Palo Duro 50 Miler 2011 race report, part 2 (the race).
(If you missed part 1, pre-race, you can read it here)
Aaaand we're off.
Good news! My first few steps of running were not agony for my back. In fact, my back wasn't bothersome at all! I immediately felt better about my prospects for going more than 1 mile in this race. At the very least, I knew I could tough out one loop.
Speaking of one loop, the 50 mile version of this race was 4 12.5 mile loops with three aid stations out on the course, then one aid station at the start/finish line. The time limit for the 50 miler was 12 hours. My goal was to finish in under 12 hours, before they kicked me off the course. I had a few sub-goals.. I hoped to go under 11 hours (Matt said he thought I could go sub-10, but he's legally required to think I'm more of a badass than I am, and I love him for it), and I hoped to run as much as was feasible. I didn't want to walk the last loop. I've heard too many stories and read too many race reports about people falling apart and walking miles and miles of their races in misery. And certainly if I wanted to go sub-11, it would require that I not do much walking.
Loop 1
I was elated that my back wasn't immediately an issue. I crossed my fingers that it wouldn't become an issue over the course of the run, then shoved it out of my mind, not wanting to even give it consideration unless it needed it. I just ran.
Well, sort of. The race starts at 7am, and it's still dark, and the trail is single-track (almost the entire 12.5 mile loop is single-track, really), and it's hilly. The combination of those things means that unless you're up at the very front, you're going to end up doing a lot of walking at the beginning. 30 seconds of running until the person in front of you starts walking because the person in front of them started walking because the person.. well, you get the idea. Presumably the person at the front of the line, who you can't see because it's dark and the line is long, has gotten to an uphill that they have decided to walk up, or a downhill that they deemed too treacherous to run in the dark, and their walking causes a chain reaction.
Last year the slow, walking start really bothered me. This year I knew I had a long, long, long day ahead of me, and fretting about something this early wouldn't do me any good mentally. If I didn't make the 12 hour cut-off, it likely wouldn't be because I had a slow first 2 miles. I just stayed calm and steady, passed people when they offered, and bided my time.
After 20 minutes or so, I started to notice that I could see shapes around me, and knew the sun was coming up, which is by far the best part of this race. First there's shapes, then they slowly resolve into shapes towering above you, which resolve into cliffs surrounding you, and then eventually there's low light, and you can see the stripes in the rocks. Then the sun peeks above the cliffs and you can see the brilliant reds and oranges and browns and whites of the canyon all around you. It's a game to see how much you can look around and soak it in before you have to put your head back down and watch your feet so you don't trip. I smiled through this entire part, and annoyed people around me by going on about how pretty it was.
Once the sun came up a bit and visibility was improved, I started to try to pick up the pace a little. Instead of remaining at the back of a line of people, I'd duck around them when the trail widened up a bit. Usually on the uphills, because even on the first loop, most folks were walking the uphills, and I was running up them. I wasn't pushing it, I was just floating easily up the hills (unless it was one of the 3 or 4 "unrunnable" hills on the loop, which I just walked up purposefully and strong). I felt great. Just taking it easy, enjoying myself.
My watch beeped at me, and I looked down to see it say "Drink now." I was borrowing Matt's watch, and this feature of his watch absolutely made a HUGE difference in my race. I programmed it to pester me every 30 minutes to take a salt pill (that's the "Drink now", because the watch featured no pre-set message concerning salt), and every 40 minutes to take a gu ("Eat now"). I'm actually pretty good in longer races about watching my watch and eating/salting on a schedule, but there's a whole new level of brainlessness involved in a 50 miler, and doing math is NOT an option a few hours in. I'll absolutely use timers like this in any future distance races. It also kept me from being so beholden to my time. I didn't look at my watch unless it beeped at me, so I didn't always have this awareness in the back of my head of how I was doing, to potentially berate myself.
On the OTHER hand, Matt's watch was driving me absolutely crazy. It kept auto-splitting, and I had no idea why. I'd go 30 minutes with it behaving just fine, then suddenly it would beep 3 times, and would report that it was on split 4. Then another 10 minutes and it would split again. 15 minutes and then it would split 5 times in rapid succession. I kept telling it to shut up, but it wouldn't listen. (The good news is, it was only really bad for the first loop, and I determined that it must have been because I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt. Once I took that off, it would only split randomly maybe once every few hours. Matt confirmed after the race that the split button is supersensitive, and the mere act of bending your wrist can raise up your wrist skin enough to bump the button. Maddening!) ) (Looking at the watch now, it appears to have split 34 times during the course of the race. 34 random beeps)
Aaaaanyway, made it to the first aid station and ran straight through, other than a very brief stop to ask a teen girl standing next to the table to please stash my headlamp into the pocket of my backpack, which she graciously did. Then it was off to the big, open, exposed part of the course. All cliffs and red rocks and hills, no trees at all, no shade. Fortunately, as the thermometer at a random intersection on the course informed me, it was still in the 40s at this point, so the exposure wasn't so painful. It WAS a little painful trying to FIND the course at times, as we ran directly into the sun coming up over the cliffs, making it impossible to see anything in front of you. I made a mental note to be sure I grabbed my sunglasses before starting the next loop.
Taken by larryhutton.net
Through the middle-of-nowhere second aid station, home of Dos Senoritas Locos, who you can hear many miles before you actually get to them, cheering and screaming. Didn't need anything, so didn't stop.
Annoyingly, I started to cough around this time. My cough had been such a problem, but never DURING a run. It was always great during a run, then horrible after the run. But now it was harassing me as I was running. And 8 miles into a 50 mile run. That didn't bode well at all. I tried to quell the coughing, but you all know how successful it is to keep yourself from coughing when your body really needs to. So I'd end up with 30 seconds of full-body, wracking coughs until I could get it under control again. (All while still running and maintaining my pace.) I'd planned ahead and had cough drops in my pack, but they were in the back pocket, which I can't get to without taking off the pack, which meant stopping, and I didn't want to stop. I was going to finish under 12 hours if it killed me, and.. maybe it would be death by coughing that killed me! But I just decided to deal with it as best I could until I got to the end of the loop, then grab more cough drops from my stash of gear.
Through the next-to-last aid station, then a few moments of stunning brilliance as I attempted to get off course, not once, but three times. First was when the course comes out onto the road. The course markings obviously say to go along the road a second, but then I just kept running on the road. And a girl followed me. A girl running the 20k, which started a half hour after my race started, which meant she was running fast, and was definitely in the top 3 for the 20k. And she merrily followed me down the road, then passed me. Then slowed, because we couldn't see any markings, or figure out where the course left the road again. We both slowed. We spun around, searching. Then we heard the guy who'd been behind us yelling from way back where we'd been, that we were going the wrong way. The course crossed the road, and we'd completely missed it. Sorry, Miss 20k frontrunner. You never, ever want to follow me on a trail run. After that, there were two times in rapid succession that I took a low road instead of a high, figuring I was being smart to avoid the hill, only to realize that the high road was the one that was marked, and that was because the low road went directly into some overgrown woods, or a little alcove with a picnic table and no exit. I'm brilliant. At least those three were the ONLY times I tried to get lost during the race, though.
Taken by larryhutton.net
Through the last aid station and into the area I dubbed the Haunted Forest last year. Evidently I wasn't alone in my opinion of the hauntedness (or someone read my race report!), because this year they'd dolled it up for Halloween, with a few spiderwebs and giant glittery fake spiders. (Unfortunately, due to the drought, this section lacked the babbling brook and fall colors from last year.) A pair of guys were passing me when I got to the first spiderweb, and one of them made some joke about the Halloween decorations. I laughed, and that immediately triggered a coughing fit. A mile later, as I approached the end of the first loop, a hiker said something encouraging to me, and as I replied, that triggered another coughing fit. Definitely needed to start the cough drops before this got anymore out of hand.
As I ran through the few folks out to cheer for people coming in to the finish line, I held up one finger and said, "Only 3 more!"
Finishing loop 1, taken by larryhutton.net
Loop 2
I crossed the finish line, l lifting my long-sleeve shirt up to expose my number so they could record that I'd finished a loop. The 20k was chip-timed, but the 50k and 50 miler were timed just by someone writing down when you went through, and when you finished.
