Hinson Lake 24 Hour 2019

This smile is super fake. Photo credit: Peter Asciutto

It's hard to believe that the last time I pinned on a race bib was at EVEREST BASE CAMP. (Yes, I'm shouting about it. It is the coolest thing I'll probably ever do.)

I have signed up for Hinson Lake 24 Hour Endurance Run every year since 2016 when I had my sights set on running 100 miles for the first time. I had no idea what to expect in 2016 (109 miles), had big goals in 2017 (115 miles), and was less than 2 months out of the boot/training for NYC Marathon in 2018 (58 miles). This year, my big goal for fall is Javelina Jundred in October and while plenty of cool kids can go run a 100 miler one month and then do it again the next month, I know I am not one of those runners.

All summer long, I was feeling a bit of FOMO from not racing, but I was also really proud of myself for not signing up for things just because everyone else was. I truly was training for a goal race and watching my fitness build with each increasing week. I'll be the first to admit I was antsy to post big mileage numbers right after I got back from Nepal, but now I'm really happy to have the buildup go nice and easy.

Heading into Hinson, I knew it would be an opportunity for me to get in a long run as well as get some night running miles in. After conferring with my coach, we decided I would do 50k on Saturday and then 15-20 miles on Sunday morning after getting some rest. Left to my own devices, I certainly would have not had the restraint I exercised and I'm honestly happy I did.

I got to Rockingham on Friday just after noon, dropped my gear at camp, and downed a Subway sandwich in about 7 seconds. Then I came back to camp, set up my tent, picked up my bib, and went back out for ice and other supplies. I vegged out with Jenster, Angie, and John the rest of the afternoon and eventually, carbed up at the $8 pasta dinner put on by the race. We chatted for a bit around camp after dinner, drinking beer/wine and catching up.

I got close to 9 hours of sleep and felt really well-rested when I woke up. The best part of camping at Hinson is that I never worry about setting an alarm or sleeping through the race because it's plenty noisy in the morning when everyone starts to stir. Morning prep went as planned (or so I thought, re: chafe prevention) and I had a bagel with almond butter and a small cup of cold brew.

At 8am, the race started and for the first hour or so, the temperature was reasonably pleasant. I decided to pick up my bottle of GU Roctane at the 3rd lap (mile 4.5) as that would allow me a few miles of not having to deal with holding it. I meant to grab a gel at that time too, but forgot and was already behind the nutrition by the time I got to mile 6 (mistake #1).

I thought I'd be okay because I used about 2.5 scoops of Roctane and then proceeded to take a gel every 45 minutes or so for the next few hours, but eventually, I got lazy about my nutrition (mistake #2). Plus, my handheld lid was not screwed down tightly when I had the race volunteer fill it with Gatorade and it was squirting all over the place. It was just annoying the shit out of me and so I chugged what was left and threw it in my camp chair (mistake #3).

I knew in years past that I had success in staying around 10:00 pace in the beginning and could somehow manage to keep that through around 100k, give or take a few miles where I might need a little extra time for pit stops. It seemed super easy for the first couple of hours, but I knew even when I got to the first of 2 prescribed tempo parts of my run that there was no way I was going to have the gas to do it. I had basically given up before I even started. So I just kept on with my supposed forever pace until I was clinging on and just waiting for that 50K mark to rollover on my watch.

Dying on the inside. Photo credit: Peter Asciutto

As the day warmed up, I was trying to be all proactive about staying cool and grabbed ice for my sports bra and buff. Except it was so humid that nothing was drying out and everything was sopping wet. I had applied plenty of Vaseline to my thigh, the top of my shorts, crack (sorrynotsorry TMI), and on the front part of my sports bra. However, I negated to put any on the back part of my sports bra or the liner of my shorts (mistake #4). BECAUSE WHO CHAFES FROM THE SHORTS LINER? Oh wait, I do...FML.

I felt the chafe slowly and increasingly stinging and at mile 25, I stopped and put on capris despite the rising temperatures. Fun fact: there was a huge hole in the hip on them. But it's ultrarunning and I honestly would have still put them on even if I had known it beforehand.

