Yeah yeah, I'm overdue for an update etc...whatever.
My Honey Stinger race kit
The last time I posted, I was celebrating my 5 year anniversary of being an athlete, being stoked about my new Honey Stinger Hive sponsorship(still am stoked, btw), and musing on the upcoming triathlon season and what it might hopefully have in store for me. That was almost 4 months ago. Let's go chronologically, shall we?
In late January, mostly out of curiosity and partially because I was starting to feel a bit on the doughy side...people will ridicule me for saying this because even then I was quite a lean dude, and definitely still an appropriate weight for my height. But I felt softer than I ever had in a long time. A distinct bulge was growing on my midsection, and I hadn't seen my abs in quite some time. The fact is that I was still eating like I was running 30 miles a week, but I was running approximately zero miles a week. ANYWAYS...for a bunch of reasons, I decided to buy a scale and weigh myself. I had been hovering in the 190's for a few years and I had convinced myself that it was all muscle and there was likely little I could do to lose weight. But I always told myself that if I ever passed the 200 lb mark, I'd think about doing something about it.
Well...that day arrived. 202 lbs and my alarms went off. I had heard about a smartphone app called MyFitnessPal, so I downloaded it and began the now simple process of tracking calories eaten vs calories burned. I learned very VERY quickly that there is this thing called "portion control" that I had been previously unaware of, that pasta is a really easy way to waste your calories, and that snacking ruins diets. Also...Taco Bell? My go-to late night order was more than a day's worth of calories. Oops.
So my experiment in dieting continued and much to my surprise, I lost weight. Really quickly, actually. Within a month, I was back under 190. Another month and I was back to my 2010 Ironman fightin' weight between 180 and 185, where I have since remained. And what's more...to be completely shallow and narcissistic, I look about as good as I've ever looked in my life. Now to do something about my face...
So this gradual process of losing almost 20 lbs...basically the weight of an entire BICYCLE...coincided nicely with my gradual ramping up of triathlon training. My swim was coming together nicely with more consistency in the pool. My sporadic experimentation with breathing on both sides became more focused, which resulted in a smoother stroke, a quicker stroke cadence, and SPEED! My run was still coming in spurts depending on the cooperation of my ankle, but my bike was what was really beginning to shine. All those hours spent sweating to Sufferfest videos(seriously can't recommend these enough) on the trainer were quickly revealing themselves as worth their weight in GOLD. Not that "hours" really "weigh" anything, but it's more figuratively....fuck it. You get the picture.
Brief Race Report Interlude: Perry Rocks Trail Half
In May, I was debating between doing the Running With The Cows half marathon or the Perry Rocks half marathon. The debate had many variables and it was a close call. RWTC was a paved race and would be more in-line with my triathlon goals, Perry would be trails, which I like more and which would be easier on my still-healing ankle. Friends were doing RWTC. Perry was a Trail Nerd event, which meant that everyone there would be my friend. I wasn't quite fast enough to attempt a paved half PR, but I was juuust fast enough to MAYBE get a PR at a trail half....and mmmmaybe attempt to place in the top-3, depending on who showed up. In the end, I opted for Perry Rocks and I'm so glad I did.
I decided this was going to be a balls-to-the-wall, see-what-happens effort. I usually start my shorter trail races a bit on the fast side just so I get space on the trail, and then I usually get passed by people later. I blitzed out of the gate and was simply going to see how long I could hang on to my pace and ranking. After a few miles, I realized that I wasn't getting passed, I was actually passing others. I even caught up with Amy White Schmitz, who usually wins these things. I decided to match her pace for awhile, but when it became apparent that she was having some pacing issues with her dog Winston, I decided to pass her and venture off on my own. I did get passed by one guy and although I attempted to stick with him, he dropped me after the first aid station about 5 miles in. I was ok with that, mainly because I was still moving really well and my legs felt great!
Against all expectations, I was able to maintain my pace through mile 11 and then I finally passed that guy back! Then, in the final mile, I saw another runner farther up the trail. I didn't know what place he was in at the time, so I decided to catch him in hopes that he was in 3rd. I slowly gained on him and right as we busted into the clearing to head up the final hill before the finish line, I was right on his heels. I was already pushing about as hard as I could and I feared that when I came alongside him, he'd be able to kick into high gear and hold me off. Luckily, as I charged up the hill and pulled alongside him, he had no answer whatsoever and I pulled into the lead! I gritted my teeth to hold my pace up that long hill, turned the corner, and triumphantly blazed towards and across the finish line for....
...wait for it....
4th place. Dang! But still a hell of a race! As a confidence builder, it would be hard to top this! And as a bonus, I did end up finally getting my sub-2 and PR on a trail half...1:57:40!
Meanwhile...back in triathlon world...
I was getting faster consistently across all three triathlon disciplines...even my run, despite the inconsistency and low mileage. The ankle would slowly work itself out over the next few months, finally culminating in my first completely pain free run this past week.
So...things were going well. But I remember two years ago when I was preparing for Ironman Kansas 70.3, and I thought things were going well. Then I notoriously exploded and had a medical emergency at that race. Possibly the worst race of my entire life, definitely my worst triathlon. I promised myself I would never do Ironman Kansas again. It was just a miserable hateful race...I had raced it three times, and it had tried to kill me three times.
Danny's History With Kansas 70.3: Omnibus Edition
2009 - First triathlon, full blown panic attack in swim, big wake-up call, learned bricks are important, cried at finish line (No race report)
Emotional meltdown in 3...2...1...
2011 - More experience as an athlete, brutal swim, decent bike, punished severely on run, best finish, cried at finish line
ALMOST broke six, but still got a PR!
2012 - Best preparation thus far, brutal swim, brutal bike, walked most of the run, forgot why I race(because it's fun), cried at finish line AND in med tent
Last photo of me before everything went to hell.
Don't get me wrong...I'm just a crier sometimes. 2009 was all emotion. 2011 was emotion and a heaping-helping of exhaustion. 2012 was just utter defeat. And an asthma attack. But mostly I was simply a defeated and deflated man.
This race had once again completely withstood my attempt to conquer it.
Never again, I said.
......
Until mid-April when I decided to sign up for it again! Originally, I think I just wanted to do it casual style and have a smooth race, but after the results I've been having in training, I'm in full revenge mode. I've learned too many lessons the hard way and trained too diligently to let this race continue to have the upper hand on me in the record books. I've put in more than twice as many miles on the bike than I had at this point two years ago. One of my key words for training this year, as a matter of fact, has been "diligence". Delaware started saying it at the beginning of the season, but like every good training season, I needed a catchphrase/battle cry to help motivate and focus myself. I'd post a solid spin session. Diligence. I'd grind out a tough brick. Diligence. You get the idea.
So...now I come to the part where I make predictions about my race. I'm not calling it a "plan" because that's an evil and stupid word that spells doom for me. As I've often said, a "plan" is just a list of things that probably aren't going to happen. I'm calling them either "predictions" or "loose expectations" and I'm leaning towards the latter.
Loose Expectations for Kansas 70.3: 2014 Edition
Swim: Assuming the swim conditions aren't End-Of-The-World bad, I really think a sub-35 is a very real possibility. In absolute perfect conditions, I think I could drop a sub-30.
Bike: My long rides of late have consistently averaged 19-20 mph. Assuming winds aren't horrendous(which they most likely won't not be), this is predictive of FINALLY getting my sub-3 bike split. I believe I could conceivably average 19 for the race, giving me around a 2:50 split!
Run: I have gotten in some really quality brick workouts this season and despite my low run mileage, my pace has been sub-9:00 and has tended to feel pretty casual. Now one might THINK that this would point to FINALLY getting a sub-2 run split, but I'm much too aware of my history with 70.3's to think it's in the bag. Even in the best conditions, I'm convinced that while I AM capable of doing it, it's going to be a wailing and teeth-gnashing effort. Like my first sub-6 in Boulder, I'm really going to have to WANT this for it to happen.
So...best case scenario...30 minute swim, 2:50 bike, 2:00 half marathon, and a liberal 10 minutes between T1 and T2...THAT is a 5:30 half ironman. Anything less than perfect conditions would see me finish somewhere between 5:30 and 6:00.
