Resolution Run 6 Hour: The last PRs of 2017

After I raced the Jacksonville Marathon and came up with my 3rd fastest marathon on December 16th and the hurt-but-still-BQ'd Rehoboth Beach Marathon on December 2nd, I was definitely in recovery mode. I didn't even crack 20 miles the week before Christmas mostly because I was sore and tired. So I plodded along a few miles here and there, but it was all just slow and short. The top of my left foot felt bruised from JAX so I was also trying to be smart (ish).

The week of Christmas, I felt sluggish from all the cookies, steak, and wine. I asked Laurie & Jen on the 26th if they were doing the Resolution Run and they both were traveling. I did a 10 miler at MP +30 on the treadmill that evening and woke up the next day with a return of the sore foot and a head cold. Ugh. I took the 27th off running and decided to do an easy 5 mile progression Thursday.

On Friday, I woke up thinking I was just going to tell Matt I would skip the Resolution Run. But then he texted me a screenshot of his registration. Crap. I seriously wavered back and forth for hours about it all day when it popped into my mind. My sniffles were mostly subsided, but my stupid foot was still sore. I taped it up and told myself I would just wait until after work to decide.

It did actually feel much better with the tape and decided I would just sign up. The race fee was only $10 so even if I woke up feeling horrible, I could just either not go or hang out and volunteer.

With a 1:00 p.m. start in Greenville, SC, I had plenty of time to sleep in and pack up my gear in the morning. I made the 2 hour drive easily and ate some avocado wraps and granola I had packed about an hour before the race. It was definitely chilly just sitting around and I waited until about T-minus 15 to toss off my warm-ups before we got going. I popped a couple of ibuprofen, ate my traditional mini Snickers, and popped in my ear buds.

Matt got caught up at work and so I would be starting the race without really knowing anyone. Cool with a marathon, but kind of lonely in an ultra. The race director ran the first 1 mile lap with us so I just stuck to the front of the pack when we started. It was just under a 10:00 minute mile and while I was grateful for an easy start and conversation, it was nice to get moving after that first lap.

There was a teenager who leapt out in front and I watched his galloping, light strides as he slowly separated from me. He was built like a typical fast high school runner and immediately wondered how long he would hold that pace. I knew I was being a bit reckless with my own pace, but it felt comfortable and all my body parts seemed to actually being feeling good.

Each lap we ran, we had to grab a pebble from a 5 gallon bucket and place it into a cup. The first few times, it was kind of fun to stop and watch the pile grow. Admittedly, I got a bit annoyed with this system later in the race as other runners would take their time to choose a rock from the communal pile and drop it in their cup. Silly in retrospect as those few extra seconds didn't mean anything, but it was just one of the things breaking my rhythm every mile.

The course this year was less hilly than the prior year, but I still ended up with over 2,000' of gain for 40 miles. It was a mixture of paved sidewalk, concrete sidewalk, a smidgen of dirt, and a grassy soccer field. All of that in a mile. So just when I'd find my groove on the pavement, it would switch. And when I started to feel happy that the grass would be absorbing some shock, it would switch. So it really kind of was like an urban trail run in that you had to pay attention to your footing a good portion of the time.

I started blasting my music after the first mile, content to just put my head down and run until Matt got there. I was about 7 miles in when he arrived and we continued seeing each other in the same out-and-back section for many, many miles. It was kind of funny that we were running nearly the identical pace for about 15 miles or so. He stopped at the aid station at one point long enough that I was able to finally reach him when I was in my 20-something mile.

Somewhere in the late teens, I felt a twinge in the hamstring and started to panic. It wasn't acute like when it first happened, but rather the same residual soreness I had afterwards. Strangely enough, it dissipated after about 5 minutes and I never felt it again through the race. It kind of put me in a funk through those middle miles though as I was worried I was going to have to cut my run short.

When I did catch up to Matt, I was still in that funk. And really wasn't in any mood to talk. I kind of mumbled some words at him for about a mile and a half and then pushed him to go on ahead. Though I wasn't inherently feeling anything physically bad (wahoo!), I wanted to do quiet work by myself.

There was a 3 hour race that started at 4:00 p.m. and it was good to get some faster moving legs out on the course. The 12 hour runners were definitely into the zombie zone and the teenager who led the 6 hour for awhile had begun walking. About an hour into their race, I passed one of the 3 hour women and she must've thought I was in contention in her race because she immediately came blowing past me with a whole new gusto. Though I knew we weren't competing in the same race, it was good to kind of have someone be the pacemaker for at least a short while.

