Rehoboth Beach Marathon Runparty #10 - The One Where I Ate Humble Pie

Running a marathon so shortly after a 24 hour effort went reasonably well last year. But, I didn't have it coupled with recovery from UTMB and this year, I could feel that everything just felt a little tougher on the few runs I did in between. 

Rehoboth has traditionally been great racing weather and I've finished the race a few times still wearing gloves. But as I checked the forecast to figure out packing, I saw it was going to be much warmer this year. Ugh. More on this later though. 

Rob and Roger were waiting at BWI when I landed Friday morning and we went to pick up the rental car. After a quick stop at Dunkin’ Donuts, Angie texted that her plane had arrived so we picked her up and were on our way. 

We shopped for snacks and dinner items at Wal-Mart and arrived in Rehoboth shortly before our rental was ready. I asked if we could get the keys anyway and it wasn't a problem. We picked up our bibs and then went to the house to drop off the groceries and put our gear away. 

I tried to do a shakeout run, but about 5 minutes into it, rain came pouring down. Normally, it wouldn't bother me, but I was wearing my race shoes and really didn't want to start a race with wet feet. So I turned back and changed so we could go to Dogfish Head. Mr. Bacon got there right before we were going to leave and once at the restaurant, we met up with Abby and Clark and squeezed into a booth for beer and snacks. 

I had a beer and a half and then had to run back to the house to change my email forwards for work at 5pm. Jen and John arrived shortly thereafter and soon we were all hanging out in the kitchen, catching up and making dinner. I reminded Abby she had to sit next to me for good luck. 

Race night is usually a pretty uneventful affair and this one was no different. We laid out our race clothes and started to head to bed around 9pm. Despite my early alarm, I couldn't fall asleep right away and listened to the rain until I eventually dozed off. 

I woke up way before my 6am alarm and decided to go get coffee and breakfast downstairs. The house started to come alive as we all went through our prerace routines. A little after 6:30am, Roger, John, Bacon, and I all walked over to the start line.

Much like the year prior, I wanted to stay with the 3:35 pace group for as long as I could. I spotted the pacer in the starting line crowd and kept an eye on him once the gun went off.

It immediately felt like I was working a little too hard in the beginning to keep the pacer in my sight and I came up on Abby rather quickly but didn't see her until she said hi. I knew it was stupid to sprint the gap between myself and the pacer so I tried to methodically reel him in. Within the first mile, I was within 15 steps of the pack and finally felt relaxed.

Things felt good along the boardwalk as I warmed up and woke up. Rob spectated this year and was offering words of encouragement as we passed back by the start area. 

At 7:30, Adam's alarm clock went off and changed my Spotify playlist to “whale sounds.” I fumbled around with my phone for a minute and changed it back to my running playlist. I laughed when I realized that I was in the same exact spot last year when this happened, but I couldn't figure out then why my music stopped.

At the turnaround, I realized what a slog this was going to be because I was already so thirsty. The gravel section is really pretty, but definitely slower and I found that I was really working to stay on pace. It was much easier once we hit the road and I had a few good miles on the highway section. 

As the faster runners started passing by on the opposite side, I kept my eyes out for Roger. When he came by on the other side, he seemed to be in good spirits and I was happy he was having a good race. Bacon was the only other one in our group running the full aside from Roger and myself and he looked calm and comfortable running just a few minutes behind me.

As I got to the halfway point, I began to get frustrated that I was sometimes only able to get Gatorade because the water stops were a cluster running with the pace group. I knew that I needed to be strategic to get water when I got off the trail and probably 2 cups if I could. I was soaked from the humidity and wished I had raced in just a sports bra instead of a singlet.

I took the time to get water at around mile 17 and watched the pace group put a bit of space on me. At first, I thought I was going to be able to slowly get back to them, but I was really just keeping up with them through town. 

I saw Angie in the final half mile of her race and veered over to give her a high five. Shortly thereafter, I saw Rob and said something about how shitty I was feeling. Coming through the mile 19 aid station, I watched the pace group leave me in the dust. And suddenly, 7 more miles seemed really, really long and far. 

I stopped to walk a few times trying to get my life together and settle my stomach. I knew I needed to choke down another gel, but I could feel myself gagging just thinking about it. As I entered the final trail section, I opened up a very innocuous vanilla GU and took tiny tastes. I saw Roger again and he looked tired, but was still moving well. 

Things seemed to be going ok for a mile or so, but then my body immediately and forcibly rejected the gel. I stopped and leaned over the fence, puking my guts out. I walked a little bit and then had to stop again to get it all out of my system. Puking in an ultra is pretty normal for me, but a marathon? Ugh.

I walked briefly to collect myself and then started jogging. After the turnaround, I started to feel better with a clear stomach and while I wasn’t running fast, at least I was running! I saw Bacon shortly after the turnaround and gave him a high five. 

The last few miles felt long as these things always do. I had kind of given up on 3:40 at some point, but had rallied enough to be close if I didn't completely fall apart. Suddenly realizing how close I was, I found another gear. A BQ, assuming I finish Boston #10 in April 2024, is allegedly all I need if I've finished 10 consecutive Bostons. I won't need to worry about the cutoff.

Therefore, getting that 3:40 became really important! I forgot I had started about a minute back so I gave it everything I had once I saw the finish clock, thinking I had cut it even more dangerously close than I had. 

