I woke at 12:17 AM to noises – my parents and M and K had arrived at the house. For once, the Ambien didn’t really help me get back to sleep. I tossed and turned and dozed a bit.
At 2:20, I gave up, got up and showered. I wasn’t planning on that, but since I was awake, I might as well be clean one last time before the race. Feeling calm, but rather unsteady, downstairs I went to have breakfast. K met me at the bottom with a big hello hug, and boy was I glad to see her. Then M, and Mom and Dad all came in to the kitchen with tired but strangely happy faces. I got to tell them all about my stressful day before, and we headed to the race start.
DP finally found me in the crowd, and attached the SPOT GPS device to my pack. I left my family and crew, and found my running friends in the start crowd. I could barely meet their eyes. What the heck was I doing there? This was no joke, what I had gotten myself into? Who was I kidding? I tried to grin, and remember how excited to start I had been on my Thursday run. I tried to start some good head-talk, but I could barely pay attention to myself. "Just start, and be smart. Relentless forward motion. You know you can do 57 miles, just see how the rest plays out. You’re not alone. Get ready to start your watch." I don’t remember anything that the race director Ken Chlouber said at the start line. I remember fellow runner K asking me exactly what that look was that I was giving him. (answer: panic, terror, insecurity.) I remember everyone else looking excited and oh so ready. And then we were off. Thank goodness.
I veered to the right so that Dad might spot me – I did see him and shouted, but not soon enough for him to get the picture he wanted. And then we’re off in the night. I moved back through the crowd to the center of the pack to try to find a friendly face. I soon saw R and J running together. I moved near them, said hello. R mentioned her goal time, and I quickly saw that I was being DUMB in running near them, and backed off. I hadn’t seen this part of the course, so I looked around a bit, but couldn’t make out much. Soon, behind me, I hear, “You run like a girl!” K is there, and I wonder if I am still severely out of place in the field. But he says that he’s taking it easy with SB and I on the way out. So I relax and follow him. The effort felt a little much, but I also still felt a little tense. So I just followed K and didn’t think. Soon we get behind a train of people behind a woman going a bit slow. The line moves past her slowly, and K gets a bit ahead of me. No biggie, time for a bathroom break. It’s starting to get light, and I’m amazed that I don’t mind AT ALL the line of runners, or the thought of all these runners crowding me. It doesn’t feel that way at all. I can only see maybe 10 runners around me. It feels more like a running group.
I prep myself for the aid station: two handfuls of food, one in mouth immediately, and a glass of powerade, and start walking. I beat K out of the aid station. I was speedy. We hit the aid station right at 2:23, which was right in my goal range of 2:20 to 2:28. Once we start on the Colo trail, I notice a groin muscle feels a little pulled. Everything else feels like I haven’t run more than a mile.Good, all systems are go!
We get behind someone K knows (he knows everyone) and we stay with her for the trail part. Once we hit the road, we move out a bit. We ran/walked the Hagerman pass road to the turn onto the power line road. That, I hiked. K hiked significantly faster. He said his Achilles was already bothering him, I wished there was something I could offer to help. He let me catch up to him on the top of the climb, and we ran down together. I checked my garmin a couple of times, and it seemed like we were doing about 8 min miles on the way down. Decent. Down we went, passing lots of people and exchanging hellos with those that had hiked past me on the way up.
To the road. Everything still felt good here. The people cheering at the road made me self conscious about what I was trying to do. They had more faith in me than I did, I thought at some points. Clouds of uncertainty seemed to be following me around. What’s going to happen next? How will I feel? How far will I get before I feel terrible? Never mind that, just on to the aid station. You feel great, so focus on that.
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| Mom and J follow me out of Fish Hatchery Aid Station |
I was about 5 min ahead of schedule here. I think I was pretty quick here. Bones took my pack and filled it. I grabbed a glass of powerade at the aid station, that and the bar and two gels I’d had was it for nutrition so far. Bones gave me a look that said – work harder on that! Don’t let us down!
