Race Report (Adventure Story) for My First 100-Miler
If you are looking for race story, this aint’ it. This is about an adventure.
Background
After reading “Born to Run” by Christopher McDougall a few years ago, I was intrigued with the love of running enjoyed by the ultra community. I didn’t think much more about it for awhile. It’s really Keyser’s fault when in 2011 he spoke to me about doing the Land Between the Lakes 50 miler. I thoroughly enjoyed that race and knew that at some point I would want to try a 100 mile event but wasn’t sure when that would be. After my experience in the heat in Boston in 2012, I figured I would use the spring of 2013 to get back to the trails and do LBL again. Out of curiosity I looked at some training plans for 100 milers and they were essentially the same as a 50, except 5-6 weeks after the 50, you do 100 mile race. I went ahead and signed up for the Indiana Trail 100.
Another important preface to this event has been fundraising. I have never "run for a cause" before but I thought maybe I should at some point. A girl who I went to medical school with lives in Texas and has become quite the triathlete. Last year she did Ironman Arizona and raised funds for kids in India via a charity called the "Hope Endowment." I communicated with her about her fundraising experience and she said how important that was to her training and finishing her race (I later found out that she tore her achilles during the marathon portion of the Ironman and stumbled several miles to finish the race). I wanted something more tangible, closer to home. My wife had worked with the Advocates in raising funds to support the Northern KY Child Advocacy center and when I questioned some of the Board members about the possibility of raising funds through my running a 100 mile race, they took off with more enthusiasm than I could have imagined.
Race Plan
I had always considered race execution to be my biggest asset - much more so than natural ability or fitness. So when I started to gather information about how to race a 100 miler, I was amazed how little I could find. There were so few people to talk to about this and the ones that I did talk to could never give me any of the specifics that I wanted (now I know why). Some of the tips I heard from various people were: “If anything feels hard at all, slow down,” “Start slow, then slow down,” “If you feel bad, eat something; if you feel good, eat even more.” These tips were both somewhat disturbing and helpful, but what I really wanted to know was how damn fast to run at the start of this race.
The best I could come up with was that I had 2 trail 50 milers under my belt that both took about 8 hours. Someone told me that you might take 2.5x that time for your 100 miler time. There was nothing definitive about this, but since it was all I had to go by, I figured it was better than nothing. So I set my sights on 2.5 x 8 = 20 hours. 100 miles in 20 hours comes out to an average of 12 minutes/mile. Didn't sound fast at the time. I had no idea what any pace meant after a distance of 50 miles, but it sounded like a place to start.
After poking around the internet to find out a little more about pacing, I came across a coach who was available by phone for $60/hour. I thought, what the heck, I’ve dropped that on a pair of compression socks and some gloves at the running store last week, so what do I have to lose. So I gave Coach Weber a call.
I started the call by giving him a little history about myself and the race I was doing and what my plans were up to this point. I told him I was thinking about trying to get it done in 20 hours. He said “maybe, but I think your goal is a little aggressive.” I really had no idea, it’s just the only specific number I could come up with. This hour conversation prepared me well. I came up with only a few important details that would improve the specifics of my pacing plan, but it served to mentally prepare me for the event that was coming.
I took notes on this phone call and also made a list of other tidbits of information I thought might be helpful and typed them out. (I would later give these to D-Mac at our dinner a week before the race.)
Some of those words of wisdom (all that pretty much turned out to be true) were:
“Don't let your pacer feel sorry for you. You are the one who signed up for this race.”
“Way too many people get behind on their expectations and get so disappointed that they drop out. It’s okay to get behind. Give yourself permission to finish the race. If you don’t finish the race you should be in the hospital.”
“Don’t get discouraged if you need an extended break. Even if you have to rest for up to an hour and continue - you will be glad that you finished the race.”
“You will do poorly in the race if you screw up the first 20 miles. Going a little faster here will save you 20 minutes. You will do well if you can perform in the last 20 miles. Going a little faster here will save you several hours.”
He also said “everything eventually changes. You will hurt in places that you have never hurt before. Eventually that will change too.”
For multiple reasons, I knew that I wanted to use a run/walk approach. First, I did it 2 years ago in a 50 mile race and finished strong. In this year’s 50 miler, I did not strategically walk from the start and finished in a lot of pain, and the race ultimately took me longer. Second, trying to run from the beginning of a race at anything slower than 10 minutes per mile, sounded uncomfortable or even hard to do. So by mixing in some walking, I could bring the overall pace down.
The Pre Race Meeting
With just over a week to go before race day, I was coming up with a concrete plan as to what I was going to do on race day. As I looked at the numbers, it looked liked I was going to be going slower than what I’m used to on the trails, and WAY slower than what D-Mac is used to. The main theme of the meeting was to warn D-Mac how slow I was planning to run and not to get any crazy ideas about laying down any 8 minute miles when I’m 67 miles and 13 hours into running. He nodded that he understood, but I still thought he might need some convincing come race day.