I had been pretty on top of my calories all day and was proud that side of the race was going really well. After I got into the double digits, I put my handheld on and kept hydrating until the final hour. I started with gels and then guzzled Tailwind in the middle miles. At some point, I grabbed a coconut bar and a handful of rosemary potatoes from the aid station and felt like a new person.

I drank an entire Coke from my stash as I was actually feeling sleepy in the second half. It seemed to be helping so I sought out another one from the aid station. I found one on the table, opened it, drank a quarter of it, and came back about 45 minutes later and drank the last quarter of it. Apparently I was sharing with someone, but these things somehow seem less gross when you've been running for 4 hours?

My marathon split was somewhere in the 3:40s and I was relieved when I hit that mark. Somewhere before I actually hit 50K, Matt and I were running together again and he asked if I had ever gone under 4:30 for a 50K. My 50K prior to this race was 4:47, but happy crossed over the line around 4:30 and Garmin beeped at 4:32:21. My GPS was losing about 2/100ths of a mile each lap so no official chip PR - just a Garmin one. But hey, a PR is a PR!

As it got close to 6:00 p.m. and the 5 hour mark, I noticed the waning sun and decreasing temperature. When I stopped to get my headlamp, I also tossed my gloves back on. I actually felt very comfortable temperature-wise the last hour so the gloves were a great choice!

Runner math was not really on the table until I had about 45 minutes left in the race. I was content to just get to a marathon, a 50K, then 35 miles. Once I got to 35 miles, I realized that I could hit 40 if I stayed within a reasonable pace. It was definitely getting harder and the miles were wearing on me. But with the finish nearing, I kept going. Just 3 more laps, just 2 more laps, just 1 more lap.

I knew I'd have 39.5ish on my Garmin when I stopped and really wanted it to say 40. But when I stopped after my 40th lap - the lap time became good enough. I was pooped. Happy, but pooped. I counted all my rocks, recorded my laps, and waited for Matt to come through on his final lap. He ended up with 33 laps - we basically did the same pace for 5 of the 6 hours - and he came in second!

40 miles in the 6 hour is a PR for me. Coming off 2 marathons and on a less-than-ideal course makes me feel good about where my fitness is even if my body parts are randomly uncooperative. There is always the what if factor of an ideal course and a rested body, but a couple of extra miles in the 6 hour is one I'm okay to leave on the table for now.

Hinson Lake 24 Hour Endurance Run: 109 Miles Of Transcendence

I am crying in the dark waddling on the backside of the course. Unrelenting stinging pain reduces me to walking and for a half mile, I sob and mutter obscenities. My inner thighs are rubbed raw from the past 80-something miles I've just run and though a reasonably proper facility is just 7 minutes away, a tree seems to be harmless. Instead, I realize with great horror that I can no longer squat far enough to avoid urine contact with my open wounds.

This is the low. Mentally, I am ashamed and broken. Physically, I am so uncomfortable that I fear my race is in jeopardy.

At my tent, I fight back more tears as I rip off my shorts and climb into capris. It is still warm even in the dark, but the chafing is now a bigger threat than the temperature.

Immediately, I am relieved of my acute physical pain. I toss the shorts outside of the tent and shuffle down the trail.

.
.
.
.
.
.

Race morning is like most others. Happy runners milling about, nervously excited about the impeding task.

The sunrise is incredible. I feel calm because I feel capable.

The race director gives a quick speech and then we are off.

Steve and I run the first 1.5 mile loop together. His goal is to try to maintain 21 minute laps. My goal is to stay around 12ish minute miles, knowing I will feel better early on (re: faster) and worse later (re: slower). The day is expected to be hot and I aim to be slightly faster in the first few hours when the temperatures are less terrible.

We part ways after the first loop as he switches to the walk part of his strategy. I throw off my tank as I passed our camp area.

For the first few hours of the race, I feel fantastic. The easy pace and tapered body are making me confident that I might actually pull this off. I grab my handheld out of the cooler after a couple of laps and begin to strategize my nutrition. At the fourth lap, I start making an effort to get something either at the official aid station or our setup.

I eat an orange slice or two and decide to grab a gel around 10ish miles. The Mountain Dew is too sugary in the heat and so I start mixing the blue Gatorade Endurance with water.