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| Mom was chasing me as she was in charge of suncreen - successfully, too! |
My crew had a pb&j sandwich, I ate a quarter. I took the chips with me. I decided against taking the handheld with powerade. Before the race, I had requested it because I knew the next section would be hot. Salt and calories would be important. But I just didn’t want to carry it. Didn’t want to think about drinking it. (woop, woop, woop – stupidity alert here!) J, only a teenager, stops me and says with wisdom way beyond his years, you’ve got to at least take a drink from it. So, I chugged about 1/3 of the bottle to get him to leave me alone. Lucky for me.
And then I was off down the road. I ate a little more, then started running. K had left me behind at the aid station, and I assumed he was gone. I checked my watch and found I was running 8:30 on the slight downhill with no effort, and 9 or so on the flat with the same amount of ease.Ok, good so far.
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| At pipeline with T. Still smiling! |
I ate a few chips, and then stopped. At pipeline, I saw T , T, and Maria, gave them a big grin and kept moving. I hadn’t seen SB since he passed me going up sugarloaf looking good. He surprised me now by passing me again with K, and then all of us staying close by each other on the jeep roads. It started to get a bit warm – I was dousing my arm coolers every so often. Halfmoon came and went quickly with just a water fill for me, a coke and some powerade. I ate a few more chips on the way out.
A little farther, and I began to notice my fingers resembled sausages , and that my stomach felt full. I took an extra endurolyte. I had been taking them every half hour. The sensation persisted, then got a little more pronounced. I was running with K at this point, SB was somewhere close behind us. Should I take more salt tabs? Fewer salt tabs? Unsure, I asked K. After asking me what the sodium level in endurolytes was, he gave me an s-cap. Ten minutes later, he gave me another. At the next half hour mark, he gave me one more, and then I noticed I was feeling better – no more sausage fingers. On his advice, I started taking 3-4 endurolytes an hour, instead of two. Crisis averted, thanks to a friend in the know! I’m pretty sure without him, I would have been in worse shape coming into Twin Lakes.
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| M and J helping me with shoe change #1 |
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| Off I go to climb Hope pass (just out of frame to the left) |
I was sure I had totally blown my 15 minute buffer (although this was not even close to true). But arriving at the river, there he was soaking in the icy stream. I was happy to see him, but also wished that his Achilles wasn’t bugging him so he could have a good day out there. We crossed, then ran and hiked to the bottom of hope pass.
I wanted to believe that climbing Hope pass would feel like it had in training. I knew it would be slower, but I was just hoping I had enough oomph that it didn’t feel impossible, that I wouldn’t have to work too hard. I started up, and soon K was drawing away from me. It didn’t bother me – he’s a great climber. I kept at it, and found that it didn’t feel that much different from training. It was doable, and I felt that the other side would also be doable. The switchback portion felt like it lasted longer than I remember, but soon I was passing through the beautiful flowered meadows. I could now see K again up ahead, he was slowing a bit – I was catching him. Then, I could see what I had been anticipating for a year – the llamas. One made a little noise at me when I passed. They were a fuzzy, quiet, oblivious inspiration for some reason.
K was here, his Achilles really bothering him now. I grabbed something to drink and eat, and saw SB too. He said he was slowing down, but was still doing ok. I headed out quickly, trying very hard to be fast through the aid station. I was certain that my ascent was much slower than in training, and my gut told me that I HAD to make it to Winfield by 12:30 in order to be ok with the cutoffs on the way back. So I hustled. K headed out with me. I climbed steadily, and actually left him behind because of his lack of altitude training and heel pain. Finally at the top, I didn’t pause beyond a glance - I'd seen this view in training- and headed down. K is faster downhill; I knew he’d catch me. I caught up with another guy using poles. He was doing the Leadman competition. We watched a few people fly past us, and agreed that our pace was safer for our quads. At the end of the switchbacks, K caught me. I worked to stay with him. We came to the road together, and then he came to my rescue again. I had a blister forming, and he lent me his bodyglide. I sat on a rock in the shade, set my poles down, peeled off both shoes and socks. The blister wasn’t even pea sized yet, but the skin around it was irritated. Relief that it hadn’t gotten out of hand, I hurredly applied the bodyglide, reassembled socks and shoes, and headed down the road. Tim, the Leadman with poles, caught me on the road as I was eating some chips (trying to finish them before the aid station so I wouldn’t get scolded). Click click click… went his poles…. ACK! Where are my poles! I turned to see how far behind my my sitting place was, but it was already long out of sight. Tim thought I had stashed them on purpose, so I explained about my blister, feeling extremely lame. Here this guy had done all these races, and now it looked like I stashed my poles so I didn’t have to carry them an extra 2.5 miles.