I ran over to the chair I set up just past the line as I unbuckled and stripped off my pack. Threw it on the chair and took off my long-sleeved shirt, then put on my new, full pack. I definitely never regretted wearing the long-sleeved shirt, though by the end of the loop I had pushed up the sleeves to me elbows. I was ready to shed it at this point, though. It was still chilly outside, but I was no longer cold. Remembered to grab my sunglasses and a handful of cough drops, and headed back out. I didn't intend to, but I glanced at my watch as I headed out, and it said just about 2:30, so I knew my first loop had been just under that. I was on track to hit my goal. But I was only 1/4 done, and I was still in the easy miles with the good weather, so that meant nothing.
I was now running through a part I'd already run, but it was like new, since it had been dark the first time. And this time I could run the hills and not get stuck walking behind someone.
I popped a cough drop. It definitely felt good. It helped calm the cough. However, it was rather a pain, because cough drops take a long time to consume. Which is good! It means the cough is quelled for a long time. But it also means that when your watch tells you, "Eat now." and you're still eating a cough drop, you have to figure out what to do. I wasn't going to spit it out on the trail, and I still wanted its curative properties, so I fished the wrapper back out, wrapped it back up, stuck it in a pocket, then ate my gu. Lemme tell ya, strawberry banana gu does not go well with mentholyptus. Ugh. But then I chased it with some water, unwrapped my nasty cough drop, and popped it back in my mouth. Mmm.
I made it back to the first aid station and decided to hit the portapotty. It wasn't any sort of urgent need, but things were a little unsettled, and the portapotty pickings are slim through the middle of the course, and the trees and bushes available even slimmer (nonexistent), so I figured it would be prudent. In and out pretty quickly, but sitting briefly made me realize that my calves were already feeling the miles a little. As I started running again, I really started to think about what I was doing.
I know a lot of badasses. A lot of people who do Ironman and run ultras and generally do dumb but impressive things. And the progression tends to be marathon, 50k, 50 miler. So that's what I did. A 50k last year, next logical step is to do a 50 miler. It's a lot of miles, sure, but it's incredibly easy to click a button on a webpage (er, actually, Palo Duro still has paper sign-up sheets that you mail in) and pay some money and run some weekend runs. I did all that stuff. And it wasn't until maybe a quarter of the way through the second loop that it really occurred to me what I was doing. I was running 50 miles. FIFTY miles. In a row. That's.. kinda stupid. I wasn't even halfway done with my second loop, and when I finished that loop, despite having run 25 miles, almost a marathon, I would be HALF done. Even when I'd run 50k, the longest run I'd ever done, I still had almost 20 more miles (again, almost a marathon) to run AFTER that. When did I ever think this was a good idea?! Fortunately instead of entering some sort of downward spiral I couldn't drag myself out of, I ended up just laughing at myself. At how I hadn't considered how far 50 miles was until now. Fortunately I was still feeling good, so I put the distance out of my head and ran.
Into the hardest part again, this time a little warmer, but the thermometer still only said 60, and at least the sun was a little higher, so not directly in my eyes. When I got to the hilliest section, I saw a girl in the distance, getting slowly closer. She was bombing the downhills and speeding along the flats, but she was walking every uphill, no matter how small. And walking them awkwardly. It was hilly enough through here that, even though she was obviously a faster runner than I was, the number of uphills she was walking and I was running meant that I ended up catching up to her. I commented on how she was walking the hills in an uncomfortable manner, and she said yeah, she had a torn ACL. And was doing the 50 miler. I... told her that was an interesting decision, and it definitely sounded like one she was questioning at that time. Of course, then she evidently decided hills or not, she wanted to be ahead of me, 'cause she took off on the downhills and was quickly out of my sight ahead of me.
The relentless, exposed red, taken by John Frierson in 2009
I carried on my merry, steady way, through the Senoritas again, then around the bend and down to the third aid station. The descent into the third aid station is unkind. It's a series of steps, except it's steps for giants, deep steps that would be challenging to descend no matter what, but extra scary because they're very slanted, and made of dirt and leaves, which means I almost fell directly on my ass several times as I tried to go down. I was completely wrapped up in making my way down without falling, so was shocked when I heard my name being cheered as I got to the bottom. I looked up to see Matt! And puppies! What with the puppy factor, Matt had no idea what exactly his plans were, or where he might be able to see me on the course. So it was a complete and very happy surprise, and the puppies were a bonus. And the puppies were verrrry happy to see me (okay, they would have been happy to see anyone who ran up to them yelling, "puppies!!"), so they jumped up on me and gave me 9 billion kisses and Hilda tried to remove my sunglasses. Chatted for a moment with Matt, then headed back out again, feeling refreshed by the visit. As I ran away, Matt asked if I needed anything, and I asked him to put a ton of cough drops in my water pack.
Descending those wretched steps to get to puppies, taken by Matt
I had eaten maybe 2-3 cough drops at that point. They were really helping the cough. Unfortunately, they were also really dehydrating me. I was having to drink a ton of water to counter the gummy mouth and sticky throat. That came back to bite me when, with 2 miles to go on loop 2, I ran out of water. Completely. And I'd already passed the last aid station. Not good.
But there was nothing I could do, so I just kept running and stopped taking any cough drops, and tried not to think about water or my lack thereof. I was uncomfortable, but not in any kind of distress. As I neared the end of the loop, the torn ACL girl passed me. Again. I asked where the heck she had come from, and she said the bathroom. She said she was going to quit after this loop, and I said that, with a torn ACL, that kind sounded like a good idea. She said she was going to push through to the end, and asked my name so she could cheer for me. I told her, and she told me her name was Tracy, and then she zooooomed off ahead of me.
And I made it through loop 2. Half done. And Tracy, true to her word, cheered for me.
Finishing loop 2, taken by larryhutton.net
Loop 3
Matt had been a good little crew-gnome and had refilled the water in my original pack, put new gu in, and refilled my salt canister. I was set to start my second half. Again I happened to glance at my watch and saw roughly 5 hours. That meant I'd slowed down a few minutes, but was still on a great pace.
I anticipated this was going to be the hardest loop, and I was right. It was warming up. I had run 25 miles. The hills seemed to be getting more plentiful and somehow steeper. And various parts of my body were starting to stage protests and refuse to participate in the run. All the parts that I'd had trouble with in training. My left glute. My right hip. My left foot. When I went to run up a hill, all those parts would slack off and make me depend on other, still functional parts of my legs to pick up their slack. What resulted was more of a wide-stance waddle up the hill rather than a run. But I WAS still running up most of the hills. Okay, a lot of the hills. I'd say I ran 95% of the hills the first loop, maybe 85% the second, then got down to perhaps 70% on the third.
And it was heating up. The forecast had said high 80s, but it was in the 90s, and the thermometer out in the wasteland said 100 in the full sun with no cover. It was hard. I actually don't even remember much of the third loop. I remember thinking how hard it was, and then telling myself just to keep running. I pulled the card I always play to keep myself going during endurance races, which is to remind myself that This Is It. So often long training runs are really hard because you know you have to get up tomorrow and do it again. You know you have a 2 hour run at some ungodly hour in the morning on Thursday. You know that after this Saturday long run, you've got a long run on Sunday, too. You know that next week you have your longest training run yet. It all just seems neverending. But I kept telling myself that this is what it was all about. All that running was for this moment. This wasn't Just Another Run. This was It. And that kept me going. Even when my brain checked out for a while, my legs kept turning over. I'd slog up a hill at a walk, but as soon as I was at the top, the legs would just start running again. I'm so glad my autopilot worked, because I wasn't there to pilot the body for long stints here.
It was in this section that I also started losing time on the downhills. My quads, especially my right quad, were the next muscles to abandon me, and that made the downhills, especially the steep, rocky downhills, very scary. I'm not a brilliant descender on a good day, and now I was fighting to stay upright on the downhills. Frustrating.
I decided, given my paranoia after running out of water on loop 2, that I would take the time hit and stop at an aid station to refill my water during the loop. I was trying not to take anymore cough drops at this point unless I really needed them, because of the dehydration they caused. I had figured out, though, that just drinking extra water really seemed to help keep me from coughing, so with the intense heat and sun and cough, I was going through water very quickly. Normally I'd have no problem running 12 miles on 60oz of water, but this wasn't normal.