Oof.

I felt horribly nauseous when I finished and had to sit down to try to calm my stomach. Roger had already gone back to the house so I waited to see Bacon finish and hobbled over just in time to catch him coming down the chute. 

We saw a few of our friends as we started to make our way back to the house, waiting for us to get back to the beer tent, aka, the real reason we go to Rehoboth every December!

426 Laps: The Stinger 24 Hour 2023 Edition

If I’m being honest, I had no business running a 24 hour race less than 12 weeks after UTMB. Recovery had gone okay, but I knew that it was going to be tough to ask my body and mind to do something long and difficult again in such a short amount of time. 

I told myself I could always bail if I wanted to. A timed race can be gracious in that way. If I ran 1 lap and decided it wasn’t my day, I would still be recorded for the 1 lap. I wanted to hit 100 miles, but I gave myself the grace that it would be okay if I was absolutely miserable.

Which is a strange notion considering how miserable conditions were, especially to start. I stayed at a hotel overnight near the race so that I could get a full night’s sleep and only have to drive 5 minutes to the track. When I peeked out the window that morning, I saw steady rain coming down and decided to wait until the last possible minute to head out.

At the race, I set up my changing tent over my small table to try to keep some of my stuff dry. This really didn’t work as the changing tent is definitely not waterproof and it was windy enough that all my gear not inside plastic bags or boxes ended up getting wet. Thankfully, most of my clothes remained dry so I at least had a few things to keep me warm later in the race.

Jared was running the 6 hour so he and I hung out in the few minutes before the race under the aid station tent to stay out of the rain. My feet were already soaking wet and we hadn’t even started yet. But at least it was on the track so there wasn’t any mud or slippery conditions. Just a few spots that the water had pooled on lane 1. 

I decided to just stick with my usual 24 hour strategy, which is to run 10ish minute miles for as long as I can. On the track, this is about a 2:30 lap. It didn’t take too long to get locked into the pace and just kind of zone out for a bit. I was surprisingly colder than I expected and was really glad I had added an extra layer before starting. As I was running around and around, I was thinking about all the extra gear I keep in my car and how I might have to go get some of it if I ran out of dry stuff!

In the orange hat on the far left

For nutrition, I started out with alternating a Spring Energy Awesomesauce Gel (180 cal) every 75 minutes or so and eating a mini croissant (?? calories) in between the gels. I did this pretty consistently until I got to the 7th gel and then switched to vegetable soup and soda (they had a 2 liter of Sprite and I'm pretty sure I drank most of it). Then, as usual, it became an exercise of eating whatever sounded palatable. There comes a point that chewing is actually really difficult despite all signs of my body telling me that I need to eat. I did manage to eat half of a cheeseburger at one point and I was really enjoying the hot chocolate later in the race. 

It rained pretty steady for the first 4ish hours of the race. I wore a rain jacket for awhile, but then I was soaked anyway and it was annoying me so I just went down to a wool base layer and a long-sleeve over it. I switched to my super warm mittens, but by the time that Cassy arrived at around 5 hours in, they were soaked too. I asked her to go retrieve all of my gloves that I keep in my center console in my car and ended up using probably 6 pairs of gloves throughout the race. Anyone who knows me can attest that it is crazy that I used that many as I’m usually so warm while racing!

Jared lapped me a bunch of times (as expected!) and it was nice to have a familiar face out there on the course for at least a quarter of the race. I knew it was going to get lonely later so I was happy to enjoy all the people running the “shorter race” while I could. Of course, when he was all packed up and leaving, I thought about how dumb I was to be continuing on for 18 more hours. Eek.

I planned to start with music, but then changed my mind and just left my phone/headphones within reach on my table. The music from the aid station was loud enough to be heard around the track so I didn’t really need it, but once Jared left, I decided to queue up my own playlist. 

It had slowed down to a mist for a while and was even dry for a few hours in the late afternoon and evening. But everything had a dampness about it and while I love the cold, I do not love the wet cold. I had to fight with my tent multiple times to keep it down and any time I needed something, I had to stop for it. 

I wore my New Balance 1080v11s for the first 50k or so and then switched to the 13s for the rest of the race. I am fortunate to typically not have blister issues on my feet, but my soles were achy very early on. I tried loosening my shoes as much as possible, but it didn’t really seem to help all that much. For much of the race, I kept thinking how nice it would feel to run without that dull ache. Thus, the quest for the perfect track/road ultra shoe continues.

Things felt heavy from the onset. The conditions, my brain, my body. I held a fairly steady pace for 50ish miles. I knew a few minutes here and there weren't a huge deal and as the miles ticked off, the more time I was able to bank to get to 100.

In my previous 24 hour races, I have hit the 50 mile mark in 9-10 hours and 100k in 11-12 hours. Despite feeling not so great, I still managed to be in that range and started to think about my rewards at miles 70, 80, and 90. It's those little motivations that I use later in the race that often keep me going when 30 miles seems like way too far to go.

At 70 miles, I called Adam for a pep talk. I chatted with him and Megan, who was staying with him, for a bit and then felt ready to bite off the next chunk of time. 

I told myself I could change into capris or leggings at mile 80. I expected I would be doing more walking and getting into something dry would feel nice. It was somewhere in the 70s that my eyes started to droop. It was so early! What was happening?! I let them droop over and over and I wandered slowly around a few laps, trying to will myself to feel less sleepy. 