I walked most of the road, jogging only a few times. But my walking pace was still 16 to 17 min/mile, so I was happy. To bolster that feeling, I did not feel like toast, I was ready to face the second half! AND I was still 10 minutes, or maybe a bit more, ahead of where I thought I’d be. Yahoo!
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| historical marker at Winfield ghost town |
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| Dad at Winfield |
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| Me hiking up the road to Winfield eating the last of my chips! |
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| Blister check! |
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| Mmmm, Coke! |
The party didn’t last overly long – the turn onto the trail up hope pass stared me in the face, unblinking. Well, here’s the true test, I thought. Just make it over, slow and steady. Keep about 5% back, maybe a little more for the later miles. I had to convince myself to not try to stay on Bones’ heels, to just go my own pace. Several pairs of pacers and runners passed me. Many times they’d demur – oh no, you’re going just the right pace, we prefer to follow. But quickly with someone right on my heels, I’d be working harder, my breathing more labored, until finally I’d tell them to pass. Bones encouraged me to take a gel, to eat and drink – I tried to follow his directions. He kept me good company, telling me stories, and keeping my mind occupied especially when I couldn't talk. The section that seems to go straight up took a long time, but thankfully I was prepared for it and was patient. Finally the switchbacks came. At one point, near the treeline, Bones asks where the trail goes. I looked at him quizzically – the trail was as plain as the nose on his face, straight in front of him – so I said, straight in front of you. He chuckled, and after a couple of beats I realized I had missed something. Finally, after thinking over what he had said, I realized he wanted to know where the pass was on the horizon, and I pointed it out, a little abashed. Ah well.
Again, I was sure I was losing time on my prediction, but reminded myself to let it go, and just keep moving as easily as I could. I felt good, considering. No real problems, and how great is that? We got to the top and headed down to the Hopeless aid station. As we round the corner and the llamas come into view, I hear Bones admiring them. I put on more Vaseline here, as I worried about the downhill and my almost blister. They were out of coke, but the soup was good, and Bones got me out of there quickly. We jogged along, and made good time overall. At a bathroom break, I snagged some barbed wire, but other than a tear in my gaiter, I thought I was unscathed. Once we were down to the river flats, my legs weren’t too excited about the lack of gravitational assistance, but Bones had me walk/run, and then FORCED me to soak in the river for 3 minutes. Which felt awesome. Even the small muddy pools in the track on the other side felt good, though Bones laughed at me for just going through them instead of around when it was possible. Soon, when I knew we were close to the aid station, I told him what I wanted, and sent him ahead. I looked at my watch, and got a jolt of energy. I was half an hour ahead of schedule. No way! I felt great. I was running through the swamp at frickin’ mile 60, and I felt fabulous. Some onlookers gave me great encouragement here, and really got me excited. Just to be coming into Twin Lakes, which I had always pictured as the 2/3 of the way mark, and also a spot where I could be in a lot of pain, a lot of trouble - but instead I felt awesome, it just meant that I was doing Leadville right in some way. That I was succeeding.
I crossed the road into Twin Lakes with a huge smile, feeling like I was on top of the world. My crew found me, and exclaimed at how great I looked. Finally they convinced me to sit down, and start taking care of business. A shoe change, more to eat, a shirt change, amidst much talking and laughing. I got to talk to Co here on my mother in law’s phone, but I kept it brief, and he told me to go get ‘em. Maria was all suited up and ready to go, so my crew hustled me out of there. Even though I was ahead of schedule, by a lot, they didn’t let me linger. What a crew! I also told DP that, as good as I was feeling, I thought that I’d be early into all the other aid stations too, and that they should adjust the expected times.