So I ran the last 6 miles with gaping capris, wondering how in heck I ever ran 100+ miles around Hinson Lake before and how the heck I was going to do it again in 4 short weeks.

I stopped my watch at the 50K mark and then finished my lap, grabbing a few slices of pizza as I headed to our tent. Then I proceeded to try to hydrate, eat, and stay out of the sun for the next few hours. I laid in Angie's anti-gravity chair for an excessive amount of time, grateful she was actually out running while I was eating pineapple with dirty hands.

Jen sat with me for awhile, staying out of the heat of the day and then she went back out at 5pm to get in some miles. She let me know when hot chicken tenders arrived and I did a lap to go get myself some dinner. And about an hour later, I finally had to go pee so I did another lap to take care of that at the lodge and to stop for more food. I happened to go out at a perfect time to catch a couple of great pictures of the lake at sunset.

Once it got dark, I decided to go try to just lay down in my tent even if I didn't actually fall asleep. I set my alarm for 12:30 a.m. so I could give myself some time get ready for round #2. I think I actually fell asleep a bit despite all the noise and somehow felt really good once I woke up. My legs felt fresh and I was excited to go knock out the miles left prescribed. I asked Jen if she was headed back out and tagged along with her for a number of laps. It was so nice to run with someone and my head was in a much better place when she left me to my own devices around the 10 mile mark.

I decided 15 miles was plenty and then stopped to change into my flip flops so I wouldn't be tempted to run any more. Because I was now walking, I was able to eat and drink pretty easily with each lap. I thought I should stop with each passing lap, but then I was like, well, what the heck else am I going to do? So I just kept walking and surprisingly felt pretty good just cruising around lap after lap.

The sun eventually finally started to come up, I grabbed my banana from the volunteer, and made it halfway through a lap when the buzzer went off at 8:00 a.m., signaling the end of the race.

I completed 63.78 miles and was 39th overall out of 388 runners. Not a shabby day (& night) for the legs.

It was definitely the weirdest Hinson I've had so far. Mostly because I feel like I should be the fittest I've been since 2017, but that 50k did not leave me feeling that way. In fact, I felt like I was even less fit that last year's race! But I also know I went into the race without really much of a taper (40 miles in the prior week and some shorter tempo sessions) and it was arguably the hottest/most humid it's been since I've been racing it. So I'm trying to give myself a little grace and hope that it was a good way to get all the funky racing out of my system before Javelina!

Georgia Death Race 2019: Spoiler Alert, I Survived!

Preamble

I got chosen for the GDR lottery last July while still wearing a boot for my second stress fracture of 2018. I had 9 months to heal, build a base, and train for a race completely out of my wheel house. Sure, I've run longer distances and done a few gnarly trail runs/races, but nothing of this magnitude. It would likely be one of the hardest races I'd run to date and I was excited about doing something really, really tough.

I ran a couple of marathons over the fall (NYC, Rehoboth) and decided to team up with a coach to get me ready for the triplicate of GDR, Boston, & Everest. I did track speed sessions during the week to keep my marathon legs intact (and build fitness) and spent many hours on the trails on the weekend. In January, I ran Mountain Mist 50k and felt I executed a strong, patient race. Things were looking great!

Then, in late February, my left foot (the one in the boot) started aching again and I sprinkled in a bunch of cross-training so as to not aggravate it. Back to the pool, back on the bike, and back to feeling the giant cloud of doom hanging over my head constantly. In reality, I only took off about 10 running days total in the whole cycle, but I was frustrated that I dealing with this potential nagging injury.

I ran the Uwharrie Trail Marathon on March 9th as a last long run and my foot seemed no worse for the wear. My coach eased me back into workouts after I recovered from the race and I was nervously happy that I was going to get to the start in one piece. Then, a freak accident at my first company softball game had me land with my leg hyper-extended and angered my right knee. It was so sore the next day that I was hobbling around the office with an ice pack.