The Race Plan
Loop Distance Time of Day Run Pace Walk Pace Aid StopOverall Pace
1 0-16.7 6am-9am 9:46min/mile 18:00min/mile 2 min 10:48min/mile
2 16.7-33.3 9am-12pm 9:46min/mile 18:00min/mile 2 min 10:48min/mile
3 33.3-50 12pm-3pm 9:46min/mile 18:00min/mile 2 min 10:48min/mile
4 50-66.7 3pm-6:31pm 12:03min/mile 18:00min/mile 3 min 13:12min/mile
5 66.7-83.4 6:31-10:02pm 12:03min/mile 18:00min/mile 3 min 13:12min/mile
6 83.4-100 10:10-1:33pm 12:03min/mile 18:00min/mile 3 min 13:12min/mile
I had my nutrition planned out very specifically (down to how many milligrams of sodium to consume per hour) and was planning on picking up a bag of food and salt capsules at my drop bag going into each loop. As long as I hydrated on schedule and finished the bag of food by the end of the loop, I should be good.
Driving up with Dave
I pulled up to get Dave at his house and he’s loading up his trunk as if planning to drive. This would be the first of many times I would have to refuse his generosity. I sternly told him that I was driving my vehicle and to get in. He seemed to feel bad about this and insisted he would be filling my tank with gas. Seriously? I told him he could kindly drive me home as I would sore in couple of days. As we left Hebron for our journey, neither of us had any idea of the adventure we were about to undertake.
Dave has relatives dotted all over Indiana and he knew the drive well and so recommended taking a much shorter, but scenic route to the race. This would be one of the many ways he would help me out this weekend. Sometime during our drive Dave says, “so, are you nervous?” I confidently told him no. There’s no real climactic start to these kinds of events. It starts and ends in the dark without spectators. You just line up and someone says go. I figure I wouldn’t experience anything new until after the 50 mile mark. Boy was I naive.
As we drove through the small towns and the cornfields of Indiana, the further we got, the more we noticed how much water was on the grounds. It was hard to tell if these plots of water adjacent to the road were actual lakes or just farmlands with flooding. But these little lakes were everywhere. When we arrived at the park we checked in with the ranger at the park entrance. He told us that packet pickup was on the way to our cabin and we figure we would stop there first. So we parked adjacent to the Start/Finish line and the main tent. I still had a long sleeve collared button down shirt on from work earlier that day and the first thing I noticed when I got out of the car was how cold it was. When I went to the hatch to get a jacket and hat, Dave and I were stopped by someone covered in mud who introduced himself as the race director and said in an accusatory tone “which one of you guys is running the race?’
Dave pointed at me. “ Not me, I’m just a pacer.” I raised my hand. Then Mike, the director, began warning us about the race conditions. He said they’ve had flooding and he has been working on the course trying to improve the conditions. He gestured with his hand that the water on the course was chest high in places and that, through his tireless work, he was able to reroute the course to places where it would only be knee high. Was this supposed to make me feel better?
So we checked in at the tent, I got my timing chip and bib and Dave got his pacer bib. There was a pre-race meeting in an hour, so we figured we’d check into our cabin and come back. We picked up the key and found Cabin 8. It was cute that they had nice bundles of wood outside each cabin. As we went in to explore the rooms we noticed that it was’t much warmer on the inside of this cabin than the outside. We looked around at the furniture and wood stove in the main room realized how Spartan it was. As we went to the bedrooms we noticed that the mattresses and pillows were covered in vinyl, but there were no linens. No bath towels. There was a kitchen with microwave, range and fridge, but no plates or utensils. This was becoming more than just a racing adventure. I thought I was smart getting lodging on site, plus the trail went right past the cabin so I thought it would be perfect for Dave to sit on the deck and watch the racers go by. But in spending most of my mental energies on training and execution strategies I neglected some important details that would play a role in our comfort this weekend.
Does this place even have heat or is that what those logs outside are for? There was a thermostat on the wall, but no on/off switch on it. I turned the dial and heard a slight “click” but didn’t hear a furnace come on. We saw some baseboard heaters and D-Mac went room to room and felt them - some were starting to warm up, some were still ice cold. D-Mac and I brought food for dinner, but without plates and utensils we weren’t sure what to do.
The Near Panic
At this point my head was starting to spin. I was in my cabin, but I had been freezing since we got out of the car back at packet pick up. I had hats, gloves, running tights, jackets and I was trying to figure out in my head if I could put all that stuff on and actually get some sleep on the vinyl-covered mattress. Now my pre race meal was in question and this whole time I keep envisioning the race director with his hand on his chest and to his knees discussing water I would have to go through. Now I was nervous. More than nervous, I was getting scared.
Dave to the rescue. Dave gets on the phone and after a call to his parents to get “Aunt Wendy and Uncle Ed’s” number he calls them and asks if they would mind lending us some blankets. “Hi uncle Ed, I’m here in Albion with a friend of mine who’s doing a 100 mile race and we are staying in the park in this cabin that has no linens. Do you think we could borrow some for a couple days?” All I can hear is Dave’s side of the conversation and I’m laughing out loud. Because, although at this point I’m very nervous, scared and have a sense of urgency about getting things in order before this race, I found it hilarious what this sounds like to Uncle Ed on the other end of the phone. Before there is anymore discussion of blankets, I laugh at mild-mannered Dave trying to calmly explain things to his Aunt and Uncle while at the same time knowing we had a lot to get accomplished in the few hours before bedtime.. “Yeah, it’s 100 miles.....it’s on the trails at the state park....I know you had a lot of rain last night...they just run through it..... I’m only running the last 33 with Rob....okay, thanks Uncle Ed.”