OR...
Or the swim is choppy, my goggles leak, the bike is windy and hot, the run is hot, humid and punishing, I explode, and nothing goes according to plan. 6:30+
As melodramatic as it sounds, the latter is still a very real and un-exaggerated possibility, especially with my track record of racing in the summer.
But whatever happens...I'm gonna enjoy myself.
T-Minus 6 Days until I have my revenge...or until I get punched in the balls by reality. We shall see.
Today, February 18th 2014, is a milestone. It is not my birthday, but I celebrate it like one.
5 years of my best swag!
Five years ago today, I walked out the door on a chilly winter day with the intention of simply distracting my busy mind with some sore muscles and gasping lungs. Not only did I succeed in the short term, but in the long term I discovered the single most potent source of happiness, fitness, inspiration, fulfillment, serenity, and doggone FUN that I have yet to find anywhere.
Over the last five years, I've done things that were completely unimaginable and unthinkable to my former 28 year old self. Triathlons. Marathons. Ironman. ULTRAmarathons. A 100 mile trail race. I realized that limitations are mostly imaginary and all it takes to overcome them is to stop believing in them. In this continuing journey of self-discovery and self-improvement, I've formed great friendships, strengthened existing ones, and learned to believe in myself in ways that I never could have dreamed before.
Coming out of a pretty rough stretch following OT 100 last November, I'm finally starting to feel healthy again. The ankle is cooperating, with the help of Katie, my massage therapist, and Rob Jones, who I've been getting ART from. Both work at Peak Performance in Lawrence, and I highly recommend them both! As a result of their fine work, I've started running again. Easy short stuff on the treadmill, but I'm almost pain-free at this point, which means soon I'll get to start building distance and speed!
So far this year I've spent a good amount of time riding the trainer due to the lousy weather, as well as hitting the pool(though not the past 2 weeks because I just got LASIK!!!). It's all starting to come together and I'm excited for another season training hard for triathlons, culminating at Ironman Boulder where I hope to finish sub-12, and at the very least, beat Delaware...which given how hard he's already training, is definitely no small task.
As always, since I'm a numbers geek and I track every single mile, here are my 5 year mileage totals:
Running: 3670
Biking: 4796
Swimming: 90
Not too shabby, and I'm expecting big gains on the cycling and swimming this year.
And then THIS happened...
Back in January, Honey Stinger sent out an email to all of the customers on its email list. I happen to like Honey Stinger products quite a bit, especially their chews, and usually their emails consist of special deals which help me get my race nutrition a smidge cheaper than normal. However this email did not contain any such specials. It was, however, an invitation to apply to be a member of the Honey Stinger Hive, their group of sponsored athletes.
Never in a million years did I think I'd be picked. I'm not that fast, nor do I have the greatest track record for consistent training(though I've done alright the past few years). Anyways, I filled out their little application, listed my accomplishments and my goals, and promptly forgot about it completely.
Until today.
My birthday.
Happy Birthday, Danny!
I really couldn't believe it. I've always thought it'd be cool if regular Everyman-type athletes with good attitudes and interesting stories could become sponsored instead of having to be some inhuman ultra-cyborg. Well, wouldn't you know it...they thought so too!
I'm utterly thrilled and honored to be recognized, and most importantly, REALLY looking forward to stuffing my face with delicious and wholesome Honey Stinger products as I subject my body to unnecessary yet fun forms of physical torture! Now time to get my hands on some Honey Stinger garb so I can rep' it up proper!
Thanks for reading, thanks for loving, thanks for being friends, thanks for caring, and THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to Honey Stinger! I already thought you guys were a great organization, and I'm proud to be a part of promoting the brand!
I had originally intended to write a followup post to OT 100...maybe a month or so after the race. Needed to kinda sum up the impact and late effects of a race that enormous. But the race report itself took a damn month to write, and I guess I got all busy livin' life and bein' Danny, so it never really happened.
I am now going to attempt to take what should be two separate posts and try to blend them into one cohesive piece of literature. This attempt will, in all likelihood, fail miserably, but when has the risk of failure ever stopped me before?
This year began with me in a very difficult place personally. I was still reeling from a failed relationship, but the full weight of significance hadn't yet sunk in. I was basically just stunned. The worst was surely yet to come. But I had been to that place before, and I knew the best thing I could do was distract myself. Luckily, I had set some pretty lofty goals for myself which were quite conducive to long hours doing some of my favorite things. In addition to throwing myself at The Year Of The Ultra and all the feats that it entailed, I also accepted a challenge to work out at least 30 minutes a day for the first 100 days of the year.
I missed three days. Not too shabby.
In the midst of this, I finally recommitted to building my yoga practice back to where it was when I was with her. I hadn't practiced in nearly a year, but I dusted off some old yoga videos she had given me and eventually found a studio in KC that welcomed me and made me feel at home. Yoga was a very beautiful and bittersweet thing for me. It calmed me and grounded me, but no matter how much I tried to "make it mine", it still did, and likely always will have that association with somebody I had loved and lost.
Doing work at Free State 100K
My other goals involved running, and lots of it. I was mentally committed to attempting my first 100K, and possibly my first 100 miler, with the bonus goal of 1000 miles of running in 2013. If you read me regularly, you know I did all of those things. January started off strong with lots of long runs out at WyCo with my future pacer Heather C. February saw me smash my 50K PR at Run Toto Run. March saw me PR again when I ran "with" my brother for his first 50K out in California. By "with" I mean he dropped me like a bad habit after 13 miles. Moving on into April, for the first time I raced the Brew2Brew solo, and then completed my first major goal of the year by finishing the Free State 100K.
It was during this time that things were beginning to resemble "ok" in my life. I was doing lots of fun and exciting things in my day to day life as well. I felt like maybe the worst was behind me, and my writing at the time reflected that. Perhaps it was all the success in running, goals achieved, and nice weather. Maybe it was that after 5 months of radio silence, I was talking with the ex again, trying to re-establish some form of friendship with this amazing person I had grown so close to. Maybe it was just lots of false hope that I pretended was a healthy friendship. Scratch the "maybe". It most definitely was that. And it would come back to bite me in the ass later in the year. But moving forward, I was starting to feel like I had regained some amount of equilibrium since the year began. The good times continued into May when, almost as an afterthought, I entered another 50K and once again utterly destroyed a PR.
And then came the inevitable crash. When you try to build on an unsound foundation, it will all eventually come tumbling down to the earth. After 5 months of nonstop running, my body needed a break. Without running, without my distraction, my bubble of mental health unceremoniously burst, leaving me feeling sadder and more wretched than I had even at the beginning of the year. So much for progress...
After 2 months of pretty intense depression, with my body mostly healed, I was able to run(distract) myself again. In September, I spent a few weeks out west. I got to dizzy myself in alpine forests at 8000 ft elevation. I got to run straight-the-fuck up a ski slope in the freezing rain(first stretch of Western States 100 course). I got to help good friends achieve mighty things. I returned home feeling focused and more importantly, fulfilled. THIS is the shit that actually makes a heart whole again. You can run 1000 miles, but if those miles don't mean anything, you're still a sad asshole who is angry at the world.
Finding bliss on the Tahoe Rim Trail
It was also around this time that I began to realize that the "healthy friendship" I had been trying to maintain was simply not a possibility. Not now, and maybe not ever. I've struggled with that a lot. The idea of letting an important person disappear completely from your life...it's pretty fucking heavy. But I think letting myself finally accept that possibility was an important step in my recovery.
October saw me finishing up the last weeks of training before I tapered for the ultimate goal for the year: The Ozark Trail 100! Taper blues hit me pretty hard, especially considering I had to cut out my last high mileage week due to a sore ankle. I faced 3 weeks of limited running and all sorts of time to sit and think about all the doubts, the bullshit, and the fact that I hadn't been on a date for a really really long time and I was kinda sadly ok with that.
Limping across the finish line
Whatever...race weekend arrived and "presto" I became a 100 miler. You most likely already spent half a day reading about it. I include the links to all of these race reports in the event that an 11th person has discovered my blog and that this is all new to them. Welcome Reader #11!