I headed out with Maria holding ten things in her hands (and asking if there was anything else she could take) while I tried to down a cup of soup. The hike up the jeep road out of Twin Lakes wasn’t bad, at least, no worse than I expected. I took it slow, stopping occasionally to try to knock some of the noodles in the bottom of the cup into my mouth. I was keeping up with my salt tabs, and doing well with water. As we got to the trail turn off, I told Maria to go first, and we switched on our lights. The moon was coming up, full and bright, lighting up the scattered clouds. I hiked a big portion of this part, until the trail started going downhill. I love running on trails at night. I didn’t have a handheld flashlight with me, and I regretted it. Maria gave me hers, and I felt much more clear sighted. We leapfrogged with a pair of guys, the runner in good spirits but belching loudly at regular intervals. Which brought to mind Wacko, or should I say, the great Wakkarotti.
And then, the Yakko’s Nations of the World.
I ate a gel somewhere here, and had some chips. Soon we were descending the cut to the jeep road. Once there, running along, we came upon K. To whom I said, “You run like a girl!” We high-fived. His achilles was a non-stop painfest for him now. I told him I wanted to see him cross the finish line, and then we ran on. This section had occasional beautiful moonlit vistas of canyons and trees with mountains in the distance. The temperature was perfect, the surface was perfect, the company was great. We were passing people constantly, when one person we passed spoke up. “Is that Maria?” We had caught up to J, who had cracked a rib but was still soldiering through the tough course without being able to take a deep breath. “I wondered when you were going to catch me,” she said. After a bit of chatting, she took off. No really. Took off. All of a sudden, she sped up, her pacer went with her, and she left me in the dust.
Oh.
I have to admit that wasn’t a lot of fun. I was a little hard on myself for a while, but soon the aid station showed up, glowing in the darkness, offering coke and all things salty, sugary, warm and cold that a runner could want. I didn’t eat or drink much, but the coke I had was good. A look at my watch… I think we are even farther ahead of schedule. But, wait, is it 10 miles between Twin Lakes and Halfmoon II, or is it 6? I can’t remember, but I think it is 10. Maria can’t remember. We ask someone close by, they don’t know either. If it was six, then we are really slow. If it was 10, then we are making really good time. Which is it? Unable to figure it out, we head down the jeep road. Here I start to feel an ache in my left shin, just a little. It’s a little worse once we turn north on the pipeline road, just enough that picking up my toes to go over the ruts is hard. I direct Maria to the bridge to the west side of the jeep road, then thankfully we are on smooth pavement, and I can relax. I can definitely tell I’ve slowed down here. For reassurance, I ask Maria if the shuffling pace is faster than the walking pace. She says it is, and though I have my doubts, I keep running. Shuffling. On one of the walk breaks on the road to fish hatchery, I started to get a little cold. I had all my clothes on at this point, but wished I had a hat. Maria told me to use my buff – brilliant idea, except I don’t know how to make it into a hat – I need the diagrams to make it work. Instead, I pull it up so it now looks like a nun’s wimple, with just my face showing through. Maria just about fell over laughing, and I felt pretty silly. With that, my spirits up again, we headed up the road to Fish hatchery, now way way ahead of my projections. I just hoped DP would be there….
An SUV passes us on the road, then stops. DP’s voice carries through the darkness, “Margaret is that you?” I have no idea how they spotted me in the dark, but she and Bones gave us encouragement and headed to the aid station to set up. I was happy to know they were there, though I think they were a bit stressed out that they didn’t have much time. Here, I started to flat out ignore K’s advice, and I DAWDLED in the aid stations. I had oodles of time. I felt good. My crew told me I looked good and I believed them! I was excited for the next chunk, and also, I wanted to eat something here before the next big hill. Another cup of soup down the hatch. I think I ate something else here, too, but can’t really remember. Pretty soon my crew cottoned on to the fact that I was just sitting there, and DP hustled me out into the night. #805 checking out! At this point, I knew that I would finish. It didn’t matter what else the race had in store for me.
