Sawtooth Superior 100 Pacer/Crew Report

Friday, September 8, 2012
Lutsen, MN

 

I first fell in love with the North Shore of Lake Superior last year.  There's something about that big lake that works its way into your heart; I can feel it calling me back continuously.  So when Thom and Katie both decided to run Sawtooth Superior as their first 100 mile race, I was overly enthusiastic about coming along to crew and pace.  I couldn't wait to head North and spend time with some of my favorite people in one of my favorite places.  Not to mention getting to meet one of the people I've wanted to meet most from Runner's World -- Tracey aka RunsWithWolves. 

Tracey flew in Wednesday night and we all left for Lutsen, MN (Practically Canada, eh?) Thursday morning, swinging by Eau Claire to pick up the lovely Miss Deana on our way up.  I was not surprised that I loved Tracey instantly.  I've always found these online friendships to transfer very easily over to real life.  Tracey was exactly as awesome as I expected her to be -- smart, kind, funny, and damn good runner, of course.  The more people I meet from our little group the more I am convinced of what a great community we have.  I am so thankful for everyone who I have met and those who I will meet in the future.

The Sawtooth Superior 100 takes place on the Superior Hiking Trail, which runs along the North Shore giving you fantastic views of the lake.  The slogan for the race is, "Rugged, Relentless, Remote."  That pretty much describes it perfectly.  I have never been on a trail more beautiful; I have never been on a trail more difficult.  Even Tracey, our Colorado runner, described it as the hardest trail she has seen below 10,000 feet.  It's not just the 20,000 feet of gain and descent over 100 miles, but the absolutely relentless technicality of the trail.  You haven't seen technical until you've seen this trail.  Roots that are almost as big as my body stretching across the trail.  Roots that completely cover the trail and seem to never end.  Big rocks, small rocks, pointy rocks, slippery rocks, loose rocks.  A plethora of wooden stair cases and planks.  It's definitely not a Hardrock qualifier for nothing.  It's been called harder than Leadville, harder than Massanutten, harder than the majority of most 100 mile races and yet it's still relatively unknown. 

A sampling of the trail.

Our first stop was the pre-race meeting and packet pick up.   The more involved I become in the ultra community, the more I realize just how small it is, especially in these longer races.  Standing around during the meeting, I recognized so many faces from my races and I have only been running ultras for a little over a year now.  You don't leave an ultra without making a new friend or two first.  I love the sense of everyone working together to get each other to the finish line in this sport.  Ultra runners are a family and families don't leave each other behind.  I was reminded how much I freaking love this group of people.  I plan on doing this for as long as my body lets me.

Hanging out by the lake before the pre-race meeting.

Race morning was an early wake up call and I didn't get much sleep even though I wasn't even racing.  I was worried about Katie, worried about my still semi-injured groin, and just worried in general about how everyone would fare, so I was up staring at the ceiling the majority of the night.  We drove the two cars down to Gooseberry Falls and prepped for the start.  Thom and Katie were both nervous, but who can blame them?  Finally our runners were off and we watched them trot off into the distance.  103 miles left to go.  Like I said to myself during the very beginning of my 100K....no problem?  No problem.  Get it done.

Me, Katie and Deana in the cold before the start.

Katie and Thom before the race.

Tracey, our Colorado crew, and Thom.

Race start.

About to take off.

Tracey, Deana and I explored Gooseberry Falls for a bit before we took off, planning on hiking a spur trail to find Katie and Thom at a non-crewed aid station.  (We couldn't offer them aid, but we just wanted to cheer to and say hi.)  Unfortunately the spur trail ended up being a bit of a mess on our part.  The race info told us that they would be 10 miles into the race, but it turned out that the spur trail was somewhere around 6 miles and the aid station was much further up the trail.  So we hiked in, expecting to have a to wait for a bit, but completely missed our runners and watched as the sweeps went by.  Huh?!  WTF!  0/1 so far.  Shit.

Gooseberry Falls.

Reflections in the early morning.

Crewing involves a lot of downtime, so we decided to explore the Split Rock Lighthouse, which was on our way to the next aid station.  However, a cranky employee informed us that you needed to pay for a wristband to see the lighthouse, so we decided to skip it.  However, there was an open gate near our cars that we decided to wander through and found a nice view to take some pictures.  We meandered around some more, noticing that maybe we could get close enough to see the lighthouse.  I contemplated hopping a fence and bushwhacking through some weeds to get a picture (you know, being a trail runner and all), but was glad that I didn't, because the same cranky employee came out and found us and yelled at us that we needed to get out if we didn't purchase a wristband.  Whoops.  0/2.

Pretty views before we got the boot.

Queen of the world!

Deana didn't like having to get down.

Thankfully, the rest of the day we managed to keep it together.  I give credit to a hearty breakfast at the Northwoods Cafe in Silver Bay, which is a teeny tiny little mining town (no work boots in the dining room, please!)  We all met Thom at the next aid station and since Tracey was his official crew, she took care of him.  That was the last time Deana and I would see Thom as we needed to take care of Katie and they would slowly become farther and farther apart as the race went on.  Katie's spirits were high despite a small downpour and she seemed to be flying through her beginning sections.  We were slightly worried about her eating enough, but other than that she seemed to be building a nice cushion to fall back on.  Between crewing, Deana and I did a little exploring on the North Shore.  We climbed around Palisade Head, ate a veggie pizza at Jimmy's Pizza (not bad, actually), and finally I ended up changing into my pacing gear at a gas station in Silver Bay.  (Locals didn't seem too phased by a person wandering around with a backwards hat, headlamp, and calf sleeves, although some teenage girls did give me a look.)

Thom gets tended to at the aid station.

Rain was threatening in the distance.

Deana and I hike out to find Katie.

Here she comes!

I would start pacing Katie at approximately mile 43 (County Road 6 aid station.)  This aid station involved watching runners come in from a very short road jaunt (maybe a quarter of a mile.)  Deana and I sat in the fading light, looking for Katie.  Soon it was dark and the runners transformed into bobbing headlamps coming toward us.  I was cold sitting there in the dark, despite being wrapped in my down jacket and a borrowed blanket from a friendly fellow crew.  I was starting to feel tired, but hoped that running would perk me up.  We kept a keen lookout for Katie, as it was difficult to tell runners apart in the dark.  Finally we heard her voice from behind us, already at the aid station.  "Deana?  Mandyroo?"  I don't know how we managed to miss her coming in, but we did.  I leaped up and put on my pack and found my flashlight.  Katie and I both ate a little from the aid station before we took off into the darkness on the trail.  My plan was simple: pace Katie as long as my groin would let me.  I figured the worst case scenario would be 20 miles, most likely scenario would be 30 miles, and if I was feeling really good, I would take her for 36 miles until the point where Deana would pick her up.

I say this every time Katie and I run together, but damn, that woman can power walk even with a lot of miles under her belt.  Katie took the lead and I fell in behind her, climbing when she climbed, running when she ran, and walking when she walked.  We had a nice little 500+ foot climb in less than a mile to start out this section.  I warmed up quite quickly from my previously frozen state.  Once we were on top, I could feel the wind whipping at my jacket.  I'm sure there were amazing views of the lake in the distance, but I couldn't see anything but pitch darkness.  We were living in the little circles of our flashlights and headlamps.  I was starting to feel a little nauseous from the bubble of light emitting from my hand, in fact.  I started out with my flashlight on high, but ended up dimming it to low to help with the nausea.  That seemed to help a little, but I was still kind of queasy and had a headache.  I relayed none of this information to Katie, of course.  I wasn't about to worry my runner, after all.  Katie got quiet at the end of this section, struggling with her potassium issues.  I'd let her explain it if I could, but basically Katie's body is all sorts of screwed up regarding her potassium and she often has problems while running that result in paralysis, loss of vision and extreme swelling.  I have seen it happen first hand before in previous races that we have done together, so I knew what to look for and what to ask her. We were told this was a hard section.  The trail was ridiculous in places.  I remember a lot of rocks.  I took my first digger here, doing a tuck and roll and escaping with just a bruised and scraped up shin.  We crossed over a very long wooden plank section that took us directly through some sort of lake, maybe?  All I know is that I remember looking down and thinking, "You'd better not slip, because you'll fall into that water and who knows how deep it is."  I was thankful when we came into the halfway point at Finland.  We lingered a bit at this aid station and spent some time by the fire.  Deana took care of Katie while I chugged at least 3 cups of Coke and ate a random assortment of whatever I could find at the aid station.  Cheese quesadilla, potatoes, and Mike and Ikes?  Yes, please.