Finally, I decided to go into the locker rooms to use a proper restroom and lie down in the warmth for 10 minutes. I set an alarm on my phone and hoped I would feel better after a teeny bit of sleep. I laid on the wooden bench and promptly passed out. Fortunately, it seemed to help a little and I forced myself to go back out into the cold night to keep going. 

This actually happened 2 more times before I reached 100 miles. I've never felt so sleepy in a 24 hour before! I ended up sleeping sitting up in a corner for my last nap, hoping it would be easier to get up when my timer went off. 

Once I started interspersing walk breaks, I tried to go 5 miles at a time before walking. Then 2.5. Then 1. And when I got to the last 5 miles, it was just trying to maintain slightly more running than walking. 

In the second half of the race, I was lucky to share some laps with other racers. The field had been whittled down as the 6 and 12 hour racers were finished (save for few who started later in the day) and the dark, rainy cold sent some of the 24 hour racers early. Talking with others kept me distracted for a while and I welcomed any conversation that was not my own thoughts at that point. Thanks Eric, Ray, and Karen!

One of the best things about this particular race was the other racers' crews. They were supporting their runners, but as the night wore on, they'd smile and offer words of encouragement to me as well. I loved seeing them do everything they could to keep their racer moving. It's one thing to crew someone every 5-10 miles, where you only have to be present for a few minutes every couple of hours. It's a totally different thing to be assisting every 2-4 minutes, especially in the cold rain! 

As I narrowed my own gap to 100 miles, I knew I was then faced with a new conundrum. My mom and her boyfriend Jay were coming to watch at 6am and see the final 2 hours of the race. It was going to be her first time attending an ultra event and it would be pretty lame if I tapped out after reaching 100 miles. I decided I'd do a lap to drop off my buckle, go take (another) brief nap, and then do some walking laps.

I reached 100 miles at 20:41:16 which somehow was only 15 minutes slower than last year, even with all my sleep breaks. 

I took my tiny nap and when I started walking, I got very nauseous. There really wasn't much in my stomach at that point, so I basically was just dry heaving. Okay body. Weird. 

After a few more laps, my stomach felt much better and then I realized I was pretty hungry. So I grabbed the last Dunkin’ Donut that I spotted at the aid station. 

I spotted my mom and Jay from across the track when they arrived and power walked over. I showed them where they could sit and watch a few zombies shuffle around for a couple of hours. My mom gave me little cheers every time I came around and Jay chatted with the race directors for a bit.

For many various reasons, I decided to tap out at 23ish hours. I had a few more miles than “just” 100. I was no longer running. My feet were really, really sore. And I was ready to change into dry clothes and eat some breakfast. 

So at just over 23 hours, 426 laps, and 105.47 miles, I turned in my timing chip and allowed myself to stop moving. 

I feel proud of this one for different reasons than I do other 100s/24 hour races I've completed. I spent a lot of time arguing with myself about why it would be okay to stop and it would have been completely valid. For a long time in my running “career”, I was solidly in the death before DNF camp. But once I DNF’d and realized that life goes on, I found that a less-than-ideal outcome is just sometimes how the cookie crumbles.

Of course I want to do well. I enjoy racing and competing. I want to get the best out of myself. But sometimes the day, my body, my mind, etc. are imperfect. I know I can do hard things. I don’t feel like I have to prove that to myself. I’ve had a slew of great races this year so it was not surprising in the least that I had to go to the well for this one. It definitely makes you appreciate the good ones!      

October 2023

 I already miss this summer. Not the heat, humidity, spiderwebs, horseflies, dried up creek beds, chafing, or overgrown trails. Not the jar that exploded glass shrapnel into my foot, nor the yellow jacket swarm that sent me into anaphylaxis. 

But I will miss feeling excited and ready to build after a pretty incredible spring. A marathon PR at 41? A trail 100 PR? It was hard to comprehend that I could still do these things after a few years of not feeling confident. 

Training was unusual as usual, but I put in some nice, big days before Frankenfoot. Pacing Cruel Jewel, an epic day in the Smokies, a much better Rim to Rim to Rim experience than last year, and Merrill’s Mile. All left me feeling happily exhausted. Thanks to Frankenfoot, I had to cancel a big run at Mt. Mitchell and the weekend after. But I got back to it without losing fitness and had big runs at Blood Mountain, Brasstown Bald, and Tray Mountain. 

Were they enough? Likely not, but with limited climbs in the terrain I have to work with and the hiccups in training, they'll have to do.

The good news is that I felt differently happy when I finished these runs than I ever have while training. Maybe I'm better at eating more real food and ingesting more calories in general. Maybe I'm going at slower paces. Maybe I'm just more mentally acclimated for the big days. In any case, I didn't feel gutted after these efforts. Sure, I was tired and ready to be done when I got back to the car, but I never felt destroyed in the way that I had previously. Well, maybe Merrill’s destroyed me.

But I didn’t feel like I was edging on depletion with every run. The only time I felt truly spent was after the 2 hour road run I did the day after Brasstown. But I ran a 2 hour half marathon in 90° the day after a 50k with 8,000’ feet of gain. Feeling gutted was not a surprise.

