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.

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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.

Yeti Snakebite 50K Race Recap

Expectations. They have changed nothing and everything in my running. It has been by my own doing so I have no one to blame. I have exposed a glass house and invited everyone to watch. Sometimes that means going above my own expectations and sometimes it means exposing all of my flaws.

I wouldn't be the runner I am today without others watching. And forging friendships with other runners has helped me evolve. It seems to have snowballed as of late, but I like to think I was slowly working my way towards the next steps. Both growing as a runner and growing as a member of the running community.

The story of the Yeti Snakebite 50K is the perfect exposure. Good, bad, and everything in between. Appearances are often deceiving. The real story is composed of many different layers.

It's easy to wrap up a race that doesn't meet surface expectations by blaming. Blame my super last minute entry (45 minutes!), no taper (65 miles the week before, 27 leading up to race day), a hot night (90° at the start), a non-running bruise near my ankle that limited my range of motion, and getting lost 24ish miles into the race.

I could have scaled back my double on Thursday, babied my ankle, gone out from the start with competitive passion, and pushed hard for a placement better than 4th.

But this wasn't a goal race.

This was a fairly well executed training run that left me able to run easily today. My hydration and nutrition were so spot-on that I was able to consume double steak burger from Steak and Shake an hour after the finish. If you understand this achievement, you understand the achievement. If you don't, I can't really explain it.

I had the energy, physically and mentally, to continue had the race been another loop or two. I was satisfied, but not exhausted. I was tired, but I was in great spirits.

What I take away most from the experience are the friendships that led me to this race in the first place and the story of one that developed while sharing a bunch of miles in the dark.

I like people. I'd even consider myself to be somewhat of an extrovert. But running was something I did solo for quite some time. A few years ago, FT and I started logging miles together intermittently. There is no regular time, pace, or mileage. We meet when we can for what we can. We've chased endurance dreams for 4+ years now and there is something comforting about sharing our very separate, yet very similar journeys together.

The first 5 marathons I ran and trained alone. The last 17 have been a barrage of sharing miles with a bunch of internet friends and foraging lasting friendships that rival those of people I see more than once a year. Social media has created an environment of nearly constant positive peer pressure. I love reading friends' posts about training, racing, and challenging themselves to be the best they can be. No matter their pace or position in the pack, this group of people is incredibly supportive.

I've developed such good friendships that I've traveled all over the country to eat in their kitchens, catch up over a few beers, and chase down dreams. Sometimes my own dreams, sometimes theirs.

2016 has been a hotbed of saying yes first and figuring out the details later. Mostly inspired by my bestie turning 40 this year, I too have said yes to things that I might have turned down out of fear prior to this year. It's only August, but I've been on more adventures and garnered more running buddies than any year prior.

Without my buddies, Miami would have been a tutu-less, beerless snoozefest, Los Angeles would have been watched on TV, Myrtle Beach would have never even been considered, and Boston would have been a sad celebration. I never would have run 50 miles in the middle of Indiana. And without the challenge of 24 hours on the horizon (with buddies who suggested I sign up), I never would have run a 6 hour and 12 hour race overnight. I never would have run a midnight marathon without my buddies and I never would have found myself at Sweetwater Creek State Park on a Saturday night asking the race director for a bib number because...well, the race sold out and I decided I wanted to run.

After I had my bib, I had a slight panic moment because I really thought the race director was going to tell me no. Ohshitshitshitshitshitshit, I have to run a 50K!

I walked really fast back to my car, but there was time for a panic selfie.

I wolfed down a second Uncrustable and ate some potato chips while throwing gear around in my car. My water was hot and Mountain Dew was nearing room temperature. I did have the wherewithal to Tiger Balm my angry ankle and Vaseline potential hot spots. As soon as I thought I had all my stuff, I walked back to the start/finish area with about 20 minutes to go time. I didn't really have to pee, but I went any way because I knew it would be the last time I could use a legit facility for the next few hours.

Then we all congregated at the road intersection and were told to follow the pink ribbons. If we got lost, follow the river trail upstream. 3 loops for the 50K. Ready, set, go!

I started out suuuuuper conservatively. It was very muggy and I was painfully aware of the fact that I had been on my feet all day at work with no taper. I ran 11 miles on Thursday. Oops. So I chugged along in the middle of the pack and decided to just stick with an easy pace for the first 2 laps and see what the 3rd lap brought. If I really approached it like a training run, I could just relax.

So I did. It was kind of weird at first. I fought the urge to pass people on the uphills when everyone in the midpack walked. But I knew something was right because I felt really, really good and it felt really, really easy. As soon as I chilled out, I started getting those good hippie trail vibes. Like, just being out here in nature with my trail running peeps is all I need in life. As we enjoyed the last slivers of daylight, I soaked in the good feelings. They never last in an ultra and I knew I would soon find myself on the other side of things.