We were both in better moods leaving this aid station and Katie's potassium issues were slightly better, or at least that's what it felt like because we were laughing and talking again.  The caffeine from the coke that I downed seemed to help my headache and I was feeling a lot better.  We were chattering away and having a lot of fun on our way to Sonju Lake, which was an uncrewed aid station.  The trail in this section was more runnable, although we both took spectacular falls here.  It was the middle of the night and the rocks and roots were all horribly slippery, wet with dew from the damp air.  Katie was first, slipping on a rock, flying comically in the air, landing on her ass and then sliding down the rock.  Her headlamp flew off her head and we started laughing hysterically as we tried to collect the headlamp and realized that it had actually sort of fallen apart.  I preformed minor headlamp surgery and restored it to working order.  Score one for the pacer!  Not too much later, we were running on rock again and I took a flying Superman-esque fall, sliding on my stomach down the rock.  Both of my legs and an elbow got bruised from that one.  Occasionally I would stop to pee, and then turn on the jets to catch back up to Katie.  This was sort of a fun little game for me.  At one point, she was ahead of me on a winding part of the trail and her flashlight was so bright that I thought she was a porch light from a house in the middle of the trail.  Oh no, were the hallucinations happening already?  As we neared the aid station, I asked Katie what she needed here.  We planned for a quick little stop -- Katie was more concerned about getting back out on the trail and getting to Deana at the next crew accessible aid station.  We both ate soup here and I chugged even more Coke.  I also remember being excited about the Fig Newtons and took two to gnaw on while out on the trail.

This next section was only 4.2 miles and would put Katie at the 100K mark when we were done.  The problem I have with these shorter sections is that my mind says, "Oh, it's *only* 4 miles," and thus I think that it shouldn't take too long.  But somehow these short sections always feel longer than the long sections because my brain messes with me.  Katie was really starting to struggle here.  She told me that she was going to have a potassium dump at the next aid station.  She couldn't see out of her left eye and her right eye only had partial vision.  Her hands were swollen up to Michelin Man proportions.  At one point, she started talking about how the trail markers were "Wisps", which apparently is a reference to some Disney movie that I'd never seen.  She started rambling on about how we needed to follow the wisps and then would whisper to herself, "Wisp, wisp, wisp, wisp..."  For a while, I had no idea she was doing this and I thought I was hearing things or we were being followed by a ghost.

During the "wisp" section, we both managed to miss a marker and got off trail next to this loudly babbling creek.  We continued on until we hit water and no way around it.  Uhhh, this can't be the trail.  Back track.  Oh, here's where we lost it.  Katie asked me to lead her into the aid station from here since her vision was so bad.  I asked her if she wanted me to shuffle a little bit on the flats and she said yes, but I was losing her when I did that, so I slowed back down.  I was really worried at this point.  We decided that she had enough time to take an extended break here and she would nap for an hour.  After what felt like forever, we finally came into this aid station.  Deana and I got Katie settled into a chair by the fire with sweatshirts wrapped around her legs.  (Note to self: pack blankets next time.)  I got her some hamburger and she ate that and I think might have fallen asleep.  I took care of myself then, changing my shoes, eating a lot of quesadilla again and resting by the fire.  However, despite my down jacket and heating packs in my gloves, I was quickly losing the battle with the very cold air.  I was shivering non-stop and finally retreated to the car with the heater on full blast while Deana stayed with Katie.  I relaxed in the car and finally started to warm up.  I don't know how long I was in the car before Deana was tapping at the window.  "Katie's up and she's leaving in 2 minutes!"  Oh, crap.  I was instantly up and fumbling out of my jacket and getting my pack ready. 

This next section was a long one at 10 miles.  It was somewhere around 6am at this point and the sun would soon be rising.  Katie's break had breathed new life into her and we were off and moving well.  Katie had an aggressive time goal in this section and we hauled ass on a long, long climb.  The kind of climb that left us both gasping for air with our hands on our knees.  The sun was coming out and we packed away our flashlights and turned off our headlamps.  Katie took off her jacket and we packed it away on the bungee on her pack.  I followed suite shortly after.  This was my first time starting to run in one day and continuing on running through the night and into the next and with the sunrise.  Cool.  This was good practice for when I finally run my 100 miler.  I was very happy about daybreak and getting to shut off that damn flashlight.  We were moving so well in this section that we started passing a bunch of people.  Katie came alive every time we spotted a glimpse of a shirt in the distance.  She mumbled something about hunting and I asked her, "Are we hunting for wabbits?"  And she replied, "No, we're hunting for wunners."  In our sleep deprived state, this struck us both as the funniest thing we'd ever heard, because we started laughing and couldn't stop.  There's nothing like giggling down the trail pacing your friend to her first 100 mile finish as the sun rises.  It was a great moment.  We both started to get quiet after a while, however.  I was tired.  My running has been basically non-existent since my Kettle Moraine 100K in June due to a groin injury.  I wasn't trained enough, my groin was starting to ache despite the two doses of ibuprofen I popped during our time together, and exhaustion was starting to kick in.  I desperately wanted to continue on with Katie and take her for another section.  I debated it internally for a long time, trying to figure out what to do.  Then all of a sudden I felt a sharp pain on my upper arm.  "Mother fucker!" I yelled.  We had both gotten stung by a bee, Katie getting hers on a sensitive spot on her hip.  YOWCH.  I have only been stung once before in my life and it was a long time ago.  Not an experience I want to repeat.

The bee sting added to my doubts about continuing on for another section.  Then the hallucinations came.  I realize I was only running for 30 miles, but I had been awake all night and sleep deprivation was starting to kick in.  A hobo in the woods ended up being a tree stump.  Not too much farther along my dad's white tennis shoes were sitting along side the trail (birch bark.)  I saw a train depot.  I saw a closet full of hangers.  "Trees, Mandy, everything is just trees," I kept reminding myself.  I was feeling queasy again and my pack was low on water since I completely forgot to fill it at the last aid station.  I sucked down a gel and ate a ginger chew, which helped a little.  I was really lagging though and the hallucinations made me decide that I needed to stop at the next aid station.  I had it my head that the next section was 8 miles, when it was really only 5.6  Had I known that at the time, I might have continued, but Katie didn't seem to daunted about having to run a section by herself.  A testament to how strong of a runner she is.  I was slowly falling apart behind Katie and was more than relieved to come into the aid station and hang up my hat.  I had run for 12+ hours, outlasted my Garmin for the 3rd time ever, had completed an unofficial ultra, and most importantly had gotten Katie through the night.

We sent Katie off onto the trail alone for a short section.  I was so grateful to have Deana there to drive as I collapsed in the car.  (Deana has essentially crewed me twice now and I definitely need to return the favor at some point.)  We decided we had enough time to head back to the condo where I would take a shower and Deana would look for Thom at the finish line.  The shower was a success, but Thom and his crew were nowhere to be seen, so we buzzed back to the next aid station to wait for Katie and where Deana would begin pacing.  It started to downpour on our way to the aid station and I freaked out, thinking that Katie would be cold.  (Because I, again, could not get warm.)  We clambered around, trying to find her cold weather gear to bring to her and just barely made it to the aid station in time for her to come through and say that she was hot.  Whew.  Deana took off with her and left me alone to limp back to the car.  I hung out at the next aid station, Temperance, and had some downtime in the car, snacking on whatever I could find because it was probably wise to eat after running for 12 hours.  Katie and Deana came through and didn't need much.  I was trying to get Katie to eat more at this aid station and she got upset with me and looked me dead in the eye and said very sternly, "I ATE A COOKIE ON THE TRAIL, OKAY?"  Katie's patience was wearing out and at mile 84, she was "ready to be fucking done."  Amen, sister. 

