What a different race this was for me over last year. I’ve experienced a step change in my approach to races that’s a result of a new level of self-confidence. I’ve gone from packing a lot of stuff in drop bags and wondering if it’s enough to packing much smaller bags with less care and thinking that I probably would be fine without them. I don’t question whether I’ll finish 50 miles, and I know how uncomfortable I’ll be in the last half. I even look forward to getting to that point, because I know that it won’t likely get worse. All this was brought into focus this weekend because my friends were doing their first 50, and worrying about what I worried about last year. But I can also see that there’s quite a stairwell in front of me – trying to race this distance instead of just finishing well will be another big change.
Bones and I started out together, planning to keep each other company. Unless he was too fast for me, I planned to stay with him the whole day, to see him tackle the 50. The predawn was perfect in temperature, chilling my arms while my engine kept my core warm. We covered the first 7 miles a tad faster I think than I did last year, and unfortunately my stomach just felt full and uncomfortable from the start. I think Bones was holding back a bit here, which is smart. We caught two racers in conversation around mile 6, one wearing Vibram 5fingers, and the other in the New Balance trail minimus shoes. Fresh and happy in the first hour of the race, I wondered how the rocky technical course would treat them.
Bones had heard multiple times my story about going off course, and we joked about not needing any bonus miles. The blue and white streamers marking the course were well placed. Soon we’re going up a ridge, following four or so others a few hundred feet in front. I’m just starting to think that I don’t remember this ridge, when they turn around and yell back to us that we must be off course. Well, dang. There goes the prediction that I don’t do any bonus miles. We get back on course, and figure that we maybe did an extra mile. The jeep road rolls and falls into a dry stream bed before leading us to the mile 13 aid station.
We refill and take stock. The sun is out, warming the rocks, but the air temp is still cool. We’re doing fine, and now we get to climb up to Gunsight pass. It seems a bit breezy as we climb the rolling course, but the forecast didn’t call for wind.
The forecasters are just as good at predictions as I am.
Shooting through the notch at the top of Gunsight, Bones confirms that I found this descent rocky and technical. Yes, and it hasn’t gotten better. I move through the rocks wishing for a bit more agility, and fairly soon Bones drops back. Rather suddenly actually, I think. Well, I didn’t hear a yelp, so I hope he didn’t hurt himself and is just being cautious. On I go… but my guts are less than thrilled. The wind is strong and mischievous, pushing us downhill one second then thrusting from the side the next. Soon I realize I am actually going to have to stop for a longer bathroom break. I walk to wait for Bones and tell him to go ahead; I just need to spend some time in the bushes. But when he catches me, he says, “well, I would have been quite a bit faster, except I had to pick up this camera that someone dropped…” and holds out my camera to me. Must have flown out of my pocket! I didn’t feel it go, but I was so glad to get it back!
We agree to meet at back up at the next aid station. After my bushwhacking, I try to push the downhill. We’ve turned now and the wind is less helpful, and I have a sinking feeling that we’re going to have a strong headwind uphill. My memory turns out to be quite faulty, as I thought I’d have two or three miles to the aid station of smooth jeep road to cruise down. It was actually only a mile. Bones is there, waiting for me, and I rush through the aid station only filling my water.
I tell him my feet are hurting already – a bit ruefully. I thought I might be pretty comfortable through mile 25 or so. He admits that his started aching at mile 13. Ok, then, on we go. The wind, oh the wind. It scoured and howled over the landscape and us. We bent forward, and faced it. Our pace turned from somewhat spritely to trudging. Bones would identify a runnable section, and we’d get 20 steps until the wind or a hill stopped us. I could have been dragging a 30 lb sled behind me for all the effort it was taking to move forward. A few times, the course markers seemed a bit lacking in frequency, although, to be fair, the fierce spiteful wind may have undone some of those carefully placed streamers.
To be honest, though, mile 25 came sooner than I expected. I ate some here, and took chips with me – my first serious intake of calories. I felt pretty good, although a little more tired than I would have liked. Most things ached a bit now, and I knew that after the next 5 or so miles, the achiness would level out. The canyon was full of the wind right in our faces for the climb that goes on for several miles. With only a few exclamations, Bones and I kept each other company pretty cheerfully.
We caught vibram 5finger guy who was run-hiking the climb pretty steadily. His feet were beat up and he wished he had another shoe option. As it was, he was all in with no place to hide – and no shoe changes available. He was still smiling, and had a good attitude, so I hoped he’d be ok.
The wind relented just before mile 29 - or rather, the course started to shield us, where Bones changed his shoes, and I used his sunscreen (life saver!). Without the wind – now just a strong breeze on this part of the course – I was starting to feel pretty good. I was entering what I now recognize as perhaps my strong suit in races – the second half. I lead during this trail section and was telling myself to go ahead and start pushing the pace a bit. But the wind had left a time bomb for us: Bones’s lungs were tight and painful. So we backed off. I don’t have experience with this, so we discussed what could be done – sit for a while to really let the HR come down, hike, get to the aid station and wait for a bit - and finally settle on back off the pace and see what happens. We get to the aid station, and Bones is really upbeat and positive. I think maybe things are resolving themselves. I didn’t notice that he didn’t eat much – unlike him at aid stations.