DP was the most motherly pacer I had, probably because I needed it. She let me hike to the turn up the sugarloaf hill, with one short bout of running downhill, before getting me to eat something. At this point, 20 hours of running, I really had to work up some enthusiasm for those gels. And not the quiet internal conversations, no this was full on, out loud, “oh boy! Strawberry banana. Mmmm. That’ll be good. Yum, strawberry banana. I like that. Tasty!” Hey, it worked for me. Going up sugarloaf, DP was easy on me. We went slowly so I could digest. The only prodding I got was to eat something, to drink something, but she left the pace to me. I took my shoe off to get a pebble out, I noticed a huge blister on the side of my toe, and a spot of blood at the base of my big toenail (painted Lickety Split Lime!) that seemed to mean that toenail wasn’t long for this world. Since the blister didn’t hurt at all, we decide to hold off on treating it until the aid station. As we got about half way up Sugarloaf, nature called. As I made my way back to the road, I hear someone coming up the path. Not footsteps, but groans, over and over again, steadily coming closer. A pure pit of human misery making their way in the dark. Maybe I should have waited and offered to help, but I couldn’t face it. I went faster uphill. We got to the top in 90 minutes, which matched the predictions I had made. So I had slowed down on this section, but I was ok with that. Still prodding me to eat, DP kept me company by teaching me a new alphabet based song. Which I think I caught on to by the time she got to ‘t’. Downhill before the Hagerman pass road was actually painful on my shin, lifting my toes to avoid the numerous rocks. We stopped once and DP rubbed it, but it didn’t really help for long. And it hurt equally to walk as to run… so might as well run. I asked DP whether the run was still faster than my walk, she said it was. The smooth Hagerman pass road was a relief, and we ran well down that, until we came to the turn off onto the Colorado trail. I asked to go first. It felt great to be back in the woods on a trail. I felt pretty great again in the cool of the night, the woods close around me. I forgot all about my shin, or maybe it just didn’t hurt anymore. Had DP given me a tylenol? I don't remember. DP took my water bottle to fill it, and I kept running. I focused on the path and tried to dance lightly over the rocks. First bridge. Keep running, keep running, feels so good – DP is somewhere behind me, I hear her say to someone I passed, “yeah, right? Who’s pacing who here? She’s doing great!” That gives me a lift. Second bridge, a glance at my watch – awesome, I’m still way ahead of schedule. She caught back up to me before the last bridge, and all too quickly we’re off the trail and running down the road to May Queen.
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| Me and crew at 4 AM looking at where my blister used to be |
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| Dawdling! |
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| Talking and dawdling! |
Only 13 miles left, much of it trail, what’s not to feel good about! I tried to dawdle, but didn’t get very long before Bones and DP forced me up and out of there. I heard them make K and M promise to make me eat, cross their hearts and hope to die.
K headed out with me, and she and I walked to the trail head while I finished eating something. I think. M had told me that K was a bit worried about keeping up with me at altitude. Once on the trail, we ran steadily. A couple of times I thought I heard her stumble, but she assured me she was fine. We kept passing people. We saw Ruthanne, who was suffering from nausea. I offered everything I could think of, and finally gave her a hug and told her to keep working, that she was doing great, the finish was close if she could keep it up. SB passed me – I gave him a big cheer. What a comeback! It didn’t take long to get to the boat ramp, and M subbed in for K. I kept K’s headlamp, though, as it was much better than mine. I couldn’t believe it. I was on the last 7 miles. Can that possibly be right? M sang an air force cadence with my name substituted into all the best places which got me giggling. In the half light of the approaching dawn we both hunted for the trail markers as we passed through campgrounds. I was still passing people consistently, I passed SB again. Then I came upon J, still running with her hurt rib. We exchanged encouragement, and then I eased by on the left, and continued running. I still felt good. Wasn’t life supposed to suck at some point during this 100 miles? Not that I was complaining! It all seemed so surreal, like maybe I hadn’t even started running yet. I couldn’t believe I was capable of doing what I was in the midst of doing. I kept shaking my head, and I don’t believe the smile ever left my face. M asked if I was going to jump over the finish line. I tested out a jump – I didn’t get much air, that’s for sure.