I drove back to the condo (which was in the same place as the finish line) again after this aid station and met Dan (aka Metal, Cupcake, Big Boi, and Thom's pacer for 53 miles) hauling beer to the trunk of the car.  Turns out Thom and Tracey were running Thom's last 7 miles and would be finishing any minute.  Perfect!  We stood out in the rain at the finish line and chatted and watched a bunch of marathoners finish.  Come on, Thom, hurry up!  I wanted to be there to see him finish, but I also needed to get back to crew Katie and Deana at Sawbill (mile 90.)  Finally I had to leave, so I didn't end up seeing Thom finish.  Back to Katie and Deana I drove.  I hiked out on the trail to run them in.  Katie was slightly punchy here, yelling at some guys at the aid station about "female problems."  This was apparently after she has visited the outhouse that had a "lava lamp" of poop on the floor.  Um, yummy?  I soothed her by reminding her that she had oodles of time on cutoffs and so they took off onto the trail again.  And back to the condo I went again, hoping to find Thom finished.  Success!  Thom had finished in 31:22 and everyone from his crew was back lounging at the condo.  We shared some beer and some stories about his race before I needed to leave again for my last aid station. 

I arrived at Oberg, the last aid station at mile 95.5, and decided to immediately hike in and find my girls.  It was a nice walk during that time right before the sun starts to set on trail that I had run twice before (during the marathon last year and on my pre-marathon trail scouting), so I felt like I knew where exactly I was.  I probably hiked in a mile before I saw Katie and Deana.  I gave Katie and hug and walked them back into the aid station.  Katie had 4 hours to go 7.1 miles to the finish.  Granted they were probably the toughest 7 miles of the course, but she had 4 hours to do it in.  I was 100% confident that she would finish.  I showed her pictures of Thom finishing his race and she got a little teary eyed.  I was hoping that would give her a little extra strength for the last stretch.  I walked her and Deana out of the aid station and up the trail for a while before I left them, promising to back track from the finish and come find them.

Letting Katie go off to her final 7.1 miles.

And so I drove back to the condo for the last time.  The sun was setting and soon Katie would be entering her second night and her last few miles.  I geared up with lights and a Garmin again.  Thom and Tracey would be waiting at the finish line for everyone.  So I took off into the dark and ran the course backwards, expecting to find Katie and Deana shortly.  A lot of 100 and 50 milers were coming near the finish and almost all of them wanted to know how far they had left to go.  I was happy to provide mileage and descriptions -- some met the info with enthusiasm and others with despair.  Soon the trail started to climb and I realized that I was headed up Mystery Mountain.  I had to be running into my girls shortly.  And finally I did.  Katie called, "Is that you, Mandy?"  Because who else would be wandering up the trail with a headlamp and flashlight in the dark at 9pm?  "It's me!"  I called back.  Katie was pretty broken down at this point.  Every rock was a mountain, every root evoked a "fuck me", every stumble was a whimper.  But damn, she was doing it.  I told her, "Come on, let's get you off this mother fucking trail already."  We picked our way down gingerly, talking, them telling me how their last few miles went.  I told Katie once she could hear the waterfall, we were almost there.  Soon the roaring of the near-invisible-in-the-dark waterfall could be heard in the distance.  Just cross over the bridge and you're off the trail and onto the streets of the ski resort.  And Katie started to run again.  I was proud of her for starting to run then, with almost a half mile left.  That's a damn long way to run at the end of a 100.  But she ran and we didn't stop running.  We ran into a pair of slower moving racers just before the finish line and I urged her to pass them.  I didn't want her to slow down behind them, let's finish this strong!  And so she ran around them and through the finishing chute and directly into Thom.  103 miles done.  37:21 and well ahead of the cut off.

The finish line.

I am so proud of Katie for enduring and finishing her first 100.  And not just any 100, but Sawtooth.  You just can't begin to understand that course until you've ran at least part of it.  Katie is too humble about her running; she's a damn strong runner and I was confident in her ability to push through and finish from the very beginning.  I feel honored that she wanted me as part of her crew and I hope that she knows how much I admire her.  Me, Katie and Deana met just a little over a year ago at DWD - Devil's Lake in 2011.  Since then, we've crewed each other, run races together, paced each other, and I couldn't be more grateful to have such good friends.  The turtle trio holds a special place in my heart and I know the three of us will continue to have many adventures together in the future.  I'm pretty sure it's Deana's turn to lube up next, however. 

Kettle Moraine 100K 2012 Report

Saturday, June 2, 2012
La Grange, WI

In case you ever doubted it, 100 kilometers is a long way to run.

I finished my 50 miler in April thinking, "Yeah, I could have kept running," which ultimately led me to signing up for this race.  Finishing this race, I was not thinking about more running.  I was thinking about sitting down and not moving again for a very, very long time.

The Kettle Moraine 100M and 100K is held in (wait for it...) the Southern Kettle Moraine State Forest.  We would run 31.6 miles North from the Nordic parking lot, then turn around and run back.  So this 100K was actually 63.2 miles.  And yes, that extra 1.2 miles makes a difference. 

I am lucky that I have spectacular friends, and the wonderful Deana volunteered to come down with her 12 year old daughter, Leigh, to crew for me.  I've never had a crew before and I can't even describe how amazing it felt to see them waiting for me at an aid station after spending hours alone on the trail.  Deana was exactly how I wanted a crew to be: encouraging, but not overly sugar coating things.  Being an ultra runner herself, she understood the nature of running long.  Having a knowledgeable crew is truly invaluable and I am forever grateful to her.


Pre-race:
I didn't really train for this race, nor did I expect myself to actually run it.  It was a dream from long ago.  When I first started trail running, I read about this race and saw the copper kettles that finishers got as awards.  I wanted one, but I didn't know quite how to get one.  100K?  No way in hell am I ever going to run 63 miles.  That's just crazy.  Heck, I'm never even going to run a marathon.  And so my dream got shelved.  Fast forward a few years and I had gotten into the ultra scene.  This race was back on my radar big time.  I registered for my first 50 miler in April, intending to run the KM100K if my 50 went well.  I ran a lot of miles earlier this year, then got injured.  I shelved the 100K dream.  I almost shelved the 50 mile dream, but decided to run the race off a 6 week taper.  You know the story.  I finished and I finished feeling great.  But I had missed a lot of training and was hesitant to sign up for this race.  Thankfully I have crazy friends and a certain friend, let's call him...Bob...convinced me that yes, I could indeed do this.  Ultras are more of a mental game than anything and if you know me, you know I'm a stubborn and tenacious mule.  So I signed up.  I lost $100 and whatever little sanity I had left.

The Start:
Who knew that the sun started to rise sometime around 4:30am during June?  Not me.  We arrived at the starting line sometime shortly after 5am, where I picked up my packet and fretted about nothing in particular because who doesn't fret about these sort of things?  We eventually found Thom and Katie before the start and hugs were exchanged.  I also got to see Todd, another forum friend, for the first time since October and grabbed another hug.  He's a damn fine runner and I expected great things out of him for this race.  I told him I'd see him again as we ran in opposite directions on the out and back.  Katie and I stood off to the side of the pack and joked that we would start after everyone else began running.  And soon we did.  Start running that is.  63.2 miles left go.  Intimidating?  Not in the least...

 

Mile 7.5 (Bluff Road aid station)  7:24am:
This first bit was just easy, zoned out running on the ski trails of the Nordic loop.  Slow down, walk the hills, relax, don't freak out, chit-chat, enjoy, don't freak out, oh, there's a pretty tree.  I knew these first 7.5 miles too well.  I knew every rock, every turn, every hill.  I couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing.  I ran with a chatty man for a while and that would be the only time where I spent any significant time running with anyone during the entire race.  Smile for the camera, run easy, love this section through the pine needle covered trail.  We crossed a road and pulled into the aid station.  Deana, Leigh, and Thom were waiting for me.  "How are you doing?" they asked.  Fine!  Fine.  It was only 7.5 miles.  I'd better be feeling fine.  I took a quick Port-o-potty stop, exchanged my handheld for my pack and went on my way.

On the Nordic loop early in the race.

Mile 15.4 (Emma Carlin aid station) 9:50am:
The trail switches from the doubletrack ski loop to the singletrack Ice Age Trail that I again knew too well.  My groin started to hurt.  Really?  My groin is going to start hurting just a few hours into an all day race?  Fuuucckkk.  I pulled off at the unmanned aid station of Horseriders (miles 12.7) for another bathroom stop.  Are you starting to sense a pattern already?  You should start to sense a pattern already.  North of Horseriders, the trail was absolutely beautiful.  Smooth sailing singletrack with gorgeous purple flowers lining the trail.  I wasn't feeling great, but I wasn't feeling bad yet either.  Unfortunately my groin was going to start protesting soon.  The day was heating up and the hot, unshaded, open meadows loomed ominously in the distance.  I rolled into Emma Carlin feeling pessimistic.  It was too early in the race to be feeling badly, but I was.  Thom and Deana tried to keep my spirits up here.  I ate banana bread, a PB&J tortilla, and some other things.  I popped my first of many S! Caps.  I was slightly cranky heading into the meadows.