So I decided to stop at the halfway point to refill, which was the Senoritas. As I ran in, them cheering crazily for me, I took off my pack and started to unzip it and get it ready. One of them grabbed the pack from me and asked if I wanted water or Gatorade. I told her water, and showed her how to open the bladder to fill it. She started filling it from a cooler. She was filling it, and they were asking me how things were going and stuff. And after a while, she held up my pack and asked if that was enough. And it was obvious that most of the water she'd dispensed hadn't made it into the pack at all, but had missed and hit the ground, because there was still barely any water in the pack. I asked her for more, and said perhaps the water was mostly missing, so she tried again. And again, it wasn't as full as I would have preferred, but this was taking a long, long time, and I wanted to be going, so I said that was great. Put on my pack and ran out.
Then I discovered that while maybe only half the water had made it into my pack, the other half hadn't hit the ground as I suspected. Maybe 25% had hit the ground. The other 25% had gone into my pack... just not into the bladder. So it was slowly (really not so slowly) leaking out the bottom of the pack and down my legs. And into my shoes. And none of this was pleasant at all. (Though it did make me realize how strange running in a non-humid environment was. Normally in that heat in Austin, I'd be drenched in sweat. With the low humidity, my clothes were almost completely dry other than sweat on my lower back from my pack.) I tried to squeeze out the water, but that wasn't all that effective, and anyway it just squoze it directly into my shoes. And then in a moment of mile-31-or-so brilliance, I decided since my shorts and shoes were already wet.. why not practice my peeing while running? And so I did. And I have to say it's a LOT more pleasant to do so in the rain (see: Ironman New Zealand) when you don't have to deal with the warm grossness that results (I'm sorry, was that tmi? Yeah.). And it was a reminder that you can't run 31-or-so miles without some chafing. All that being said, I peed twice more over the course of the run. It definitely made me more comfortable, bladder-wise, and saved me the time of a portapotty stop, and the potential cramping that might result from sitting and then trying to stand back up.
So I was rather a mess at this point, physically and mentally. I was coated in salt from sweating in a dry climate, my hands were gooey from eating gu, and in order to rinse them off, at first I was taking water from my pack into my mouth and spitting it onto my hands, but then I didn't want to waste water after running out already, so I was using the only wet spot on my body, the sweaty lower back of my shirt, to wipe my hands after each gu. My legs were filthy with trail dust (I ran by one family of hikers, and the little girl said, "Mommy! Look at her ankles!" which were most assuredly a solid red with caked dust). And now I smelled like urine. I guess normally (okay, there's no 'normally' involved here, I guess) one would douse their lower body with water after peeing while running. But I didn't have the water to spare. Mostly I didn't notice my smell, but any time I would walk a hill, the lack of wind blowing by me generated by running meant that my smell wafted up to me. And I smelled bad. Really bad. It's the worst I've ever been conscious of smelling. I felt very guilty any time I had to run past hikers or spectators or volunteers. "Sorry I reek," I thought at them.
So I smelled bad. I was slowing down. I was walking more hills. I was tired. I couldn't see any sort of light at any sort of tunnel-end. And then suddenly as I was coming into the third aid station, someone with a camera said hi to me by name. And it was John Frierson! There in the middle of nowhere! Who I didn't even know was out at Palo Duro!
Mile 34, taken by John Frierson
It was such a surprise, and really dragged me out of a dark place, so thank you, John. And as his pictures prove, I was still capable of smiling at that point. (Sorry if you could smell me, John.)
Mile 34, taken by John Frierson
With that boost, I made it through the last few miles of loop 3. As I came around the last corners, there were a few groups of spectators out cheering. I ran by one group of girls, and they said how awesome I was, and I said, "I still have one loop left." And they said I was still awesome. Then I immediately ran by a man sitting on a picnic table, who had heard that exchange, and he said, "Just one more loop." And I said, "A victory lap!" and he replied, "Yeah, a really, really, really long.." and I cut him off and said, "Okay, yeah, now you're not helping."
As I approached the finish line, I asked the volunteers if I had made the time cut-off. They assured me I had, with an hour to spare. That I had four hours to run the last loop.
And then I was 3/4 done.
Loop 4
As I crossed the finish line again, I heard Tracy cheering my name, and was surprised she was still there. Then I heard Matt calling my name! I was definitely ready to see Matt again, and it was great to have him help me swap packs. My manual dexterity at that point was pretty low. This was mile 37.5. 6 more miles than I'd ever run before.
Matt asked me how I was doing, and I said the parts of me that were still actively participating in the running process were doing okay, and detailed the ones that weren't. He said I was doing awesome, and I told him I knew I was slowing down, and that I knew this fourth loop was going to take me a while, so not to be concerned. I knew I had slowed down massively on loop 3, and I couldn't see it getting any better at this point.
But I didn't linger, and headed back out for my last loop. Stopping wasn't an option. I wasn't running fast, and I was gimping up the hills, but I was going to finish this.
I had glanced at my watch as I was changing packs, and seen that it was a few minutes shy of 8 hours. (Holy shit, I'd been running for 8 hours nonstop.) So I knew my watch should beep soon to tell me to eat and to take salt. Except it didn't. And when I glanced again, it said 2 minutes until 8 hours. So I waited. And it didn't beep. I thought I was having weird time dilation. I looked again, and.. it still said 2 minutes until 8 hours. I realized my watch had stopped. I panicked. I figured it was broken and I would have no way to measure when to eat and salt for the last loop, but when I hit the start button, it merrily started ticking off the seconds again. I realized that I must have bumped the start/stop button when I was changing packs. So now I was good again, except I had no idea how much time had passed with my watch off, and how off my eating and salting was. I decided to just take both when my watch said 8 hours, which it did once those interminable 2 minutes finally passed, and hope that I hadn't completely thrown off my body at that point. And that seemed to work, and I don't think I ever suffered for it.
That did, however, mean that I had no concept at all of what my total time out there was, or how close I was to the cut-off as I went on.
As I ran through this first section again, I reflected on the fact that it was amazing how this was the fourth time I'd run through here, and still I didn't recognize a lot of these parts. It's weird what the brain chooses to retain and discard.
I ran up to the first aid station, and there was Matt again! Filming me, as it turns out.
I walked through the aid station as he and the volunteers asked if there was any way they could help me. I decided to have a cup of Coke.. I was avoiding caffeine thus far, in case I ended up Needing it at some point. I figured this was as good a time as any. The next gu I took was caffeinated, too. As far as I could tell, they did nothing special for me. Ahwell.
Matt walked me to the entrance of the tough, exposed, red part, then sent me on my way, because he could see I was flagging and needed to stay focused and keep going. I'm glad he was there to make sure I didn't just decide to stop at that aid station.
One more trip through the tough section. It was hot. As I passed hikers, who all very politely stepped off the trail so I could go by, I told them that if they ever entertained the idea of running 50 miles, I was there to tell them it was a bad idea. Don't do it. So at least I retained some of my sense of humor still.
Oddly enough, I saw MORE people during the 4th loop than I did the 3rd, mostly in the form of hikers and mountain bikers, but also because I started passing people. All guys. Walking. And one time sitting on a bench beside the trail. A young, very fit guy. I asked him if he was okay, He said he was just taking a breather. I asked if he needed anything. He said he was good. So I soldiered on, reassured that no matter how bad I felt, there were people who felt worse. I was still running. I couldn't believe it.
It wasn't near sunset, but there was starting to be some shade, since the sun was going down enough to be behind the canyon walls. That was a relief, even if the thermometer still claimed it was 100.
Back to the Senoritas one last time. I decided, as much as I love the Senoritas, to get my water refilled at the next aid station, but to get a cup of Gatorade there. As I ran in, they said, "Second female!" I just blinked at them and said dully, "Is that even possible?" And they said they were pretty sure only one woman had gone through so far.
So here I was. Again. In the situation I hate.