The thing is, as much as I love to race and to have these ebbs and flows in training cycles, I love being in the thick of it the most. The dish rack full of bottles, the Friday evening laundry and grocery shopping session to have my favorite outfit and fresh snacks. The 5am alarm to get to the trailhead at first light and the long drive home, devouring a family-sized bag of chips.

______

I’ve biked down Haleakalā, ridden in a Jeep along the coastline of Portugal, swam with dolphins off the shores of Honduras, and gone scuba-diving among the flora and fauna in the Belize Barrier Reef. I’ve run across the Grand Canyon twice, around Mont-Blanc once, and trekked to Everest Base Camp. I’ve taken a boat ride in the dark in the Amazon jungle and drank pisco sours after an afternoon of ayahuasca. I’ve kissed under the Eiffel Tower, ridden in a horse-drawn carriage in Central Park, and shared cones of gelato in the streets of Rome. I’ve haggled in Marrakech and wandered the booths of a souk in Doha. I've awed at the opulence of Catherine’s Palace and swatted away monkeys on the Rock of Gibraltar. I've eaten fire-grilled salmon next to the Taku River and drank a liter of Hefeweizen in a Munich biergarten. I've visited a monastery tucked high in the Himalayas and done brass rubbings at St. Martin-in-the-Fields. I’ve attended a service in a 13th century Latvian church and marveled at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. I've sipped apple cider in the Sleepy Hollow cemetery in mid-October and watched Fourth of July fireworks from Times Square. I've skied a black diamond in West Virginia, parasailed in the Pacific, and ridden one of the oldest wooden roller coasters in Copenhagen. I've clapped along to When The Saints Come Marching In at Preservation Hall and sang Sweet Caroline at Fenway. I've gambled in Monte Carlo, shot tequila on a Cancun beach, and drank Bushwackers in St. Thomas. 

And yet, there are days that I feel hollow. That these things are meaningless in the present moment. They read pretentious and full of all the privileges that they are. 

______

I seek those days that I feel reckless and strong, pushing my body to places that I know will leave me in a heap when I finally come to a stop. Most of the time, I muddle along, shuffling through an easy run, a long run, even a workout. My mind and body push back and I settle for average at times because at least it's not awful. Those awful ones can stretch for weeks on end, shredding my spirit into a thousand little pieces. 

But on those rarefied days that the world seems to tilt in my favor, those are the ones I keep chasing after. Where my legs seem to be free from my body, hurtling along with power that seems like it belongs to someone else. 

______

I'm using a sliver of lavender soap left from our honeymoon 15 years ago. I found it at a market in Corsica, amid booths of local cheeses and flowers on a warm October day. A consumable souvenir that has slowly eroded from a singular large hunk over the last few years.

It's next to milk soap bought in a shop in Copenhagen on the morning we began our journey back home from the Baltics. The trip that draws the line in the sand of what was once physically possible and now what must be different. It was a crisp May morning and I'd gone out shopping alone, no real plan in place other than to wander the cobblestone streets one last time in a city that captured my heart. 

There are two teddy bear soaps sitting on the window sill, tokens of the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel from the northern tip of Yellowstone. There was only a sink in our room and the bathrooms were down the hall. A small desk fanned whirred all night, doing little to combat the late August heat. 

A yak milk soap rests in the back of the pile, one of many purchases made in Namche Bazaar on my return from Everest Base Camp. It says it's made by Nepali women, but who knows how much of this is true. I found myself experiencing in the moment joy so often during the trek that it seemed like an eternal dream.

And the latest addition is a brown paper wrapped soap plucked high above Chamonix in the Aiguille du Midi shop. My entire body was wrecked from exhaustion, but it was masked by my own personal triumph. I had plenty of unused soaps at home, why another one for the collection? 

Maybe one day, it'll be just a sliver and the memories of last month will be whittled into just a few vivid moments. 

_______

When you're a kid, adulthood seems like some transformation with very set rules. It's hard to imagine that you'll just be an older version of you. I think I believed I'd have it all figured out by now. Surely by the time the crow's feet start appearing, I'd be just some boring evolved person who knew how to move through mundane tasks of a developed world with ease. 

And parts of that are true. I muddle through a 40 hour work week, changing the oil in my car every 5,000 miles, making dentist appointments every 6 months, and prefer to be in bed by 10 pm. 

I distinctly remember both my parents turning 40. We kids thought it was funny to decorate with over the hill banners and black balloons. Their birthday meant that it was a celebration, but there was a layer of sadness that seemed to hover over this next step. 

Of course, I had no idea that 40 was actually still so young. But everyone seems old when you’re young. And no one seems to mention that while your body starts to need oil changes and tire rotations, your brain is often just as youthful as it ever was. Poop is still really funny. 

I guess I just thought that at some point I’d feel like I had arrived. That the journey wasn’t necessarily over, but that I was settled deeply into adulthood. Maybe parts of me are, but there is so much I never would have predicted. Sometimes that feels a little sad, like I’ve missed out on what I thought my life would be like. But a part of me feels excited that as much as I try to predict how the next 10, 20, 30+ years will go, I won’t actually know until I’m there. 

________

I imagine your autumn days are also idyllic. That as the sun rises later and sun sets earlier, you embrace all the changes that the season brings. The kids are back in school and everyone has fallen back into their routines. There are soccer games on Saturday mornings and football on the TV in the afternoons. Rakes replace lawn mowers and open windows replace air conditioners.