At around the 4 mile mark (?), the course came out on a section stripped of trees for power lines. The path was like a little roller coaster with 3 really sharp and short descents/ascents. The first time around we were met with a stupid gorgeous sunset. It was orangey-red and watching the runners bob up and and down the hills in the distance was mesmerizing.

Shortly thereafter, we crossed Sweetwater Creek in hip high water using a rope. I giggled as I thought how this was the cheap, Southern version of the river crossing of Western States. There was a volunteer dressed like Kenny Rogers halfway across drinking a beer and I asked him for a sip as I crossed. Never one to take any of this too seriously, I took a healthy chug and kept moving.

I filled up one of my water bottles at the single on course aid station and then headed back towards the start/finish area. The course took us along the section of rocky shoreline just like the course I ran in January, complete with the nasty staircase to climb out of the river area. Fortunately, my Garmin seemed to be coming up short as I neared the start/finish. It read just over 9 miles when I thought it would have been 10.33ish for the 50K. I had started to descend into a funky place mentally. I filled up one of my bottles and left the other one alone since there was about 1/4 bottle left of Mountain Dew.

I started back onto the course going the wrong direction. They shouted to me to come back and luckily I only lost a minute or two. My ankle area was starting to bother me I could feel every step getting harder on the descents when the impact was increased. 2 more laps was a long way to go on a bum ankle, but I stubbornly plodded on.

The good news in that I had been taking a gel every 4-5 miles, consuming Oreos intermittently, and alternating between water and Mountain Dew with zero stomach issues. It was hot. Everything was wet with humid moisture and I tried to be conscious of staying ahead of hydration. Maybe it was the slower pace or caffeine limited to the Mountain Dew, but I felt really good about my intake.

By mile 12ish or so (give or take a couple of miles), I started running with Matt. And for the rest of the race, we stuck it out together. After a few pleasantries of human basics like where are you from, what do you do, we went through our running resumes like all runners with lots of time on their hands and upcoming stuff.

Before the power line/river section, we saw Sean sitting on the side of the trail in a bad spot. After realizing he wasn't in need of medical or consoling, we wished him well and plodded on. It hung on my mind for quite some time.

Matt was definitely in a better spot than I on the 2nd lap and led the charge while I babied my stupid ankle. I didn't take enough water at the midpoint aid station and had to conserve on the way back. Matt kindly offered to share his water, but fortunately we got there before I needed to take him up on the offer.

Knowing we were not going to be setting any sort of blistering pace on the final lap, we both took a moment at the start/finish aid station to get our acts together. I chugged a bottle of water and a quarter bottle of sweet, delicious Coke. Then I grabbed a Rice Krispie treat because it sounded delicious and retied my shoe hoping it would alleviate the ankle issue. Matt grabbed batteries for his dying headlamp and his phone so he could drown out my chatty ass listen to a podcast.

The ankle felt a billion times better after I retied my shoe and I cursed myself for not doing it before. Suddenly, I felt like a million bucks! We still had this final lap to complete, but I knew it was totally reasonable now that I was not in pain. Plus, the food, Coke, and water helped tremendously. A few other runners kind of bantered back and forth with us in that first section. And then we started seeing more and more carnage. Watching people make the decision to drop and seeing people waiting for assistance after they've decided to drop is heart-breaking. I felt like a jerk because I was riding high again at this point and ready to get 'er done.

We spent a bit more time walking the last lap, but I was in no hurry to finish. The company and conversation outweighed the minutes I might have made up if I forged ahead. Reaching the crescendo of the power line hill with the night sky lit up by stars and crossing the lukewarm river past midnight is decidedly better if you can ooh and aah over it with another human.

Matt and I caught up with a girl who was on her second lap walking because she had twisted her ankle. She was determined to finish by just walking since there was a generous cutoff time. We walked with her on the uphill out of the river basin and then I got the entire group lost.

Genius.

We spent a good 20 minutes at least trying to determine where I had led us off course. There was back-tracking and more back-tracking and then a different climb out of the river basin. The bright side for me was that the extra mileage didn't really matter. Unfortunately, Matt and our new friend were probably not experiencing those same feelings. Uggggh, sorry...

We came upon a dropped runner who was waiting with a ranger about 1-1.5 miles before the finish. The drop vehicle was nearing and Matt begged off some water from the rangers. I had given him some of my water earlier when he was getting dangerously low and so I took a nice gulp from the ice cold bottle. It was heavenly.

He keep urging me to go ahead, but with just a short distance to cover, it seemed silly to part ways. I shuffled along in the front in the same manner in which he carried me through the second lap, checking back every so often. By the time we got to the second strip of pavement signaling the finish was only minutes away, I felt that familiar elated exhaustion wash over me.

We crossed the line, fist-bumped, exchanged water bottles back, and thanked each other for a bunch of dark miles.