I was just trying to run 50 miles. I wasn't trying to place. I wasn't racing. I just wanted to cross the finish line. I wasn't even proud of how I was running currently. How could I be going so slow, but be second female? It's like running your slowest 5k ever, just wanting to go bury your head under your pillow, and then being told you won. The joy of winning is tempered by your lack of pride in your performance. I could be proud of running 50 miles. But did I want a prize for not even meeting my time goal? That's what was running through my head as I headed out.
I had to decide what to do with this information., if anything. I hadn't seen another woman for ages. Certainly not in front of me, so odds were very low I'd be catching up to the woman ahead of me and (ha ha HA HA HA) winning the race. And I hadn't been looking behind me at all, though I admit as I ran out of the aid station, I did glance behind me. I could only see about 50 ft, but certainly there were no women 50 ft behind me. And I didn't want to watch my back for the next 6 miles. So I decided to use the knowledge to stay strong. If I started walking, odds were high someone would pass me. So I'd keep running. And I'd run the hills if I was capable. Basically I'd continue to do what I'd been doing, but with a tiny little bit of renewed vigor. And knowing for sure at this point, at mile 44 or so, that I was going to finish a 50 mile run.
Managed to awkwardly, slowly and delicately make it down the horrible steps to the third aid station one last time, and decided to refill my water there. I was still sucking down water desperately, and knew I wouldn't make it through to the end with what I had left. The couple at the aid station was tremendously nice and very supportive, but not so quick on the refill, and I made it worse by consenting to have them put ice in my pack as well as water. I could feel my legs stiffening up as I waited, and could feel Mysterious Third Place Female back there somewhere, breathing down my neck, but I just waited patiently, then took off again when they were done. They said I only had 5k to go. I knew it was a bit further than that, but it was nice to hear.
I was ready to just put my head down and shuffle my way through to the end, when suddenly I looked up and Matt was running toward me. Along the trail. Wearing running clothes. That was wholly unexpected, and I initially thought maybe I'd summoned up my spirit animal just when I needed it, and it oddly turned out that all this time, Matt was my spirit animal.
But no, it was Matt. He fell in behind me and said I didn't have to say anything, but he was going to run me in.
I had run 47 miles by myself, completely in my own head, and suddenly I had company. And I have to say.. it made SUCH a difference. He just chatted and ran along behind me, letting me set the pace. He told me about his day, and what he'd done, and how the puppies were, and didn't expect any responses. I responded when I was able, when I didn't think it would lead to a coughing fit. And otherwise I just enjoyed having company, and celebrated my last few miles with my biggest supporter.
I was also kinda glad that Matt was there for a purely selfish reason, which was that I felt like I was running really strong. Hell, I was RUNNING at mile 48 of a 50 mile run. And I was glad to have someone to bear witness, to affirm that I was, in fact, still running.
Oddly, I didn't tell Matt that I might be second place female. I didn't know if it was true. And I didn't want him to be all proud of me, then find out it wasn't true when we got done. And again, I didn't feel like I was running a second-place-female-worthy sort of race. So I just didn't mention it. And I was extra glad I didn't mention it when a woman passed us. I had a moment of indecision. I mean, I'd been second place female, evidently, for 48 miles. Was I really going to lose it in the last 2 miles? But (a) what if the Senoritas had been wrong, and I wasn't a contender for a place at all? I'd kinda been assuming that, just to make sure I wasn't potentially disappointed at the end, and (b) well, she sorta made my decision for me by passing me at a pace that I couldn't match or surpass. She was past me and gone before I could decide, and then I was back to just running my own race. I was glad I hadn't told Matt, because then he might have asked if I wanted to chase her down, and I really didn't. I just wanted to run 50 miles.
So we kept running nice and steady and strong, past the 12 mile marker, around the corner to where you can see the finish area but aren't quite there. Around the corner again, past the few people who were still out spectating/drinking/camping, who cheered loudly for me.
I felt amazing. I could see the finish line. Matt split off from me, and I entered the finish chute, lined with flags and a very small cheering crowd. I ran as fast as I could (not particularly fast, but it FELT amazing) and crossed that finish line. I ran 50 miles.
After
As I finished, there was Tracy, ACL-girl, still cheering for me (having changed clothes, so I didn't recognize her at first). There was Matt. And there was the race director and his wife. He had a hat in each hand, one white and one grey, and said I got to choose. I already had a white Palo Duro hat, so I chose the grey. Then he said he had something else for me, and he handed me a duffel bag that said 3rd place female.
Third place female bag, taken by Matt
I went and congratulated 2nd place female, who'd passed me so late in the game, and evidently she had no idea she'd been 3rd and moved into 2nd. The Senoritas had not informed her, it seems. That had to be a nice surprise for her.
Then the coughing began, and continued basically for the rest of the evening, as I tried to eat a finish-line cheeseburger and managed to eat half before I just couldn't eat anymore (always one of the most depressing parts of endurance sports. I just ran 50 miles and I can't even manage to eat a whole celebratory tiny cheeseburger?), as I finally showered (the girl who finished shortly after me was bragging that she was the smelliest person in the world, and I was telling her I was pretty sure *I* was), and as Matt and I drove into Amarillo to purchase the largest large pizza I've ever seen (of which I couldn't even eat two pieces before my stomach gave up). Fortunately the coughing stopped before I went to sleep, and I slept really, really soundly that night.
Cold pizza and diet coke, breakfast of champions
The next day I had cold pizza and a diet coke for breakfast, partly because I Could, and partly because my food planning hadn't even considered anything AFTER the race, then we unpopped the camper, packed up the dogs, and headed back home (The dogs were mostly good on the way home. Mostly. Oddly enough, my legs felt pretty okay. No worse than the day after a marathon, and probably somewhat better. 10 hours in the car did them no favors, certainly, and at one point I went to put my sandals on and my feet had swollen so much that the sandals wouldn't go on. But almost no chafing. Two blisters on my toes, neither of which popped during the run. Zero cramping during the race. Maintained my eating and electrolyte schedule almost perfectly the entire time (except for when my watch was turned off). Never took any ibuprofen or acetaminophen. I'm really happy with how my race went.
(Since some folks have asked, I decided during loop 3 that this was harder than Ironman, and I think I stand by that now. The hardest part of Ironman is the run, and this is nearly twice that run. And aside from a minute or two on each loop when you see volunteers or pass the start line, you're completely isolated. No cheering crowds. Just the inside of your own head for many hours. And the heat didn't help, I'm sure. Amusingly, two days later a front came through and the lows were in the 30s, the highs in the 60s. That would have been a completely different race, but it wasn't the one I was given on race day.)
I absolutely could not have done it without Matt. He took care of the puppies and the house when I had long runs on both mornings of the weekend, he went out and got me food when I was too tired to cook, he made sure I never had to be concerned about the puppies during the race, he got me everything I needed during the race, including driving into Canyon to buy cold water to refill my pack, he made me feel like I was the awesomest runner out there, and he ran me in to share in the last few miles of my first 50 miler. Couldn't have done it without him, wouldn't have wanted to. Thank you, Matt.
Me and my crew at the Meat Lab (??) on the way home
Oddly enough, I finished the race having no idea what my time was. I didn't look at the clock. I stopped my watch, but it's missing a chunk of time, so that time really means nothing. And the results are typically slow to be posted (they'll be here eventually). I think Coach Jamie thought I was being coy when all I could tell him was somewhere around 11 hours, but honestly that's all I knew.
So finally I emailed the race director today, just so I could get a number for my race report, and he sent me the full results for the 50 miler.
11:03:02. Very, very close to my goal of sub-11, and certainly achieved my goal of beating the 12 hour time cut-off.
3rd place overall female out of.. er.. 4. Which sounds less impressive than it really is, because 10 women started, and only 4 finished. So technically that's 3 out of 10. There were 40 men who started the 50 miler, and 30 finished. I beat 12 of those men. Whee! Must be those guys I passed on the fourth loop.
My goal for next time is to run a more even race. I really don't feel like I went out too fast, but my splits definitely show that I slowed way down over the course of the run. I think just having experience in running something of this magnitude will help me next time.
Time for loop (total time)
1: 2:27:22 (2:27:22)
2: 2:35:50 (5:03:11)
3: 2:55:18 (7:58:29)
4: 3:04:33 (11:03:02)
Did I say "next time"? Crap.