But, it seemed to just be tweaked and I was fortunately feeling better within a couple of days. There was still a little lingering soreness when I twisted it a bit, but the acute pain was gone. I jokingly said to my colleagues at work that I would have rather been smacked in the head with a softball then have anything happen to my legs/feet. Lo and behold, I got smacked in the head while warming up for the following week's game. I can't make this shit up.

Anyway, I didn't have quite the build up I imagined going into the race. But, I did have the will to finish and the experience of running for long periods of time. Both of which would serve me well in the race.

Friday

I opted to take Friday off work to sleep in and allow myself plenty of time to pack. I checked and rechecked all my lists and made a game plan of crewing myself on the point-to-point race. I'd start with approximately 12 bars/gels/nut butters, water, Tailwind, and all the required gear (rain jacket, warm head covering, space blanket, whistle, and headlamp with extra batteries). Then, I'd put extra nutrition in my drop bags to pick up at miles 27 and mile 50. I also included a few key items in my mile 50 bag - my Garmin charger and a charging brick and a long-sleeve shirt in case it got cooler as the sun went down (spoiler alert: never needed the shirt).

After loading up my car, I made my way to Amicalola Fall State Park for packet pickup and the prerace meeting. While walking up to the lodge, I immediately spotted Keith who gave me the 411 on what to do since I was a newbie to the race. I got my gear inspected, received my race wristband, and then went into the lodge to get my big and other race swag.

I went outside on the back patio of the lodge and immediately spotted Chantal. She finished up her dinner and then we took photos with the grim reaper for ultrarunningmemes before the prerace meeting.

Photo cred: Keith Gates

It was an insanely beautiful night overlooking the mountains and I was feeling really, really grateful to be getting started on this race I had been thinking about for the better part of a year.

After the meeting, I dropped my car near the finishing line at the base of the fall and then Chantal graciously drove me to the start line at Vogel State Park where her super amazing parents allowed me to stay with them in their RV. I ate my giant container of pasta on the way and we made it to the park just at sunset. Knowing we were getting up just before 4am, we all turned in early and tried to get some sleep. My super power once again came in handy and I slept for over 6 hours!

Saturday

Chantal and I got dressed, grabbed breakfast and coffee, and her dad drove us the 1/4 mile or so to the start (conserve the legs!). We said our goodbyes and good lucks and headed to the lodge for our final check-in.

Part of the dumbassery of this race is that you have to carry a rusty railroad spike with you the entire race and when you finish, you toss it in a coffin and receive a "clean" spike engraved "Georgia Death Race". At the final check-in, the race director, Sean, gives you a spike, shakes your hand, and wishes you good luck. I wrapped my mandatory rain jacket around my spike and stuffed it in my pack.

We headed out to the start line soon thereafter, listened to the prerace speech, and all sang "happy birthday" to Sean. Then, at 5am, it was go time!

For just over a half mile or so, the race is on pavement which allows runners to spread out just a little bit before getting on the trail. I ran next to Chantal for a minute or two and then we got separated and she went on ahead of me. I settled into the middle of the pack, telling myself to just be patient in the early miles.

The bladder of my hydration pack must have not been sealed and for the first mile a slow trickle of water spread across my pack and then onto my shorts. By the time I was about 2 miles in, my shorts were completely soaking wet. Thankful the weather was nice and I run hot anyway, I was trying to not be completely frustrated by this early-race annoyance.

Having run most of the course, I knew what to expect, fortunately or unfortunately. I knew the first few miles would be nice and runnable and then the climb to Coosa would begin. I am a pretty good climber, but with all the vertical throughout the rest of the course, I decided to hang back and just relax. It was a little frustrating to be stuck in the conga line because I was full of race adrenaline, but I knew it would pay off later if I just chilled out.

By the time we hit the top of Coosa, the sun was beginning to rise and we were able to turn off our headlamps shortly thereafter. I started talking with a guy from Ohio and gave him a bit of info about what to expect in the following miles. People were already stepping over to the side of the trail to catch their breath on climbs and we weren't even 10 miles into the race.