I sat on the curb for a bit before I collected myself and meandered back to the car. I took a post-race selfie and posted the glittery version to Facebook. 4th place after superhuman stuff!

But the reality is different. I have been training. I am no stranger to 8 hours days followed by running. I could have pushed harder. I wished I had hurt less. I had more high points than low points during the race, but there were thoughts of DNF. It took me 6 hours and 40-something minutes (I think, Garmin autopause was on and I honestly didn't even check the race clock) to run 28ish miles.

The positive side of the reality is that I really did just run a 50ishK pretty much last minute. I did feel pretty good considering the weather. I did recover well.

Most importantly, I said yes to adventures and I made new friends.

So if you've made it this far (really, you're still reading??) and you happen to be an instigator or supporter in my adventures and running, thank you. 

The trails are intoxicating

It's dark when the alarm goes off. It is cool, quiet, and calm in the bedroom. I swing my feet over the side of the bed and touch the floor.

I sip cold black coffee from a plastic cup as I drive the now-familiar route north. The sky is cloudy and it seems as though the world is taking a little longer to wake up this morning. On The Road Again rumbles over the stereo speakers and I drum on the steering wheel.

As the road gets curvier and my ears pop, I feel antsy to begin. The mountain tops that seemed so far off in the distance are now close and steep. A canopy of trees line the road as I navigate the switchbacks up, up, up.

I drive slowly down the road leading to the parking lot. It is dense with tree cover and seems almost dark on this cloudy morning.

A few minutes of fumbling with my pack and shoes and I'm off. The first mile is a familiar climb and I hike hard and fast on the incline to the 3-way intersection. A pair of couples are stopped on the rock stairs halfway up and we greet each other with good mornings. The oldest man is wearing a dark green floppy hat and says something about my speed that makes the others laugh. I cannot discern exactly what it is, but I smile back nonetheless as I continue on.

I make a right onto the Appalachian Trail and take the short, downhill path down to Neels. The rustic building on the north side of the road is nothing to write about except when shelter and civilization suddenly become a beacon in the wilderness. I trot under the covered walkway and make the easy early climb up to the highest peak of the day.

My legs feel fresh, my stomach is cooperating, and the cloudy day makes the air temperature tolerable for a late July morning in Georgia. I can discern peaks through the trees on either side of me. The views from the sections are breathtaking. Green covers the ground, the trees, and everything in between. I see a bear approximately 50 feet from the trail scamper off into the woods as we come into sight of each other. My heart races wildly, but my actions are strangely calm. I continue on with a slight uptick in speed, but without calling attention to myself.

As I come down the peak, I head the distinctive noise of metal tapping. It sounds as though a camper is hammering in tent stakes. Within a few minutes, I cross paths with a day-hiker who had been tapping his trekking poles to scare off bears. We converse for a brief moment and he takes a moment to show me a photo of a snake on his phone. He warns me that he saw it about a quarter mile from where we were standing. I warn him about the bear I saw about a mile back.

The next section features a series of lookouts at various peaks and I take out my phone for a few pictures. The day is still considerably cloudy and I feel good about my water supply. The trail is rocky in the climbing sections, but easy moving on the flats.

I crest the last peak before Tesnatee Gap and careen down trail without realizing the full brunt of its' steepness. At the Gap, a mother and son are sitting on the side of trail awaiting a ride. I stop to eat a couple Oreos and wander around looking for the white blazes. I ask the mother and son if they know where the trail continues and the point around the corner just at the top of the curve in the road. They are just finished overnight camping and warn me that the next section is incredibly steep.

I shuffle off onto the trail and soon find every muscle burning as I climb. It is step, rocky, and full of tight switchbacks. I am drenched in sweat and my lungs are working to provide every ounce of oxygen I need to keep going. My pace has slowed to over 20:00 minute miles and I feel like my heart is beating hard enough to pop out of my chest.

Fortunately, the peak is reach within a mile. My breathing returns to normal. But the sun begins to peak out from behind the clouds and filters through the trees. There are a few open sections and I feel the heat slowly rising. As I reach Hogpen Gap, I discover I have just 2 miles to go before I turnaround.

I pass two men a few years older than me who walkie talkie to a group of adolescent boys that a runner is a approaching. 5-6 boys split themselves on either side of the trail and I thank them for stepping aside to let me pass. Another short climb up and another short ride down leads me to mile 10. I make a few extra steps and then start right back up. I plan to change out my water bottles at the top, but the hikers are congregated there and I continue along until I am without of earshot of them.

I pull out my water bottles to transfer and fumble a bit with the caps. As I start to put everything away, I hear the group getting closer to me and I keep my empty bottle in my hand as I trot along the trail. The mercury is rising and I start to get a bit concerned about the fact that I've burned through a little more than half of my water.

The mental funk sets in. My legs are growing weary, the rocks underfoot seem sharper with every mile, and I am uncomfortably warm. The climbs burn my lungs, the downhills burn my quads. Every so often, I enjoy a few minutes of flat before ascending or descending.