Mile 24.5 (Hwy 67 aid station) 12:17pm:
The infamous meadows.  9 miles of unshaded hell.  I only made it probably a half of a mile before I pulled off behind a lone tree to go to the bathroom yet again.  :facepalm:  I guess I'd rather be peeing too often than not enough, but it was mildly annoying at this point.  It's difficult to pull up sweaty compression shorts that are already covered in vasoline.  But into the meadows I headed with a lot of negative thoughts swirling around in my brain.  This was by far my lowest point.  My groin was hurting to the point where something needed to be done.  It was starting to get warm.  I had forgotten to replace my gel supply, so I only had one gel to get me through these 9 miles.  Everything felt misaligned.  This was the only time the letters DNF passed through my head.  But I did what you do during ultras -- I promised myself that things would get better.  You have to believe that things will get better.  So I ran when I could and walked when I couldn't.  And slowly the miles ticked by.  I came to an unmanned aid station that had a bag of unmelted ice sitting in a tub.  I just about cried out of happiness and shoved as much of it into my pack as I could.  Oh, cold water where have you been all my life?  I also shoved some ice down my back.  Onward.  More meadows.  Finally, less meadows.  More woods.  Then the long awaited aid station.  I think I shouted something about, "PEOPLE!  I am so happy to see people!" as I ran in.  Hugs from Thom as Deana and Leigh tended to my needs.  I'm pretty sure this was the aid station where I was eating watermelon and said out loud, "I told Bob that watermelon doesn't count as food.  I need to eat something else."  More potatoes.  I ate a lot of potatoes.  I grabbed my ibuprofen from my tote and told Deana not to yell at me and took 600mg.  I've never taken it in a race before, but something had to be done about my groin.  I left this aid station feeling slightly better, but still down.

Mile 31.6 (Scuppernong aid station) 2:06pm:
I had grabbed my phone before I left Hwy 67 and had it out on the trail with me.  I made a Facebook status update while walking up a hill.  I also read a lot of encouraging comments from people.  That lifted my spirits.  Runners were flying by in the opposite direction as they made their way back from the turn around.  It was a lot of stepping off the trail and dancing around people.  Todd saw me before I saw him and called out my name.  We exchanged a high five.  He was kicking ass and seeing a friend in the midst of strangers lifted my spirits even further.  Much later down the trail, I ran into Katie, who was absolutely flying and told me that I had only 20 minutes or so till the turn around.  Sweet.  Pick it up.  This section coming into Scuppernong was fairly flat compared to much of the rest of the course and I tried to run some of the smaller hills.  I made it to the turn around in around 8:06 or so.  A slow 50K for sure, but I am a steady runner.  I prefer this method to the banking time crash and burn.  I had mentally prepared for a longer stop here.  I sat in the "beware of the chair" chair as Deana took care of me.  A wonderful volunteer came over and asked what she could get me.  She made me a special cheese only sandwich.  Real Wisconsin cheese and white bread?  Heck yeah, that tasted amazing.  I reapplied Hydropel to my feet and changed socks.  I lingered for a little too long before I was finally ready to head back out.  My watch said that I left with 8:22 ticking away.  Only 31.6 more miles to get back to the car.  No problem?  No problem.

Mile 38.4 (Hwy 67 aid station) 4:04pm:
My mood was steadily improving after I Ieft the halfway point.  There's something about heading in the direction of the finish line that's encouraging.  I was gaining steam.  Soon I was running.  And running.  And holy shit, I felt great!  The ibufropen had quelled my groin pain to a dull ache and I was jamming to my iPod.  This was the best I had felt all race.  I had already run 35 miles and this was the best that I had felt all day?  That's ultra running for you.  I was flying high for these miles.  I passed someone.  Then I passed another person.  And another.  Oh hi, how are you feeling, keep it up, don't mind me, can I squeeze by you, I'm just running right now.  I came into this aid station on top of the world.  Deana told me that I was making up time and was back on schedule.  Awesome.  I'm just going to keep on kicking ass as long as I can.  But I have this blister forming on my left heel?  Sock change again, maybe?  Eh, let's just throw some more Hydropel on it.  I chugged my first Starbucks double shot and thought, "Get me out of here, I'm high on caffeine and ready to take on the meadows again." 

Mile 47.4 (Emma Carlin aid station) 6:15pm:
I went into the meadows in a much better mood the second time around.  I was still running well and listening to my iPod.  The late afternoon sun wasn't as hot and I was having a good time enjoying the beauty of the prairie.  I remembered Jason's mantra of, "I am the luckiest man alive."  And during that time, I felt like I was.  I had to duck into the woods for another bathroom break.  My shorts were so thoroughly coated in vasoline at this point that it was starting to ooze out.  Yum.  As the miles were clicking by, I started to pay attention to my Garmin.  I knew it was going to die soon.  I made a note that I passed through 45 miles in 11:46.  I was going to set a huge 50 mile PR in the middle of this race, but my Garmin would die before I would see it happen.  (It did end up dying at mile 48.66 in 12:39.  That means I could run a sub-13 hour 50.  I was ecstatic with this news.)  I ran into Emma Carlin at a 10 minute mile pace and thought that Deana would be so proud of me that I was ahead of schedule!  I sat in the chair again here and got my feet tended to by a very nice woman named Vicky.  She shared her beeswax blister paste with me and we slathered it over my left heel.  It was at this point during the race that I was allowed to have a pacer.  Deana's daughter Leigh was going to run the next 8.3 miles with me.  A distance PR for her and she was excited about the prospect of night running.  I headed back out into the woods, but this time I had company.

Mile 55.7 (Bluff Road aid station) 9:20pm (?):
I was still running relatively well during my initial time with Leigh.  She talked, I listened, we ran. We cruised through the purple flowers again and I was starting to feel the initial inklings of my unraveling.  I knew I couldn't keep this up for the next 12 miles, but I had to run while I was still able to.  We made it to the unmanned Horseriders aid station.  From here on out, we were back on familiar trail to me.  I knew every damn inch of that trail again. It changed into the hilly, rocky course from the Ice Age Trail 50K.  I could tell that I was coming undone.  My walk breaks were becoming more frequent and my power hiking up the hills was fading into a slow, hands on my knees struggle.  My groin was starting to ache again and a general fatigue was starting to set in. But I had Leigh to distract me and I learned that middle school hasn't changed much since I was there.  She was an excellent pacer.  Upbeat and always willing to tell me a story.  I'm afraid I rambled away to her for a while as well, telling her that most people grow up to be nice people, but sometimes people are still going to be assholes and you shouldn't be friends with the assholes.  We made it to the top of Bald Bluff just before dusk.  It was gorgeous looking out over the farmlands of my home state with hues of pink and orange in the sky.  I had come over 54 miles and here I was, standing at the highest point on the course watching the sunset.  It was magical.  Shortly after this, we literally ran into Thom, who was just starting his 38 mile fun run.  He shoved me and called me a "fucker" (and in front of a 12 year old, sheesh, Thom), which is his form of a term of endearment.  Leigh and I left his potty mouth and rolled into the last crewed aid station during those first few minutes of darkness.  There wasn't much to be done anymore.  I just needed whatever it took to get me to the finish line, only 7.5 hilly miles away now.  Deana earned crew of the year by touching my feet and putting duct tape over my now popped heal blister.  She took off my Garmin for me and switched my watch over to my left wrist.  She put a long sleeve shirt and gloves into my pack.  I felt like a little kid.  I hugged Deana and I hugged Leigh, thanking her for being an awesome pacer.  I felt very, well, for lack of a better word, blessed, as I left that aid station and headed off into the pure darkness of the night.