At the first aid station at mile 8.1 (White Oak), I had my water topped off and then quickly got back onto the trail. I was in a good place mentally and running happy with fresh feeling legs and not working too hard. Every 45 minutes, I was diligently eating a gel or a bar and things seemed to be going really well.

I came into Mulky Gap (aid station mile 13.5) still feeling good and noticed that Chantal was refilling her bottles! Yay, a friend! Also, Andy was right there with us and our little pack headed off to climb the nastiness of the DRT together. We got to about the third to last climb of the DRT and Chantal urged me to go on. I was still feeling fresh so I decided to take the opportunity to power up the climbs.

As I headed down into Skeenah (aid station mile 21.4), I was feeling amazing. My spirits were high and I was surprised at how good I felt considering how dead I felt doing the same run 5 weeks prior, over an hour slower. I gave Shannon a high five and enjoyed seeing all the runners coming back out of Skeenah, everyone shouting "good job" and "good work" as we passed each other. Unexpectedly, Jessica was at Skeenah and I was so excited to see another familiar face!

Photo cred: Jessica Brundige

The aid station was bit of a cluster and I had to wait to get my bottles refilled. I grabbed a few pickles, a couple of quesadilla slices, and an orange slice. I headed up and out and spent the next few minutes trying to eat and get myself organized again as I walked up out of the gap.

I got behind 2 girls in the next section and both of them slowly started to pull away as my spirits waned. I wasn't feeling good mentally any more and found myself in a bit of a rough patch as I covered the next 5.6 miles to Point Bravo. The trail section was really pretty in this part, but I was having a hard time appreciating it because of my crappy mental state.

At Point Bravo (aid station mile 27), I had my bottles refilled and then grabbed my drop bag to refill my nutrition supplies. I acted quickly and got out ahead of the girls who were still lingering at the aid station. I ran with a couple of guys in the next section up and out of Point Bravo and then down across the Toccoa Swinging Bridge. I thought the aid station would be at the forest service road just beyond the bridge, but we had to make the climb out of the gap which was a steady up for a few miles.

Photo cred: LDaily Photos

Once I reached Sapling Gap (aid station mile 31.5), I was thrilled to find out they had ice! It had warmed up and I was getting uncomfortably hot. I stuck a handful of ice down my sports bra and then upon a suggestion by the volunteer, stuck my head inside a 5 gallon bucket full of ice water. It was blissful! They also had sponges and buffs soaking in ice water and I grabbed a cold buff to cool off my neck for the next few miles.

After Sapling Gap, there was a fair amount of runnable trail at this point. I was really inclined to just do a bunch of walking, but forced myself to shuffle along and I played leapfrog with a girl for a few miles. I passed her tying her shoe and then she passed me back when I stepped off the side of the trail to pee. Later, I'd pass her back when she stepped off the trail herself. After than, it got particularly lonely until I caught up with a guy coming into the Long Creek aid station (mile 37.1).

At Long Creek, I drank a bunch of water and chugged a bit of Coke. I dumped water over my head and then trotted down the next section of forest service road. I actually started to perk up again at this point and found myself on some runnable terrain. The field was pretty spread out at this point, but I used people in my sight to try to either keep up with or catch. It was about 50/50.

The forest service road went into Winding Stair Gap and then another big climb awaited. Luckily, I was feeling good again and though I wasn't able to run the climb, I was hard hiking up and managed to pass a few guys on the way to the aid station.

At the Winding Stair aid station (43.1), I drank a cup of veggie broth, ate a few bacon pieces, and grabbed a handful of potato chips. Heading down the forest service road, I felt great! My legs were definitely feeling the beating of the long, steep descent, but I was happy to open up and do a bit of running again. Even as I cruised onto the trail section of Jake/Bull, I was still in good spirits. I hadn't seen anyone in miles, but the pink flags along the course let me know that I was still good to go.