After passing Hogpen, I decide I will just run down the road at Neels and cutoff my run by 1.5 miles. I worry about running out of water. I am tired. I might have bit off more than I chew.

The descent down to Tesnatee is rough. I am going down, but I cannot go fast. The rocky stairs and uneven footing makes the trail nearly impossible to run and I hold onto trees as I try to keep both my ankles intact.

I spend the next few miles worried about my water. I wasn't going to die. But I was going to be really thirsty by the end. I stop looking at the lush greenery and the captivating lookouts. The light mist that threatened in the early miles would be a welcome relief. I come upon a hiker who was changing her shoes on top of the tallest peak. She asks me how my run was going, I ask her how her hike was going. I tell her I wish it would rain.

As I come carefully down the hill, thunder crackles loudly. I jump as it rumbles. Within minutes, fat raindrops fall on top of the trees. I am covered briefly for a short while, but as the rain intensifies, the water begins to drench me. The dry trail can't soak up the moisture quick enough and sheets of water run down the slope like miniature waterfalls. My shoes and socks are soaked instantly. I was indeed the fool who wished for rain.

The only saving grace is that the lower temperature buys me a bit more time and I careen down the last section to Neels at the fastest speed I can maintain without falling. I aim for the covered pathway at Neels. As I spot the building, I breathe a sigh of relief.

I stand under cover for a few minutes and put my water bottle out on a picnic table to collect rainwater. A woman steps out of white SUV and walks under the cover with me. She asks if it's okay if she smokes and though I clearly would prefer she didn't, I say yes. She talks to me for a few minutes about her family driving her crazy in the car and attempts to warn me about bears, snakes, and people on the trail.

After she finishes her cigarette and walks back to her car, the rain lightens up enough that I go in search of a water fountain. I see a spigot on top of a wooden box next to the building with a few dog bowls scattered about. Good enough for dogs, good enough for humans...

With a nearly full bottle, I decide to finish the last mile and a half as planned. It is far steeper to the intersection than I remember, but once I get beyond that, I know it is all downhill. Literally and figuratively.

As I cross over the 20 mile mark, I feel the familiar pangs of happy exhaustion. It is extraordinarily satisfying and yet so challenging. And despite feeling like it is so tough every time I am out there, I cannot wait to return.

Loonies Midnight Marathon RR: A Cartwheel PR

I don't even remember when the suggestion of Loonies Midnight Marathon came onto my radar screen. Likely a week or two before Merrill's Mile and my head was so wrapped around getting through a 12 hour race that I couldn't see beyond June 3rd.

I came out of Merrill's unscathed and despite a little bit of residual soreness, I was running again that Tuesday. Nothing was fast or long, but I felt good considering I had just obliterated a bunch of PRs on a hot Georgia night.

When the subject of this Midnight Marathon business came up again, I actually looked at my work schedule and discovered that I might be able to make it happen. Unfortunately, the deeper I get into this running thing, the harder it is to say no to an opportunity of random adventures. After a bit more finagling and a push by my co-workers, I had Friday off work to rest up before the travel and race.

I checked the weather forecast on Friday morning and discovered that Livingston, Tennessee is actually in Central Time. A quick text to my running buddies Dan and Hal and all of us were a little relieved we'd have more travel time. Only later would I realize the flip side of that was a 1am start and an extra long morning.

I putzed around most of the day and got absolutely zero adulting things accomplished. I painted my nails (the phases of the moon), obtained beer and coffee, and took a nap.

We met at Hal's house and piled up the car with runner gear around 5:30p.m. The drive was supposed to be about 4 hours, but we made a couple of pit stops. We had dinner at Crapplebee's in the bustling metropolis of Dalton, Georgia where I consumed a chicken wrap thing with potato chips. I was aiming for mild and anti-fiber. However, I couldn't resist the Starbucks across the street and proceeded to drink a large iced coffee which was likely a contributing factor to later issues.

There were rainstorms through Chattanooga and then we had a beautiful sunset drive just beyond the city as we headed north. Somewhere, in the middle of nowhere, we were blinded by dozens of police vehicles' flashing lights at a DUI checkpoint. Pretty sure the police officer was like, WTF? when we told him we were headed to run a Midnight Marathon, but he allowed us to continue on our journey. After one more quick stop at Wal-Mart, we pulled into the parking lot of the race start/finish.

Small races have their benefits and we were able to back in and create a little aid station right along the course. It proved useful for all of us. There was still plenty of time to get ready so we talked with other runners nearby until it was game time.

There was a Marathon Maniacs picture, a speech by the town's mayor, a briefing by the police chief, and the National Anthem. I decided to shed my tank last minute as it was 82°F at the start and shoved a few ice cubes in my sports bra from the cooler.