Aaaand we're off.
Good news! My first few steps of running were not agony for my back. In fact, my back wasn't bothersome at all! I immediately felt better about my prospects for going more than 1 mile in this race. At the very least, I knew I could tough out one loop.
Speaking of one loop, the 50 mile version of this race was 4 12.5 mile loops with three aid stations out on the course, then one aid station at the start/finish line. The time limit for the 50 miler was 12 hours. My goal was to finish in under 12 hours, before they kicked me off the course. I had a few sub-goals.. I hoped to go under 11 hours (Matt said he thought I could go sub-10, but he's legally required to think I'm more of a badass than I am, and I love him for it), and I hoped to run as much as was feasible. I didn't want to walk the last loop. I've heard too many stories and read too many race reports about people falling apart and walking miles and miles of their races in misery. And certainly if I wanted to go sub-11, it would require that I not do much walking.
Loop 1
I was elated that my back wasn't immediately an issue. I crossed my fingers that it wouldn't become an issue over the course of the run, then shoved it out of my mind, not wanting to even give it consideration unless it needed it. I just ran.
Well, sort of. The race starts at 7am, and it's still dark, and the trail is single-track (almost the entire 12.5 mile loop is single-track, really), and it's hilly. The combination of those things means that unless you're up at the very front, you're going to end up doing a lot of walking at the beginning. 30 seconds of running until the person in front of you starts walking because the person in front of them started walking because the person.. well, you get the idea. Presumably the person at the front of the line, who you can't see because it's dark and the line is long, has gotten to an uphill that they have decided to walk up, or a downhill that they deemed too treacherous to run in the dark, and their walking causes a chain reaction.
Last year the slow, walking start really bothered me. This year I knew I had a long, long, long day ahead of me, and fretting about something this early wouldn't do me any good mentally. If I didn't make the 12 hour cut-off, it likely wouldn't be because I had a slow first 2 miles. I just stayed calm and steady, passed people when they offered, and bided my time.
After 20 minutes or so, I started to notice that I could see shapes around me, and knew the sun was coming up, which is by far the best part of this race. First there's shapes, then they slowly resolve into shapes towering above you, which resolve into cliffs surrounding you, and then eventually there's low light, and you can see the stripes in the rocks. Then the sun peeks above the cliffs and you can see the brilliant reds and oranges and browns and whites of the canyon all around you. It's a game to see how much you can look around and soak it in before you have to put your head back down and watch your feet so you don't trip. I smiled through this entire part, and annoyed people around me by going on about how pretty it was.
Once the sun came up a bit and visibility was improved, I started to try to pick up the pace a little. Instead of remaining at the back of a line of people, I'd duck around them when the trail widened up a bit. Usually on the uphills, because even on the first loop, most folks were walking the uphills, and I was running up them. I wasn't pushing it, I was just floating easily up the hills (unless it was one of the 3 or 4 "unrunnable" hills on the loop, which I just walked up purposefully and strong). I felt great. Just taking it easy, enjoying myself.
My watch beeped at me, and I looked down to see it say "Drink now." I was borrowing Matt's watch, and this feature of his watch absolutely made a HUGE difference in my race. I programmed it to pester me every 30 minutes to take a salt pill (that's the "Drink now", because the watch featured no pre-set message concerning salt), and every 40 minutes to take a gu ("Eat now"). I'm actually pretty good in longer races about watching my watch and eating/salting on a schedule, but there's a whole new level of brainlessness involved in a 50 miler, and doing math is NOT an option a few hours in. I'll absolutely use timers like this in any future distance races. It also kept me from being so beholden to my time. I didn't look at my watch unless it beeped at me, so I didn't always have this awareness in the back of my head of how I was doing, to potentially berate myself.
On the OTHER hand, Matt's watch was driving me absolutely crazy. It kept auto-splitting, and I had no idea why. I'd go 30 minutes with it behaving just fine, then suddenly it would beep 3 times, and would report that it was on split 4. Then another 10 minutes and it would split again. 15 minutes and then it would split 5 times in rapid succession. I kept telling it to shut up, but it wouldn't listen. (The good news is, it was only really bad for the first loop, and I determined that it must have been because I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt. Once I took that off, it would only split randomly maybe once every few hours. Matt confirmed after the race that the split button is supersensitive, and the mere act of bending your wrist can raise up your wrist skin enough to bump the button. Maddening!) ) (Looking at the watch now, it appears to have split 34 times during the course of the race. 34 random beeps)
Aaaaanyway, made it to the first aid station and ran straight through, other than a very brief stop to ask a teen girl standing next to the table to please stash my headlamp into the pocket of my backpack, which she graciously did. Then it was off to the big, open, exposed part of the course. All cliffs and red rocks and hills, no trees at all, no shade. Fortunately, as the thermometer at a random intersection on the course informed me, it was still in the 40s at this point, so the exposure wasn't so painful. It WAS a little painful trying to FIND the course at times, as we ran directly into the sun coming up over the cliffs, making it impossible to see anything in front of you. I made a mental note to be sure I grabbed my sunglasses before starting the next loop.
Taken by larryhutton.net
Through the middle-of-nowhere second aid station, home of Dos Senoritas Locos, who you can hear many miles before you actually get to them, cheering and screaming. Didn't need anything, so didn't stop.
Annoyingly, I started to cough around this time. My cough had been such a problem, but never DURING a run. It was always great during a run, then horrible after the run. But now it was harassing me as I was running. And 8 miles into a 50 mile run. That didn't bode well at all. I tried to quell the coughing, but you all know how successful it is to keep yourself from coughing when your body really needs to. So I'd end up with 30 seconds of full-body, wracking coughs until I could get it under control again. (All while still running and maintaining my pace.) I'd planned ahead and had cough drops in my pack, but they were in the back pocket, which I can't get to without taking off the pack, which meant stopping, and I didn't want to stop. I was going to finish under 12 hours if it killed me, and.. maybe it would be death by coughing that killed me! But I just decided to deal with it as best I could until I got to the end of the loop, then grab more cough drops from my stash of gear.
Through the next-to-last aid station, then a few moments of stunning brilliance as I attempted to get off course, not once, but three times. First was when the course comes out onto the road. The course markings obviously say to go along the road a second, but then I just kept running on the road. And a girl followed me. A girl running the 20k, which started a half hour after my race started, which meant she was running fast, and was definitely in the top 3 for the 20k. And she merrily followed me down the road, then passed me. Then slowed, because we couldn't see any markings, or figure out where the course left the road again. We both slowed. We spun around, searching. Then we heard the guy who'd been behind us yelling from way back where we'd been, that we were going the wrong way. The course crossed the road, and we'd completely missed it. Sorry, Miss 20k frontrunner. You never, ever want to follow me on a trail run. After that, there were two times in rapid succession that I took a low road instead of a high, figuring I was being smart to avoid the hill, only to realize that the high road was the one that was marked, and that was because the low road went directly into some overgrown woods, or a little alcove with a picnic table and no exit. I'm brilliant. At least those three were the ONLY times I tried to get lost during the race, though.
Taken by larryhutton.net
Through the last aid station and into the area I dubbed the Haunted Forest last year. Evidently I wasn't alone in my opinion of the hauntedness (or someone read my race report!), because this year they'd dolled it up for Halloween, with a few spiderwebs and giant glittery fake spiders. (Unfortunately, due to the drought, this section lacked the babbling brook and fall colors from last year.) A pair of guys were passing me when I got to the first spiderweb, and one of them made some joke about the Halloween decorations. I laughed, and that immediately triggered a coughing fit. A mile later, as I approached the end of the first loop, a hiker said something encouraging to me, and as I replied, that triggered another coughing fit. Definitely needed to start the cough drops before this got anymore out of hand.
As I ran through the few folks out to cheer for people coming in to the finish line, I held up one finger and said, "Only 3 more!"
Finishing loop 1, taken by larryhutton.net
Loop 2
I crossed the finish line, l lifting my long-sleeve shirt up to expose my number so they could record that I'd finished a loop. The 20k was chip-timed, but the 50k and 50 miler were timed just by someone writing down when you went through, and when you finished.
