Being so focused on my primary task of crewing, I completely spaced that HEY I'M SORTA QUALIFIED TO GIVE THIS GUY MEDICAL CARE! I went into the tent, gloved up, and started digging(literally) into getting this guy's poor knee cleaned up and properly bandaged. When I got all the dirt and pebbles out of the wound, he still had a half-dollar sized flap of skin which I was entirely uncertain what to do with. So I asked him. "You want this skin?" He replied, "It's gotta come off at some point...may as well just do it now." So I gave the medical scissors a thorough wipedown with some alcohol and cut the damned thing off. If it hurt, he gave absolutely no indication. We threw some gauze on and wrapped it up. He had also hit his head, and after a quick assessment revealed he was entirely appropriate with no noticeable signs of concussion, I instructed him to seek medical assistance if he started feeling any dizziness, blurry vision, or nausea. Which...in retrospect...in a 100 miler...seemed REALLY dumb advice. But our big win from that situation was that we ended up seeing him like 40 miles later and that bandage was still holding strong!
Robert came through, Sophia came through, Erin came through, and Hayley came through. Everyone looked strong. Sophia was pulling away from Erin, and we could all tell she was in full redemption mode from her DNF earlier this year. Erin was a rockstar and once again needed very little. Hayley still wasn't eating or drinking much, so we made her sit and have a snack.
The next aid station was Temple Fork at mile 45. Sophia had gained the lead in our group of runners and Robert was starting to slow a bit. Erin came through looking strong and consistent. I even got some badass pictures of her leaving the aid station up this really nasty looking hill. I still have yet to see any of these pictures since Erin hasn't posted any of them yet, but she has assured me that a few of them are decent. Hayley came into the aid station just as it was getting dark. Despite still not really having increased her fluid or food intake, she was still moving pretty well. We sent her on her way and headed on up the road to sit and wait at the next station.
Tony Grove...mile 52...elevation 8000+...COLD! This was our first taste of the night and our first taste of the mountain cold. It was well below freezing when we arrived. There was a big fire next to the aid station with runners and crew huddled around it for warmth. While waiting for everyone, I made myself helpful to whoever needed it. I saw a runner vomit roughly half a liter of whatever he had just attempted to eat. I wondered if he was done for, or if he was going to rally. I saw another woman who came in so hypothermic that she could not remember her spouse's name. Our runners all came through, dreading the last bit of climbing out of this aid station before they got some blessed downhill all the way to Franklin Basin at mile 61.
Sophia was still an unstoppable force. Erin was still looking strong and badass. Hayley showed up last, shivering uncontrollably. She was a popsicle. I worried about hypothermia, but she was still completely "with it", so my worries were put to rest. We got her in front of the fire for a bit, but it wasn't quite doing the trick fast enough. I thought quickly and ran to the car. I pulled it around and told her to get in. I cranked the heat all the way up and made her sit there. She slowly warmed up, changed into dry clothes, and after 20 minutes at the aid station, she was ready to go. Erica was responsible for pacing her from this point until the finish. We were worried about her knee, which had been stitched up less than a week prior, and it was still swollen and seeping. Not only was her mobility somewhat inhibited, but if she took a digger, that knee was just going to rip right back open. They ran off into the darkness as I packed the car and drove off.
I arrived in Franklin Basin and again began waiting. I found Taylor and we huddled under blankets in camp chairs right by the aid station until we realized that she had parked her car right next to where the runners were coming in. So we relocated to her car, blasted the heat, and kept our eyes open. Sophia and Robert came through doing just fine. At this point, our group was getting so stretched out that Taylor agreed to take over crew responsibilities for Sophia since she and Robert were coming through close together. That left me only responsible for Erin and Hayley until mile 75 when I'd begin pacing Erin.
We spotted Erin's orange running skirt from the warmth of our car. I jumped out with her drop bag ready to go. I gave her some food and some ramen noodles or something. I asked her how she was feeling. She said "Everything hurts". Not sure why I asked. She seemed to be doing alright. The "blessed downhill" that they had been looking forward to on the previous leg had been completely coated in treacherous glassy ice. According to Erin she had "yard-saled" several times, a term I was unfamiliar with, but context told me that it meant "eating shit". She was hurting, but she called out to the radio operators that she was leaving the aid station and headed out.
I went back to the car to begin waiting for Hayley. 20 minutes later, someone knocked on our window.
It was Erin. She said something to the effect of "I'm in trouble."
She couldn't run. She could barely walk. She couldn't put ANY weight on one of her feet. She said it felt like a cramp-from-hell, but she hadn't had any success trying to stretch it out, so a mile out of the aid station, she knew she wasn't going to be able to continue in her state, and she turned around.