With the gun, Dan took off and I maintained the middle spot while Hal stayed within sight for the first few miles. My primary goal was to get another night training run and knock out some more mileage. I was far from PR shape after 100K 2 weeks' prior so I aimed to stay in the 8:00s from the beginning and let my body dictate the pace as the night wore on. I could negative split if I felt good or just finish another marathon if things went awry.

The first 1.2 miles took us back to the start/finish and then the course consisted of 5, 5 mile loops. A lot of it was out-and-back so it was a good thing this was in the middle of the night (re: boring). Actually, the loops didn't really bother me much and it was the perfect amount of elevation change. Mostly flat with a few teeny rollers. Garmin and Strava say 702' of elevation gain.

I felt good the first hour or so and though my legs were not super fresh feeling, nothing hurt. I grabbed my handheld that I stuffed full of ice from the cooler when I came around for the first lap and immediately felt so much better with something cold on my hand.

By the end of the second lap, I started to feel the familiar pangs of nausea combined with stomach cramps. My mental state was not as funky as Midsummer's Night Dream, but I had also already relegated this race to a training run with a medal at the end. I knew there was a porta-potty at the 1st hydration stop so I decided to wait until then to go.

It was not a moment too soon. Phew! But I felt immediately better for a couple of miles and was in a much happier place mentally.

As I neared the end of the 3rd lap, I grabbed an icy towel that they were handing out. Unfortunately, the one I got was about washcloth sized and I couldn't wrap it around my neck like I had seen other runners do. I squeezed the water all over myself and picked off a few ice cubes to suck on. Writing this reminds me how funny it is that gross stuff like eating ice off a towel from a bucket is such a non-issue in the world of running.

At our car aid station, Dan was finishing up changing shoes and I tossed the towel down on the cooler. We ran together for about a quarter mile and then I stopped to walk a few steps as I was certain that I was about to have a porta-potty accident outside of the porta-potty. I scanned the nearby area thankful that it was dark and then magically, the feeling disappeared and I started running again. I caught up with Dan and we grunted at each other for about 3/4 of a mile before he trickled behind me into the night.

I was trying to not get too wet while pouring water over my head as the wet, soggy shorts experience was kind of a downer at Merrill's. I would fill up my handheld with water when it got low and I was trying to sip regularly. The thought of Gatorade made me incredibly nauseous and I could stomach any more GU after miles 5 and 10. My hydration levels and electrolytes were definitely off, but I couldn't really figure out what I needed other than to stop running a marathon in the middle of the 80° night.

I stopped at the porta-potty again before finishing the 4th lap and fortunately never had to revisit it again. Things started to level out after that and though I wasn't moving quickly (relatively of course), I knew that I was going to finish it in under 4 hours. I grabbed a big icy towel (yay!) and headed out for my final lap. I saw Hal at the car and he was already in a different shirt. Ugh! 

His DNF weighed on my mind a bit as I went back out, but it made me determined to gut out what I started. When I saw Dan headed in the other direction, he told me that he was finished too. Double ugh! Now I really have to finish to make our trip worth it.

The idea of being on my last lap and feeling much better was a complete turnaround for me. I was shuffling along with a grin on my face and thanking all the volunteers one last time as I passed by the various intersections and hydration stations. As I made it to the back half of the course, I felt relieved that the only thing separating me from the finish line was the journey back.

I high-fived a few of the intersection volunteers as I exclaimed, "thank you for being out here! This is my final lap!" The song Salute by Little Mix had shuffled into my iPod mix and I played it about 5 times on repeat over the last few miles. I was far from my PR, but I was proud of myself in a different way.

Hal and Dan were standing right before the finish line as I came in and I tossed my icy towel at them so it wouldn't get in the way of my cartwheel. New fastest marathon with a cartwheel at the end? Sounds like a good enough PR to me!

Final time: 3:49:32. 1st in my age group. 5th female. 17th overall. Cartwheel PR.

I really wanted to sit in the parking lot and drink celebratory beers after the race. But my stomach was revolting still and it was 5am Eastern Time. It was enough to put on dry clothes and stay awake as official navigator. Both Dan and Hal took naps, but I was the only one who didn't drive so I think that was fair?

We had breakfast at Cracker Barrel in Chattanooga and likely looked as though we were incredibly hungover in our stinky, exhausted state. I ate a few pieces of french toast and felt slightly better. Finally, back at Hal's house, the start of the trip, the 3 of us dug into the cooler for a 10:30am breakfast brew and raised our cans to end of an adventure.

 

Merrill's Mile 12 Hour RR: Don't Wake Me Up From This Dream

"How many more do you have?" blue shirt runner guy shouted from across the track.

"2!" I exclaimed.

"Are you going to keep going?"

"Of course!"

With an hour and a half left on the clock, I made my goal of 100K. 62 miles in 10:29:45. But the race wasn't to reach a mileage mark and finish. This was a 12 hour race. It was to see how far I could go in 720 minutes.