However, the last mile or so going into Jake/Bull, I was feeling down again and finding my legs in the runnable parts was getting harder and harder. I was looking forward to getting to the aid station and knowing that I was that much closer to the finish. I could hear the PA system from miles away and it was messing with my mind knowing that it was so close, yet so far away. Again, because I run the trails in that area, I knew exactly how far it really was!

Sean had set up all kinds of signs in this section and the one that stuck out the most to me was "the word of the day is DNF". I laughed and threw my middle finger at it. I contemplated taking a picture, but then I didn't want to jinx myself! Luckily, someone else did and posted it to FB!

Photo cred: Nicole Fleming

The volunteers at Jake/Bull (aid station mile 50.1) were amazing. They refilled my bottles, gave me a baggie of bacon and grilled cheese to go, and helped me get my watch on my charger. Plus, since I hadn't seen any humans for miles, I was really happy to see smiling, happy faces. They made sure I topped off my bottles as the next section was over 10 miles without aid. As I headed out of Jake/Bull, I tried to get some of the food down and did a bit of running through the trail section.

A trio of guys caught up with me towards the end of the trail and I kept pace with them for a while on the pavement and then they took off running. I popped in an earbud and knew I planned my music crutch perfectly for the next section. I caught back up to the trio of guys and stayed with them through the pavement and then onto the forest service road. However, they had a bit more energy in their legs and left me in their literal dust.

I was still rocking the hard hiking though and though I was tired and heavy-legged, I still felt reasonably good pushing myself up towards Nimblewill. There was a sign along the climb that said "1 mile to go to the aid station" and then a half mile later "1/2 mile to go". I was thinking, wow, that always seemed to be much, much longer when I've run this section, but maybe I was actually covering it faster than I thought? However a half mile later, there was another sign that said "haha, it's actually 3 more miles". I couldn't help but laugh because I really should have known better.

At some point in the climb, I was thinking it was weird that I hadn't heard my watch beep for a mile marker in awhile. And then I fished around in my pack to discover my watch must have slipped off the charger and was dead. Oops. I got everything working again and missed only about a mile or so.

Once I reached the Nimblewill intersection, a couple of volunteers were directing us down the forest service road. They also asked if I had enough water and I was able to get a few more ounces from them. One of my bottles had been a leaky mess all day. On top of my bladder having issues, I had been repeatedly soaked over and over. My legs were sticky with Gatorade and Tailwind and I was chafed a bit on my inner thighs.

On the stretch to Nimblewill, I pulled my hat and headlamp back out of my pack and tried to get a bit of running on the flat section into the aid station. It seemed to stretch way more than a mile, but finally, it came into sight.

At Nimblewill (aid station mile 61.2), I got some broth and a few more bacon pieces. I really wanted some Mountain Dew, but they didn't have any so I settled for Coke. I topped everything off again and then headed down the next section that connected to the Hike Inn. Luckily (or unluckily), I knew everything else that awaited me after that including 5 or so miles of reasonable single track, the stupid rock-garden-Eastern-Ridge-Trail down, the stupid stairs up, and the stupid Western Rim Trail.

I was really wanting to run the single track, but any time it was flat or down, I kept catching my shoes on rocks. And so I would run a few steps and walk. Run a few steps and walk. It was better than just walking, but I was growing more and more frustrated that I couldn't pick my feet up over the rocks. Even in the nice, wide section towards the bottom of the Approach Trail, I couldn't open up. In fact, I stumbled over a rock next to a wooden stair step, rolled my ankle, and toppled to the ground. After a bunch of F-bombs, I scooped myself back up and hobbled towards the Eastern Ridge Trail.

The top part of the Eastern Ridge Trail is not really runnable even under the best conditions. It's steep, full of medium-sized rocks (bigger than gravel, smaller than boulders) and in the dark, pretty darn dangerous. I slowly ambled down and decided whatever time I was losing at this point would be okay, because I was going to be finished within the hour. I could hear the cheers of the finish line from this part of the trail and despite feeling exhausted and in pain, I knew I was to do this damn thing!