If I had to sum up the few weeks following Ozark Trail in a few words, they would be: Pain, Ibuprofen, and Ice. I was hurt. Not like post-race soreness...like actual proper-fuck injury. Broken. It was most of a week before I could effectively walk on my gimpy ankle. It was almost two weeks before I could sleep through the night without having to wake up for fresh ice packs and more NSAIDs. My back was completely ruined. I got a few weeks of good work from my massage therapist before she took her leave of absence from work to ADOPT A BABY!!! (Seriously, he's cute...but I want you back ASAP.) In addition, I still have inexplicable numbness in some of my toes and we're almost 2 months out at this point.
I had prepared myself for quite possibly the worst bout of post-race blues I had ever experienced. I had already experienced the delightful effect of removing running from my life, so piling that on top of the normal post-race emptiness was going to be a real doozy...or at least I thought it would.
I discovered after my first Ironman that I have this tendency to downplay the importance of an accomplishment after I've achieved it. For some reason, my ego is less impressed by a challenge I have met than it is by one I have yet to meet. I cheat myself out of feelings of success for really no good reason. It all goes back to teenage insecurities...long story. With this being my biggest race yet, I expected nothing different than the usual rolling of the eyes and a "So what?" from my subconscious self.
Against all odds, however, it was different this time. I'm still trying to understand why I haven't sunk right back into depression following that race. I know I had my little "A HA!" moment during the race where I forgave myself for all the things I've beaten myself up about for the past 2 years, but that moment was fleeting and forgotten by the time I crossed the finish line, and it certainly didn't resurface in my memory until weeks later when I dredged it all back up to write my race report. And for some crazy reason, when I thought about what I had accomplished...I was really REALLY fucking proud of myself. Like...a lot.
So that was nice, for a change.
As broken as I was following that race, honestly I felt like something had snapped...I mean...not like a bone or a tendon...something intangible. Like I had broken through a wall of some sort. I felt light and carefree for the first time in a really really long time. I had finished most likely the longest race I will ever attempt in my life. That's pretty deep for an athlete. I mean maybe I'll become one of those sickos who do multiday races, but honestly I don't know if that's for me. But if the source of motivation involves either "faster" or "farther", then I've hit my ceiling for "farther". I expected that to bring some negative thoughts with it, but it's almost liberating in a way. I haven't fully figured that one out either.
Something else has changed though. The forgiveness that I allowed myself, while originally just a passing moment in a really good 25 mile stretch, has endured against all odds. I still feel that freedom from guilt in my heart. And that freedom has blossomed into something even better.
Anger.
WOAH! Woah, back up the truck there, shitface. We accept only happy, positive notions in our New Year's Roundup posts. What the fuck is this asshole getting at?
Yes. I am letting the hate flow through me as I embrace the Dark Side of The Force.
Ok it's really not as bad as it sounds. Anger is not always a bad thing, and forgiving myself was only one side of the coin. What I've realized very recently is this... I was wronged, but I never let myself be angry at the person who had actually hurt me. In my mind, I constantly apologized for her, made excuses for her, and heaped all of that anger onto myself instead.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not writing this to trash on my ex. I still think the world of her and hope that someday we can be friends again. She had to make the choices that she felt were best for her and I can't fault her for that. But for those exact reasons, it was really hard for me to let myself feel anger towards her. When I admitted to myself that it wasn't my fault, I opened the door for those festering emotions to finally be let out so I can let them go.
So it is, with a broken body, a slowly mending heart, and a healthy amount of righteous anger, I close out another year in the Book of Danny. Before I discuss what's next, allow me to briefly record my mileage totals for 2013:
Running - 1006 miles
Biking - 96 miles
Swimming - 1500 METERS (yes I swam twice this year...deal with it)
So not really an impressive year aside from the running...no worries though. That will all change in...
2014: The Year That Doesn't Have a Slogan Quite As Catchy As "Year Of The Ultra"
It's a working title...
Honestly, all I know about 2014 so far is that I'm doing Ironman Boulder in August. I didn't want to do another one this year. Wasn't psyched about it yet. Didn't want to sign up for a race that big if I wasn't psyched. But then Alan, Del, Sherry, and Larry all signed up...who was I to miss out on racing with such quality people. So with no small amount of indignation for having been hornswoggled into signing up, I hoped that the motivation and excitement to train and race would present itself at some point.
And then it did. Running out at Shawnee Mission Park with Del one day, he mentioned that his primary goal for Ironman Boulder was to beat my PR.
Oh snap. It is now, for all intents and purposes..."on". I can't think of a better motivating force than rekindling the friendly athletic rivalry with one of my best friends. We've got such different strengths, but all in all we're incredibly well-matched. So now that I've got a title to defend, I'm excited about this race.
Some secondary goals along the road to IMB...I'd like to run a fast 5K...sub 21 would be a PR. Maybe try for a 1:35 half marathon. Perhaps a new marathon PR? I technically haven't run one since 2009. I mean if you ignore 2 Ironmans and 10 ultra distance runs. I know I'll be pacing Bryan West at Run Toto Run 50K. I know I'll have to train more on roads than on trails, but maybe I'll keep my trail brain happy by regularly pacing friends in their races.
Mostly this year, I know I need to really focus on the bike. I've never really put in enough training on the bike to really give myself a good chance to succeed in triathlon, and I want this to be the year that changes. I don't want to set a mileage goal because I'll basically be done with the majority of my riding in August. I think 3000-4000 miles on the bike sounds reasonable, but the more important goal is that I don't feel like pan-fried ass when I leave T2 this summer. I'm hoping the issues with my back can be resolved quickly so that I can start working towards this goal.
As far as non-athletic goals, or as normal people call them..."resolutions"...I'm going to switch up my usual stance. In the past I have ranted and raved against the idea of New Year's Resolutions. "Too limiting", I'd say. "Usually forgotten within a month", another favorite. "Self improvement can happen year-round" I'd shout to nobody in particular. "HEY MOTHERFUCKERS, BE INSPIRED. ALWAYS."...yeah maybe I got a little too pushy.
I have a few things I'm considering doing, haven't quite decided which ones will make the final cut and become "things I end up doing" but here's a short list of things I'd like to work on:
-Improving my spanish. I actually started a month ago, so yay for me.
-Learning guitar...as in taking lessons instead of just fucking around with my self-taught bullshit like I normally do.
-Be smarter with my money...I don't do too bad, but you can always eat out less.
-Be a happier version of myself...I know that's a repeat from last year, but shouldn't that be everyone's goal EVERY year?
So why am I not raging against the trend of New Year's resolutions this year? Honestly, I haven't the energy. And as well as things seem to be going, I'm still not convinced that I don't have any struggling left to do. When you're at the top of the mountain, it's easy to yell down at the people just starting their climb and assure them the view is spectacular and it's totally worth the struggle. I feel like in previous years, as good as my intentions were, I was blinded by the privilege of having essentially LIVED at the top of the happiness mountain for a good while. When my lofty perch crumbled from underneath me, I got to relearn what it feels like to struggle. When the storm is so bad you can't even SEE the summit, it's really hard to get excited about any sort of forward progress.
Being knocked down a few pegs helped me realize that most people aren't lucky enough to be constantly surrounded by amazing and inspirational people, and maybe January 1st is that one time when they can see a break in the clouds and be reminded that there is something good to be found up at the top. I won't steal that moment from them, nor will I fault them if that is their only moment of the year. I will just wish them luck, and that maybe next year, the view will be a little bit better.
So that got about 500 times more deep and metaphorical than I intended. Sorry.
I wish the best of luck to you all in the coming year. If you are resolving to improve something, or have set a goal for yourself, let me know in the comments(here or on FB). If I can help you in any way I will, be it pacing, training with you, keeping you accountable, or just plain old encouragement.
As of today, it has been 4 weeks since this race, for lack of a better term, "happened". I've been working on this for 2 weeks, which is by far the longest I've ever spent writing anything in my life. Sadly, that probably includes my academic career.