A half mile up the road or so, I realize that things have not gotten better – instead, without nutrition, maybe they’ve slipped a bit more. We hike while Bones eats and drinks to get back on track. We keep the effort easy, but steady. We round a corner, and two dogs come up to us. I greet them – they looked so cheerful. They don’t seem to want to be pet, but one decides to follow us. I look around for the owner – no one is around. After a little while, the dog still following, I give him the “go home” command. He wags his tail, and avoids my gaze. Oooookay. A mile or so later, I try to give him some water – but he doesn’t seem to want to take anything from me. Not even a potato chip. Another mile later – the dog ranging from 20 yards in front to 20 in back, I squirt water onto a rock with a divot for him to lick up. Which he does, finally, wagging his tail. I wish I had shared more with him. I look at our mileage on Mr. Garmin – we still have 2-3 to go to the aid station, but this dog isn’t giving up. And neither is Bones. I think he might be perking up, and he’s eating regularly (and still way more than me). The technical rocky descents and streambeds aren’t fun for his feet or mine, but we start running more regularly on the downhills and flats. He managed the turn around all on his own, which I was grateful for as I wasn’t sure what I could suggest. I have a lot to learn as a pacer. Into mile 40, and I stop at a friendly looking couple who the dog has just run up to greet. I explain that he isn’t ours, and has just followed us for 6 miles – could they tie him up and see if the aid station captain can find the owner? The couple stared at me with surprise at first, and then quickly agreed to do what they could.
We fill our water tanks, and head out. It’s clear that I’ve missed on two more predictions – I just hope now that we’ll be able to finish before dark. As I think about that, I get a little concerned that we won’t make that. I don’t have a headlamp; although Bones does, I don’t fancy trying to share it as I know there are several rocky bits in the last section. We wonder how DP is doing, how she handled the tough wind on this really tough course. Bones, still upbeat, now thinks that maybe he’s doing better and is just tired. This is now as far as he’s ever run. I get a bit suspicious along miles 41 and 42 that he could go a bit faster, and that is walking just a bit behind me no matter what pace I go. I slow down, he slows down.
Ok, so time to go a bit faster. And as we get onto the single track, I start running, and keep running. And so does he. Woot! This is the best section – fairly smooth, and close enough to smell the barn. We cruise through this section, and pass 5 or 6 people in the process. I shout encouragement over my shoulder and delight in the feeling of running – even on tired legs, running at mile 45 is conquer-the-world awesome. And really I felt quite good. We get into the last aid station, and Bones has the brainstorm of the day. He hands his headlamp to a volunteer. “I think my friend might need this – can you get it to her?” Even coming out of a low spot, he’s still thinking more about others than himself. I have a lot to learn. We give them DP’s race number, and the aid station person is fabulous about it. How fabulous, we only find out much later.
We head out, and I believe I let out a “wahoooo!” only 5 miles to go. I’ve told Bones that in the last 5 or 6 miles, the last 10 percent of the race, you can really work hard. Go ahead and try to empty the tank, the end is so close. Many times I’ve found that I am simply in a pace rut, that with the right motivation, I have it in me to go a little faster. And this last section – it’s mostly single track. My favorite. I detail out the course to Bones. Still one good climb to a ridge, and then a descent, with the last bit through pretty meadows on smooth trail. We’re still running except for hills and stream crossings. The sun is low in the sky, and the temperature has returned to perfect. We cross the stream, and come to the road of my bonus miles of yesteryear. Which I point out to Bones. We cross it, following the markers mindfully, and leave it behind. We run some of the climb, and walk the rest. I’m so glad we are doing this in the daylight. At the top of the ridge, I shift into a trot. Bones does too, and I’m mentally pulling him along, eager to see the finish with him. The trail stays on the red dirt and rock ridge for a mile or so, and then we hang a hard left onto more single track. When we get down to the meadows, I wait and get behind Bones, and talk him into the finish.“Here’s meadow #1 – there are three.”
“Half mile left”
“Meadow two – through the gate we go”
“This is it, if there weren’t trees over there, we’d be able to see the finish line.”
We emerged from the trees to the noise of the finish line, rowdy with those who have finished and started eating the burgers and soup the race has. Bones and I high five, and cross the line with big smiles. So it was 11:51, more than an hour past when I thought we might make it. The real reward for me was to be a part of Bones’ finish. To get to witness his tough spots and still enjoy every moment of the day together.
The postscript:
DP’s studly spouse finished in 10 hours, so he was kindly offering to get us food and anything else we needed. While we sat and enjoyed talking over the whole day, I heard the race director behind me say my name. I perk up, and turn “Hey, that’s me!” And she says, “well, congratulations, here you go! You’re first in your age group.” I’m stunned by that news, and then sock Bones in the arm to tell him how lucky I was.
The three of us cart a load of stuff to the car – and the volunteer that Bones handed his light to found us. She gave us the lowdown on DP, when she left mile 40, and that she had Bones’ light with her when she left. A quick discussion leads us to think she will finish around 9. So we settle in to wait in the warm comfort of the Kentucky Camp Cabin – complete with fire place and other runners to share the time. We see the 5finger guy finish, and cheer and eat, and eat and cheer. The crowds thin, and then disappear as 9 approaches. We hear there are half a dozen runners still out there. We all agree that running the last section in the dark would be so mentally tough. DP’s spouse heads down the trail, and a moment later, I hear him talking. A few lights appear, and it’s DP – running it in. The finish line people applaud and cheer almost as loudly as we do. And she smiled as she crossed the line.