We sat her in the car with her leg elevated. I fed her various forms of electrolytes, sodium, potassium, and calcium(that was my best theory). I alternated between massaging her calf and stretching it, resulting in the closest I've ever seen her come to shedding tears. She looked like she was in absolute agony and she was asking me to push harder, stretch more. I knew how bad she wanted this, but with every passing minute with no improvement in her calf, I could see the spark drain from her eyes. She knew well before I did. I kept working on it and had her stand up a few times to see if it was any better.
I felt like it was my job to fix her since I was her crew. I felt helpless because nothing I knew was working. After nearly an hour, we all admitted out loud that there was no way she'd be able to continue the race. We would find out the following week from her doc that she had strained her gastrocnemius and that nothing we could have done would fix it...but I still felt like a failure. I felt awful for her, knowing how much work she had put into training for this race, and how certain her finish would have been without this injury. It must have happened during one of her "yard sales" on the icy downhills. It didn't seem
. I reluctantly hiked over to the radio operators tent and told them Erin's bib number and that she was pulling out.
Seeing what the ice had done to Erin made me concerned for Erica. I hoped she would arrive in one piece. One consolation that Erin suggested was that now I was free of my pacing responsibilities to her and I could help pace either Sophia or Hayley. There was no question in my mind who it would be. Sophia was already a multiple-time finisher of 100 milers, and she was absolutely crushing. I decided at that moment that if Erica would relinquish her duties, I would take over for her and make damned sure that Hayley saw the finish line.
Hayley and Erica rolled in, thankfully all in one piece. The previous leg had proved just as harrowing for them, in many spots involving sliding down on their butts to avoid catastrophic falls near intimidating dropoffs. I asked Erica how she was doing and she confided in me that she didn't think she could keep it up much longer, but didn't want to let Hayley down. I talked to Hayley and she confided in me that she was really worried about Erica, but didn't want to ask her to quit pacing. I thought to myself how silly this was and I brought the two of them together and said "HEY ERICA, you don't want to pace anymore, and Hayley doesn't want you to pace anymore. PROBLEM SOLVED!"
"Oh, and by the way, Erin's all jacked up and had to DNF. I'm your new pacer."
It all happened in a flash, it seemed. Probably too fast. I was in comfy crew mode, not expecting to be running until the sun was up. I was 1:00 am and suddenly I was gearing up to run 40 miles instead of the 25 I was planning on, and with a runner I was completely unfamiliar with instead of the consistent machine that I knew Erin was. Knowing that Hayley was slowing and creeping closer and closer to cutoff land, I made haste in prepping myself. I forgot lots of things. I lubed up my feet, but forgot basically everything else. If you need to ask, you're probably better off not doing so. I forgot my asthma meds. I forgot my compression socks.
But we needed to roll, so we did. If you want a more succinct version of the Hayley's race,
. Otherwise, if you're not into the whole brevity thing, continue reading. I'm not even halfway done.
One of the stories I told was an explanation of an old rock climbing phrase which I intended to use as a metaphor for the remainder of her race. I told her that as a climber progressed in their abilities, they inevitably hit a plateau where their brain, not their muscles, was the thing holding them back from improving. At this stage, a climber would need to learn to "climb to failure", or in other words, they would need to push themselves until they fell off, rather than willfully letting go at an opportune moment, or when the fall was less frightening. This involved climbing farther past your protection, and having less control over the circumstances of a fall. Don't let go...keep going until you fall off.
She waited patiently for me to say something that had any relevance whatsoever to our current situation. I said, "Hayley, I want you to promise me you'll Climb To Failure. If you're going to DNF, it's going to be because somebody MAKES you stop...because you missed a cutoff...not because you're quitting." As she realized what I was getting at, she nodded her head in agreement.
The climbing continued for several miles until we finally topped out on something really big and got to do some actual running. The trail met up with a small stream and followed it with some gentle runnable rollers. This lasted a short while until we finally hit the downhills...
...which were, as foretold, completely unrunnable. I could have possibly run them, but even with fresh legs and really good trail technique, I was almost guaranteed to have bitten it at least a handful of times. Hayley, on the other hand, was 60 miles in and after seeing what happened to Erin, was very tentative about this terrain. I didn't blame her even in the slightest. It was a slip-and-slide affair on this glassy smooth frozen mud. We eventually worked out a system on the steep inclines with no trees to hang on to. I would walk in front and hold my arm out for her. I'd inch my feet along, making sure to find the best footing possible, and she hung on for dear life. I'd like to say that these sections were few and far between, but there was a LOT of it. It seemed
unfair to have spent so much time ascending, only to have to spend just as much time descending. Along with Erin's unfortunate DNF, these were my first thoughts of the concept of "
fairness" of the day, and definitely not the last.