Our plan was to head up to the pasta dinner, grab some utensils and attend the pre race meeting. After that we would head to Columbia City to pick up the linens, cross our fingers, and see if the cabin warmed up by the time we were back. I did find one meal ticket stapled to my bib. I guess I bought this online months ago and forgot about it. We went into the main tent at the start/finish where the dinner was being served and the meeting was to be held. There were about 1-2 dozen people eating and another dozen dishing out food. The pasta was drenched in sauce and did not look appetizing. There were so many variables out of my control at this point I decided that I would skip this meal and eat what I had packed back at the cabin. So I gave Dave my meal ticket (and even though I had no intention of eating this meal, I literally had to force the guy to put his money back in his wallet and take the ticket for the meal I already purchased.)
I drank a bottle of water while Dave ate and the race director began to make announcements. “Thanks to everyone for coming. Now let’s talk about the 900 lb. gorilla in the room - the course conditions. I’ve seen things out there I’ve never seen before.” He went on to describe the inevitable water crossings and to be extra careful with the one that required a rope to get across. He described how they had to change the trail off the main path to get around other water hazards and to be sure to closely follow the pink flags marking the trail in those sections.
It was freezing as a cold wind blew threw the tent and runners began to speak about what they were hearing about the course. Everyone’s face became a little more serious. But not one person complained. There were really no questions. I guess when only 4 days earlier in Boston people’s legs were getting blown off, it puts things in perspective and it is hard to complain about cold, wet feet.
The night before
After meeting with Aunt Wendy and Uncle Ed (Southern hospitality has nothing on the midwest - these people in Indiana are amazing) we made it back to the cabin where my mission was to prepare my drop bags for the morning (I had already done this at home, but given the conditions, everything became a game changer). Fortunately our cabin was getting warmer, although I think it maxed out at about 60 degrees as I still needed jacket and hat while inside. I ate my prescribed amount pasta with a little olive oil and 1/2 chicken breast as I stared at my bags. Singlets? Won’t need those. Gore-tex shoes? Not gonna help when you are knee deep in water. Knowing that wool is a good insulator when wet, I changed some things from my drop bags over to a race morning pile so I could wear them first thing going into the race.
When I finally got things organized and Dave and I hit the sack (actually I was sleeping on a Luke Skywalker comforter from Ed and Wendy's house) it was around 10 o'clock. I had a lot of trouble falling asleep. I kept thinking about walking through the cold water out on that course. I'm okay with wet and I'm okay with cold, but the thought of wet and cold feet was instilling fear in me like Indiana Jones fear of snakes.
After about an hour or so, I finally lost consciousness but was awakened shortly afterwards by the noise of something alive either in or around the cabin. There was definitely what I can only assume was a racoon doing his own endurance run on our roof as well as another creature very close to the head of my bed. This second creature sounded like a wounded bird flapping its wings inside a small closed space, but I’m not sure if the animal was on the inside or the outside of the cabin. As I finally went in and out of consciousness I was fully awakened by my iPhone alarm that went off at 2:30 am. This is what time I was supposed to eat breakfast. So I went to the kitchen and ate my pre race breakfast: 3 cups of applesauce with a scoop of protein powder mixed in, one banana, one 24 ounce bottle of Gatorade. I ate it all, took a poop and then headed back to bed for a couple hours.
At 4:45, my alarm went off again. I woke up and ate a PowerBar while getting my race clothes on. It was supposed to be 30 deg and windy. I put on wool socks, compression shorts, full length tights, long sleeve shirt, race jacket, Smartwool knit cap and mittens. I wore the Hoka One One (aka "clown shoes") shoes to start the race. I had a powerful lamp to wear on my belt during the last 2 loops of the race, but wanted to save those batteries, and since it would be light after the first 40 minutes of the race, I put a small headlamp on for now.
I went and pooped again. Then D-Mac woke up to drive me to the start where I dropped 2 duffels of food, shoes and clothes and we were ready to go. I had my nutrition planned out very specifically and was planning on picking up a small zip loc bag of food at my drop bag going into each loop. As long as I hydrated on schedule and finished the bag of food by the end of the loop, I should be good.
The Race
At 5:45 the race director made an announcement that we needed to make the walk from the main tent to the start line that was about 30 yards away. No one moved. Again he said that we needed to go over there and I was beginning to realize that it was more than me who was scared. So I turned on my headlamp, walked over there from the lighted tent into the darkness that surrounded the start/finish line. It was surreal watching these runners with their headlamps, with such trepidation, slowly make their way over to the start line. I looked like miners coming out of a cave.
There were a few more announcements about the course that no one could hear. There was a moment of silence for the events of Boston, a prayer was said and the race director said go.