The younger kids are changing their minds about Halloween costumes and the older ones are changing their minds about college majors. A pot of chili sits simmering on the stove from a recipe passed down for generations. 

You take trips to the apple orchard, snapping perfect photos on the bluebird day. Everyone feels a little crabby after the corn maze, but spirits are lifted after a round of gooey caramel apples. A dozen cider donuts don't last on the ride home, their sugar coating flannel shirts and well-worn jeans.

False holly emits its sweet aroma on your evening dog walks. The weeks you can detect its scent are short, but the smell is discerning and full of memories of seasons past. 

You wear sweaters in the morning and tank tops in the afternoon. But every day, you exclaim how perfect the weather is after a long, hot summer. There are pumpkin carving parties and s'mores around the fire pit and you'll want these nights to never end, despite time constantly marching forward.

The one where I became a UTMB finisher

I was scanning the horizon, searching for a shady patch large enough to fit my body next to the trail. My eyelids drooped, over and over, begging for sleep. I was 55 miles and 18 hours into the race, but still had another 50 miles and who knows how many hours to go. A small patch of shrubbery on the left side of the trail appeared and I lowered myself gently to the ground. I set an alarm for 15 minutes in the future, turned my "I'm sleeping" card to face the trail, laid my head on my pack, and promptly fell asleep.

The sun peeked out of the clouds and I felt my legs warm. Concerned with sunburn, I pulled my rain jacket out and draped it over my exposed legs. A grazing horse neighed loudly nearby. I opened one eye and saw I was safely out of its path.

When the alarm buzzed 15 minutes later, I repacked my jacket in my pack, ate a granola bar, and clipped my poles back into my gloves. Immediately revived, I was ready to continue my journey of 106 miles around Mont-Blanc.

I flew Monday night, having learned my lesson from last year about Eiger and not feeling as though I'd thoroughly shaken the jetlag at the start. Though I arrived in Geneva on Tuesday afternoon, my checked bag did not. I had all my mandatory race gear in my carry-on with the exception of my trekking poles, but all my extra drop bag stuff and casual clothes were in my checked bag. There wasn't much I could do, but at least I had a few days until it was go time.

Roger picked me up at the airport and we stayed overnight at the Geneva Marriott. We had a wee too many drinks and lots of laughs.

I woke up and did a short run of 20 minutes to reset my body and enjoy a 50° morning. It was heavenly after running in 90°+ all summer.

We picked up a few grocery store items for lunch and our short road trip to Chamonix and then went to the airport to pick up Megan and my bag. Thankfully it had arrived the night before on a later flight!

In Chamonix, we got settled in our chalet before wandering over to the expo area for a bit of shopping and dinner. I took a guess on selecting the area of the chalet, but think I nailed it pretty perfectly. We were away from the noise and crowds of being in town, but it was only a short walk to get to the hive. The space wasn't huge, but we had a living room and dining space both inside and out and incredible views all around us.

 

UTMB has 13 races total and a new one that begins each day, starting on Monday. There is activity all week and we watched as runners made their way to the finish line from our table in the town Wednesday afternoon.

 
Back at the chalet, our friend Davide came over for a few minutes until he had to go move his car for the evening. It was fun to catch up with our Italian friend in France. He had started the PTL and lasted 24 hours before pulling the plug and supporting his other 2 teammates still racing. It's pretty wild you can "only" race 24 hours and not be anywhere near the finish.

 
All of us settled in for the night, tired from a full day. In the morning, each of us went for a run and met back for breakfast and lounging. Megan and I could pick up our bibs at noon so after asking multiple people along the way, we finally arrived at the sports center to obtain our numbers, drop bags, and race shirt. They were out of the size I registered for and the women's shirt was a crop anyway so I ended up getting a men's small. Feeling a bit ragey by this slight, I posted to social media in hopes of changing this for the future.

Megan and I both wanted to buy bib belts and a race hoodie so we went back to the expo to finish our shopping. I really wanted to buy a few more commemorative items, but was too scared I wouldn't finish. After shopping, we had a late lunch and then went back to the chalet to put our legs up and try to relax. I made myself some ravioli for dinner, knowing it was going to be one of the last real meals until the race was over.

I slept until 9am race day, but woke up a couple times in the night and had a hard time going back to sleep. Race day was kind of a blur. We spent time putting our packs together, filling our drop bags, and trying to keep the excitement tamped down. I was nervous, but not overly so. I knew it was going to be a really long few days so I was just anxious to get going.

 We left at 4pm to walk over to drop our bags at the sports center and then sat in the shade for about 30 minutes before heading into the madness of the start line. 

Once we got to a spot that appeared to be the end of a corral, we said our goodbyes to Roger and Casey and hunkered down on a curb.

Soon enough, runners started to squeeze in and we stood, listening to announcements in French and English, standing on our toes trying to see the screen. I always remember seeing runners clapping before the start, beginning slowly and ending quickly with cheers and whistles. Megan and I were surrounded by thousands of men. We were 2 of 200-some women racing in a field of 2800. I remember thinking just how lucky I was that not only was I getting to race this, but in the same field as a woman runner I know and really look up to. We had no plans to stay together, but at least we'd have this shared experience of the start.