I was feeling woozy and hungry once I got back on the single track and decided to take one last gel. Bad move. It was okay for a few minutes, but then I felt the oh-so-familiar-ultra-vomit rising in my throat. I bent over the side of the trail and dry heaved four times with no results, but felt surprisingly better afterwards?

I expected to be scanned at the Visitor's Center, but there was just a table with a couple of coolers. I topped off my water again and then hiked up the path to the falls. There was a volunteer that walked the runners across the parking lot, ensuring we went the right direction. I was dreading the stairs, but also happy that I was so close to being done.

Actually, the stairs were not bad. Sure, it was not easy with nearly 70 miles on my legs to climb the 600 steps up to the top of the falls, but I grabbed onto the side rail and used my arms to pull myself up. I didn't even stop to take a breather! It wasn't fast, but I was moving the whole time.

At the top of the steps, I caught up with two more runners and we cringed as we hit the steep pavement going down. It was so painful to experience those eccentric contractions in my quadriceps. I walked as quickly as I could and then tried a bit of running once I reached the trail portion. One of the two runners went on ahead of me, seemingly bombing the descents. I watched as his headlamp bobbed down lower and lower and then started to listen for the cheers of him finishing.

As I hobbled down the last steep descent, I could hear Sean yell "into the water". I hopped into the creek (next to a perfectly good bridge) and threw my hands in the air as I finally stopped moving. Sean gave me a high five, handed me a pint glass, and explained how I was to exchange my dirty railroad spike for the engraved one. I turned to see Deano hanging out at the finish and he started helping me with my gear.

Then, Adam and Jeff popped out from the crowd and I was so excited to see him. Dirty, exhausted, and probably reeking of every gross thing, Adam hugged me hard. I had mentioned in passing that it would awesome to have him at the finish, but I wasn't sure if he would make it. I was so elated he did!

After exchanging my spike, getting a finish line photo, we wandered over to where I could get my drop bags and food. It. was. done.

As we were sitting outside, Chantal's parents walked up and like everything else that just came together, I was able to have Jeff go with her dad to get my gear that they graciously held onto while I ran. We chatted for a bit and then thankfully, Jeff drove my car home while I rode with Adam.

Like Mountain Mist, I'm proud of running a patient race. When I checked in at Mulkey Gap, I was the 83rd runner. From then on, I went to 68, 60, 54, 43, 40, 35, and finished 37th overall, 13th female. My final finish time for 71.2 - 74ish miles and 16,000 - 18,000' feet of elevation gain (no one really knows and GPS isn't super accurate) was 18:19:11. Of the 289 people that started the race, only 158 finished!

Link to (most of) my splits on Strava here and link to my race checkpoints/final standings here.  (Search bib #188).

Like a stupid Oscar acceptance speech, I have many, many people to thank to make this race happen. First, my buddy Chantal who also finished the race (!!!), for the many, many training miles, laughs, and methinks the start of lots of future shenanigans. Freaking rockstar way to go over 50 miles and earn your first WS qualifier! Also, her parents deserve major kudos for letting me stay in their RV at Vogel, allowing me extra sleeping time and shuffling my gear from park to park. Chantal didn't lie when she said she had awesome parents! Huge thanks to John for all the weekend miles and adventures on the trails. Sorry for all the mud in your car and bringing the rain every time we ran together. All my friends I've shared miles with over this training cycle (Steve, Roger, Deano, Christy, Stephen, Sarah, Sean, Claire, Chris, Sam, Jeff, the Greenville crew and anyone else!). Extra special thanks to Steve who came from Michigan and Roger who came from Colorado to run some miles with me Georgia! Megan, thank you for your amazing nail art as always. I'm lucky to have you as my talented BFF! Thanks Matt for our daily random texts about nothing and everything - sorry you missed out on dying this year, but I hope you have your own chance to experience the misery in the future. Thanks to my work peeps who don't understand my craziness, but ask about it anyway. Thank you to my coach for believing in me and giving me pep talks throughout this training block. It truly helped me get to the right place mentally when I started the race. Thank you Jeff for coming out to support me at the end of the race and drive my car back home - you're always my favorite asshole. And to my #1 supporter and better half, Adam, thank you for putting up with all of my ridiculous running adventures. You didn't know what you were getting into 15 years ago, but I'm lucky that you are always encouraging of me to continue to push my boundaries. You never let me feel guilty for the many hours away training or racing and I'm forever grateful for you letting me be me.