I had to go on. Despite everything in my body telling my mind to stop, I knew I still was capable of more.

1 year prior, I was in the exact same location, running my very first distance longer than a marathon. I loved it. In the 366 days since, I've pushed the envelope further than I could have imagined. 5 marathons (3 of them in 3:20-3:22 range) and 4 more ultras.

I'm still learning. I'm still making mistakes. But distance running is often an exercise in taking advantage of the really great seconds/minutes/hours and not letting the really terrible times define you. Because there will be terrible times. Even in the best of races, there will be low moments. But that's what makes getting to the finish so much sweeter.

My last race was a hot mess. I had four one too many beers the night before (shocker...), consumed too much fat/dairy in the hours before the race, and continued to dehydrate myself by not drinking early and often. Plus, it was about 15° warmer.

I didn't want to make the same mistakes. The misery was too fresh.

Steve and I did take a very slow hike at Amicalola Falls and up Blood Mountain on Thursday. My calves were a bit sore, but I don't think it had much ill-effect on my race. Plus, I think the mental nourishment outweighed any tightness. We are brewing up some plans to section hike the Appalachian Trail next year and this reignited my desire for adventure.

I hadn't run since Tuesday so we did a short shakeout run at the Greenway on Friday morning. It was a typical Hotlanta morning full of stifling humidity and oppressive heat. A nice reminder to be thankful that we were going to be racing in the dark.

We headed to Midtown after getting cleaned up to eat burgers and drink one last beer together at the Vortex before switching to water and Gatorade. While we were in the area, we took a short walk to and around Piedmont Park before returning to suburbia.

The next 24 hours were pretty uneventful. We ate, hydrated, slept, ate, hydrated, napped, and I made a sign to place with our personal aid station.

Adam drove us up to Camp Frank D. Merrill and Megan was already there when we arrived. She caught a few before snapshots of us while we were counting down to 9pm.

Soon, Steve and I had our bibs, timing chip ankle cuffs, and were standing around receiving "instructions" for the race. Run around the circle. Switch directions when told every 6 hours. Watch out for water moccasins. Have fun.

There were 48 hour (!!!!) and 24 hour (!!!) runners that we were joining on the track. They had started at 9am and looked hot and tired. Our starting group contained 6 hour and 12 hour runners and approximately 25-30 people lined up with us.

My goals were to run 100K and to keep moving for 12 hours. I knew I would feel better earlier and that my pace would naturally wane, but I really wanted to avoid the crash and burn. So I repeated 10 minute miles, 10 minute miles, 10 minute miles over and over knowing that as long as I was within 30 seconds of that, I wouldn't be setting myself up for a complete bonkfest.

Steve explained his strategy of running and then run/walking to me. I got lost in the runner math and decided to just try to run together until one of us felt particularly good or bad. The great thing about a 1 mile loop is that we knew we'd catch up with one another all night even if we separated.

We cruised easy for the first few miles trying to get in sync with a pace. Jeff and his parents arrived right at the start and we were able to wave our hellos to them. Our spectator group decided to take off as we rounded the 3rd lap and around the same time, we switched on our lights for a long night of running.

Steve and I talked back and forth and the first hour went by relatively quickly. We settled into a strategy of stopping every other lap for hydration/nutrition either from the official aid station or our own stash. I was making every attempt at staying hydrated and cool early on. At the sweltering L.A. Marathon earlier this year, I learned that sticking ice in your sports bra is heavenly. So I repeated this genius behavior and attribute much of my success to keeping my core body temperature lowered.

I ate an Uncrustable (grape, duh) early on when I realized I was pretty hungry. I knew that I needed to keep calories in so I was trying to eat something every other time I stopped for liquid even though I was getting some calories from the Mountain Dew and Gatorade.

My legs felt sluggish for the first 15 miles, but everything else was pretty much perfect. I was energized, in a good place mentally, and was relatively comfortable. I stopped to pee which was a good sign that I was hydrating early and often.

Somewhere around mile 17 or 18, Steve pushed me to go on while he walked a bit. We got in a solid 3 hours and though it was early, I knew we'd be able to run more later given the style of the course.

Soon after that, I saw Dan who had come out to set up his stuff for the 12 hour on Sunday as well as support a few other friends running. He ran a 1/2 mile lap with me and it was a nice transition into my loner hours. 

I was feeling so much different than the race I had 3 weeks prior. Everything started to fall in place and I tried to stay on top of anything that might sway me from a great night. Without Steve to talk to, I decided I would wait until somewhere between the marathon mark and 50K to grab my music. It seemed to pay off because some of my fastest miles were between 26-39.

I allowed myself to remember the awesome feeling I had when I finished the lap after the marathon mark last year. I was hoping that I would have a similar feeling as I cruised beyond mile 50 this year.

