Friends and family, anytime in the future that I consider doing a hilly 50k trail race at a location that recently had 8-10" of fresh powder, please someone stop me. Why would any sane person drive four hours to put themselves through a living hell of snowy pain? Alright, well it wasn't *that* bad, but it was the toughest 50k I've done yet and the finish times reflect it.
The race was at Wyanndotte Park just west of Kansas City. I've run a 50k here once before, in the summer-time so I thought I knew what I was getting myself into. What I didn't count on was how devastatingly energy sapping the snow would be - even after a few hundred runners had been on it. The snow was very dry which gave it almost the consistency of sand. And it didn't really pack down well. Most people who have run on the beach know that running in loose sand is hard. Running 31 miles in deep "sandy" snow on a hilly course is very hard. I give big props to all the finishers yesterday; everybody who soldiered through that 31 miles deserves a frosty beverage. Which reminds me; Dave the nice guy at the mile 28 aid station who gave me a drink of Rebel IPA, I owe you one brother.
Speaking of aid stations, the Trail Nerds race promoter (Ben) is a first class dude who puts together killer events with great swag (see below) and some of the nicest aid station volunteers ever! And he brings a some of his homemade microbrews for everyone to sample after the race along with bottomless bowls of hot chili. Good stuff!
 |
| Beer! |
 |
| Cool medal! |
For an aid station volunteers perspective, check out this short and entertaining blog article about the race - http://ewelsh723.blogspot.com/2014/02/winter-is-natures-way-of-saying-up-yours.html?spref=fb
So in short, my day of running was not amazing; I came in 22nd out of the 69 runners who finished. There were 144 total 50k runners; around half of whom either didn't finish or "dropped down" to two laps (20 miles). Congrats to those who dropped down for being a bit smarter than me. Anyway, 22nd overall was about all I could muster (4th in the old man age group). My finish time was 6 hours and 48 minutes; which is more than an hour longer than a 50k on that course would take me in good conditions.
 |
| The answer is no, there was not another way around this. |
But on this one I probably need to cut myself some slack. On a training run about two weeks ago in Tampa, I tore up my lower calf muscle pretty good and was not able to run a single time in the two weeks leading up to Psycho. I have done some serious tapers before, but this was ridiculous! I could have skipped the event, but the truth is I needed a good day of running/training, and I just wanted to finish the fucking race in one piece.
The debate among my running friends, my coach, and my sports massage therapist was whether or not I should run the race at all. I was on the fence, but a few days before the race it seemed that I was able to walk without limping and Cindy (my fantastic sports massage therapist) had taped my leg up pretty good to support the torn muscle. That, along with some yoga and pool time, gave me just enough confidence to give it a shot.
 |
| Camo Tape! |
I told my buddies at the start of the day that I have never, ever DNF'd before, and that I certainly didn't plan to start. A running buddy (Justin) told me at the start not to push myself too much because all I really needed to do was "make it from the car to the bar" later that day. A lot of wisdom in that simple quote, and it played in my head several times during the race as I dreamt of the tasty IPA's that would surely be consumed that evening.
I knew there was a possibility I'd have to consider dropping on the second lap (20 miles) if the calf wasn't cooperating. In retrospect, "dropping down" to the 20 miler wouldn't have been a big deal given the conditions. But I tend to keep going even on days when common sense would suggest I do otherwise.
Knowing that I would be lucky to just finish the race, I did something I don't normally do - I started at the back of the pack. For the first two miles I ran at a pace slower than I have ever done. But it was fine. I chatted with some very nice runners, and it was probably the right thing to do in order to warm up my calf and see if things would hold together.
 |
| 3rd lap, around mile 25 I think. Love my Altra Lone Peaks! |
By about mile three I noticed the calf was starting to twinge. It was that familiar crampy feeling that I thought for sure was going to be my undoing. The disappointment by mile four was growing because I wasn't sure I'd even make it through the first ten mile loop. It was at that point that one of the strangest inner dialogues I've ever had while running an ultra began. Anyone who runs ultras knows that the mind goes to some odd places when you are out on the trail for hours at a time, but this one was so early in the race.
What began as a standard mind-body self check, slowly turned into begging and pleading with my calf, which then turned into a full blown negotiation. It was as if my left calf muscle was a separate entity - complete with his own plan, his own intentions, and his own free will. It was at this point that I told him that if he would carry me through this race I would give him the day off on Sunday. By mile five, my left calf officially had its own identity. My inner voice was no longer alone. I even started referring to him by a nickname "LC" (left calf).
I promised him that I would take it easy and not push the pace. He replied with a cold laugh and told me to piss off. I provided a solid comeback by calling him a pussy and told him that together we'd get through the 31 miles - and that maybe on this day finishing squarely mid-pack would be just fine. Just get me to the finish.
Miles 4-8 were sketchy, I was worried that at any point the calf would seize. However, by about mile 9 I realized my negotiation with the calf must have worked. He loosened up. He began speaking to me with more respect. By mile 12, the discussion was over. LC was good. Everything was going to be fine...well mostly fine, it turned out he was the least of my worries.
 |
| Some mild frostbite, the other foot is worse. My toes really hate me. |
By mile 20 I was toast. No energy left. Quads shot. Upset stomach. Dizzy. Sore toes. This is where the aid station volunteers become angels. They pumped me full of Sprite, Heed electrolytes, chicken broth, and Tums for my stomach issues. It also helped getting slapped on the back by the guy who came into the station just before me. I was on the verge of sitting down and puking, he slapped me on the back and said "dude, let's finish this motherfucker". I obliged him and followed him down the trail in pain, but focused on surviving the final 8 miles.
I won't dwell on it anymore, but miles 20-25 were some of the worst I have ever run. But in the midst of the suffering, there is always a silver lining. I had a period of epiphany during those miles that reminded me of how good my life really is. I could not stop thinking about the fact that even with life's big challenges *everything* else in my life at that moment seemed so easy. Running through the pain of those tough miles reminded me that when you put yourself out on the edge, all the rest of life suddenly seems so much less daunting.
Fortunately by mile 25 with a few energy gels in me I got my shit back together and finished the race. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't as fast as usual, but we made it. Me and my new imaginary friend, LC. If you think any of this sounds wacky, dramatic, or mildly neurotic, well then you simply have never run an ultra...
No comments:
Post a Comment