As the morning wears on, I am content to run by myself. Just chugging along and lost in my own little world. There are plenty of people of the course and I catch snippets of conversation in between my own thoughts. I see Steve, Jen, Angie, Rachelle, and Win. Sometimes we run together for a bit, sometimes we walk, and sometimes we just wave hello.

Miles 10-20 are a digestive nightmare. I am in and out of the porta-potties every other lap. They are insufferably hot and more intolerable than usual. Eventually my stomach settles and I decide on the 5th hour of running to try a bit of real food. I choose the tiniest slice of cheese pizza and walk for a minute to eat and digest. After a mile or so, nausea hits me again. Angie offers up her ginger chews and I start to feel a bit better.

Staying on top the heat is brutal. According to Garmin, the heat topped out at 91°. Factor in the humidity for extra fun. I stuff my sports bra and bandana with ice. I swap out my hat and bandana for frozen ones on the cooler. The only relief is that the course is mostly shaded and that the exposed sections total only a few hundred meters.

As we head into the heat of the day, I notice many runners taking long breaks. Many are lying in their campsites, seeking relief from the warmth. I am envious of their popsicle breaks and ability to eat real food.

I've crossed over the marathon mark, 50K mark, and begin to shoot for the 50 miles. The tediousness of the task is wearing on me and I am glad to pick up company for a few laps with David. It is wonderful to get out of my own head for a few miles and I am in a really great spot between miles 40-50.

Carrie stops by with her dog Farrah and I walk briefly with her and Jen. I am getting updates now about my placement which truly hadn't been on my radar given how much further we had to go. But admittedly, I feel a bit competitive when I find out I am in second place and the first female is planning to drop after a distance PR.

As the sun begins to drop, I know that despite getting relief from the heat, the night miles lie ahead. Dark and lonely, they loom. I fear how my body will react beyond the distance I know it is capable of running. I fear how dark my thoughts will go when I want to stop.

I cling to the good things. The gnomes planted all over the course that runners pick up and drop off at random makes me giggle. Eating pickles in the same bite as a potato chip and a cookie makes me giggle. Sharing a few steps or a few miles with my old friends or new friends makes me smile. Running through the makeshift misting station each lap makes me smile.

At dusk, I grab my headlamp and sigh as I prepare for a long night. My caloric intake has been abysmal thanks to the heat. I have started taking walk breaks from the aid station to the first boardwalk. The twilight hours reignite the field briefly and those who sought relief from the heat are back for a few laps.

I decide to change shorts somewhere around 100K. Sweet relief. I begin plotting treats for myself for the remainder of the course. Getting past 68 miles will be a distance PR and that's a treat unto itself. At 70 miles, I would allow myself to call Adam for a motivational pep talk. After midnight, I would allow myself music. At 80 miles, I would allow myself to change my sports bra. At 90 miles, I would open the card that Matt gave me "for emergency use".

Talking to Adam is like getting a hug and a swift kick in the ass. Our conversation is long enough to be meaningful and short enough that I don't lose much time. For a few miles, I am pumped up and motivated which is not something I expect in the 70-something range.

The walk breaks are making the laps longer. I spend a gross amount of time doing runner math. It is shockingly difficult to add 1.5 to any number after running for 15 hours. And forget about calculating time or paces. Who decided to make 60 minutes in an hour?! Why is it not 100?! 

Changing my sports bra is relatively uneventful and not as amazing as expected. I come around for my 82ndish mile and hear the aid station volunteer offering oatmeal. It seems rather unoffensive and perhaps a good way for me to get some calories. I scoop a few bites into my mouth as I walk down the trail. It feels good to actually eat something. I toss the rest in the trash can and walk a few steps. Immediateprojectilevomiting. Oatmeal and Gatorade come flying out of my mouth without warning. I am so shell-shocked by the velocity that I stagger a bit to stand upright. Other zombies runners ask if I am okay. I wave them on.


Is this rock bottom?

A few miles later, I would discover rock bottom in a volatile cocktail of piss and chafe. There is no sugarcoating this experience. No one comes here for the glory. It isn't comfortable or easy. You cannot cheat 100 miles. It will rip apart your spirit in an instant. But nothing ever lasts.

And just as I touched the darkest place, I starting climbing out. I can and I will finish this.

I started the countdown to laps to go. With 7 laps to go, I tore open the envelope from Matt and exclaimed to the group at our campsite that I was relieved his message was short and to the point. I tossed the card on my camp chair and enjoyed the boost from my treat.