I did actually start to feel sleepy around 2am so I popped a caffeine pill and drank a few sips of coffee that I cooled off with ice. My feet were sore from all the miles on pavement and I was hoping that I would suffer no long-term effects from repeated doses of OTC painkillers.

Food was getting harder and harder to figure out. I was hungry, but nothing stood out so I just tried a bunch of everything. I ate a couple of mini chocolate donuts (those kind that almost taste like they are coated in wax?) and a fair number of boiled potatoes dipped in salt. I ate another half of an Uncrustable at some point and a bunch of Pringles. I ate some baby pickles, a few peanut M&M's, some orange slices, a couple of hunks of watermelon, and spent the last couple of hours eating a lemon sandwich cookie every other mile.

My Garmin died at mile 39.99 (really?, really.) and so I relied on the time clock and lap counter for the rest of the evening. As I headed into the 7th hour, I realized that I was about to slay my 50 mile PR. I've only run 50 twice and both were on trails, but I figured that this was still pretty awesome considering I still was going to run for nearly 4 more hours afterwards. I finished my 50th lap in 8:07:23!

I was thrilled going into mile 51 and I almost forgot that I was entering new territory mileage-wise. But then again it was 5am and now I was counting down the moments until I could get rid of my head lamp and hat. I caught up with Steve and we ran for a bit together. The sky slowly started to get lighter and though I knew the sun would bring heat, it would also signal that we were nearing the finish.

The light brought the race back to life for many runners. Now that we could properly see each other, there were all kinds of words of encouragement being tossed around. I ran with blue shirt runner guy for a bit and he told me he was aiming for 50 miles. We were both on track to hit our goals and it was exciting that we had an extra time cushion.

I was waving to him and Steve as we went 'round and 'round the circle. When I knew that 100K was locked in barring some act of God, I allowed myself to relax a bit. It seemed unreal that I had run that many miles.

And yet, when I crossed the mat at mile 62, I just kept right on going. I still had an hour and a half left. I ran a few more miles and then I sought companionship. The boredom and fatigue were beginning to consume me and I needed a distraction. When I reached Steve again, we walked and talked. Erin and her niece came just after 8am and they joined us for 2 miles. I grabbed a beer from the cooler as we walked what I thought was going to be my final mile. A victory lap of sorts. 68 laps was more than I hoped for so I was pleased as punch to just enjoy the moment.

But as we neared the last mile, we saw there were still 15 minutes left on the clock. Runnable, but questionably walkable in our zombie state. Erin gave me the challenging push and that was all I needed. I handed Steve my beer and took off hoping to squeak out another mile.

It hurt so good. Knowing that it was just icing on the cake took all the pressure off. I felt as though I was running a 6 minute mile. It was the perfect mix of silly and determined which pretty much sums up my running. With a few minutes still left before the cutoff, I crossed the line for my 69th lap.

Results are still pending so I'm not sure where I placed in the weekend. But no matter what, I am thrilled with my race and even happier that I got to spend the race weekend with my RB.

Steve knocked out an impressive 58+ miles and kept moving and smiling throughout the night. There aren't that many weirdos out there that want to run around in circles in the middle of July in Georgia overnight. I'm lucky to share breakfast beers and cookies with this swell dude from Michigan. Better yet? He and Adam can watch 58590380285 innings of baseball together all weekend while I take naps.

If this is a dream, please don't ever wake me up.

A Midsummer's Night(mare) Dream 6 Hour RR

It's 2:30 a.m. I'm finishing up my 34th mile. Everything is uncomfortable. I am drenched in sweat. My legs are cramping from lack of hydration and electrolytes. It is dark and has been for the past 5 hours. The shadows are beginning to play tricks and the small section of single track is getting tougher to navigate.

But I keep going. One foot in front of the other. Moving faster when I can, moving slower when my body fails me.

Nothing ever lasts. Nothing ever lasts. Nothing ever lasts.

It's been a long time since I've felt so low while running. It humbles me. It rips my confidence up and slashes right through my happiness. I latch on to the fear of running twice the time in just 3 short weeks in likely similar conditions.

I can and I will. I can and I will. I can and I will.



Saturday, 10:30a.m.

I make and eat a giant stack of blueberry pancakes. Carbo-load time.

Then I had to burn away an entire Saturday of basically doing nothing. With the race looming, it was really hard to keep my excitement at bay. I read a bit (David Miller's AWOL on the Appalachian Trail) and took a nap. I ate some pizza mid-afternoon and made sure I was hydrating all day.

I piddled around collecting my gear and personal aid station goodies.

I painted my nails with a Midsummer's Night Dream theme--night sky and whatnot. And glitter. Because glitter is fun.

Adam got home from work and we chatted a bit before I decided it was time for me to head out. The race was about an hour from my house and I left at 6:45p.m. or so. Traffic was minimal and I made it there by 7:45p.m.

Bib pick-up was easy (as is true in all small races) and I set up my gear near the aid station. I talked to a few other runners around me and waited for direction to get started.