The course is a loop of connected trails that spans 16.7 miles (at least before the reroutes). The plan was to do 6 loops to total the 100 miles.
Loop 1 - Let’s see how bad this course really is
We ran off on frozen earth and the trail was pretty wide so you could run 3-4 people across. So I began trotting along at about a 9-10 min/mile pace. This was pretty fast given the number of people and that it was still completely dark outside. The race director said the course was relatively okay until mile 4 where you would start hitting water, so I was surprised when at 1.8 miles I hear lots of yelling and screaming and I make out the leaders about 50 yards ahead of me and I see them and hear them splashing through the water. This part of the course was in more of a small field and it was dimly lit by everyone’s headlamps. To give you a visual of the runners at this point it was exactly like movies that show troops trudging through the marshy fields in the the Vietnam war.
I reached the first pool of water. Okay then, I guess this is the moment of truth. I didn’t hesitate, but followed the crowd of people into the icy cold water. This particular spot was on the edge of small lake, so there was no mud underneath, just grass, and the water came just over your ankles - just enough to saturate both feet and shoes. It kind of hurt at first, but it was only about 20 feet across and you were able to run through it. As long as you kept running your toes warmed back up pretty quickly. I was surprised how well I took this given the fear that kept me from sleeping the night before. Maybe this was not going to be so bad.
So I’m able to maintain a good pace for another few miles, running for 13 minutes, walking for 2, eating and drinking according to plan. I get to the first aid station at mile 4.5 and I’m in and out in no time. Now the sun was rising and you could see where you were stepping a little better. After an hour of running I took off my headlamp and put it in the pocket of my running jacket.
The 4.5 mile aid station serves as another aid station at mile 14 of the loop. This 9 mile stretch of trail in between would turn out to be the toughest part of the loop as we are starting to get to more and more soft ground and more water crossings. The water crossings varied in depth and in length. Along the 16.7 mile length of the trail I’d say cold water would cover both feet for a short time at least every mile, but as far as stepping into deeper lakes or creeks, I would guess there were about 6 along the loop. Some you would step in and you would go in up to the mid calf, others to the mid thigh. Some had black, squishy mud at the bottom, some firm gravel. It was like a box of chocolates - you never knew what you were gonna get.
The trail was mostly 10 feet across, but several areas had been rerouted into hillsides that were heavily wooded with lots of underbrush where you would duck under branches and hop over downed trees. This was not an issue on loop 1 because it was now light out and there were runners all around you. However following the little pink flags off the main trail would become more challenging later in the day.
Although I took my requisite 2 pre race BMs already, the gas I was expelling along the trail made me think I might have to go again. I was pacing right on schedule and had to pee anyway, so I stopped into the aid station at mile 9, peed and pooped and was out of there in just a few minutes.
At mile 12 I remember going through water so deep that my testicles got wet (now that was cold!) and this particular crossing was long, as in 40 yards long. With the other crossings, by the time your toes were painfully frozen or even numb, you were out of the water, back to running and after a couple minutes the feeling would come back. But this one brought pain and you weren’t close to the other side yet. And when you got to the other side and started running, you felt like there was just 2 stumps at the end of your legs because you couldn’t feel anything. I remember one of the crossings had a rope to hold onto to get you down the steep bank to the water and one rope to hold onto to get you across. I also clearly remember the last major water crossing 1 mile from the Start/Finish. When you make it through this, you’ve got some rerouted trail, and then you finally get some road and gravel. Before I knew it I was back to the start of the loop. I shed my jacket and mittens, threw on a short sleeve shirt over my long sleeve shirt, took my wool gloves and was back out.
First loop done in 3:05, just 5 minutes over schedule. I was happy.
Loop 2 - Am I lost?
It was still cold out, but the sun was shining off and on, so it was comfortable running weather. Everything from the waist up was in great shape. My lower half was so wet and muddy and cold that you just tried to forget about it because there was no way to beat it. Runners were spreading out now. I spent a lot of mental energy on loop 1 watching my steps, trying to memorize the course, making sure I didn’t “screw up those first 20 miles.” I decided I just wanted to have some fun running on loop 2. But first, I had to pee again. Now my body felt good, so I went ahead and put on my iPod and listened to some tunes. I thought that this might help me forget about all the cold water I would be dealing with. I would glance at the pace on my Garmin occasionally and was actually able to get into a little bit of a groove. I could not do the 13 min run/2min walk thing, but because of all the walking you had to do through the mud and water crossings, I just made sure my average pace was where I wanted it to be. I was having fun.
But as runners became more spread out, I had to pay closer and closer attention to whether or not I was on the correct trail. I was following the little pink flags, but sometimes they were 10 yards apart, sometimes they were 50 yards apart. I continued onward and as I began to approach the 28-30 mile mark (12 mile into loop 2) I thought I should be coming to that longer 40 yard water crossing that I experienced on loop 1. There were no runners around me. Did I get into the running zone and go off the course? I was getting mad at myself, because I was feeling good and keeping pace with my execution plan, and now, who knows where I am. I turned off my music to listen for other runners. I slowed my pace and began scanning in every direction for runners or flags. I just kept going and finally reached the 14 mile aid station. “Am I going the right way?” I asked the volunteers. They asked where I came from and pointed where to go next and seemed to think I was okay.