 I didn't even hear the gun go off due to the noise, but soon, we were pushing forward and squeezed into the starting line arch. I clicked the start button on my watch and headed into the unknown.

The first mile was wild. People were lined all the way down the streets, 10 deep in some sections, pouring out from hotel windows, screaming, taking videos, putting their hands out for high fives, and creating an energy unlike any other start I've ever experienced. I scanned the crowd, grinning wildly as I made eye contact with people. Megan and I exchanged glances as we ran side by side, unable to believe it was happening. We were running UTMB.

I spotted Casey and Roger screaming at us and waved to them one last time before I'd see them again 50 miles later in Courmayeur.

Megan and I continued on the next 5 miles, chatting and enjoying the freshness and excitement of the early miles. People were lined all along the street and the river trail, cheering and ringing bells, watching the parade of runners.

At the highway, we crossed the road and came to our first aid station at Les Houches. Already a madhouse, we skipped it as planned and used the chance to get a bit further up in the field. At the first climb, I told Megan to please tell me if she wanted to just separate in case I was infringing on her race. I was happy to stay with her and have a friend for as long as I could hang, but I didn't want to stress her out. She in so many words said she was happy to have the company for the time being too and so we stuck together in those early evening miles.

It was mostly forest service type roads in the beginning, which still felt crowded despite the width. There were so many runners that it was hard to find your own groove and so I just tried to stay as relaxed as I could, hoping it would eventually thin out. At one point, we all had to squeeze through a single-person sized gate and came to a standstill as each person slipped between the narrow pass.

As the sun set down over the mountains, I stopped to snap a few pictures of the scenery. It was unreal and we were only a short distance into the race. I remember saying to Megan at some point, "hey, we're running UTMB!" Once headlamps were clicked on, it seemed as though the real race was beginning. Everyone was headed into the first night.

In Saint Gervais (mile 13.5/9:10 pm), Megan and I waved, knowing it was likely we'd get separated at the aid station, each filling bottles and grabbing snacks. However, as we exited the madness, we found ourselves right next to each other! The streets of Saint Gervais were alive with townspeople out for dinner, cheering from their tables and shouting as they made their way home for the evening. It was electrifying to be a part of something that felt so special.

Back out on the course, Megan and I power hiked the ups, jogged the very few flats, and tried to not get trampled on the downs. Runners who we'd been passing on the ups came flying down the descents, clipping our heels as we navigated the rocks and roots. It was very stressful and I felt pushed to go at a pace I was uncomfortable with just so I didn't get knocked over.

At Les Contamines (mile 19.8/10:52 pm), the carnage looked like it had already begun. This was the first crew access point and I remember thinking how odd it was that people already looked spent sitting in this aid station. They were sipping soup, lying on benches, and being attended to by their crew. I grabbed a few cookies and bread, refilled my flasks with water, and used my reusable cup to drink some sparkling water. Somehow, Megan and I found ourselves exiting at the same time again, despite the chaos.

The next section was fairly runnable along the river and though I was concerned about clicking off some miles at a faster pace so early, it did feel good to actually stretch out the legs. I knew that I'd be reduced to a walk/run at best later on so I tried to embrace jogging whenever possible, especially when it wasn't technical.

I was feeling good on the ascent to La Balme (mile 24.9/12:31 am) and I knew that climbing would chip away at the over 30,000' of elevation we had to ascend over the race. I love climbing and felt in my element as I locked into the steps behind Megan, silence falling over the field as we headed into the wee hours of the night.

The descent into Les Chapieux (mile 31.5/2:54 am) was fairly runnable and I felt people hot on my heals as we dropped down into the aid station. It was the first and only place they checked mandatory gear on course. They had small tables set outside the aid station with volunteers and everyone had to show they had an emergency blanket, a smart phone, and rain pants. Once inside the aid station tent, Megan and I used this aid station to sit at the very cramped picnic tables to eat some soup with rice in our collapsible bowls.

Past Les Chapieux, the climb up to Col des Pyramides Calcaires is 4,000' of elevation gain in 8 miles. The lower part of the trail is pretty gentle, but then it turned into a technical rocky snowy muddy mess. Somewhere along this long stretch, I watched Megan pull ahead as I decided I needed to take it a bit easier.

The wind was howling as we neared the top and I felt cold for the first time in the race. Descending was my nightmare, rocky and muddy with sheer drop offs that were only felt in the darkness of the night, not seen.

The time was passing very quickly as I suppose I had settled in for two nights of this in my brain. Once the first light started to appear, I stared in awe of my surroundings. I was in a scree field with the sun splashing light on the mountains behind me. It was stunning. I stopped a few times to take pictures and soak in the moment. Other runners flew by me on the descent, but a few also stopped to take it all in.

Down into Lac Combal (mile 43.3/7:14 am), I was relieved for hot food and a chance to sit. The light in the valley was beautiful and though I was 12+ hours in, I felt a sudden sense of revival after the food and sunlight.

There was a short gravel road section leading up to the next climb and I started chatting with Vivian from California as we headed up Arête du Mont Favre. It was a nice distraction from the task at hand and she was able to give me a few tips as she'd finished the race the year prior.