I am always torn about when to start writing. For me, it's not just about listing the things that transpired. Obviously, that's important...but I am usually more interested in telling what it meant, or how it made me feel, and definitely how I feel about it after the fact...how it has changed me. It's hard to strike a balance between writing soon enough to remember all the little details and waiting long enough to be able to fully synthesize the experience so I can tell the Whole Story. Not sure that makes sense to anyone else, but...um...sorry?
...but that post revealed a tangled mess of conflicting emotions, rambling thoughts, questionable motives, and wasn't nearly as therapeutic to write as I had hoped. Usually my pre-race rant is intended to let me vent any worries I have while allowing me to really focus on all the positives so I can calm myself down and breathe easy. Instead it kinda felt like I had climbed the wrong way onto a horse and said "Whatever...giddy the fuck up!"
So I never really found that focus and serenity that I wanted. The day before the race was a complete cluster...I slept through my alarm, looked at the clock, flipped out, threw a lot of stuff into a duffel bag, and had to haul ass to make it to check-in and drop off my drop bags, which were not even packed yet. I had planned to wake up early, do some last minute shopping, calmly pack my drop bags, double and triple checking everything, maybe meditate or something, and then set off on the 5 hour drive to the race site.
As it was, I miraculously avoided speeding tickets, but still got lost trying to find the Bass River Resort, swearing constantly, and arrived with about 15 minutes to spare, during which time I had to retrieve my packet and pack all of my drop bags. So I got some of them packed, but realized I would simply have to rely on my crew to hang on to the rest of them for the aid stations they had access to.
I made it back to my parents' house in Rolla, had some dinner, and then attempted to fall asleep. It didn't really work. I was so amped up about everything I may have forgotten to pack and just how hectic the day had been, I think I got roughly half an hour of sleep before it was time to wake up and get ready. Aside from that pittance of a nap, I had been awake for over 12 hours at that point, and I was looking at perhaps another 36 before it was all said and done.
It wasn't a gun. It wasn't a horn. It was a fucking SIREN. How blissfully calming...
So I began shuffling forwards with roughly 75 other people. It was 6 am and still dark, so we all had headlamps on. I was in a serious funk. Not necessarily a bad mood...just a lack of a mood. All of the blahs from the previous few months had apparently carried over. Here I was embarking on the biggest race of my life, and I felt NOTHING! And realizing this in the moment made me feel even more nothing. My feels were broken apparently.
So mentally, I was wonky, but physically I began to settle in. The pack stretched into a long conga line. The leaves had begun falling so the footwork was tricky. I saw a lot of runners stumble and trip, but nobody fell. The combined nervous energy slowly began to wane as everybody found their form. My footwork was pretty spot on, though I did catch my foot on something in the first few miles and the guy behind me joked, "Thanks for spotting that rock for us." Apart from that, everybody was eerily silent for the first several miles.
My pace felt good. I was running 11-12 minute miles, but I still worried it was too fast. But then I worried it was too slow. Everybody says to start slow. But how slow? I just tried to keep from exerting myself. And just like everybody else, I walked every hill. But people started passing me, and I had to battle my ego to stay within my comfort zone.
After an hour or so, as the sun prepared to rise, the sky began to lighten. Not long after that, I shut off my headlamp and let my eyes adjust naturally. I noticed that the guy behind me had been there for quite awhile, and had actually been the same guy who joked about the rock earlier. We somehow ended up engaging in some pleasant smalltalk for the next few miles. His name was Joe and this was his 2nd attempt at this race. In 2011 he had fallen at mile 25 and broken some ribs. And he had made it all the way to mile 80 before DNFing from a time cutoff. He said he just wasn't able to run. So he trudged it out with broken ribs for 55 miles. If that ain't tough, I don't know what is. He and I kept good company up until the Grasshopper Hollow aid station at mile 8. I ditched my headlamp, grabbed some food, and headed down the trail. Shortly after leaving the aid station, I felt a rock in my shoe so I stepped off the trail to get it out. As I was stopped, Joe passed me and I wouldn't see him again for several hours.
As it turns out, there was no rock in my shoe. I put my shoe back on and continued, but I could still feel SOMETHING on the ball of my left foot. I knew it couldn't be a blister...not this early in the race. And that firm knowledge slowly turned into paranoia that I had somehow developed a blister over the course of 8 measly miles. I tried not to think about it, and for the most part failed to do so.
The Kindness Of Strangers
A nice distraction arrived shortly after though. From behind me, I started hearing the faint "click click" of somebody running with trekking poles. I know some people love them, but I've never really been inclined to give them a shot, possibly because I am secretly inclined to make fun of them instead. Well, I'll let you know right now that exactly 24 hours later, I was definitely eating a large slice of humble pie on this matter, and one of my pacers can confirm this fact. But for now, I was about to be passed by a guy using them.
We greeted one another. He asked how things were going. I was still kind of in my non-feeling, unsure, funky mood, so I said something along the lines of "I don't know...I guess I'm just waiting to see what's gonna happen." I asked him how he was doing and he said, "Just fantastic. Any day in the woods is a good day."
Something changed. I realized that he had spoken an exact truth. I was here. In the woods. I was doing that thing I had been training for and fixating upon for well over a year. And so far, things seemed to indeed be going very well. I acknowledged his point out loud and thanked him for his perspective.
His name was Will. I asked him if this was his first 100 miler. He simply said "No." I then asked what other 100 milers he had done. And then he informed me that he had previously finished 24 of them. It seemed like he might have some wise words, so I asked him if he had any pointers for a first timer like myself.
"Just keep going. You'll eventually get there. The only reason I ever stop is if an ambulance is taking me away, or if race officials make me quit because I've missed a cutoff."
It sounded very similar to my advice to Hayley when I began pacing her at the Bear 100. He also went on to say that a lot of first timers go out way faster than they should, but that he thought I was doing an excellent job of pacing myself so far. With that, he completed his pass and left me behind. I thanked him for his advice and encouragement, and I wished him well.
Suddenly I felt better about everything. I was enjoying myself. I was moving well. And I would be seeing my crew imminently at the Sutton Bluff aid station at mile 17. I looked forward to the familiar faces and wanted to get eyes on the blister that, at this point, I was absolutely certain was forming on the ball of my left foot. There was a pretty significant water crossing a few miles before the aid station...both feet wet up to the ankles...so I was doubly concerned and keen to get some fresh body glide and dry socks on as soon as possible.
The mile up to the aid station teased us with a spectacular view as we traversed a bluff, even allowing us a glimpse of the aid station itself before we slowly wound our way down the hillside and crossed the bridge that led to the pavilion.
Drinking ramen out of a cup. That's how they do it in Belgium.
My foot looked more or less pristine. I rubbed the spot that I was previously certain was a blister. It felt strangely numb, but the skin was completely intact. This phantom blister was simply a weird numb spot on the bottom of my foot. I had never had anything like this happen before, but I guess I was happy it wasn't anything serious. As I rubbed some lube on my feet and put on fresh socks, I made a mental note to check it regularly as my day progressed.
As I left the aid station, I made a decision that I have always sworn I would never make.
I got out my headphones.
This may not seem like a big deal to many people, but the simple fact is that I have never once raced with music up until this moment. The first reason is that a lot of races forbid it. And if I wasn't allowed to race with it, why would I train with it? The second reason is because of the words on this page.
I have always felt that listening to music robs you of some of the richness of a good run or race. I can understand a long training run where I'm not feeling my best and just need to hammer out the miles. But a race is an experience. It's something I want to remember every moment of. It's something I need to learn from and cherish. A possible reason why my race reports are so full of detail and emotion and "life lessons" is that I haven't been zoned out to music the entire time. Obviously this is simply a theory since I've never actually put it to the test.
Until now...
Dancing The Ozark Trail
Once again unto the breach, good friend...
I power hiked up the road for the half mile climb out of the aid station while I dug into my pack to get out my ipod shuffle. My crew car passed me as they left, cheering and pumping their fists. I would run roughly a marathon before I would see them again, and before Emily would join me as a pacer. The lesson I learned at Free State 100K was that, in the wrong state of mind, solitude can be poisonous and debilitating. I didn't trust my current mindset enough to gamble 25% of the biggest race of my life, so I broke my rule. I got the headphones situated and clipped the shuffle to my pack. As my foot once again hit dirt, I took a deep breath, pressed play, and began running.