 Mile 63.2 (Start/Finish) 11:35pm
How hard can it be to run 7.5 miles?  Turns out that it can be pretty damn hard.  I made my way through the first few miles with one thing on my mind that kept me going -- I get to see Ian.  Ian was a friend who was volunteering at the Tamarack aid station and who I hadn't met in person yet.  So as I ran through the night, I thought about just getting to Ian.  Getting to Ian meant that I would visit my last aid station and have a mere 5 miles left to go.  I was still able to run at this point, but it wasn't pretty at times.  Slightly after 10pm, I heard a power generator in the middle of the woods.  Then I saw lights.  IAN!  AID STATION!  I met Ian and he gave me the greatest 58.3 mile hug even though I was sweaty, covered in salt and vasoline and thoroughly disgusting.  He talked with me the whole time at this aid station and I grabbed some cheese quesadilla for the road home. 

It's hard to put into words those last 5 miles on the trail.  There was a huge flood of people in the opposite direction for a while as fun runners and 100 milers went back out on the trail from the start/finish area.  Some of them were zombies, barely grunting in acknowledgment as I told them to keep it up.  Headlamps were constantly bobbing in the darkness coming toward me.  My iPod died with 3 miles left to go and soon I was alone in the woods as the flow of people had eased up.  3 miles between me and the finish line.  With no people, no pacer, and no music, I was down to mostly walking.  I would run for a minute and go back to walking.  Walk, walk, run, walk, walk.  Breathe.  I stopped every now and again with my hands on my knees and stood there, not moving.  But not moving is not relentless forward motion, so I would force myself to start walking again.  I started counting down by the half mile.  Half miles dragged on for decades.  I wish I could say that I thought about all sorts of inspirational things at this time, but I didn't.  I thought about moving forward.  Just keep moving forward.  It was a slow process.  Finally I came up to the 1 mile sign.  I was probably the most emotional here, seeing that sign.  But after that sign, I ran again.  I could hear traffic as the trail snaked alongside the highway.  It's emotionally draining in that last mile.  Physically, your body has nothing left to give.  Your legs will stop working if you stop, so you just keep going.  There was a lone headlamp coming toward me in the dark.  A voice said, "You're moving well, runner, keep it up."  Mandy?  Brenda?  I stopped to give my friend Brenda a hug and I yelled back at her as I took off toward to finish line, "I'm going to fucking finish!"  And so I ran with nothing left to give.  I knew I had to take a left turn before I would see the finish line and kept waiting, waiting, waiting for it.  It was agony mixed with excitement waiting for that turn.  Then there were red numbers of the clock glowing in the distance of the moon illuminated night.  I let out a yell as loud as I could and turned on my ultra sprint.  The finish line was quiet as I approached.  "What's your number!" someone called as I was coming, wanting to distinguish if I was a 100 mile runner heading for the aid station or a 100K finisher.  "348!" I called back as clearly as I could.  "100Ker coming in!" and the finish line cheered.  I don't remember quite what I did when I finished, but I'm pretty sure that I one of the first words out of my mouth was chair.  I sunk into one of our crew chairs and Katie accosted me with her phone camera in all of my salty glory.  Timo, one of the RDs, handed me my long awaited kettle and asked me if I drank beer.  I was coherent enough to say, yes, yes I definitely drank beer, and was rewarded with my new favorite bottle opener.

I officially finished 63.2 miles in 17:35:24.  I made it before midnight.

In Conclusion:
I am, indeed, the luckiest woman alive in many ways.  This race was a total dream and I can't believe that I made it.  To my friends and the people that got me here, thank you, thank you, thank you.  I have spectacular people in my life.  I don't know how I got so lucky.  Thank you most of all to Deana and Leigh, my amazingly wonderful crew and pacers.

So I know many of you are going to ask when the 100 miler is.  And I can safely say not for a while yet.  Could I have gone another 37 miles on Saturday?  No.  But could I have gone farther than I did?  Yes.  And that yes means that I will run 100 miles someday, but not this year.  Maybe not even next year, but someday.  I need the pain to fade a little more.  And I'm ready to be on the other side of vasoline again.  Who needs a crew or a pacer?

Ice Age Trail 50K 2012 Report

Saturday, May 12, 2012
La Grange, WI

 

The Ice Age Trail 50K.  I love this race.  I will run it every year for as long as I can.  Of course, the best part of this race is all of the lovely people who are there.

I woke up at 5am race morning, got ready, drove to the race, parked, changed into my shoes and wandered off to put my drop bag in its proper location.  I glanced at my phone and saw that it was 7:20am.  50 mile runners were coming through the start/finish area and Thom told me that he was going to pass through at exactly 7:23am, so I went to look for him.  I was standing there for approximately 2 minutes when I saw him and Jason come running up.  I yelled and waved and cheered and got two quick, sweaty hugs from them both.    Thom took off toward the next section, but Jason took a longer stop at his drop bag.  I promptly yelled at him about going out too fast.  "What are you doing running with Thom?!  He's on a 7:45 finish pace."  Yeah, nice to meet you too, Mandy.  I'm not good at this introduction thing.  Whoops.

After the boys were gone, I went to pick up my packet.  I ran into Tom (not Thom) and gave him a hug.  We ended up sharing the first mile of the race together.  I can't say enough nice things about him!  I'm disappointed he got tired of the Wisconsin winters and moved to Arizona.

To start off the day, the race director climbed up onto a ladder and made a few pre-race announcements.  Myself and about half of us were still off the side of the starting line behind the small crowd.  He said that we would start in 5.  And suddenly he began counting down 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 -1...WHOOPS, 5 seconds, not 5 minutes...we were starting!  I laughed and dodged through some people and made my way across the starting mat.  This is how we roll in Wisconsin, folks.

I was going into this race as a celebration of my first full year of ultra running.  It was just supposed to be a training run; the last long run I would do before the Kettle Moraine 100K in three weeks.  However, I had a secret desire to PR.  I ran a 7:07 last year with poorly managed aid stations.  I should have come in under 7 hours last year and I desperately wanted to do it this year.  However, I wasn't supposed to do that.  I was supposed to run this easy.  But my brain wouldn't let it go.  And when we started, I took off.  I'm normally a back of the pack kind of girl, but I stayed with the pack.  I ran with a group of people.  I ran like I was just out for a normal day-to-day run.  Yes, I went out too fast.  I'm normally a very conservative runner, but I threw caution into the wind and just ran.  I ran up hills that I would normally walk.  I let myself bomb down the hills.  I smiled.  I had fun.  I thanked all the volunteers and waved to everyone. I went out too fast. 

My tentative plan was 3-2-2.  (3 hours for the 13 mile out and back; 2 hours for the first 9 mile loop and 2 hours for the second 9 mile loop.)  I rolled through that first 13 miles in 2:49.  Whoops.

As I was coming through the start/finish area to start my first loop, I heard someone call my name.  It was Thom and he was resting comfortably in a chair on the sidelines.  I stopped dead in my tracks -- he was supposed to be on his way to a 50M PR.  "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I yelled.  He yelled back something about his ankle.  I was still stopped in the middle of the trail.  I said, "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?"  The crowd chuckled.  Damn ankle.  Sorry, Thom.

I grabbed some more gels from my drop bag, took a quick bathroom stop and was on my way for the first loop on the Nordic ski trails.  I hate the Nordic loop.  You leave the beautiful singletrack of the Ice Age Trail and get thrown on hilly, rocky double track.  Some parts are nice and flat and runnable, but the backside of the loop is just hill after hill after hill.  They are short, steep and relentless.  It's impossible to find a rhythm.  You go up and come back down and immediately go back up again.  Fly down...walk up...fly down...walk up.  But that's the first loop.  That description changes on the second loop. 

I made through the hilly section of this loop, drank a bunch of coke from the aid station, and promptly fell apart a mile or two later.  20 miles down and I was toast.  My legs turned into lead.  My quads said, "Uh, lady, just what are we doing?  We're sore.  You made us run 50 miles less than a month ago.  It's warm outside today.  You haven't taken in enough salt.  Sorry, but we're shutting down now."  I walked through one of the most runnable sections of the course.  I felt like shit.  I contemplated taking a DNF.  I was hot, I was tired, and 22 miles seemed like a nice, long run.  But I needed to make it back to the start/finish area first.  So I walked.  And a nice man came running up from behind and started chatting with me.  His brother was out running the 50 miler and he was just out running for fun, talking to other racers.  He asked me how I was feeling.  I said, "Oh, you know, okay.  I've been better."  We jogged together for a few minutes.  It was then I saw Thom and Katie sitting on the top of a hill.  They asked me how I was doing.  "I feel like SHHHHHIIIITTTTT," I yelled up to them.  I think the gentleman running with me at the time laughed as my answer to them was a bit different than the answer I gave him.  I asked them what it felt like to cramp.  "I think I might be cramping?!"  I had never dealt with cramps before. They urged me to get more salt and to walk.