As the sun started to really rise, I was looking forward to changing out some of my gear and seeing my crew at Courmayeur. But first, I had to make it to Checrouit (mile 47.8/9:26 am). It was here that I started to feel truly hungry for real food and made a bread/cheese/meat sandwich that really hit the spot. I'd been eating things from my pack and supplementing from the aid stations, but my stomach was definitely happy to have a few hundred calories of real food. Though I knew it was only a short distance to Courmayeur, I refilled my bottles just in case.

Down into Courmayeur (mile 50.5/10:19 am), it felt very reminiscent of going into Wengen last year at Eiger. Warm, a bit chafed, and facing some monster climbs, I knew I needed to take my time once I got there. Casey was screaming her head off outside the aid again and lied and told me I looked good (after the race, Roger and Casey both told me I looked like pale shit coming into this aid station).

I grabbed my drop bag, found Roger (only one crew member was allowed inside), and he got to work helping me out. He taped my chafed back, forced me to eat some pasta, obtained a couple of croissants, and went through my checklist. I changed my buff, shirt, socks, and shoes. I slathered on sunblock, refilled my nutrition, and finally walked out after 40 minutes of a pit stop.

The climb to Refuge Bertone was full of steep ascents and switchbacks. In the midday heat, I started to feel cooked. Partially up the climb, a runner sat on a large rock, taking a break. I sat in the space next to him for a minute or so and then felt overwhelmingly nauseous. My stomach convulsed and I turned my head away to empty its contents onto the trail. Surprisingly, it was mostly liquid and after I was able to stop and sit for a minute, I continued on the climb.

Along the most beautiful afternoon stretch of trail for running, I was scanning the horizon, searching for a shady patch large enough to fit my body next to the trail. My eyelids drooped, over and over, begging for sleep. I was 55 miles and 18 hours into the race, but still had another 50 miles and who knows how many hours to go. A small patch of shrubbery on the left side of the trail appeared and I lowered myself gently to the ground. I set an alarm for 15 minutes in the future, turned my "I'm sleeping" card to face the trail, laid my head on my pack, and promptly fell asleep.

 
The sun peeked out of the clouds and I felt my legs warm. Concerned with sunburn, I pulled my rain jacket out and draped it over my exposed legs. A grazing horse neighed loudly nearby. I opened one eye and saw I was safely out of its path.

When the alarm buzzed 15 minutes later, I repacked my jacket in my pack, ate a granola bar, and clipped my poles back into my gloves. Immediately revived, I was ready to continue my journey of 106 miles around Mont-Blanc.

As I neared Arnouvaz (mile 61.3/3:52 pm), I knew I was going to finish. A part of me scolded myself, knowing there was still so many more miles left. But a part of me became elated at the thought that I was going to actually do this. I wasn't wildly above time cutoffs, but I was moving and feeling happy.

At Arnouvaz, I finally had to pee again and since there was no crew at this aid station, I didn't dilly-dally too long. Besides, I was most excited about the next section. Climbing Grand Col Ferret! It's the second highest point of the course and climbs 2,500' in and 3 miles. I happened to be climbing in the late afternoon sun and kept turning around exclaiming, "wow, wow, wow!" It wasn’t lost on me that while this was excruciatingly difficult, it was also excruciatingly beautiful. I reached the summit of Grand Col Ferret (mile 63.2/5:34 pm) with the biggest, cheesiest grin on my face.

The descent was fairly easy and I was happy to hit a bit of pavement as we neared La Fouly. It was nice to not think about footing for a few minutes and my feet were feeling pretty beat up. We were on the east side of the mountains so I was keeping an eye on the sky as the sun started to drop between the summits.

 

All of a sudden, Casey appeared out of nowhere, screaming my name. I was so confused. What aid station was I at? Did I skip one? Where was I? I slowed my jog to a walk and let her explain that she could see me at this aid station, just not hand me anything from my drop bag. Ahhhh, ok.

Inside La Fouly (mile 70.4/7:44 pm) I grabbed a few cookies and a piece of bread and headed back out to try to nap. I laid down on the pavement and told Casey to set a 15 minute timer. After chewing some bread, I sprawled out and closed my eyes. 

I couldn't fall asleep quickly though so I got up within minutes, used the restroom, and stuffed my cookies and remaining bread in my shorts pocket.

I was getting updates about Megan and the elites (yay Courtney, yay Jim!) from my crew as I was coming in. It was something to keep me motivated, knowing that others were out there battling, albeit much faster. Casey and Roger told me Megan was moving well and in good spirits and I was thankful we had 2 crew members who were willing to spend 2 days on shuttle busses to see us for a few minutes at weird hours of the day and night.

I don't remember much about the next section other than I was motivated to get to my crew and the potential of having a cot to try to get some sleep at Champex-Lac. I was headed into the second night and preferred to not sleep on the trail again if I could help it.

Into Champex-Lac (mile 78.9/10:49 pm), I shocked my crew by arriving earlier than the anticipated time. As I came into the aid station tent, I saw Roger chatting on the other side of the barrier to another crew member. I walked up to the table separating us and loudly banged my poles on the table, getting his attention. He came running around and helped me get some food and gave me intel (re: shitty) about the next section. I packed a few more things into my bag, including the last of my Spring Energy Awesomesauce that seemed to be working well.

I tried to sleep in the warm tent with the sleeping pads and blankets amongst a dozen or so other runners, but laid there only a few minutes before deciding it was a waste of time. Roger and Casey hung out in the tent, stating the warmth outweighed the smelly shoe scent. I, of course, was obvious to smells and feelings.