As I'm slowly synthesizing this experience and getting it written down, a clear theme of this race is beginning to emerge. I'd like to take a moment to briefly introduce it so that you know what the hell I'm talking about when I reference it later...and because I can't really decide where else to put it, it is arbitrarily going right here.
A lot of what I considered going into this race and coming out of it is this idea of self-reliance versus dependance. In my own life I try to do as much as I can on my own. It's the whole "becoming a grown-ass adult" thing. I like how it feels to be living on my own and being financially independent. I want to think that I can translate that feeling into my running life, and for the most part I do ok. Then when I decide I want a pacer or a crew to help me race, I have to give up some of that self-reliance and some of that satisfaction. It's really a matter of letting go of the ego to enhance the likelihood of success. Even relying on music represents a small chink in the self reliance armor.
The other matter that weighed on me was the size of my crew. Sure, I didn't ASK five people to help me finish this race, but that's the number of people who freely volunteered. I like all of these people a lot and had no thoughts of turning any of them down. But in the ultramarathoning world where doing big races without crew or pacers is considered "badass" then I was on the opposite end of that spectrum. Did it matter to me that much? No. This was my first hundred and I wanted to make sure I could actually FINISH one before I started upping the ante on difficulty/badassery. Was I in any way unappreciative of the help? NO NO NO NO and NO. It was just a thing that made me feel self-conscious. Did anybody else have five people crewing them? I honestly have no idea, but I would suspect not too many. Would a five person crew prove to be excessive? I'll get back to you on that...
The music began and I immediately noted a marked improvement in my mood. I hadn't been in a particularly bad mood or anything...but a switch flipped in my brain. Everything seemed like it was falling into place at mile 18 of 100. My body was fully warmed up and ready to rock. My pre-race doldrums were nowhere to be found. I almost instantaneously decided that the music was perhaps the best decision I had ever made in my entire life. My pace picked up and the miles effortlessly flew by as I began dancing the Ozark Trail. Figuratively and literally.
Something I've realized as I've grown up is that for me, music is a full body experience. If I'm listening to good music, chances are I'm doing any number of the following things: Tapping a foot, bobbing my head, humming, singing, fist pumping, dancing, playing air guitar, air drums, air piano, air bass, or air orchestra conductor(you know, for classical music). I used to be embarrassed by this, but at this point in my life, there is no shame, just a fuller manner of experiencing music that I love.
So there I was, running the biggest, most grueling race of my life and to any casual observer I was flailing like an absolute idiot and singing along to unheard music. And I didn't care. I was doing something I loved and I had some of my best friends along for the journey. Friends like Phoenix, The Decemberists, Pearl Jam, John Legend, Madeon, Daft Punk, They Might Be Giants, Brett Dennen, and countless others. This music was a source of lightness and buoyancy for me, and it most definitely was putting fire in my steps because I started passing people.
I had decided to play a little ultra game that Indi M had told me about. You basically keep score for the duration of your race. Pass somebody? Plus one point. Get passed? Minus one point. I didn't start keeping score until the first aid station because I figured there'd be a lot of that going on in the first few miles. Coming into Sutton Bluff, I had been -2 from Joe and Will passing me. Within a few miles of leaving, I was back to breaking even. And then I started to slowly build a lead. It was a fun little exercise that helped occupy the mind as well as a way to express that tiny competitive spark inside me.
I can say without a doubt that the 25 miles between Sutton Bluff and Brooks Creek were the best miles of my race, and furthermore, some of the best miles I've ever run in my entire life. The terrain was ideal, featuring short climbs and long winding downhills with just enough technicality to make them fun, but not too tricky. I was in a great mood, blasting down the trail to excellent music, and feeling better and better about myself and the world.
I knew that this course featured several water crossings, and a few of them were mandatory foot dunkers. I had planned for this and packed several pairs of fresh socks for the duration of the course, but I really just underestimated how MANY of them there would be. I didn't count, but I wouldn't be surprised if there were thirty of them. Some of them were minor and easily traversed. But the majority of them required at least some amount of strategy, balance, and athletic ability in order to keep your feet dry.
Approaching a water crossing, you began to assess the situation. You'd look for a path of stable rocks to walk across, a fallen log, and a sturdy landing spot on the opposite shore. Usually it was just carefully controlled steps from one spot to the next, but occasionally it required hopping from rock to rock. Early in the race with fresh legs, this was usually not a problem, but I will say that as I passed the 30 and 40 mile mark, it got more and more difficult to execute a 5 foot double standing long jump and nail the dismount. Obviously I didn't succeed every time, but with each challenge met and overcome I celebrated. Keeping the feet dry for just one extra mile could absolutely mean the difference between developing a blister and having happy feet.
Because of the importance of keeping my feet happy, each successful water crossing became more and more joyously celebrated. Early on it was just a quiet self-congratulation. Then it became an emphatic fist pump. Eventually it was a full blown hooting, hollering, butt-wiggling happy dance.
Dry feet are a big deal, you guys.
One particular moment in my race stands out as the clear physical and emotional high. As I was approaching the 50K mark, I had been deep in thought about certain things in my life. First of all, that I was able to be deep in thought AND have music playing was a big win. But there are a handful of very specific things from the past 2 years of my life that I've really been beating myself up over, and I basically just decided to forgive myself for all of them. I am NOT a fool and I AM allowed to feel this way despite all I've been through. With that matter settled, a weight lifted.
And then this song came on.
This is quite possibly one of the happiest songs I've ever heard in my life. But at this exact moment in my life, following my startling revelation and self-forgiveness, it hit me upside the head with about a 5 minute stretch of unfiltered serenity and joy...a grown man running in the woods, bopping his head to music with a huge shit-eating grin on his face, and making absolutely no effort to suppress the happy tears flowing from his face.
At the time I appreciated the moment for all it was worth, but in retrospect I can say that something big must have finally snapped because I definitely have felt like a different person the past few weeks.
During this amazing stretch from mile 17 to 43, despite everything that was going right, I did experience a familiar but minor hydration issue that I've come to know as "old man bladder". This happened at Ironman Florida, at the Perry 50K, and it was happening now. Basically when I underhydrate, I reach a point where I feel like I have to pee, but I can't. It is uncomfortable, but manageable. And most importantly, it doesn't affect my athletic performance. If it hits, I simply have to increase my water intake and then I know it will go away within an hour or so. It isn't pleasant, but the alternative is overhydration, which has nearly ruined me on several occasions. Being low on sodium absolutely hurts my performance, and the lesson I've learned over the years is that I'd rather flirt with dehydration than with hyponatremia. I can deal with Old Man Bladder...I can't deal with feeling drunk, delirious, and debilitated.
There were 3 aid stations between Sutton Bluff and Brooks Creek that were crewed by race staff only. No crews allowed. I have vague memories of each of them because I tried to get in and out of them as quickly as possible. At least one of them involved a sock change, I believe it was Gunstock Hollow at Mile 34. In order to change my socks, I sat down in one of the chairs they had. I dried off my feet with a towel and a quick examination showed they were still intact. I reapplied body glide, resocked, and reshoed while I sipped on some hot potato soup. Once I was ready to go, I stood up. And I immediately decided that sitting down was no longer in the race plan.
In the 5 minutes I had been seated, every muscle in my legs had apparently agreed that we were done running. Apparently they didn't get the memo that we weren't even halfway done. Standing back up I was immediately hobbled by the stiffest, sorest legs I had felt all day. Getting back into a jog was a bit of a struggle, and over the next few miles all the kinks worked their way out and I was back in business.
As I neared Brooks Creek, I was still on top of the world and loving life, but I was a tiny bit conflicted. I was enjoying my music so much that I was a little bummed that I'd have to leave it behind once I had a pacer. But then again....A PACER! Hooray! Emily is definitely a great gal, a badass, and somebody who I think "gets" me. I was looking forward to having her along as I began carving into the real meat of the race. The sun would be going down and the legs would be leaving me at some point overnight. Everything after that would be new territory for me.