 I put Bob (my spectating minion) in my camping chair with a neon glow bracelet on his head. I was hoping this would make me smile every time I came around. Unfortunately, the smiles were few and far between after this.

The race director told us we were to start about 100 yards from the start/finish line because the race was full. The extra distance would help to spread us out once we got to the single track section. No one wanted to be on the "front line", but I happened to be standing up there when were started which was good because the pace was pretty slow for most participants. 2 guys took out pretty fast and I followed behind a girl about my age who was running in the mid-8s.

Though it was 88* at the start, I felt pretty good for the first few laps. I didn't bother to wear my tank and once we got through the first lap, I popped in one ear bud so I could listen to music. The girl was keeping a great pace and I stayed within a few steps of her for about 6-7 miles.

My competitive side was in full force and I didn't want to stop early on at the aid station because I was sure she was running the 6 hour (I am still not really sure if she was or not). However, by the 4th lap, I needed to grab something liquid so I stopped briefly and then caught up with her.

She stopped at the 6-7 mile mark and I never ran with her the rest of the night. I think I saw her a few more times, but the darkness and people shedding clothing made it progressively harder to discern who was who.

I took a few pieces of watermelon and 2 PBJ squares in the first 10 miles, but my stomach started to feel queasy not too soon after that. I was trying to alternate Mountain Dew and water as I had at Gnaw Bone, but soon I was so nauseous that I had to grab Tums from my aid station.

I was kind of paying attention to my pace, but the darkness made it so I really only looked at my watch every once in awhile.

When I got to the half marathon mark, I started to go rapidly downhill. I think I ate a total of 4 watermelon pieces, 3 pretzels, and an orange slice in the last 24 miles. I was incredibly nauseous and could hear my stomach sloshing after I tried to drink a half bottle of water thinking it would help with dehydration. I went to the porta-potties 4 times and the intensity of need increased through the night. Several times I questioned whether or not I would make it to the proper facility in time.

Those middle miles were absolute hell. There was a group of army rangers doing a series of night exercises on the same course with full gear. I wanted to use them for my inspiration, but shamefully, I was just annoyed that I was forced to weave in between them on the same course. When their vehicles came up and down the small, single lane gravel road, I cringed at the dust and exhaust fumes.

Everything was annoying me. I was annoyed that other runners were laughing and having a good time. I was annoyed that the aid station didn't have prepoured drinks. I was annoyed that the soda I drank wasn't flat. I was annoyed that my ear bud was falling out. I was annoyed that my feet felt dusty and dirty from the terrain. I was annoyed that it was hot. I was annoyed I had a huge box of goodies and the only things I used came from the "medical" side of the box.

In retrospect, there were a few good things going on. I was keeping a pretty decent pace despite all my breaks in the middle miles. My legs didn't hurt. My feet didn't hurt. I was continuing to move forward despite everything in my mind telling me to stop.

I really wanted to stop.

Somewhere near the upper 20s, I decided to just stop trying to drink anything and put my head down and move. I shuffled along and forced myself to go a lap (1.2 miles) without stopping. Once I got through that, I walked a minute or so and then repeated it again.

When I got to 2:30p.m., I contemplated the ridiculousness of running in circles in the middle of the night in June in Georgia. I could just stop and be happy with 30-some odd miles. But I tucked in behind 3 runners who were happy and talking and laying down a nice pace late in the race. So I followed behind the pack of 3 for the next 15 minutes. I let them guide me to the last lap and when the clock showed 5:47, I decided to keep going for 1 more lap when 2 of their 3 runners decided to call it a night.

I was worried that I wasn't going to be able to finish before the 6 hour mark as I headed down the single track for the last time. My body was spent. I wavered between just walking it and making a final "push". In reality, I continued to shuffle until I reached the final bend and then shuffled a little faster closer to the finish line.

Done. Finished. Complete. Signed, sealed, delivered.

I bent over and then laid in the grass huffing and puffing by the timing tent. My legs cramped up immediately after stopping and I took a few minutes to collect myself.

This was a small race. But winning overall is still really cool. And this one meant even more considering the amount of times that I was ready to throw in the towel. 

I've had a day and a half to wrap my head around this race. It wasn't the furthest I've run. It wasn't the fastest I've run. I've run in hotter temperatures. But I think these were the biggest demons I've faced while racing. And not giving up was huge. I have thought long and hard about that last lap. 5:47 is really close to 6 hours. I could have just forgone that last lap and stopped. At the time, I thought I was at least a few laps ahead of the other racers so the thought was appealing to stop. But I decided to push for one more and that ultimately was what separated me from the second place finisher.

More importantly, aside from obvious injury or debilitating pain, this race made me feel stronger as an endurance runner. Spending a little time on the dark side was good for me to experience. I have shaken it and am ready to move on.

In fact, I might have run today....