I came through 22 miles in 4:54.  Ouch.  I was quickly losing my cushion.  I threw my sub-7 goal out the window and decided that I would take a longer break at the main aid station.  It became just about finishing and getting this race done with.  My friend Deana was waiting for me as I came through.  I sent her off to find me some S! Caps if possible, but no luck.  I did my first ever shoe change during a race.  I took another bathroom break.  I lingered at the food table.  I chatted with Deana's youngest daughter.  Okay, okay, I guess it's time to get back out on the trail.  I left with 5:02 ticking off on my watch.  2 hours and 5 minutes to get a PR. 

I am not ashamed to say that I ran with my iPod on for the last loop.  I leap frogged off and on with a nice man named Matt.  I ran when I could.  (I actually clicked off an 11:40mm somewhere in here.)  I walked when I couldn't run.  The hilly section became ouch, ouch, gingerly pick your way down...walk up...pick your way down...walk up.  My legs were sore.  My quads were screaming at me.  I ran as best as I could.  My breathing was fine and I could still run at a 10:XX minute mile pace, but holy crap that hurt when I did.  But I ran and I soldiered on.  The last aid station comes with 1.5 miles left in the race.  I just flew on by.  I didn't slow down or even look at the aid station.  Screw that crap.  Just get me to the damn finish line. 

With maybe about a mile left to go, I heard someone call my name from behind me.  Jason?  Jason!  We timed that perfectly.  We joked about it happening, but I never could have dreamed that we would have actually done it.  He was running the 50 and we thought that our times might coordinate enough that we could run that last mile in together.  Amazing how these things work out.  His adorable son was pacing him for the last few miles.  I could tell he wasn't feeling well and was hungry to be done.  He was a mad man on a mission.  I felt that way at the end of my 50 too.  Soon we came up upon Thom and Katie on the top of that same hill again.  Katie ran with us for a few minutes and then we heard the finish line.  I told Jason to sprint it in, and he took off.  I took off just behind him.  Sprint, baby, sprint!  I was ready to finish and have another ultra completed.  Last year I had tears in my eyes.  This year my quads were yelling obscenities in my head.  Oh well.

I crossed the line somewhere around 7:10.  3 minutes slower than my PR and 11 minutes off my goal.  For crashing and burning, I'll take it.

The gang hung around for a while afterwards.  We drank beer, ate, joked around, took pictures, and chatted with various fellow racers.  Some of Jason's Ohio crew gave me a sample of almond butter after it came up in conversation.  Got to talk for a few minutes with Shaun Pope.  It was a fun afternoon and I know I say it after every race, but ultra runners really are just a spectacular group of people.

Deana, Katie, Thom, me, Jason.

The best sign ever.  Because I have actually forgotten my drop bags before.

Potawatomi 50M 2012 Report

Saturday, April 14, 2012
Pekin, IL

This was my first 50 mile race and my 4th ultra marathon.  This race has changed hands in the past few years and used to be called the McNaughton Park Trail Run.  Many people still refer to it as that.  I think I'll just call it Mudfest 2012, but I'm getting ahead of myself...

I won't lie, this race scared the crap out of me.  When I was training for my first 50K a year ago, I was nervous, but I knew I would finish.  But 50 miles?  Could I really run 50 miles?  I didn't know, but I sure wanted to find out.

Soundtrack:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LPGYAbAFP0g

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ApTzmYZ_f5E

For your listening pleasure.  Two songs that continually play in my head while running.

Training:
It was when I threw down a 200+ mile month in December for no reason, that I decided to sign up for this race.  I was consistently putting in 55-60 miles per week and feeling like everything was coming together.  20 milers were feeling easy.  I had seemingly solved the very literal pain in my ass that used to plague me during my previous ultras.  As some of you know, I was going through a lot in my personal life during this time and running was a huge refuge for me.  This winter was particularly strange with warmer temperatures and a lack of consistent snow.  Unfortunately this left the trails an icy mess, so I put in a lot of time on the road in January and February.  I ran (4) 18-22 mile runs during this time -- two on the road and two on the trail.  I had plans to run much longer runs later in training, but...

The Injury:
Stupidly, I was wearing old shoes during all this time on the road.  I started to develop a lot of foot pain.  Then pain in my left shin.  I bought new shoes, which seemed to solve my foot pain, but the shin pain lingered.  I continued to run through it.  I ran a 29 mile trail/road combo run on my 29th birthday at the end of February.  Things went south after that.  The shin pain got worse and self diagnosed myself with a bad shin splint and stopped running.  My training came a halt.  I had planned on peaking at 70mpw with two 30+ mile runs in March.  No dice.  I ended up running a grand total of 63 miles in March (with the majority of that in one week), but spent as much time on the bike as I could.  I essentially had a 6 week taper.  I resolved to start the race if I didn't have pain in my shin and would run as far as I could as long as I was pain free.  I could hop on my shin without pain, but there was a slightly tender spot even the night before the race.  It would have to be good enough.

Pre-Race:
I drove the 3.5 hours down to Pekin, IL from Madison the day before.  I went straight to packet pick up, where the 150 milers had been at it for about 7 hours already.  The aid station folks said the trail was in great shape.  Oh, if only it would stay that way...  When I checked into my hotel room, the man at the front desk asked if I was here for the race.  I could have kissed him.  I don't look like a runner. 

I did manage to get a little sleep that night.  My alarm went off at 4am and I woke up and thought to myself, "I am going to run 50 miles today."  I lubed up my feet with vasoline and put on my Injinji toe socks.  I wore black CEP compression sleeves, my trusty Montrail Mountain Masochists, compression shorts, a short sleeve tech shirt, and a visor.  My Garmin went on my left wrist and my Timex Ironman went on my right wrist as I fully expected my Garmin to die before I finished.  I was going to carry my 20oz Amphipod handheld bottle.

I drove to the starting line and unpacked more stuff than I could ever need.  My drop bag was practically my own mini aid station.  My little cooler housed my Starbucks Double Shots, which have now become a staple for me during long runs.  I found Thom and Katie and gave them each a hug.  I was jittery and nervous during the pre-race meeting, where approximately 150 of us were gathered to run for either 50 or 100 miles.  Before I knew it, it was go time.  I lined up at the very back of the pack with Katie and let out a whoop as we started.  After so many weeks of NOT running, I was finally, finally able to run!

The Course:
The race is held in McNaughton Park.  We would run a 10 mile trail loop 5 times going in a counter clockwise direction.  The loop had 1,600 feet of elevation gain, so the entire 50 miles had 8,000 feet of gain (or 16,000 feet of total change.)  The trail was mostly dirt and not very technical.  The rocks and roots that I'm so used to dancing over on my normal trails at home were few and far between.  There were some meadow sections, a little sand, and two creek crossings.  One creek crossing you just plunged straight through.  The other had rocks that you could hop on and keep your feet dry if you were so inclined.  But your feet were already wet from the first creek crossing, so what did it really matter?  This course is advertised as being very hilly, so I was pleasantly surprised that it was not nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be.  (This is Illinois, after all.)  That's not to say that it was an easy course by any means, but it was more runnable than I had planned on.  I liked the quote from the race's website: "... comparing the high altitude, long climbs of the Western mountains to McNaughton hills is like comparing being eaten by a shark vs. being eaten by a 1000 piranhas ... both are unpleasant ... just in different ways."  The infamous "golf hill" was short, but practically perpendicular to the ground.  They rigged a rope to help you climb it.  I think that was my favorite part of the whole course.  My arms got a good workout. 

Golf Hill on a non-muddy day.  Photo credit: Kara Fitzjarrald

The Mud:
Oh, the mud.  The mud, the mud, THE MUD.  I don't know how much time we all must have lost to the mud.  I'm willing to bet it cost me hours.  Words really cannot do it justice.  The first loop was fine.  The sky spit out a little light sprinkle if I remember correctly.  But then it started to rain...