Fatass 50K RR: Learning To Suffer Better

The bread and cheese stuck to the roof of my mouth. It was warm and gooey and a stark contrast to everything else about the day. I savored the few seconds of human interaction and heat. The moment was over too quickly. I choked down the last bites, finding it hard to swallow with my dry mouth. My cadence increased and everything that was comfortable slowly disappeared like June sunset.

The feeling in my mouth that morning was the same as it is every race morning. 35 mornings of anticipating at least 26.2 miles or more hasn't cured me of the feeling. I looked at the pile of running gear heaped on the carpet in front of the bed. Long socks, tights, shorts, sports bra, tech tee, long sleeved tech tee, half zip shirt, jacket, buff, hat, tech gloves, fleece gloves. The weather app said 11°F as I donned all my apparel. 

I climbed into my Jeep and it moaned slowly to life. Shivering, I navigated away from my sister's house and onto the highway towards the park. A parking attendant directed me into the last spot in the main lot and I sat in my car for a few minutes collecting my gear. The pavilion was warm and the volunteers chipper. I pinned on my race bib and searched the crowd for a familiar face. Announcements were made and despite the then balmy 16°F, it was decided we would all run start by just running through the double doors towards the start line.

My Garmin had naturally timed out from the start menu and I fumbled quickly to get it functioning again with two pairs of gloves. Approximately 20 runners were in front of me and I fell in line through the first section of single track. 6 loops of 5ish miles. A short section of single track up, a mile or so on flat and fast fire roads, a sharp descent down a fire road, single track along the river, the boulders, the stairs, the best part (flattish single track), the log stairs, and the steeper-with-each-loop climb to the start/finish.

The first lap was fantastic. I felt incredibly fresh despite the 35-36 miles I had raced the prior weekend. Everything was comfortable. Easy. No twinges from my legs, knees, or hips. No stomach conundrums. I ripped the buff from my face within the first half mile. Too hot. 

At the fire road, I listened to snippets of conversations around me and settled into a comfortable pace as my body warmed up. At the steep descent, I barrelled down the road, arms out like wings. I'd pay for my recklessness later, but there are few things better in life than pushing the pace hard on technical downhill. It is the ultimate feeling of being strong and free.

366 days had passed since I had last run this course. Everything seemed so much easier. The hills seemed flatter, the stairs seemed fewer, and I felt better. I clamored over the boulders and charged the steep ascent after the stairs. Everything in the last mile and a half of the first loop was full of trail magic. The frost on the ground, the icicles hanging from the benches, and the sun shining through the barren trees was stunning.

I came through the aid station, grabbed a slice of peanut butter & jelly, threw off my jacket, and continued onto the next loop. The second loop proved just as a easygoing and despite a small belly rumble, I felt ready to run loops all day. I had one bottle half filled with water and the other half filled with Tailwind. Both were starting to turn to slush and I could only laugh at this rare problem in my running life.

At the end of the second loop, I took a small piece of potato and popped it into my mouth. My hydration seemed to be okay so I headed back out for loop #3. There was a guy with a blue shirt and Superman tattoo on his calf that had passed me in the 2nd loop, but he was right in front of me at the aid station. The RD ran after him to get his bib number as he had crumpled it up and messed up his timing chip. He continued on behind me and we ran side by side on the fire road. 

"50K or 25K?" he asked.

"50K, you?" 

"25K"

"Awesome. You're almost done!"