Once we got to the dirt road part, I knew it was just a few more miles. The race didn’t seem as long as it was supposed to seem. How in the world did I get this close to the end? Everyone on the course at this point was congratulating each other, encouraging them, extending friendship and well wishes to everyone around them. We knew we would finish. The end was within reach. The camaraderie buoyed those that were flagging, and pushed those that wanted to push. Some faces I passed had pain, relief, some amazement, but all showed a sense of thankfulness for the day and the current moment that is missing in everyday life.
M and I were still running, until we turned to go uphill on the boulevard. We mixed walking and running. The sun came over the hill in front of us as we were climbing and blinded us. We turned left, and the knowledge that it was just a mile to the end brought tears to my eyes. M spent the large part of our run telling me how amazing this was, how inspirational for him. It wasn’t until I crested the hill and could see and hear the finish line that I could internalize even a small part of that sentiment. I was still just me, but I was also finishing something I wasn’t sure I could do. Something really hard. I had a lot of luck over those 27 hours, and a lot of help, planning and preparation had gotten me here, too. The run to the red carpet was quick. I could hear my friends and family cheering. I stuck my tongue between my teeth so I could bite it against the tears, and I was smiling as wide as it was possible. And I did jump.
Post race dazzlement
I almost didn’t want to stop at the line. Didn’t want it to be over. But it was finished at 27h 19 minutes for me, and I got hugs from crew, friends and family. K told me that we were now square – I had paid in full my half of the Ironman – Leadville bargain. The medical guy came to take me off to be assessed, and he echoed Ken Chlouber, saying that I didn’t look like I had run at all. I was still up 2 pounds. Monsigneur medic proclaimed that I was just fine, in great condition without any more tests. I stayed to see J finish just a bit behind me, then we went to the coffee shop for mom and dad. I saw my crew off headed back to the ABQ. Although part of me wanted to see the finish, we went back to the house instead so I could shower. First, though, K and M emptied 4 bags of ice into the tub for my icebath.
Facing that tub might have been harder than several race sections. I was already cold, my body not able to self regulate temperature very well anymore. It was all I could do to sit in there for 10 minutes.
Post shower I tried to stay awake to talk with mom and dad, but soon I could tell my head was nodding. I bowed to the desire to sleep and took a 30 minute nap. After that, we headed to the awards ceremony. Unfortunately, mom and dad had to leave for the airport halfway through, and didn’t see the awards part. As M and K, and my in laws and I were sitting in the bleachers waiting for them to start calling names, M shows me a picture of the results. It looks like this:
Wait, what are all of those numbers in front of my name?
143 = overall placing. Really? Cool! That’s good for me… out of 781 entrants… who knows how many started… or finished….
12 = placing among women. What? I was the 12th woman across the line? Wow. I did well out there. Really well. awesome. I can’t believe it.
3 = place in my age group. NO WAY! REALLY? … I got an age group award at Leadville… my first 100… an award… Hee hee hee I love it when the fast people stay home! Unbelieveable!
I had finished so far ahead of anything that I expected to do. I was disbelieving of that time. I fully expected to finish in 29:XX. I texted DP and Bones. Wahooo! As if I wasn’t unhinged enough by finishing the race, then finishing well, and feeling well, trying to absorb further good luck in placing in my AG was just beyond me.
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| Mayor Merilee, Me, and RD Ken Chlouber |
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| My belt buckle and award pan |
Other fallout:
- I didn’t end up losing a toenail after all. The barbed wire that I snagged between Winfield and Twin lakes just scratched my big toe.
- My blisters faded into callouses and were a complete non-issue.
- The soreness in my shin is actually the tendon that runs up the front of the leg from the big toe, and that remains sore a week post race, but not terrible.
- The GPS Spot was found by some angel runner or pacer, and turned in to lost and found. Thank you to that good hearted person!