Like I said previously, the trail was mostly dirt.  Dirt + rain = mud.  Hilly dirt + rain = Slip 'N Slide, baby!  This is where technical trails have an advantage.  Those rocks and roots that you normally curse over suddenly are your best friends as they provide this lovely little thing called traction.  Unfortunately my friendly rocks and roots were firmly lodged into the hills of Wisconsin and had no intentions of paying Illinois a visit.  So thus began a long day of strategizing.  And I say strategizing because every hill was different and each one required a its own unique way of getting up or down.  I vividly remember my first fall.  It was maybe around 3 or 4 miles into the second loop.  The rain was coming down.  I was approaching the top of a hill that had a steady, steep downhill following it.  A man was stopped at the top of the hill just looking down.  As I approached him, he told me that the previous three racers had fallen on their way down.  I kind of shrugged and thought, well, no time like the present, and started down.  Before I knew it, my legs slipped out from under me and I was on my ass sliding down the hill.  By the time I was able to stand, I was covered in mud.  Mud on my ass, mud on my arms, mud on watch, mud on handheld.  Mud, mud, mud.  Stood up.  Tried to go down the hill again...fell right back down on my ass.  More mud.  Laughed.  Laughed and laughed and laughed.  Somehow made it down the hill and was a complete mucky mess.  And that was just the beginning.

35 more miles of mud.  Thin mud, thick mud, leafy mud, dark brown mud, light brown mud.  All kinds of mud.  I would try to go up a hill and find myself sliding backwards.  I would stand on the top of a hill and scan for a good route thinking to myself, "Maybe I can skid down the left side and stop myself by grabbing onto that tree before plunging down in the ravine."  I would be in the middle of a hill going down and all of a sudden I would start involuntarily skiing in my trail shoes.  I have not skiied in 15 years.  I thought, "What was that thing called when you put the tips of your skis together to slow down?  Oh yeah, wedge.  WEDGE!  WEDGE, DAMMIT!" 

Trees were my best friend.  I used them to pull myself up hills.  I used them to stop myself from falling.  I used them to keep from flying off the edge of the trail.  I held onto them for dear life.  And of course everyone else did too, so even the trees were muddy from so many dirty hands grabbing onto them.  I ran Barkley style, cutting my own trail through the bushes at times where it was just impossible to get up or down otherwise.  I ran with a few race veterans who told me that this was some of the worst conditions they had ever seen.

Oh, the mud.

I'm actually pretty clean in this picture.

My drop bag.

The Race:

Loop 1:  My goal for this loop was to run really easily and finish feeling like I hadn't run at all.  I scoped out the trail, got my bearings on where all the aid stations and bathrooms were.  I honestly don't remember much from this loop.  I ran mostly alone.  I did not linger at the main aid station -- just grabbed more gels and got out.  Split: 2:26

Loop 2:  Rolled into the first aid station and was greeted by a gentleman who asked, "Are you Mandy?"  It was Andy! (a friend from Runner's World.)  It was so great to finally meet him and was such a boost to know someone out there.  This loop was when things started to get hairy.  It rained.  I fell.  A lot.  I used half a roll of paper towel at the next aid station cleaning mud off my bottle and my arms.  Stopped at the port-o-potty at the main aid station and applied more lube.  Split: 2:49

Loop 3:  I rewarded myself with my iPod this loop.  I listened to it on and off, depending on whether or not I was talking to or running with someone at the time.  I experienced a low point toward the end of this loop, knowing that I was only a little more than half way done.  The last section really seemed to slog on.  I kept telling myself, "Just make it back to camp."  Camp was what I was calling the main aid station in my head as there were a lot of tents around.  I mentally prepared for a longer stop here.  I thought about changing my socks, but decided that I didn't want to see what kind of condition my feet were in and just left things the way they were.  Another port-o-potty/lube stop.  Quickly updated my Facebook from my phone to let people know that I had finished 3 loops.  Split: 3:16

Loop 4:  It had stopped raining and the sun was starting to come out.  My spirits were lifting.  I had started loop 4 and dammit, I was definitely going to start a loop 5.  I knew I was going to finish.  I ran much of this loop with a boisterous, fun group of 50 milers.  Did my last port-o-potty/lube stop.  Updated facebook again.  Grabbed my headlamp and a pair of gloves in case it got cold after dark.  Split: 3:20

Loop 5:  The last loop.  My Garmin died just a few miles in.  It lasted for around 42 miles.  I ran with a woman named Julie for a lot of this loop.  She very generously shared her lube with me and we exchanged a bunch of race stories.  It started to get dark after we left the last aid station.  I turned on my headlamp.  It was my first time running from sunrise to sunset and into the night.  That's pretty damn cool.  With about 4 miles left to go in the pitch dark, I told Julie I was going to turn on my music and try to find another gear and run it into the finish.  And find another gear, I did.  I'm amazed that after 46 miles, many of which were slogged through the mud, I was able to RUN.  I wish my Garmin was still working at point, because I would have loved to see my pace.  I'm sure it was still horrendously slow, but I was moving much faster than I had been previously.  The mud was still horrible even at this point and the dark made it even more challenging.  Toward the end, I was Barkley-style running again and rammed my right shin into a fallen tree.  Ouch.  The last 2 miles or so were almost unbearable.  I just wanted to be done.  I started looking for landmarks that I recognized.  I kept thinking, "Where's that damn creek, where's that damn creek, where's that damn creek?"  After that it was, "Where's that damn log with the words, 'Ouch' spray painted on it?"  And after that it was, "Where's that damn sign with people's names on it?"  I had to pee.  I didn't want to stop with less than a mile left, but I did.  I stopped in the bushes and peed with less than a mile left to go.  But then I RAN.  And I ran.  And I climbed up the last hill and had flat to the finish.  And I ran.  It was quiet as I approached "camp."  I saw the red finish clock in the dark and I started whooping.  People began cheering.  And I sprinted.  Split: 3:18


Unofficial finish time of 15:13:xx

The race director handed me my belt buckle and congratulated me and asked, "Why are you breathing so heavily?"  I laughed and said, "Well, I decided to run it in..."

The After-math:
Considering I wasn't even sure that I was going to make the starting line, I was happy to just finish.  I know I have a much, much faster 50 miler in me, but I am very proud of this race.  I hurt.  I am sore.  I popped at least 7 blisters (strangely all on my left foot) yesterday.  My feet are swollen.  My left ankle is bruised and swollen, but I don't remember doing anything to it.  Amazingly, my shin is okay.  It did not bother me during the race.  I am thankful for the soft, muddy trails in that sense.

Coming in through mile 40.

Nutrition:
This is something that I'm actually good at.  I always manage my nutrition well.  I carried a 20oz handheld and drank only water.  I tried to come into each aid station with a mostly empty bottle.  I ate 12 Crank E-Gels, which have 150 calories a piece.  (That's a whole day's worth of calories in gel form.  Gross.)  I also consumed the following: LOTS of potatoes dipped in salt, fig newtons, a bean wrap, oranges, grapes, a biscuit, potato chips, mini-snickers, sport beans, two Starbucks Double Shots, and a bunch of Coke/Pepsi/Mtn Dew.  I went the first 30 miles without any caffeine and then I just started chugging it for the last 20. 

The People:
There's just something about the people at ultras.  I had the opportunity to run with a bunch of terrific people during this race.  I initially thought that I would hate the loop course aspect of this race, but I actually turned out to love it since it gave me the chance to interact with so many people.  The man who was running the 100 after a stress fracture and who laughed at my, "Scattered showers, my ass" comment.  The two older women who were running the 100 together.  The man from Missouri in Vibrams who wanted to eventually run Leadville.  Julie, who was running her first 100, and who I leap frogged with and ran with through much of the race.  (I am anxiously awaiting the results to know that you finished!)  Amy from Nashville who was running the 100.  Brenda, who I finally got to meet in person after chatting with on the Madison Ultra group on facebook and who I had the pleasure of sharing some miles with.  Pat, the bacon girl, and that entire crazy group who I ran much of loop 4 with.  The group of college kids who ran the 5.2 mile aid station that made me laugh every time I came through.  The support that every single person gave me when they found out it was my first 50.  (And the numerous comments of, "You're running THIS for your first 50?!  You're crazy, girl!) 

Bib and belt buckle.

 

I loved every single horrible, wonderful, muddy, amazing minute of my first 50 miler.  I can't wait to do this again.  Does that make me some sort of sick, crazy person?