I ran over to the chair I set up just past the line as I unbuckled and stripped off my pack. Threw it on the chair and took off my long-sleeved shirt, then put on my new, full pack. I definitely never regretted wearing the long-sleeved shirt, though by the end of the loop I had pushed up the sleeves to me elbows. I was ready to shed it at this point, though. It was still chilly outside, but I was no longer cold. Remembered to grab my sunglasses and a handful of cough drops, and headed back out. I didn't intend to, but I glanced at my watch as I headed out, and it said just about 2:30, so I knew my first loop had been just under that. I was on track to hit my goal. But I was only 1/4 done, and I was still in the easy miles with the good weather, so that meant nothing.
I was now running through a part I'd already run, but it was like new, since it had been dark the first time. And this time I could run the hills and not get stuck walking behind someone.
I popped a cough drop. It definitely felt good. It helped calm the cough. However, it was rather a pain, because cough drops take a long time to consume. Which is good! It means the cough is quelled for a long time. But it also means that when your watch tells you, "Eat now." and you're still eating a cough drop, you have to figure out what to do. I wasn't going to spit it out on the trail, and I still wanted its curative properties, so I fished the wrapper back out, wrapped it back up, stuck it in a pocket, then ate my gu. Lemme tell ya, strawberry banana gu does not go well with mentholyptus. Ugh. But then I chased it with some water, unwrapped my nasty cough drop, and popped it back in my mouth. Mmm.
I made it back to the first aid station and decided to hit the portapotty. It wasn't any sort of urgent need, but things were a little unsettled, and the portapotty pickings are slim through the middle of the course, and the trees and bushes available even slimmer (nonexistent), so I figured it would be prudent. In and out pretty quickly, but sitting briefly made me realize that my calves were already feeling the miles a little. As I started running again, I really started to think about what I was doing.
I know a lot of badasses. A lot of people who do Ironman and run ultras and generally do dumb but impressive things. And the progression tends to be marathon, 50k, 50 miler. So that's what I did. A 50k last year, next logical step is to do a 50 miler. It's a lot of miles, sure, but it's incredibly easy to click a button on a webpage (er, actually, Palo Duro still has paper sign-up sheets that you mail in) and pay some money and run some weekend runs. I did all that stuff. And it wasn't until maybe a quarter of the way through the second loop that it really occurred to me what I was doing. I was running 50 miles. FIFTY miles. In a row. That's.. kinda stupid. I wasn't even halfway done with my second loop, and when I finished that loop, despite having run 25 miles, almost a marathon, I would be HALF done. Even when I'd run 50k, the longest run I'd ever done, I still had almost 20 more miles (again, almost a marathon) to run AFTER that. When did I ever think this was a good idea?! Fortunately instead of entering some sort of downward spiral I couldn't drag myself out of, I ended up just laughing at myself. At how I hadn't considered how far 50 miles was until now. Fortunately I was still feeling good, so I put the distance out of my head and ran.
Into the hardest part again, this time a little warmer, but the thermometer still only said 60, and at least the sun was a little higher, so not directly in my eyes. When I got to the hilliest section, I saw a girl in the distance, getting slowly closer. She was bombing the downhills and speeding along the flats, but she was walking every uphill, no matter how small. And walking them awkwardly. It was hilly enough through here that, even though she was obviously a faster runner than I was, the number of uphills she was walking and I was running meant that I ended up catching up to her. I commented on how she was walking the hills in an uncomfortable manner, and she said yeah, she had a torn ACL. And was doing the 50 miler. I... told her that was an interesting decision, and it definitely sounded like one she was questioning at that time. Of course, then she evidently decided hills or not, she wanted to be ahead of me, 'cause she took off on the downhills and was quickly out of my sight ahead of me.
The relentless, exposed red, taken by John Frierson in 2009
I carried on my merry, steady way, through the Senoritas again, then around the bend and down to the third aid station. The descent into the third aid station is unkind. It's a series of steps, except it's steps for giants, deep steps that would be challenging to descend no matter what, but extra scary because they're very slanted, and made of dirt and leaves, which means I almost fell directly on my ass several times as I tried to go down. I was completely wrapped up in making my way down without falling, so was shocked when I heard my name being cheered as I got to the bottom. I looked up to see Matt! And puppies! What with the puppy factor, Matt had no idea what exactly his plans were, or where he might be able to see me on the course. So it was a complete and very happy surprise, and the puppies were a bonus. And the puppies were verrrry happy to see me (okay, they would have been happy to see anyone who ran up to them yelling, "puppies!!"), so they jumped up on me and gave me 9 billion kisses and Hilda tried to remove my sunglasses. Chatted for a moment with Matt, then headed back out again, feeling refreshed by the visit. As I ran away, Matt asked if I needed anything, and I asked him to put a ton of cough drops in my water pack.
Descending those wretched steps to get to puppies, taken by Matt
I had eaten maybe 2-3 cough drops at that point. They were really helping the cough. Unfortunately, they were also really dehydrating me. I was having to drink a ton of water to counter the gummy mouth and sticky throat. That came back to bite me when, with 2 miles to go on loop 2, I ran out of water. Completely. And I'd already passed the last aid station. Not good.
But there was nothing I could do, so I just kept running and stopped taking any cough drops, and tried not to think about water or my lack thereof. I was uncomfortable, but not in any kind of distress. As I neared the end of the loop, the torn ACL girl passed me. Again. I asked where the heck she had come from, and she said the bathroom. She said she was going to quit after this loop, and I said that, with a torn ACL, that kind sounded like a good idea. She said she was going to push through to the end, and asked my name so she could cheer for me. I told her, and she told me her name was Tracy, and then she zooooomed off ahead of me.
And I made it through loop 2. Half done. And Tracy, true to her word, cheered for me.
Finishing loop 2, taken by larryhutton.net
Loop 3
Matt had been a good little crew-gnome and had refilled the water in my original pack, put new gu in, and refilled my salt canister. I was set to start my second half. Again I happened to glance at my watch and saw roughly 5 hours. That meant I'd slowed down a few minutes, but was still on a great pace.
I anticipated this was going to be the hardest loop, and I was right. It was warming up. I had run 25 miles. The hills seemed to be getting more plentiful and somehow steeper. And various parts of my body were starting to stage protests and refuse to participate in the run. All the parts that I'd had trouble with in training. My left glute. My right hip. My left foot. When I went to run up a hill, all those parts would slack off and make me depend on other, still functional parts of my legs to pick up their slack. What resulted was more of a wide-stance waddle up the hill rather than a run. But I WAS still running up most of the hills. Okay, a lot of the hills. I'd say I ran 95% of the hills the first loop, maybe 85% the second, then got down to perhaps 70% on the third.
And it was heating up. The forecast had said high 80s, but it was in the 90s, and the thermometer out in the wasteland said 100 in the full sun with no cover. It was hard. I actually don't even remember much of the third loop. I remember thinking how hard it was, and then telling myself just to keep running. I pulled the card I always play to keep myself going during endurance races, which is to remind myself that This Is It. So often long training runs are really hard because you know you have to get up tomorrow and do it again. You know you have a 2 hour run at some ungodly hour in the morning on Thursday. You know that after this Saturday long run, you've got a long run on Sunday, too. You know that next week you have your longest training run yet. It all just seems neverending. But I kept telling myself that this is what it was all about. All that running was for this moment. This wasn't Just Another Run. This was It. And that kept me going. Even when my brain checked out for a while, my legs kept turning over. I'd slog up a hill at a walk, but as soon as I was at the top, the legs would just start running again. I'm so glad my autopilot worked, because I wasn't there to pilot the body for long stints here.
It was in this section that I also started losing time on the downhills. My quads, especially my right quad, were the next muscles to abandon me, and that made the downhills, especially the steep, rocky downhills, very scary. I'm not a brilliant descender on a good day, and now I was fighting to stay upright on the downhills. Frustrating.
I decided, given my paranoia after running out of water on loop 2, that I would take the time hit and stop at an aid station to refill my water during the loop. I was trying not to take anymore cough drops at this point unless I really needed them, because of the dehydration they caused. I had figured out, though, that just drinking extra water really seemed to help keep me from coughing, so with the intense heat and sun and cough, I was going through water very quickly. Normally I'd have no problem running 12 miles on 60oz of water, but this wasn't normal.