While at that aid station I had to pee again so I went ahead and used the port o john. I was hydrating right on schedule. What’s up with all the peeing?? - Maybe the fact that I wasn’t sweating much had me peeing more. Still didn’t know what happened to that 40 yard crossing, but I later learned that they had moved the course again to avoid it (could’ve notified me of that!). So with a few miles to go in loop 2, I’m feeling good and pretty much on pace. I started to think about any changes in gear before I got back to my drop bags at the start. I shed the knit cap for the traditional billed running hat, but otherwise I was back out for loop 3.
Loop 2 was 3:05, same as loop 1. This is going well. Maybe I can get back a few minutes on loop 3 and get the first 50 done in 9 hours exactly as I had planned.
Loop 3 - Okay, I can feel it now
An interesting thing happened on loop 3 - as the earth was warming up those “soft areas” that you could run through had now been trodden on twice by hundreds of runners. These areas were now no longer a mixture of grass and frozen dirt, but were now slick, sloppy mud. Most of them that I could run through on loops 1 & 2 became unrunnable. My body was feeling good and there were short stretches of solid earth where I could bring the pace down to what I wanted, but the increase in areas of the trail that required walking was bringing up my average pace considerably. Although now I was definitely behind on my expectations, I did not get discouraged. This was Mother Nature’s fault, not mine. I had built in a lot of time to slow down during the second 50 miles, so maybe my overall time wouldn’t suffer.
Halfway into loop 3 and do I have to pee again? My urine was clear and I knew that as annoying as this was to have to pee every 10 miles, it would likely serve me well in the late phases of the race when maybe my fellow runners would be faltering. Still, whether it was cold, nerves, or my 41 year old prostate, these pee stops were taking minutes to void in which no forward progress was occurring. I tried a couple of times to pee while walking, but I think that is going to take some more practice.
Then I began to feel the course’s affect on my body. I knew that I went out too fast at the LBL 50 miler, was hurting by 25 miles, and was 100% spent by the end. So I tried in my mind to make sure that I was feeling better in this race than I was at LBL. I was definitely better - no pain in the quads or glutes, but both my hip flexors felt sore. I thought maybe this was from forcefully dragging my legs forward through the water so many times or pulling my feet up and out of all the mud. I don’t usually do such long distances in full length running tights, so maybe that was playing a role. But at 40 miles my hips were hurting more than I wanted them to. My pace slowed considerably both from the walking intervals and because now even the short stretches of running were happening at a pace of about 11-12 min/mile instead of 10.
So at about 40 miles I started to come to the realization that I was not going to finish in the 20 hours I had hoped for. And now I was hurting in a way that made me scared about how I would feel after an additional 30-40 miles of this course. I needed to make some changes and I planned them in my head as I made my way back to my drop bags at the start/finish.
I was very comfortable up top, no changes there. My legs were going to be cold and wet no matter what, so I knew I wanted to take the tights off. I was happy with the performance of the Hoka shoes to this point, but since there were black with mud, and I would be removing them anyway to get the pants off, I thought maybe a new pair of shoes might not be a bad idea. So when I got to the start of the loop again I got into a port a john and sat down to pee while I began getting my shoes and pants off. I figured a new application of anti chafe and fresh socks couldn’t hurt either and I should be able to wear this pair to complete the entire race. So I put on some compression socks, Saucony road shoes, shorts, left on the 2 layers up top along with the running cap and gloves.
That 3rd loop took a while longer, and with the clothes/shoes change it took 3:47, about 40 minutes longer than the previous 2 loops. Oh well, it is what it is. It took 10 hours for the first 50 instead of my planned 9, no big deal. Let’s get a fresh start for the next 50 miles of running.
Loop 4 - Only 17 miles to D-Mac
My Garmin still had a lot of juice in it, but I went ahead and reset it since my average goal pace was to be increased for this second 50 miles. Now just 17 miles until I pick up D-Mac and have some company. I went ahead and turned on some music to see if I could get “in the groove” again. I couldn’t. As it got warmer out and the trail took a beating, things got muddier and muddier. Like everyone else, I tried to go to the side of the trail around the mud (and took a lot thorns in the legs in the process), but it was unavoidable. The mud was now not only squishy, but slippery and the walk through the mud required careful attention so that you did not end up falling face first into it.
At this point all the water crossings were still there, but you often were welcoming them to get the mud off your shoes so that you could take a few strides of clean shoe running. The sun was in and out through the day and although I never got to take my gloves off, I was warm. And even though the water was still ice cold, it didn’t bother me anymore. My hips felt better too. I had some cumulative fatigue and soreness pretty much everywhere, but nothing that alarmed me or that I did not expect. I was still able to run decent on firm ground, but my average pace was slowing even more as the course softened and became more slippery. Getting through and around pools of mud began to take more time and become more frequent. The mud started getting really really old. I began thinking maybe 22 hours should become a realistic goal but I tried to concentrate on the positive: my hips were better, I was warm when the sun shined, I was well hydrated and my nutrition was going well. This should be the worst part of the race and I’m doing okay. Hey, only another 10 miles or so and I pick up D-Mac.
