyes were getting fuzzy, a result of staring into a 6 foot wide beam of light. I couldn’t make out the little rocks anymore. Then I couldn’t make out the big rocks. Hmmmm… The trail seems to be much narrower. The trees closing in… I run through the three settings and nothing changes. No red light, no super bright light, just the dim beam. New batteries + two hours of usage = this light better be working. And into an aid station I run. I’m about to ask for batteries but I run through the settings again and they are working just fine. The smart guy would still ask for a new set, but I skip it seeing that all’s well in the aid station. Ahhh such is the way of things. The serenity of an aid station.
A mile out of the aid station, at a bottom of a hill, the light goes completely out. Pitch black middle of the darkest forest I’ve been in quite some time. No time to panic… Sometimes the coincidental absurdities of life hit just right. All I could see at the top of the hill were three lights shining. People!! Salvation!! I was going be running with some folks again. I push up the hill, fastest hill I’d run all night, running up what happened to be a straight line, over the grassiest part of the course (luck going my way!!) and catch up to John and John. Probably the two nicest guys on the course. John the racer, lends me his extra penlight and John the pacer tells me to get back to it. Two quick miles to the next aid station, a roaring campfire, some chicken soup, and fresh batteries await (oh that aid station serenity again). My headlamp and inner light shining. I only briefly ponder on what could have been.
I hit mile 80 at right about midnight and I begin the longest series of math equations I’ve done in awhile. 20 miles in 6 hours = 24hr finish. 20 miles in 360 minutes gives me 16min per mile… (hold onto that) 4 miles an hour = 5 hrs to finish. 4 miles an hour = 15 min mile… something is off. I’m doing fuzzy math. For easily 3 miles (about 45mins), I work that problem back and forth certain of each answer but knowing something is not reconciled. I quit doing the math and get back to running. I hate math anyways.
Mile 88 to 90 were probably the two longest miles of the day. Not the worst. Just super long. I must have hit the last big climb or two cause I kept running and hiking, running and hiking, waiting to see that mile 90 marker. It never came… I must be past it… I must have had my head down, past it, and I easily could have missed it. Right?? RIGHT?? I know… I know… I’ve seen every single marker since 50... but I HAD to have missed that one. I’m in the 90’s. DEFINITELY in the 90’s… There’s an aid station at mile 91.4. Gotta be close…. Annnny minute now. Any second now. Maybe at the top of this rise…. Or this one. Gotta be close… definitely in the 90’s… definitely in the… Mile 90 marker. Ugh…
6.3 miles to go. No more aid stations. Just me, the trail, and a little more than a 10K. Hands down the most fun 10K I have ever run. I flew out of the aid station and let the legs fly. I didn’t care about the consequences. (Oh yeah!! 20 miles in 360 mins… 18 min miles. That’s it!!) I was amazed I could still be going and moving quickly. Did 1.3 miles in less than 12 mins. 5 miles to go and all the best songs started playing. Since its my playlist, theoretically all the songs are great… but you know… the best BEST songs started rolling through. I was running hard to the finish No walking, fast hiking, trundling along. I was running. And even better, I was being chased.
Within the last two miles, I took a on-the- go pee break (I gotta technique. I can teach ya), and while I wasn’t stopping for anything I did slow down. Mid release, twin light beams spotlight my happenings. The idea of being passed so close to the end reminded me that sometimes I am a competitor. These aren’t just battles of wills against the self. I do like to triumph over others. Press down. Shut up legs. Embrace. Accept. One true thing.
The last half mile was on the road. Uphill, but on the road. I can run some street races. Let the legs go. Got over the finish line run, run, running. Later when going back over the race splits, I ended up covering those final 6.3 miles quicker than all but first and second place. Two minutes separated the three of us over those 6 miles. Small victory. 5 hours separated us over the entire distance. Man I have my work cut out for me. 22hours 27mins. Speed is relative.