So I decided to stop at the halfway point to refill, which was the Senoritas. As I ran in, them cheering crazily for me, I took off my pack and started to unzip it and get it ready. One of them grabbed the pack from me and asked if I wanted water or Gatorade. I told her water, and showed her how to open the bladder to fill it. She started filling it from a cooler. She was filling it, and they were asking me how things were going and stuff. And after a while, she held up my pack and asked if that was enough. And it was obvious that most of the water she'd dispensed hadn't made it into the pack at all, but had missed and hit the ground, because there was still barely any water in the pack. I asked her for more, and said perhaps the water was mostly missing, so she tried again. And again, it wasn't as full as I would have preferred, but this was taking a long, long time, and I wanted to be going, so I said that was great. Put on my pack and ran out.
Then I discovered that while maybe only half the water had made it into my pack, the other half hadn't hit the ground as I suspected. Maybe 25% had hit the ground. The other 25% had gone into my pack... just not into the bladder. So it was slowly (really not so slowly) leaking out the bottom of the pack and down my legs. And into my shoes. And none of this was pleasant at all. (Though it did make me realize how strange running in a non-humid environment was. Normally in that heat in Austin, I'd be drenched in sweat. With the low humidity, my clothes were almost completely dry other than sweat on my lower back from my pack.) I tried to squeeze out the water, but that wasn't all that effective, and anyway it just squoze it directly into my shoes. And then in a moment of mile-31-or-so brilliance, I decided since my shorts and shoes were already wet.. why not practice my peeing while running? And so I did. And I have to say it's a LOT more pleasant to do so in the rain (see: Ironman New Zealand) when you don't have to deal with the warm grossness that results (I'm sorry, was that tmi? Yeah.). And it was a reminder that you can't run 31-or-so miles without some chafing. All that being said, I peed twice more over the course of the run. It definitely made me more comfortable, bladder-wise, and saved me the time of a portapotty stop, and the potential cramping that might result from sitting and then trying to stand back up.
So I was rather a mess at this point, physically and mentally. I was coated in salt from sweating in a dry climate, my hands were gooey from eating gu, and in order to rinse them off, at first I was taking water from my pack into my mouth and spitting it onto my hands, but then I didn't want to waste water after running out already, so I was using the only wet spot on my body, the sweaty lower back of my shirt, to wipe my hands after each gu. My legs were filthy with trail dust (I ran by one family of hikers, and the little girl said, "Mommy! Look at her ankles!" which were most assuredly a solid red with caked dust). And now I smelled like urine. I guess normally (okay, there's no 'normally' involved here, I guess) one would douse their lower body with water after peeing while running. But I didn't have the water to spare. Mostly I didn't notice my smell, but any time I would walk a hill, the lack of wind blowing by me generated by running meant that my smell wafted up to me. And I smelled bad. Really bad. It's the worst I've ever been conscious of smelling. I felt very guilty any time I had to run past hikers or spectators or volunteers. "Sorry I reek," I thought at them.
So I smelled bad. I was slowing down. I was walking more hills. I was tired. I couldn't see any sort of light at any sort of tunnel-end. And then suddenly as I was coming into the third aid station, someone with a camera said hi to me by name. And it was John Frierson! There in the middle of nowhere! Who I didn't even know was out at Palo Duro!
Mile 34, taken by John Frierson
It was such a surprise, and really dragged me out of a dark place, so thank you, John. And as his pictures prove, I was still capable of smiling at that point. (Sorry if you could smell me, John.)
Mile 34, taken by John Frierson
With that boost, I made it through the last few miles of loop 3. As I came around the last corners, there were a few groups of spectators out cheering. I ran by one group of girls, and they said how awesome I was, and I said, "I still have one loop left." And they said I was still awesome. Then I immediately ran by a man sitting on a picnic table, who had heard that exchange, and he said, "Just one more loop." And I said, "A victory lap!" and he replied, "Yeah, a really, really, really long.." and I cut him off and said, "Okay, yeah, now you're not helping."
As I approached the finish line, I asked the volunteers if I had made the time cut-off. They assured me I had, with an hour to spare. That I had four hours to run the last loop.
And then I was 3/4 done.
Loop 4
As I crossed the finish line again, I heard Tracy cheering my name, and was surprised she was still there. Then I heard Matt calling my name! I was definitely ready to see Matt again, and it was great to have him help me swap packs. My manual dexterity at that point was pretty low. This was mile 37.5. 6 more miles than I'd ever run before.
Matt asked me how I was doing, and I said the parts of me that were still actively participating in the running process were doing okay, and detailed the ones that weren't. He said I was doing awesome, and I told him I knew I was slowing down, and that I knew this fourth loop was going to take me a while, so not to be concerned. I knew I had slowed down massively on loop 3, and I couldn't see it getting any better at this point.
But I didn't linger, and headed back out for my last loop. Stopping wasn't an option. I wasn't running fast, and I was gimping up the hills, but I was going to finish this.
I had glanced at my watch as I was changing packs, and seen that it was a few minutes shy of 8 hours. (Holy shit, I'd been running for 8 hours nonstop.) So I knew my watch should beep soon to tell me to eat and to take salt. Except it didn't. And when I glanced again, it said 2 minutes until 8 hours. So I waited. And it didn't beep. I thought I was having weird time dilation. I looked again, and.. it still said 2 minutes until 8 hours. I realized my watch had stopped. I panicked. I figured it was broken and I would have no way to measure when to eat and salt for the last loop, but when I hit the start button, it merrily started ticking off the seconds again. I realized that I must have bumped the start/stop button when I was changing packs. So now I was good again, except I had no idea how much time had passed with my watch off, and how off my eating and salting was. I decided to just take both when my watch said 8 hours, which it did once those interminable 2 minutes finally passed, and hope that I hadn't completely thrown off my body at that point. And that seemed to work, and I don't think I ever suffered for it.
That did, however, mean that I had no concept at all of what my total time out there was, or how close I was to the cut-off as I went on.
As I ran through this first section again, I reflected on the fact that it was amazing how this was the fourth time I'd run through here, and still I didn't recognize a lot of these parts. It's weird what the brain chooses to retain and discard.
I ran up to the first aid station, and there was Matt again! Filming me, as it turns out.
Click to viewI walked through the aid station as he and the volunteers asked if there was any way they could help me. I decided to have a cup of Coke.. I was avoiding caffeine thus far, in case I ended up Needing it at some point. I figured this was as good a time as any. The next gu I took was caffeinated, too. As far as I could tell, they did nothing special for me. Ahwell.
Matt walked me to the entrance of the tough, exposed, red part, then sent me on my way, because he could see I was flagging and needed to stay focused and keep going. I'm glad he was there to make sure I didn't just decide to stop at that aid station.
One more trip through the tough section. It was hot. As I passed hikers, who all very politely stepped off the trail so I could go by, I told them that if they ever entertained the idea of running 50 miles, I was there to tell them it was a bad idea. Don't do it. So at least I retained some of my sense of humor still.
Oddly enough, I saw MORE people during the 4th loop than I did the 3rd, mostly in the form of hikers and mountain bikers, but also because I started passing people. All guys. Walking. And one time sitting on a bench beside the trail. A young, very fit guy. I asked him if he was okay, He said he was just taking a breather. I asked if he needed anything. He said he was good. So I soldiered on, reassured that no matter how bad I felt, there were people who felt worse. I was still running. I couldn't believe it.
It wasn't near sunset, but there was starting to be some shade, since the sun was going down enough to be behind the canyon walls. That was a relief, even if the thermometer still claimed it was 100.
Back to the Senoritas one last time. I decided, as much as I love the Senoritas, to get my water refilled at the next aid station, but to get a cup of Gatorade there. As I ran in, they said, "Second female!" I just blinked at them and said dully, "Is that even possible?" And they said they were pretty sure only one woman had gone through so far.
So here I was. Again. In the situation I hate.