So then I start to think about poor Dave. He was at the pre race meeting, but until you get out on this course, you have know idea what you are in for. I wasn’t sure if he was tracking me online, but I was at least 1-2 hours behind schedule now, which meant if he ran with me to the end he would be awake much past the projected 2am that he signed up for. Hell, if he didn’t run with me at all, I would have totally understood. These conditions were miserable and he would be in them in the darkest, coldest part of the night.
So I get back to the start/finish again and knowing nightfall is coming I needed to change out some gear. I stripped my 2 existing shirts off and put on a long sleeve Smartwool shirt and another longsleeve tech tee. Left the jackets behind (“big mistake - huge&rdquo
. Put my brightest running lamp on my fuel belt and we were off.Loop 4 took 4:07, more than 30 minutes longer than expected. At this point we are at mile 67 and supposedly where the real race begins. Time was pretty much out the window, but it seemed more runners were DNFing, so maybe I could place well and I was hoping to turn things up a little with Dave at my side.
Loop 5 - Uh Oh
Just being able to talk to Dave as we ran off on the first 1.5 miles of solid ground was a joy. I let Dave know the status of my running and how slow I was going and that he couldn’t get carried away. I think he got the idea, but if he didn’t he was about to find out. So I was able to be distracted from my bodily fatigue and pain while listening to how Dave spent the previous 14 hours while I was busy running.
As it turns out, this guy not only comes up to this event to pace me in horrible conditions, but while he’s waiting around to do just that he visits his grandmother, helps complete strangers get their cars unstuck from the roadside mud, and collects money for my fundraiser while he’s at it. I was beginning to think that he would not need his headlamp because I was starting to see a bright halo form around his head.
So as we shared stories from our day (we had a lot of time for details) Dave got to experience the water and mud first hand. Part of me was slap happy and had to laugh because the conditions were just that bad. Another part of me is thinking,l“what did I get this guy into?”
We ran as fast as I was able, and I was walking most of the hills at this point. I would take an extra gel here and there to get a boost, but it was tough to bring the pace down to anything under 12-13 min/mile, even on flat ground. Add in all the mud/water walking and I’m sure we were averaging much slower. And after we were out there for 30-60 minutes, it was time to turn on the lamps. It got very cold and very dark quickly. Now we were by ourselves 95% of the time. And as the darkness enclosed us, and rarely other runners were in sight, I discovered that in addition to the mud and water hazards, the rerouted sections off the main trail where you had to closely follow the pink little flags was also becoming “unrunnable.” At this point I was tired and I was okay with the extra walking, but overall it made it tougher to get into any sort of rhythm. After 70 miles of slow running, I would have loved the opportunity to recharge by running a few smooth miles with D-Mac, But these miles were nothing like those coming down Chambers Road.
We were doing okay, Dave seemed to be able to ignore the conditions and was able to enjoy the feast of goodies being served at the aid stations. In fact, given his Columbia City Marathon pullover, he was able to strike up conversations with just about anyone and I often had to pull him away during our aid station stops. As the night (now the morning really) grew colder, I was getting chilled and was shivering. When we came to mile 80 aid station I thought I might be able to warm up by having a couple of cups of Ramen Noodle broth. Then the pain really set in.
I walked around the aid table slowly and held my left hip flexor. It felt like someone was stabbing me with a knife and I could not pull my left leg forward past my center of gravity. The broth didn’t seem to help much with the cold chills either. I needed to get some pants back on and my jacket back. I needed to get back to the start/finish. The EMS guy at the 80 mile aid station saw me shivering, and walking around in a nervous, painful manner. You could tell he was concerned about me and asked if I needed to get in the ambulance to warm up. He said I could go to the adjacent historic schoolhouse that was heated. Since I just wanted to get back to the start for my clothes, I told Dave we should just go.
On the 30 yard walk to the trailhead I was in such pain, I told Dave we needed to stop. We turned around and made our way back to the schoolhouse, stepped inside for a few minutes and tried to warm up. This helped very little with my hypothermia and none at all with the hip pain. I still wanted some new clothes on. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I told Dave that we should try to complete the loop and get back to my supplies.
As we made our way onto the trail, we knew we had about 2.7 miles to go. There were some steeper climbs and a few water crossings during this section. I tried to walk fast, but could not. I tried to run but could not. I began a slow walk that consisted of me putting my right foot forward and dragging my left leg to meet with it. My Garmin had quit long before now, but Dave and I both knew how slow we were going. And the slower we went, the colder it got and the colder I got. This was not good.
I essentially hobbled along - I was cold and Dave and I weren’t talking much at this point. Probably because we were thinking the same thing: Although I wasn’t very coherent, I was able to clearly do the math in my head. I was walking a mile in 25-30 minutes, we had almost 20 miles to go, and at that rate I likely wouldn’t be able to finish the race.