Glacial Trail 50K Race Report

Sunday, October 10, 2011
Greenbush, WI

Glacial Trail 50K and 50M is held in the Northern Unit of the Kettle Moraine State Forest near Fond du Lac, WI. I was really looking forward to this race -- it was supposed to be beautiful and difficult trail, but best of all, a lot of the Runner's World gang were going to be there! I was excited to see old friends and meet new ones.

My morning started with a 3am wake up call and an hour and a half drive on a very empty highway. I made it to the start/finish area at 5:15am; plenty of time to spare before the 50 milers took off. Our little group consisted of me (50K), Ethan (50M), Todd (50M), Heidi (50K), Amanda (50K), Ava (crew), and Steve (crew). I had met everyone but Heidi before, so it was a fun reunion. At 6am, we cheered for Ethan and Todd as they took off into the darkness for 50 miles.

50 mile start

Heidi and I with our matching gaiters

The sun was rising as we lined up outside of the firehouse in the small town of Greenbush, Wisconsin for our 7am start. This is a small race with less than 200 people for both distances. It was quite warm outside for early October and I had not anticipated getting to wear a t-shirt and shorts. I don't quite remember how we started, but I'm willing to bet that the RD yelled go and off we went. We had about a half mile on pavement through town before we hit the trail.

The sun rising in the distance; Heidi just ahead of me in the blue.

Heidi and I started out in the back of the pack. She was moving slightly faster than me and took the lead. I kept her in sight for the first maybe 3 or 4 miles, but eventually she pulled so far ahead that I lost her. I spent the next few miles with an older gentleman who seemed content to just hang out behind me. He kept telling me that I was holding a great, steady pace, but otherwise we didn't make much conversation. I don't love having people on my tail if we're not talking or I don't know them, so I was ready to shake him as we rolled into the first aid station at mile 7. I took grabbed some of my standards, oranges and potato chips, downed a coke and kept moving. My friend stuck with me though and went left around the same time. He stayed with me until around mile 10, where I had what I'll call a baby ankle roll. It was enough of a roll to make me pause, but not enough that I was in severe pain. I pulled off to the side of the trail for a second to let him pass and walked for a few minutes to get my ankle to settle down.

Now I was happily alone on the trail. I was moving well, but stopping to take pictures every now and again. The trail was just beautiful. I felt like I was running through a painting. The trees were sporting brilliant fall colors, which made things just oh-so-pretty, but unfortunately those leaves had been falling. The trail was covered in a blanket of crunchy leaves. Every step was like a small leap of faith. You just never knew what lay underneath them. Smooth ground? A rock? A root? A snake? It made for tough running. I was constantly stumbling, kicking rocks, and tripping.

Leaves!  Leaves everywhere!

I exited the woods and ran across an open meadow on the way to the mile 13 aid station. This aid station was busy -- lots of people coming in and out. I almost considered eating some of the cheese curds that were there, but decided to play it safe and went for the potatoes instead. Shortly after leaving the aid station, I ran into Amanda, who had already been to the turn around and was kicking ass. She was running strong and I knew she was going to have an awesome day.

As I made my way to turn around, I got to see almost everyone in the race since I was in the back of the pack. I waved to some trail forum folk, saw Heidi again, and finally crested a hill and saw two guys sitting in lawn chairs. This was the turn around. I crossed the white line and went in the opposite direction. It took me 3:50 for the first half of the race.

Butler Lake in the background.

It's always a good feeling to be heading in the direction of where you came from. I was doing okay at this point. My legs were tired and the lower half of my body was starting to ache, but that's pretty typical for me. I decided that I would turn on my ipod after I hit the aid station at mile 17. You descend into this aid station from a long flight of stairs. Steve was waiting for me at the bottom and I got to see the crew for the first time and hear 50 mile updates. Badger was in third place! All I could get out of Steve about Ethan was that he had gone out pretty quickly. I feared the worst. This was a longer stop for me -- I chatted with Steve, got my pack filled with ice and water and ate. Finally, I decided it was time to keep going. I cranked up the ipod and took off.

Coming into the aid station at mile 17

The music helped me for a while. I was singing along and having a good time. It was also at this point that my shorts started to chafe my back. This happens to me on occasion. I should have been smart and applied duct tape or band aids before the race, but I completely forgot. Thankfully I had the brilliant idea to tuck my shirt in on my back. It didn't look very pretty, but it worked.

I don't know quite when things started to go downhill. It started out slowly. Oh, the top of my left foot is starting to hurt. That's okay, that's normal, I've been having issues with that foot lately after all. Hmmm, the bottoms of my feet are getting sore. These rocks are starting to take a toll on me. Maybe I should have worn the other shoes. What's that? Yes, legs, I know, I know, these hills are making you tired. Pipe down back there, sacrum. I heard you 5 miles ago.

Rolling into the final aid station at mile 24, there two members of the trail forum already there. Tom was grabbing some food and Susan was sitting in a chair with stomach issues. They both took off shortly after I came in though. Steve and Ava were here to cheer me on as well. They brought news that Todd had moved into second place and Ethan was in 4th. This motivated me to get going, since they would be catching me on the trail soon. I don't think I ate enough here. I remember potato chips, trying a pretzel, but spitting it out, and that was about it.

I left the AS and took off after the trail forum peeps. Susan was walking and battling nausea. We exchanged a few words as I passed her. Tom was in the distance ahead and would stay there for a while. Finally, the leader 50 miler passed me. Now I was on the look out for Todd and Ethan. Then I heard Todd coming up from behind me. We were coming up on a big hill. He was looking tired, but still moving well. I practically shoved him up the hill and told him to keep going and that I would trip Ethan for him. He disappeared off into the distance. Maybe 5-10 minutes later, Ethan appeared, now in third place. He was stumbling up a hill and I basically shoved him off into the distance too. Go, go, go! Don't hang out with me...RUN! Only 10K left to go!

Ethan coming up from behind me

I was by myself again, anxiously looking back and hoping that the 4th place 50 miler was far behind. Not much later I saw Tom emerging from a camp bathroom. I tried to wait for him, but he urged me on ahead. It wasn't too long after this when things started to go bad quickly. I had maybe 4-5 miles left to the finish. I started getting queasy. My head felt light. My stomach was not happy. "Don't puke, don't puke, don't puke," was running through my mind. I stopped every few minutes to stand and bend over. I thought about how downed trees looked like nice places to nap. My feet were aching like crazy. They felt like they had been through a meat grinder. I contemplated my shoe choice. Yes, these shoes had successfully gotten me through my first 50K, but that course wasn't nearly as technical and the damn shoes didn't have a rock plate. Now every step was painful. I stumbled like a drunk down the trail, walking slowly. I thought about just how far I had to go and how it was a heck of a long walk. More 50 milers were coming now, but Ethan and Todd had a strong lead and I wasn't worried about them losing it. (And indeed, they finished well. Ehtan in 2nd overall; Todd in 3rd.)

Hey, I was here!

Those final miles were not pretty. I tried to run, but my pace was dreadfully slow and my feet were throwing a temper tantrum. The nausea had finally passed, but the hamburger feet weren't going anywhere. Tom caught up to me and we stayed together for a while. It was nice to have the company, although I'm fairly certain I was whining and complaining most of the time. We picked our way down a hill and he said something about flatland from here on out. Okay, I guess I'll try to run now. I zoom zoomed (his words, not mine) off at a blazing 14 minute mile. I almost kissed the sign that said only one mile left to go. Soon I was hearing traffic in the distance. I had never been so happy to see pavement before. I tried to pick up my pace for that last 1/2 mile, but I don't think I really did. I crossed the finish line in 8:31:XX. A significant slow down in the second half.

This was a rough race for me. In retrospect, it was probably stupid of me to run (2) 50Ks and a trail marathon in just 5 weeks. I don't think that I ever got a chance to recover. But I love to be out there on the trails and I had fun despite the pain. Getting to hang out with a bunch of the gang from Runner's World made it even better. 2011 has been good to me. Ethan helped show me that I could indeed run an ultra. So I did. Then I ran 2 more with a lot of help from the BF and trail forum along the way. You're all a bunch of damn enablers! I'm a bit concerned about what you people are going to convince me to do in 2012.

Thumbs up for Bob!

5,500 feet of elevation gain.  Ouch.