He pushed on ahead and I held back, knowing it was fruitless to push when I still had more than half the race to finish. A short time later, I passed him back as he picked up the pants he left behind on the first lap. I tried to hold steady to my pace, but as I neared the end of the 3rd lap, I felt my spirit starting to sink. A few 25K runners blew past me in the last half mile. One female decidedly looking to secure a 3rd place finish without likely realizing I was still 16 miles from being done.

At the aid station, the volunteer offered me a hot grilled cheese.

The next lap was the best and worst thing about endurance racing. It was full of mental misery and physical pain. Some races skew towards one or the other. This was a healthy mix of leg bonk and the negative thought monster telling every cell in my body to STOP RUNNING. When I took a short tumble (on nothing), I yelled at myself. Eff Liebowitz. Get it together. I thought about dropping to the 25K, dropping to just a marathon distance, or hell, just dropping onto the side of the trail. I began making deals with the devil. If I finish this, I will never sign up....Oh shit, I am already signed up...Well, I will never do THIS RACE again.

I suffered through the lap. I scraped the back corner of the pain cave and overstayed my welcome. It was dark and defeating. And yet, I kept moving forward.

I wasn't out of the pain cave just yet, but I was determined to just get the last 2 laps over with by the time I arrived at the aid station. I sucked down a cup of Mountain Dew. I refilled my water bottle. I stopped at my car for aspirin. I slurped down a Huma gel packet.

When mile 22 clicked off, I gave myself 1 mile to snap out of my funk. Slowly, whatever cocktail of caffeine, sugar, and painkillers I mixed together took the edge off. I began to feel better. I opened a Roctane GU and squeezed the now-hardened packet of cherry lime into my mouth. My pace quickened and I knew that I only had to pass through each section just once more.

One more cup of Mountain Dew at the aid station. The volunteers asked if they could top off my water bottles and I joyfully exclaimed that I was headed out for my final loop. I was deliriously excited about being done in hopefully less than an hour.

A guy who had been leap-frogging with me all day stayed about 20 paces ahead of me for the first mile of the last loop. When we reached the fire road, he stopped briefly and bent over to stretch his legs. The monster was getting him. I shuffled passed him and said, "c'mon man, you've got this". 

Sidenote: I never know what to say when passing someone. Some people want to be left alone. Some want words of encouragement. 

He heeded the message and came shuffling up behind me. I played pacemaker for the next mile and he stayed within my shadow, our breathing and gravel crunching the only noises. It was the kind of moment that is shared only in events such as these. We didn't speak, we didn't look at each other, we just suffered together. I don't know his name and I wouldn't even know what his face looks like save for the fact I saw it after crossing the finish line. 

But I lost him on the descent. The last rumble down the hill was enough to give me a spark of energy and I bounced from side-to-side as I navigated the safest place I could quickly put my foot down. As I hit the boulders, the stairs, and climb the gnarly hill one last time, I allowed myself to briefly look at my watch. Gauging distance was a bit tough, but I was on track for a personal course PR. 

I struggled to run on the last ascents, but I didn't want to leave anything on the table. My legs were burning when I hit the gravel. I cringed as I touched the pavement and gave it one last push. 16 miles prior, I didn't want to take another step. But like some bullshit Cinderella story, I found a way to turn my race around. 

5:16:XX. 

I leaned again the pavilion wall, breathing heavily. I was cold, but undecided where to go. So I stood for a few minutes and just absorbed the activity around me. The guy I had run with briefly came through shortly after I finished and the RD called out to him "hey, you are 3rd!"

Then he sees me standing against the wall. "Wait, is that 329?"

I look at my number, look at him. "Yeah, I'm 329"

"Oh okay. I think you are 3rd overall. Definitely 1st female."

It's a small race. It was 16°F at the start. It was a free race without any swag. Lots of people didn't even start and plenty dropped out or dropped down mid-race. But that day, I was the fastest girl to finish. I'd be lying if I said first place didn't feel good. But I'd also be lying if it felt easy. The feeling of personal accomplishment is there regardless of the time on the clock or the placement in the race. 

“Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.” -Theodore Roosevelt 


Edit 1.11.17: Results were posted and I was 4th OA, 1st Female! Oops.