On one of the last water crossings before Brooks Creek, during one of my gymnastically fantastic standing long jumps from a rock to dry land, while flinging myself through the air, I wrenched my back pretty badly. My victory dance was cut short as I grimaced from the pain and tried to stretch it out. It wasn't awful, but it's something I could have done without.
My assembled crew of badasses(minus Erica)
I finally arrived at Brooks Creek. My crew was assembled and ready to spring into action. I had a list of things that needed doing. They immediately set to work helping me get those things done. I needed to change out of shorts and into tights for the impending cold night. Add layers. Fill up water. Eat food. Change socks.
Emily was strapped in and ready to go, so once I was filled up, fooded up, layered up, and content, we ponied up and headed out to the sound of cheers from the rest of the gang. I restated my expectations for myself, that I needed to run the flats and downs, and hike the ups. She verbally confirmed the plan and we began chipping away at the 25 miles she was responsible for pacing me through. I ran in front and she followed close behind as we got the conversation going. We talked about rock climbing, Homestar Runner, light switch raves, skydiving, adventures in Alaska, her stint as a collegiate athlete at KU, and...you know...running until you puke.
The early miles running with Emily were continuing in the excellent style of the miles before she joined me. I was moving well and not hurting too badly yet. As the sun set, we brought the headlamps out. The really serious pain that I knew would eventually come was kept at bay for the time being by the ibuprofen I'd been taking periodically throughout the day. I don't remember exactly when it did hit, mostly because it was such a gradual change. Subtle changes in our runner/pacer relationship started to appear. I started needing to be prompted to run on a flat or downhill section. I wasn't unwilling or unable, it was just no longer my natural instinct to do so. She'd say "Hey, run this." and I'd run it. As the miles passed, the pain and fatigue slowly grew. My response time to "Hey, run this." became slightly delayed, and then more and more delayed.
Honestly the thing that hurt the most was the bottoms of my feet. They'd been pounding the dirt, rocks, and roots for about 12 hours at this point and were getting awfully sore. Additionally, my left ankle...the same ankle that had been giving me trouble in October and for which I tapered a week early...slowly began to indicate its displeasure with the current activities it was involved with. It wasn't necessarily painful, but it just felt less stable than it should have been. The pain came later.
As we delved into the long night, Emily got out her smartphone which had some music saved on it. The first track was Daft Punk's "Get Lucky" which I was still in a good enough mood and had enough spare energy to do a sort-of "running/robot dance/butt wiggle" along to. The next track was apparently Miley Cyrus "Wrecking Ball", but I informed her that I'd never heard it, nor did I have any interest in ever hearing it, so it got skipped. The next track was this delightful techno track whose only redeeming feature was the repeated spoken line, "All day. All night. All day. All night. What the fuck!?" It turns out that Emily only had 12 songs on her phone(one of which was Miley Cyrus), and limited battery, so she only got it out on occasion when the conversation lulled or if I was struggling more than usual.
We were still moving really well when we rolled into and out of the aid station at Highway DD, roughly the halfway mark of this journey. Staffed by friendly faces, I made good on my promise to deliver smothering bearhugs to Coleen and the rest of her wondrous crew. I added a layer on top for the coldest stretch of the night, which was expected to dip into the teens, and ate something delicious and warm, but I honestly have no recollection of what it was. We passed several people in the mile or two after that aid station, and I was honestly feeling pretty good about things. I think I calculated that I was reasonably on pace to finish in 28-29 hours at that point.
As the night wore on, the wheels on my freight train slowly wore down. Transitioning from a walk to a run involved a bit of a windup, usually 5-10 steps long, before I was able to lurch into a stride of any kind. One interesting thing I noticed was that if I was able to muster it, running fast hurt less than running slow. Something about inertia, or which muscle groups were utilized, or maybe just how I held my body. But it soon became less about what my muscles could do, and more about how technical and uncertain the footing was. Some of this terrain was perfectly runnable, flat or downhill, but as was heavily advertised in the race description, the leaves covering everything were proving very difficult on my increasingly unstable ankle and my sore feet. It would have been fine if I could have just refrained from stepping on rocks and roots, but it was really a crapshoot every time I put down my foot.
So it was from about mile 55 onwards that my pace began to suffer due to the mildly technical and hidden terrain. The only thing I could confidently run was a dry path with no obstacles of any size on it, and not too steep on the downhills either. I came close to face-planting several times. Emily was doing an excellent job of keeping me moving, but I did make the following proposal to her. If I were to fall, I was allowed to lay on the ground for at least a minute before she made me get back up and continue moving. I think she agreed, but I honestly don't remember.
Significant moments in this stretch were when we passed the 15:30 mark which represented the longest time I had ever spent running/racing/exercising in any form. And a while later we passed 62 miles, which was my previous longest distance covered on foot. I then trudged off into the unknown...
As it turns out, "the unknown" was getting increasingly unpleasant, painful, and slow. I am sad to admit that I remember very few details about the miles leading into Hazel Creek aside from the fact that I suffered greatly. Some of the people that I had passed in the previous 10 miles were beginning to pass me back. I do remember that Emily and I were getting increasingly clever and resourceful in negotiating water crossings with dry feet. Occasionally, we'd hike 20 yards down from where the trail crossed the water to find a more suitable path across. One crossing in particular definitely stands out in my mind. The water was several feet deep and a good 30 feet across. I really didn't want to get my feet wet, since they had been good and dry for quite a while now. There appeared to be only one way to get across, and it looked sketchy at best.
There was a tree which had been uprooted near the opposite shore. It had fallen towards the shore we were standing on. Some delicate scrambling allowed us to walk balance beam style across the trunk of this tree to the massive root structure which was now exposed above the water. From the roots of this tree, it was another 7-8 feet to dry land. Emily went first. She climbed around the roots to the other side facing the landing zone, was somehow able to find a solid root to stand on. From her precarious perch, she spied a rock that would allow for a well-aimed medium sized leap followed by a smaller leap to the shore. After seeing what she had done, and not trusting that my fatigued legs could successfully control the landing on such a small target, I basically just went for the gusto and heaved my body straight at the sand. My back wrenched again really badly as my feet struck dry earth. My feet were dry, but not remotely happy. This was the last major obstacle before Hazel Creek at mile 68, where I would be joined by Delaware for the next 13 miles.
I arrived to cheers and hugs from my crew. It was nearly 12:30 am. I was in piss-poor shape, and I know everyone could tell. The whole "no sitting down" thing which had been previously implemented was now a moot point. My legs were trashed and there was nothing I could do that would make them much worse, so I sagged into a chair as my crew sprang into action. I don't remember being altogether coherent, but they asked all the right questions. Heather once again dove into the disgusting and thankless "foot duty". My hydration pack was filled, warm food was brought to me. I got another dose of ibuprofen. This was the point in my race where I had planned to change shoes, and I did so. I still had no blisters, luckily, and having on fresh shoes and socks was about the only thing I had that felt nice. I think there was also some hot chocolate that was wondrous. In fact...I'm gonna go make myself a cup right now. Be right back.
(Author seriously just made himself hot chocolate)
So there I was, sitting in a camp chair in front of a space heater, watching helplessly as 4 amazing people fulfilled my every need(Erica would not arrive until I reached Berryman). Remember that whole "self reliance" thing? Along with my ego, that was a distant memory at this point. I was incapable of doing any single one of these tasks. Removing my own shoes alone would have taken 5 minutes. I couldn't even touch my toes at this point without experiencing severe discomfort. After my feet were taken care of, Heather even took a few moments to roll out my quads because she's awesome.
This whole time while I was staring around with glazed eyes in a fog of sleep deprivation and physical exhaustion, the aid station captain kept telling me how much BETTER I looked than everyone else who had been coming through. First of all, I know that is complete and utter BS, but at the time I was gullible enough to be uplifted by this terrible, awful lie. My amazing crew had me in and out of Hazel Creek in just about 20 minutes, which is a minor miracle when I consider how I felt. I was hurting for sure, but I was somehow still increasing the time cushion between myself and Cutoff Land. Leaving Hazel Creek I had nearly 2 hours to spare. SURELY, that would be plenty.