I was just trying to run 50 miles. I wasn't trying to place. I wasn't racing. I just wanted to cross the finish line. I wasn't even proud of how I was running currently. How could I be going so slow, but be second female? It's like running your slowest 5k ever, just wanting to go bury your head under your pillow, and then being told you won. The joy of winning is tempered by your lack of pride in your performance. I could be proud of running 50 miles. But did I want a prize for not even meeting my time goal? That's what was running through my head as I headed out.
I had to decide what to do with this information., if anything. I hadn't seen another woman for ages. Certainly not in front of me, so odds were very low I'd be catching up to the woman ahead of me and (ha ha HA HA HA) winning the race. And I hadn't been looking behind me at all, though I admit as I ran out of the aid station, I did glance behind me. I could only see about 50 ft, but certainly there were no women 50 ft behind me. And I didn't want to watch my back for the next 6 miles. So I decided to use the knowledge to stay strong. If I started walking, odds were high someone would pass me. So I'd keep running. And I'd run the hills if I was capable. Basically I'd continue to do what I'd been doing, but with a tiny little bit of renewed vigor. And knowing for sure at this point, at mile 44 or so, that I was going to finish a 50 mile run.
Managed to awkwardly, slowly and delicately make it down the horrible steps to the third aid station one last time, and decided to refill my water there. I was still sucking down water desperately, and knew I wouldn't make it through to the end with what I had left. The couple at the aid station was tremendously nice and very supportive, but not so quick on the refill, and I made it worse by consenting to have them put ice in my pack as well as water. I could feel my legs stiffening up as I waited, and could feel Mysterious Third Place Female back there somewhere, breathing down my neck, but I just waited patiently, then took off again when they were done. They said I only had 5k to go. I knew it was a bit further than that, but it was nice to hear.
I was ready to just put my head down and shuffle my way through to the end, when suddenly I looked up and Matt was running toward me. Along the trail. Wearing running clothes. That was wholly unexpected, and I initially thought maybe I'd summoned up my spirit animal just when I needed it, and it oddly turned out that all this time, Matt was my spirit animal.
But no, it was Matt. He fell in behind me and said I didn't have to say anything, but he was going to run me in.
I had run 47 miles by myself, completely in my own head, and suddenly I had company. And I have to say.. it made SUCH a difference. He just chatted and ran along behind me, letting me set the pace. He told me about his day, and what he'd done, and how the puppies were, and didn't expect any responses. I responded when I was able, when I didn't think it would lead to a coughing fit. And otherwise I just enjoyed having company, and celebrated my last few miles with my biggest supporter.
I was also kinda glad that Matt was there for a purely selfish reason, which was that I felt like I was running really strong. Hell, I was RUNNING at mile 48 of a 50 mile run. And I was glad to have someone to bear witness, to affirm that I was, in fact, still running.
Oddly, I didn't tell Matt that I might be second place female. I didn't know if it was true. And I didn't want him to be all proud of me, then find out it wasn't true when we got done. And again, I didn't feel like I was running a second-place-female-worthy sort of race. So I just didn't mention it. And I was extra glad I didn't mention it when a woman passed us. I had a moment of indecision. I mean, I'd been second place female, evidently, for 48 miles. Was I really going to lose it in the last 2 miles? But (a) what if the Senoritas had been wrong, and I wasn't a contender for a place at all? I'd kinda been assuming that, just to make sure I wasn't potentially disappointed at the end, and (b) well, she sorta made my decision for me by passing me at a pace that I couldn't match or surpass. She was past me and gone before I could decide, and then I was back to just running my own race. I was glad I hadn't told Matt, because then he might have asked if I wanted to chase her down, and I really didn't. I just wanted to run 50 miles.
So we kept running nice and steady and strong, past the 12 mile marker, around the corner to where you can see the finish area but aren't quite there. Around the corner again, past the few people who were still out spectating/drinking/camping, who cheered loudly for me.
I felt amazing. I could see the finish line. Matt split off from me, and I entered the finish chute, lined with flags and a very small cheering crowd. I ran as fast as I could (not particularly fast, but it FELT amazing) and crossed that finish line. I ran 50 miles.
After
As I finished, there was Tracy, ACL-girl, still cheering for me (having changed clothes, so I didn't recognize her at first). There was Matt. And there was the race director and his wife. He had a hat in each hand, one white and one grey, and said I got to choose. I already had a white Palo Duro hat, so I chose the grey. Then he said he had something else for me, and he handed me a duffel bag that said 3rd place female.
Third place female bag, taken by Matt
I went and congratulated 2nd place female, who'd passed me so late in the game, and evidently she had no idea she'd been 3rd and moved into 2nd. The Senoritas had not informed her, it seems. That had to be a nice surprise for her.
Then the coughing began, and continued basically for the rest of the evening, as I tried to eat a finish-line cheeseburger and managed to eat half before I just couldn't eat anymore (always one of the most depressing parts of endurance sports. I just ran 50 miles and I can't even manage to eat a whole celebratory tiny cheeseburger?), as I finally showered (the girl who finished shortly after me was bragging that she was the smelliest person in the world, and I was telling her I was pretty sure *I* was), and as Matt and I drove into Amarillo to purchase the largest large pizza I've ever seen (of which I couldn't even eat two pieces before my stomach gave up). Fortunately the coughing stopped before I went to sleep, and I slept really, really soundly that night.
Cold pizza and diet coke, breakfast of champions
The next day I had cold pizza and a diet coke for breakfast, partly because I Could, and partly because my food planning hadn't even considered anything AFTER the race, then we unpopped the camper, packed up the dogs, and headed back home (The dogs were mostly good on the way home. Mostly. Oddly enough, my legs felt pretty okay. No worse than the day after a marathon, and probably somewhat better. 10 hours in the car did them no favors, certainly, and at one point I went to put my sandals on and my feet had swollen so much that the sandals wouldn't go on. But almost no chafing. Two blisters on my toes, neither of which popped during the run. Zero cramping during the race. Maintained my eating and electrolyte schedule almost perfectly the entire time (except for when my watch was turned off). Never took any ibuprofen or acetaminophen. I'm really happy with how my race went.
(Since some folks have asked, I decided during loop 3 that this was harder than Ironman, and I think I stand by that now. The hardest part of Ironman is the run, and this is nearly twice that run. And aside from a minute or two on each loop when you see volunteers or pass the start line, you're completely isolated. No cheering crowds. Just the inside of your own head for many hours. And the heat didn't help, I'm sure. Amusingly, two days later a front came through and the lows were in the 30s, the highs in the 60s. That would have been a completely different race, but it wasn't the one I was given on race day.)
I absolutely could not have done it without Matt. He took care of the puppies and the house when I had long runs on both mornings of the weekend, he went out and got me food when I was too tired to cook, he made sure I never had to be concerned about the puppies during the race, he got me everything I needed during the race, including driving into Canyon to buy cold water to refill my pack, he made me feel like I was the awesomest runner out there, and he ran me in to share in the last few miles of my first 50 miler. Couldn't have done it without him, wouldn't have wanted to. Thank you, Matt.
Me and my crew at the Meat Lab (??) on the way home
Oddly enough, I finished the race having no idea what my time was. I didn't look at the clock. I stopped my watch, but it's missing a chunk of time, so that time really means nothing. And the results are typically slow to be posted (they'll be here eventually). I think Coach Jamie thought I was being coy when all I could tell him was somewhere around 11 hours, but honestly that's all I knew.
So finally I emailed the race director today, just so I could get a number for my race report, and he sent me the full results for the 50 miler.
11:03:02. Very, very close to my goal of sub-11, and certainly achieved my goal of beating the 12 hour time cut-off.
3rd place overall female out of.. er.. 4. Which sounds less impressive than it really is, because 10 women started, and only 4 finished. So technically that's 3 out of 10. There were 40 men who started the 50 miler, and 30 finished. I beat 12 of those men. Whee! Must be those guys I passed on the fourth loop.
My goal for next time is to run a more even race. I really don't feel like I went out too fast, but my splits definitely show that I slowed way down over the course of the run. I think just having experience in running something of this magnitude will help me next time.
Time for loop (total time)
1: 2:27:22 (2:27:22)
2: 2:35:50 (5:03:11)
3: 2:55:18 (7:58:29)
4: 3:04:33 (11:03:02)
Did I say "next time"? Crap.