When we finally arrived at the start/finish tent I went straight in to be by the heater. There I sat in a chair, got my socks and shoes off (difficult when shoestrings are frozen solid) and began telling Dave to bring me things (soup, running pants, shirts, jackets, mittens). During this foot warm up and gear change some volunteers and an EMS brought in a runner who looked terrible. He was shaking fiercely and was not able to answer any questions. They began to strip clothes from him and wrap blankets around him as he was having seizure-like jerking and still not responding to all the people up in his face. It was terrifying to watch and I began to wonder if I should even consider going back out on the trail. One thing was for sure - anyone, no matter how experienced, out there without a pacer was at serious risk. Thank goodness again for D-Mac.
After about 15-20 minutes of gathering myself I felt ready to get this race over with. Still feeling bad about having Dave out here at this hour, I grabbed him to make our way out of the tent and back into the cold darkness.
Loop 5 - 5 hours, 19 minutes. At this point I’m not sure if I can make it to the finish in under 24 hours, but either way I was determined to finish this race.
Loop 6 - Bringing it home
I told Dave he was allowed to push me this loop. I told him that when we walked, to walk faster and when we ran, we needed to run faster. He knew that I wanted to finish in under 24 hours. And as we took off on that first part of the trail, the searing pain in my left hip was much improved. In fact, if I leaned forward and ran with a shuffling gait, it was much better than when I was forced to walk. So we got down to business. I didn’t talk much. I focused on my form and on my breathing and would check in with Dave way too much about whether or not we were on the correct trail. But no small talk going on now.
I knew we had picked up the pace a bit, but also knew we didn’t have any time to spare if we were going to pull off a sub-24 finish. We started to pass a few people here and there which we hadn’t done in hours, so my spirits improved. Since I didn’t know the reason for the sudden onset of severe left hip pain at mile 80, my biggest fear at this point was that, as Dave and I were cruising along, the pain would recur and we would again slow to a crawl.
But as long as we could run, the pain was better. And even though my feet were still fairly numb, the rest of me was finally warm. I still pretty much hurt everywhere, but at least now I could run. The mud was still terrible, but it began to firm up a little as the temperature dropped well below freezing (of course now the water hazards were getting colder again!). The miles began to go by, one mud pit after another. Soon we were through the 4 mile aid station, then the 9 mile. We came to the creek crossing with the 2 ropes and Dave took a quick spill in the water where his upper body got cold and wet. We then made it back to the 14 mile station (where last time they saw me I shivered and probably should’ve gotten in the ambulance to get warm). I wasn’t sure about 24 hours, but now I knew we were going to finish.
We had 2.7 miles to go. I hurried as fast as my body would allow, but had no idea what pace we were keeping at this point. All I knew is it was going to be very close. I told Dave that at the last water hazard we would walk through, we would have exactly 1 mile to the finish and that we would have to hustle. We came to it and splashed in and through the calf deep water without hesitation. I was glad to know that would be the last one of the race. Now we would have about a 1/2 mile through some rerouted forest trail and another 1/2 mile on road and gravel back to the finish line. We ducked under branches and around trees as fast as I could go, but it wasn’t very fast. How I longed for the flat road. This 1/2 mile through the woods seemed to last forever as time was slipping away quickly.
I told Dave it could be close enough that he would run to the tent to check me in while I headed straight to the tracking mats underneath the arch of the finish line located 30 yards away. Finally, the woods started to thin and we could see some of the park lights up on the road and we knew we were close. Almost home.
As we made our way onto blacktop I felt like we were flying, but we were probably doing 14 minute miles. My pain was okay and so I tried to go faster and faster. I looked at my Timex which said 5:55am and though I thought my Timex was a couple of minutes fast, wow, was this going to be close. And although I could usually run a 1/2 mile in 5 minutes without issue, I hadn’t run at that speed since the second loop which was 18 hours ago. I knew there was no way to keep up with him, but I kept telling Dave to speed up (which he easily did).
We made it around the road, onto a short strip of gravel and around the boat dock and the start/finish area was in sight. There was still a good deal of people in the lighted tent at this point, but just 30 yards away the lights and digital clock around the arch of the finish line mats were not on, but were engulfed in darkness. What gives? Are they trying to conserve energy or something? Every other loop they had this lit up as well as the cumulative time counting as you went over the mats. Now I was trying to play beat the clock and I had nothing to look at. (In retrospect, I could have just looked at the stopwatch on my Timex instead of the actual time of day. I pressed the start on the chronograph when they said go, but I was obviously not thinking clearly at this point in the race.)
Oh well, I guess if I don’t know exactly how much I’ve got left, I’m going to have to push it. So as we got from the road to the field that contained the finish line, I started to sprint. I knew I was finishing my first 100 miles and was pretty damn sure I was doing it in under 24 hours. As I sprinted under the dark archway, the volunteer shouted 23 hours, 54 minutes and gave me my buckle.
The Aftermath
I’m amazed at the way the body responds to stress and the way the mind responds to the body. Somehow I was able to shut off enough of that pain in my left hip to start running again after loop 5. But now that the race was over, my body became flooded with a world of hurt. I walked back to the tent to heat up again and gather my things. I should have eaten and drank at that point, but I wanted out of there. Dave gathered my things and we hobbled back to the car to make our way back to the cabin.