It seemed a bit silly to grab music after such a long time without it, but 7 laps at my sluggish pace was daunting. I was determined to not need the crutch and spent more delirious time inside my head performing more terrible math equations.

Like out of a terrible movie (because really, who would want to watch this?), I latched onto Jay when I was on lap 66. He was on lap 62 and so there was a bit of sweet relief that we could technically slow walk our way to 100. It was just before 4:00 a.m. I had been running for 20 hours.

Somehow, the renewed vigor of sharing this experience with someone who was about to do the same brought new life to me. I did whine a bit about wanting to walk, but I was seriously grateful for the final push. We ran the entire last lap. It wasn't very fast, but it was running. And running after 99 miles was a feat unto itself.

As I crossed the timing mat, I jumped about 6 inches in the air. It was all I could muster. I expected myself to get emotional, but perhaps I was too exhausted to work up more tears. I felt a sense of gratefulness and relief. Grateful for the entirety of the experience and relief that I had set out what I had intended to do.

Though the overachiever in me would have preferred for me to push for more miles with 3.5 hours left in the race, I decided to take it relatively easy. I walked a solo lap and then allowed myself to change shoes and sit. Jen walked another lap with me and then I took a 5 minute catnap in her chair. Then I walked solo for a bit and enjoyed the sunrise.

David caught up with me and we ran for a short while. When it got close to 7:20, I got my banana for the banana lap and grabbed my phone. A banana is given to each runner with their bib number in the last hour or so of the race. Runners are to drop their banana when the horn is sounded at 8:00 a.m. Your banana lap is measured and tacked onto the last known time you cross timing mat.

I called Adam on my banana lap. It was strange to feel "done" before the race was over, but I was solidly 1st place female and solidly 2nd place overall and I felt satisfied with 109+ miles on a stupid hot day. My last 3.5 hours were slow, but I was moving nearly the entire 24 hours.

I ended up passing the timing mat around 7:50 a.m. and continued walking along to drop my banana near our campsite. It was a pretty perfect place to end the race.

Talking to Ron, the male winner made me feel a bit better as we compared stories of battling the heat and puke. Though he was running at my marathon pace (!!!) for a considerable amount of the day, he too experienced some rough patches. As we were presented our winner swag and buckles, I grinned like the dork I am.

At risk of sounding like an Academy Awards show, there are so many people to thank in making this dream a reality. I'm sure I'll forget someone who is awesome so please forgive me--I am still catching up on sleep. Thank you to Jenster for planting this seed in my head and for inspiring me to do crazy things--I also reread the Timothy Olson piece so I feel slightly less insane now. Thank you to Steve for all the miles, all over the country--let's keep doing adventures! Thank you to Angie for being one badass stubborn chick who I'm quite certain is part running robot. Thank you to Rachelle (first marathon! first ultra!!) and Win for being awesome camping buddies. Thank you Matt for the 90 mile letter; I definitely needed it. Thank you to Scott for logging hundreds of miles with me on the Greenway all these years and congrats on being an IRONMAN. Thank you to Mild Sauce and Team Matz for making me think it was cool to dip my toes into the ultra scene. Thank you to Todd who gives me encouragement before and after every race. Thank you to JJ, my party hard, run harder internet bestie for making me a better runner through your posts and real-life friendship. Thank you to Dan and Hal for running misadventures and a hell of a fun summer. Thank you to Megan for your incredible selflessness (the nails, the dogs, etc., etc.) and the first one to say DO IT; you make me a better person. Thank you to my family, in-laws, and extended who thinks I'm crazy, but still calls to congratulate me or humblebrags on Facebook.

And of course, thank you to Adam for letting me be me. I say half-jokingly all the time I do what I want. But I know it's because he knows that this crazy stuff makes me happy. And doing stuff that makes you happy is really what it's all about.


Links to the race splits here.

Links to my GPS data here. And here. And also here, because I killed 2 Garmins.

100 Miles Ready

1,661 miles. 

Since the stroke of midnight on January 1st, I have run 1,661 miles. 

Five marathons, two 50Ks, one 6-hour race, one 50-miler, and one 12-hour race.

7 different states of racing.

Logged miles in 10 states.

 

Every single hour on the clock. 

I've run solo, with a friend, and with a group.

I've qualified for Boston twice.

I've stood on a podium 4 times.

3 sets of batteries in my headlamp.

9 different pairs of Hokas and 1 pair of Sauconys.

Climbed 58,369' in elevation.

252 total hours.

100 miles, I am ready for you.