An Ode To Delaware and NSAIDs
As Delaware and I left, he was in front and settled right into a modest trot...which looked like a god-damned sprint to me. I immediately informed him that running wasn't quite in the cards yet. I was still moving just as poorly as I had when I arrived at the aid station, basically walking very gingerly and occasionally a slow trot if there was nothing technical to turn my ankle on.
Delaware complied and kept his pace at a purposeful hike 10-20 yards in front of me. But after a few miles I was growing discontent. This wasn't working for me. I needed him back here, talking to me, encouraging me. I'm certain he thought he was pulling me along, but in the dark places of my brain, that 10-20 yards was telling me how slow I was and how pitiful it was that I couldn't keep up. I knew I should just SAY something but the dark places were winning the argument and I remained silent. I realized there were sections that I was walking that I was perfectly capable of running at this point. The only reason I wasn't running them was because I didn't have somebody behind me telling me to do so. You have to try the carrot, and when that doesn't work, you use the stick. I needed the stick. So I found an opportune moment for this to happen.
It was time to take my asthma medicine, so I asked Del to retrieve it from my pack. After taking it, I told him I wanted(needed) to be in front. I didn't explain why, but he excitedly gave me the keys and put me in the driver's seat. From that moment, everything came back together. Being back in charge, and knowing he was behind me keeping me accountable to running what was runnable, I began to run more regularly and for longer stretches.
For certain, the ibuprofen had come through in a big way. Everything still hurt, but it was just enough to take the edge off so I could move effectively. I ran good long stretches and he pumped me up in the best way possible with every effort. And he talked my ear off about all the stuff that Delaware likes to talk about. He told me how great I looked even though I probably looked like a homeless drug-addict zombie shambling through the woods. After 5 or so really great miles, the trail spilled briefly onto a dirt road which led to Pigeon Roost at mile 76. We followed this dirt road for a very short distance, but my mind was blown when I looked up. Being out of the woods afforded us a clear view of the sky on a moonless night, miles and miles from any form of civilization. I asked that we walk the rest of the way into the aid station with headlamps turned off. As we switched them off, I saw the universe in its entirety. I swear I've never seen more stars in my life. It was breathtaking, awe-inspiring, and incredibly moving.
Arriving at Pigeon Roost we saw some other runners taking a breather. One of them was currently being informed that she was 3rd place female. I also inquired about who was the 1st place female. Of course it was Mindy Coolman, and of course she had been smiling when she rolled through. But hey, I was keeping pace with 3rd female, so that was cool. I didn't sit because I was moving and didn't want to ruin that. We got some food and headed back out into the darkness, leaving behind several runners. In terms of the game I was playing, this was as high as my score ever got, and I believe it stood at 10 when I left Pigeon Roost. We could see some headlamps farther ahead of us and I was keen to see if I could catch them.
In the 5 miles between Pigeon Roost and Berryman Campground there are differing accounts of how it all went down. Delaware claims that the wheels slowly fell off over that stretch, but in my recollection I was moving really well until I was 2 miles out from the aid station. And that's when IT finally happened. This is my race report, so I'm going with what I remember.
In the midst of a good section of running, my left ankle rolled really hard. It didn't slow me down too much, and I kept running. 10 seconds later it rolled again, even harder. And that's when my dog and pony show ground to a halt. I didn't know it at the time, but that ankle was done. Finished. Spent. Kaput. Proper-fucked. I knew I had to walk a bit to try and work it out, loosen it up. I knew it'd just take some time, so I power-hiked until such a time as it felt ok to run on it again. And then we made the turn off to Berryman at mile 81.
The crew was amazing, of course. They sat me down and made me eat. My feet hadn't gotten wet again, so no sock change was required. Heather rolled out my quads and calves. It was possibly a religious experience...I might've heard the voice of God. It wasn't time for ibuprofen yet, because I like my kidneys and stuff. But food needed to happen.
Since nightfall, the only aid station food I'd been interested in was hot soup...usually ramen noodles or potato soup. Then somebody said "They've got pierogis." Then I said, "What's that?" Apparently it's some kinda meat-filled pastry-type thing. It immediately sounded like a thing that I could eat and possibly enjoy.
I had two. Under normal circumstances I might've described them as "delicious" but at that moment they were simply "edible". I've never really had problems with nausea or keeping food down during a race, so it is perplexing to me that I wasn't inhaling food at this point in the race. I didn't feel nauseous. For the most part, the thought of solid food just made me feel like this.
According to the notes that Heather took while crewing, I was only at Berryman for 12 minutes. Thinking back on the state I was in...I'm actually getting choked up thinking about how amazing my crew performed on my behalf. Until I actually saw the timestamps she hand wrote, I would've sworn up and down that I was there for more than half an hour. But they took care of me, fed me, and most importantly, got me back up and moving...
...this time with Honey Badger Erica Motherfucking Carper at the helm of my slowly sinking ship. And I can honestly think of nobody better suited to the task of kicking my ass, calling me names, screaming obscenities...or whatever it would take to push me through the most painful and grueling portion of a race like this. I specifically wanted her for this stretch for those particular qualities of her personality. As we hiked back out into the darkness, with 22 miles left to go, I prepared to be abused...but I'd be moving.
"We handled this grim section with the well-known technique of struggling." *
The ankle was a problem. A big one. I kept waiting for it to get better. And I waited some more. And then I realized it wasn't going to happen. A few miles passed, clocking in at close to 30 minutes apiece. Maybe once I could get some ibuprofen back on board, THEN....then I could start running again.
That never actually happened. I kept hobbling. And time was slipping away. I slowly began to develop an alarming sense of panic. My 2 hour time cushion didn't seem quite so rock-solid anymore. I kept looking at my watch, trying to do math in my head, failing to do math in my head, and then freaking out just a little bit more, even though I hadn't actually made any new conclusions. I voiced my concerns that I might not be able to make it.
Erica, the badass...the asskicker...the whipcracker...she came through with a nearly instantaneous reassurance that we had "plenty of time". And I believed her. I can't overemphasize how important that moment was. If there had been any doubt in my mind that finishing was still possible, even at my pathetic pace, I really don't want to think about what might have happened. I learned how dangerous despair is when I paced Hayley. It had nearly stopped BOTH of us cold in our tracks. But Erica knew exactly where my mind was, where it was headed, and she stopped THAT thought process cold in its tracks. Honestly, I can't for a moment believe that she wasn't thinking the exact same thing, but the important thing is that she never once let a speck of doubt show.
We were gonna make it...now shut the fuck up, Danny.
That wasn't my only freakout of this stretch, unfortunately. A few miles later I once again convinced myself that I HAD to get moving or I would surely fail. I'm not sure you could call it running, even loosely defined...but for roughly a mile I was able to desperately fling my body forward at a pace faster than walking, only out of sheer terror that I might have come so far only to ultimately fail.
Erica once again reeled me in and reassured me we were ok. She calmly told me not to waste all of my remaining energy at this point because I might need it later. And honestly, I was probably seriously endangering my safety trying to move the way I was. It was entirely reckless and I'm still shocked that I didn't plant my face onto a rock. I did end up rolling the bad ankle several more times during this ill-advised feat. Each time I rolled it again, the slowly growing injury to my back was compounded further.
Once I finally accepted and trusted Erica's assessment that we could finish, I calmed down and settled in to basically hike it in the rest of the way. Normally, my pride would have had a huge problem with this. After all, this was an "endurance run" and I wanted to fucking run! I did finally get that next dose of ibuprofen, and the effect, once it kicked in, only provided about 5 minutes of mild relief from the horrendous pain I was experiencing in my ankle and back.
As the sun began to rise, we approached Billy's Branch, the aid station at mile 90. I was completely delirious and unable to form complete thoughts or sentences. I think somebody I know was volunteering there, but I have no recollection of who it was. Erica somehow acquired a brief spot of cellphone coverage and was able to snap this photo and transmit it to Facebook to show the world that I was "almost done" and looking "great".
This man knows where he is. Probably.