 
Leaving Champex-Lac, I nearly got run over by a car in an intersection and happened to be crossing around the same time Chris from Utah was as well. We swapped stories for the next few miles, hating on the crop top race shirt and discussing European trail culture. I was happily distracted and relieved for a bit of conversation heading into the night.

 
Unfortunately, the climb to La Giète was pretty awful as advertised. Very steep and very technical, it was a long slog to reach the top. I hated to stop and put on warmer clothes, but it got quite chilly near the top. The descent was just as rocky and I couldn't wait to get to Trient to see my crew again.

Roger had gone ahead to crew Megan at the next stop so Casey led me into the tent and helped me get in some calories in Trient (mile 89.2/4:01 am). I laughed that I had bread on a table that had seen a day's worth of carnage and could not care less about any remaining germs. I felt like I was finally ready to actually fall asleep and told her to set a timer for 5 minutes. I laid down on the wooden bench seat and promptly fell asleep. At 5 minutes to the nose (according to Casey), I woke up and panicked I'd slept too long.

Casey walked me out of Trient where arguably the worst ascent of the course awaited me. 

The climb up to Les Tseppes is wildly steep. A runner at the base of the climb had his phone open to the Strava segment and I swore it said a 22% grade.

I don't think my heels touched the ground for over an hour. We were still pretty bunched in even at 35 hours into the race and you needed to trust the person in front of you would climb continuously and not fall back. Treachery. I took my gloves off and on near the top, discovering they were actually a bit too tight for my comfort (I gave them to Roger post-race).

I sat at the top of the climb in the hydration tent, using the time to eat something now that I didn’t have to concentrate on toppling over a mountain. Afterwards, the trail started to meander down towards Vallorcine and I chatted with Jörgen from Sweden for quite some time as the sun began to rise for the second time. My spirits were high as I knew we were getting within striking distance of the finish.

Into Vallorcine (mile 96.3/7:47 am), Casey met me for the last time on the course. 

Roger had gone to see Megan finish and I was so pumped to hear she was almost there! In Casey's hands were 2 gigantic croissants and though I only managed to eat half of one, I was so relieved for real food and a tasty treat. The sunlight had revived me once again and I was about to make my final trek to the finish. We parted ways with "I'll see you at the finish line" and it all felt so surreal.

There was a small stretch of a horizontal section along the road, but I was only jogging very small increments. Once reaching the trailhead, I stopped to apply sunblock all over again and then settled in for the next climb. The ascent wasn't all that bad after the prior 2, but I found the rocky descent that broke up this section pretty bad. It was here that I had to extremelyurgentlypoop and sprinted off behind a rock, hoping for the best. My leg spasmed wildly as I squatted and was grateful for my trekking poles to help me up. I'll know if anyone actually reads this by admitting that I used a mossy rock as toilet paper.

I found myself behind Vivian again on the climb to the final summit at La Flegere (mile 103.3/11:20 am) and we stuck together until the aid station. 

I grabbed a few pieces of fruit, topped off my bottles, and died a bit inside when my quads hit the descent of the ski pass. Had I left any ability to absorb eccentric contractions, I might have done more than shuffle down. But my quads were absolutely destroyed and I was so unsure of my footing that I baby-stepped my way down.

The ski pass gave way to another rocky, rooty trail that I cringed with each step. Hikers coming up cheered us on. I smiled on the outside, but on the inside was very annoyed that they were taking up space on the trail. Finally, we reached a more runnable gravel descent and I was able to run for longer stretches. I doused my hat in a creek one last time and started panning my eyes for signs of the town.

At long last, I saw where the trail met the pavement. Naturally, we had to go over a metal pedestrian bridge with a few flights of stairs, but once I dropped to the other side, emotion came pouring out of me.

I was back in Chaminox. The finish line was minutes away. People were clapping and shouting at me all along the river and I had the biggest smile in my face. Volunteers directed me across the street and I followed the markings through town. I wanted to stop so badly, but I wanted to soak in these final moments. I looked around, unable to believe I'd done it. I was about to be a UTMB finisher!

Casey shouted my name and I saw her as I made the final turns. Children held out their tiny hands for high fives and I reached for them all. The noise felt deafening coming into the finish chute as spectators banged the signs wildly. 

A row of photographers awaited me at the end of the chute and I shook my poles high as I ran the final few meters.

UTMB finisher!

I stood in a daze for a few seconds and then started bawling. Roger ran into the finish area and wrapped me a big hug and soon I was bawling in everyone else's arms. Award-winning Shannon had hobbled over to see me and we chatted for a few minutes before I happily handed over my very heavy pack, got some food and a beer, and finally sat down. It was done. I actually did it.

I absolutely couldn't have done this on my own. My family, friends, and social network all cheering me on with messages and posts. All the training hours in the awful heat and humidity with my crew at home. My coach navigating training hiccups with stitches and bee stings. Megan L. giving me pep talks prior to the race and running 50k of the race with me. Roger and Casey for schlepping themselves and my stuff for 2 days, keeping me motivated, fed, and setting sleep timers. Megan H. and Frank hanging with Adam for 2 weeks to help with the doggies. And Adam, who sent me a text sometime on Saturday saying he was having a tough day too but that we were keep pushing and both of us going to get through it. Proud of us. It truly takes a village.