When we got in the car we turned it on, the clock shown 6:20am and you could see the sun was getting ready to come up. The outside temperature reading on the dash was 19 degrees. I so desperately wanted to go, but we couldn’t. I had no ice scraper and the windshield was covered. We turned on the seat heaters and the defrost and sat and waited. I can’t remember if anything was said. Dave and I were a complete mess of mud and frozen lower limbs.
When we made it back to the cabin and got out of the car, my left hip flexor started again with the acute stabbing pain that brought my race to a halt at the end of loop 5. I shuffled in the cabin and sat on the lid of the toilet to take off my clothes. My feet were caked with mud, even on the inside of my socks. I turned on the shower and leaned against the wall in the stall. I could not get to my feet to get the mud off. After a few more minutes of using up Dave’s hot water supply, I turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. I then began to feel lightheaded.
I do have a history of fainting and I know what it feels like when I’m about to pass out and this was it. I sat down on the toilet and put my head between my knees and tried to reach the sink to get some cooler water on my face. All I could think of is that after all D-Mac had done for me, I was going to top it off by having him call 911 in a few minutes as I crashed to the floor. I sat there long enough that the prodromal feeling I get before I faint passed. I made my way to my room and got on some compression pants to lay down to go to sleep. By now the sun was up and the cabin was bright and my hip hurt so bad, even lying in bed, that I wasn’t going to sleep. It hurt me especially to laugh as I hurt Dave’s screams coming from the shower I had just depleted of hot water (I had totally forgotten he would need to clean off as well).
I stared at the ceiling as Dave slept for a few hours. I was trying to figure out how I was going to go back to regular life with this pain. I hadn’t taken narcotics since my wisdom teeth were pulled 25 years ago, but I thought I might be a good candidate for serious painkillers at this point.
Although I never slept, I started to stir out of bed at 10:15 when the alarm went off on my iPhone. I yelled at Dave that it was time to get up. I also apologized because I bluntly told him that I was not going to be able to collect any of my belongings and that he would be cleaning the cabin and loading the car before he drove us home. He happily complied (33 miles in the mud has nothing on D-Mac).
We checked out of the cabin and at 11:30 we drove back to the start/finish area to get some ibuprofen and tylenol from the medical personnel in the tent. The sun was shining brightly and it was warming up to be a beautiful day. Even though I was not functional in any way, it was cool to see a couple of racers run by and finish the race in just under the 30 hour limit. After Dave got back with some medication, we drove out of the park.
After a quick stop to get me a Big Mac, 30 minutes later, we stopped by Decatur to meet Dave’s parents where I had to confess that “I’m the stupid one” that ran the 100. It took a considerable amount of time for me to get from the car to the house. I know Dave’s dad got a kick out of me crawling across his living room floor to plug in my phone. I enjoyed my second meal within an hour (an impromptu visit had Dave’s mom whipping up a lunch with more side items than a pot luck dinner), and we were on our way home.
As the analgesics kicked in I was feeling a little better. By 2-3 hours into the drive I figured that when we arrived back in Hebron, I should be able to drive my own car home.
The big question
Everyone I tell about the race asks whether I would ever do another one. I’m not sure at the moment, but the answer may change as my body continues to heal. Sunday I would have said definitely not. Writing this report has helped heal a lot of psychological wounds from the conditions on the course. I can report the conditions but won’t complain about them - it has provided me with a lot of stories and an experience much more memorable than if I would have raced through the course in 20 hours or less. But, of course, you always wonder what could have been. What if the course hadn’t been so bad, if I didn’t have so much downtime changing out gear, if I didn’t have to walk for a full hour? I wonder. I have no races on the schedule and will enjoy running without the rigidity of high mileage or given speeds. I still want to be out in the woods. One day I would like to give back and pace someone else in an ultra. The truth is, after all the crap that Dave and I ran through on Saturday and Sunday, it was still fun. And even right now I still want to run. When people marvel at the distances people run, or complain about having to do that long run on the weekend in marathon training, the ultra runners motto is “we don&
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Comments
Epic!! Can't fathom doing 100 mile.
Wow. Most terrifying sentence: "First loop done in 3:05, just 5 minutes over schedule. I was happy." Next most: "When we got in the car [at the end of the race]... The outside temperature reading on the dash was 19 degrees." 19 F, running in a marsh? In total darkness? After 20 hours and 83 miles of torture?
Absorbing adventure yarn, thanks for telling it. This confirms my placement of running 100 miles (or anything over 26.2) is on the list of Things I'm Never Going to Do, along with jumping out of an airplane, or performing open heart or brain surgery.
Great job Rob and thanks for the report.
Congrats Rob! Thanks for taking me down memory lane to my ultra days... it's truly a gift to race 100 milers and even a bigger gift to be a pacer. The mind/body/spirit is such an amazing vehicle to fully experience life if we choose to fully use it. Congrats on never giving up and achieving this milestone. Life is never quite the same after 100 miles... enjoy the afterglow!
Big congrats on getting it done.