At mile 90, with 13 miles to go, I finally had a familiar distance to calculate splits based on how much time we had left. I had to finish by 2:00 pm, and it was 8:00 am. That's a half marathon in about 6 hours. I'd have to maintain a pitiful pace of 25-30 minutes per mile with another aid station left to go. Think about that for a moment, and then realize that it was a HUGE effort to maintain that pace with how broken my body was.
We continued moving. The only things I remember about the 6 miles between Billy's Branch and Henpeck Hollow were the fall colors. Many of the leaves had fallen, contributing to my current woeful state...but the leaves that hadn't yet fallen were utterly breathtaking. I might have been emotionally moved by the sight, but those parts of my brain were on sleep mode, allowing only for the most basic of thought processes involved in forward motion and survival.
Remember when I made fun of trekking poles earlier? Oh yeah, of course you remember. If you don't remember...I made fun of trekking poles earlier. And my comeuppance is thus! In the last few miles before Henpeck Hollow, I said to Erica, "I would absolutely kill for some trekking poles right now."
It all made sense. I was a fool. Humble pie NOM NOM NOM NOM!!!! I can't believe I ate the whole thing.
Erica found a large fallen branch and handed it to me to use as a walking stick. It was a little flimsy, but it was an incredible idea. I decided to keep my eyes open for another one that might work a little better. And then we arrived at Henpeck Hollow and I completely forgot about that idea for the rest of the race.
This video, taken by Erica who had just finished pacing me, shows the piss poor state I was in with 6 miles to go. Notable quotes:
"He looks as though he may be in some...distress."
"...and then he tried to argue with me about math."
"I'm beating somebody? How is that possible?"
Also, the sunglasses given to me for the end of the race completely disguise how unhealthy I looked. This photo shows the sunken cheeks, which is really the look I was going for.
How to age a decade in 32 hours.
While I sat there being cared for and fed, Heather grabbed the rolling stick and started working on my quads again. I nearly cried. It was partially from the overwhelming sensation, but it was mostly overwhelming emotion that suddenly flooded into my mind. Gratitude to the amazing people who had given me so much today. Relief that I was nearing the end of my journey. Sadness at how much my race had fallen apart. Joy that I was even here, able to attempt something like this. I had joked that I would probably end up crying in the fetal position at some point in my race, but this was as close as I came to breaking down. But it was REALLY close.
March...WITH PURPOSE!
Heather was taking over the pacing responsibilities for the final 6 miles. Before the race, in my mind, I imagined being so stoked to be nearly finished that I'd be able to overcome any pain I was experiencing and light it up for the end of the race...really bring it home in style, ya know?
(Author pauses to laugh at himself and his silly expectations)
As slow as I was moving up to this point, it only got worse. All throughout my race, any time I was walking a hill, I made a point to "walk with purpose" so that I was still maintaining a decent pace. You can normally power hike a mile in 15-16 minutes. With my ankle performing at roughly 5% capacity, power hiking was really out of the question. Heather did everything she could to keep me moving forward. Every part of me wanted to just lie down for awhile.
At this point in the race, with only 6 miles remaining, my brain kept trying to tell me that we were "almost done" and that we could probably abandon the nutrition and hydration plan now. The thing that was weird to realize is that I was still HOURS from finishing. I wasn't remotely close, and if I stopped eating now, it could cripple me. I mean, I was barely holding it together as it was...I couldn't imagine what would happen if I properly bonked. So I continually had to remind myself that it DID still matter, and I kept choking down my honey stingers and sipping on water when I could.
I had read race reports, and I knew that the final 3 miles involved endless switchbacks up and down the same hill several times. I knew to expect it. I was prepared for it.
I was not prepared for it.
It was 100 times worse than I could have possibly imagined. We wound back and forth up a huge hill, and then back and forth down it. Then we had a water crossing. Then back and forth up the opposite hill. And back down. And then up again. It was torturous, unnecessary, humbling, cruel, and unusual. And would we really have it any other way? Complaining about trail difficulty is like showing up to a rock concert and complaining that it's too loud.
In yet another instance where one of my pacers quite possibly saved my race, Heather made her presence known. Every single time my modest hike slowed to a drunken stumble, she'd give me subtle cues. She'd say things like "Let's pick it up a bit." or "This is flat, let's move a little faster." But my absolute favorite was "March!" Growing up a musician and playing endless John Philip Sousa marches in various community bands, this was a theme I could latch onto. She started singing "The ants go marching one by one, hurrah...hurrah..." and I pictured myself as a civil war soldier marching off to glory and bloody death in battle. And then I joined the game and started humming some of the marches that I had learned by heart in high school and college. Dorky? Yes. But I was moving faster.
Sometimes you really never know what's going to help your body find those unspent reserves of energy. A funny notion, or a strategic distraction...whatever it was, it was pure genius.
The endless hills ended. We topped out on the final painful section of switchbacks. Then trail then slowly wound its way back down towards the Bass River Resort. The last mile or so would be across a flat field. Here is what I looked like emerging from the woods near that field.
And that's as fast as I could move.
That final mile was the longest of my life, and I'm both proud and ashamed that my friends and family got to/had to witness it. To my recollection, I was silent for the majority of it. Even if I did speak, I can't imagine what I might have said. My mind and body were both completely depleted of any kind of spark. And in the final quarter mile, somebody had apparently dug an equivalent of the grand canyon between myself and the finish line.
Seeing this video after the fact, I am still stunned. Even in the moment I could not have fathomed how slowly I was moving. I hiked the final several hundred yards towards the resort. I promised myself that I would try to run across the finish line. It didn't matter if what I ended up doing actually resembled running, but for some reason I just needed to try. We walked past a playground and the final 20-30 feet arrived. My moment was here.
It didn't actually resemble running, but it worked.
My moment. The moment I had fixated on. Dreamt of. Aspired to. THIS moment.
I had just finished a 100 mile race. Something that only a few years prior seemed so far-fetched. It was done. This is normally the moment when I cry. I place a lot of meaning and emotion into the things I strive for, and after training for an entire year, dealing with doubts and injuries, and facing one of the hardest emotional battles of my life...surely the floodgates were bound to burst.
The lady in orange asked me what I needed. I told her that I needed to lie down somewhere.
I was shown to a cot in the finish tent. With a word, without a thought, without any tears, I promptly collapsed into it and fell asleep. I was awoken by my amazing crew as they removed my shoes and helped me remove some excess layers. Much like my first Ironman finish, I wasn't able to fully comprehend what was going on, but it wasn't because of being emotionally overwhelmed. It was because my exhaustion had completely trumped my elation.
I had finished in 31:36:12 with less than 25 minutes to spare. I was the 2nd to last finisher. Nearly half the field had dropped or been cut off. I eventually swelled with pride at this fact. People told me how gutsy it was that I basically hobbled the last 23 miles on a bum ankle. I would be proud of this point, except for the fact that giving up hadn't actually crossed my mind. I had come to finish, plain and simple.
I'm really not done heaping praise on my crew, not by a long shot. To say that I could not have done this without them is the November Understatement of the Month. They absolutely made my finish a possibility. 25 minutes is not a lot of time. I can think of dozens of ways to spend 25 minutes in an ultra. There were 5 crew accessible aid stations. An extra 5 minutes spent at each of them? DNF. My pacers kept me moving as fast as I was physically capable and didn't let me slack. For the 50+ miles I was with them, I could've easily slacked away 25 minutes without the proper motivation. They all ended up being so indispensable, and I am overflowing with gratitude towards them for all their hard work and the love they showed me.
I owe them everything.
I have to thank all the usual people again. My family and friends for their love and support. All of my trail running friends who have graciously welcomed me into their community over the past 3 years. Everyone who followed along on Facebook or the live update website. Everyone who commented on my wall or sent me encouraging text messages. Everyone who believed in me. My crew. The amazing volunteers at the race. Really just everyone who has helped me in any way this year. From the bottom of my heart, thank you!
I would recommend this race to anybody wanting to conquer their first 100. It is a top-notch event and I never lacked for support at any point.
I will leave you with my immediate reaction to the race director when he asked for my thoughts afterwards.
"I overestimated how hard it would be...and it still wasn't enough."
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