Eventually, we had descended long enough and far enough that trail was no longer frozen. We FINALLY got to open up and run a bit! We had a continuous downhill for the next few miles into the Logan River aid station at mile 68. I began taking stock of where we were time-wise, and we started shooting for sub-22 minute miles to make up what we had lost and to keep ahead of cutoffs. We were moving really well together and Hayley seemed in pretty good spirits. We kept seeing lights and thinking we were there, but it was just some campers, or a group of hunters with ATVs. It flattened out for just a bit before we finally arrived, and we were thrilled to discover that we could power-hike at a 17 minute pace! That'd be plenty fast enough to finish within the 36 hour time limit!
Logan River was an excellent aid station. There was no crew access, but they had a warm cozy fire and incredibly helpful volunteers. I fetched some new hand warmers and some ibuprofen for Hayley while a volunteer massaged her legs. We were deadset on spending as little time there as possible, especially after she had spent so much time at the previous two stops. We headed out of the aid station, with a short river crossing and some climbing ahead of us. We were in great shape, especially because very soon the sun would be rising! Instant morale boost!
Or so I thought.
We got across the river, ran through a meadow, and then began hiking up a long but shallow incline. The predawn light was beginning to warm the color of the sky, and with it I assumed we'd pick up some steam and start putting "money in the bank". Another metaphor I made up, in reference to keeping our goal pace. Each mile faster than 22 minutes was money in the bank that could be spent at a later time when the terrain was harder, or when we weren't moving as well. I'd say "We need to make a deposit, not a withdrawal!" on easier terrain.
So as I looked forward to getting a nice cash cushion heading into some more difficult terrain, with the impending sunrise, the unthinkable happened.
Hayley began to slow a bit. Then a bit more. Then she stopped talking. She stopped responding. Her power hike became a walk, and her walk became a slow shamble. And that eventually became a drunken forward wobble.
Much as I feared due to her low nutrition intake for the past 24 hours, Hayley had bonked, and she had bonked HARD. We were barely eking out a mile in 30 minutes, and the terrain wasn't remotely steep. I tried to engage her in conversation and was basically stonewalled. I watched her face slowly transition from a look of focus and determination to one of sadness and despair. I knew in my heart she was giving up right before my eyes, and I felt completely helpless to stop her. I'd occasionally hand her a honey stinger, and she'd dutifully eat it. We were just past 70 miles and Hayley had completely checked out.
This is what I feared. Not that my runner would meet with difficulty...that is virtually guaranteed, but that I wouldn't be able to put their sinking ship back on an even keel. That was a pacer's job. And I was utterly failing. I couldn't get her to talk, couldn't lift her spirits, and I couldn't look her in the eyes and tell her that we were going to make it...not at this pace.
The only thing I could do was to keep moving. I walked ahead of her, and every few minutes I'd get a little too far ahead, so I'd stop and wait. I felt bad for this, because I worried that instead of inspiring her to pick up the pace, she'd feel even worse for not being able to keep up with me. But I didn't know what else to do.
I finally came to the conclusion, based on her mood, her pace, her spirit...she was probably going to drop at the next aid station. I fought the notion, but eventually it stuck...and with that I prepared myself to be done as well. Just like Hayley, I checked out. A few more miles of miserable hiking and we could be done with this disaster of a race and I would go home a complete failure as both crew and pacer. It's terrifying how contagious despair can be, and how quickly it can completely overcome and cripple you.
We got passed by somebody who was quite chipper and definitely benefitting from the free morale provided by the rising sun. He cheerfully informed us that we had less than a mile of climbing and then it was all downhill to the aid station. I thanked him for the beta, but looking at Hayley it didn't seem like it had improved her mood at all. We finally reached the top of the climb and took in a breathtaking view before we began the slow trudge downhill.
And then the unthinkable happened.
Again.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, after possibly half an hour of complete silence...Hayley speaks.
"Hey...you wanna stretch out the legs a bit?"
What??? Like...you want to run? (As if it were the most foreign unheard-of concept ever). Are you kidding me?
Hell to the
Damn to the
Yes!!!
So we start jogging. It's mildly technical, and not too steep, so the terrain flows effortlessly below my feet. I hoped it was similar for Hayley, but she was keeping up. I was pleasantly warmed by the movement, perhaps our first running in 2+ hours.
I had to use the facilities, so I told her to keep moving and that I would catch up to her. Didn't want to interrupt whatever groove she had just found. I was still pretty sure she was going to drop, but I figured it would still make her feel better to run a little bit before she hung it up.
I pulled off the trail, did my business, and then picked up the pace to catch her. I figured it wouldn't take long. But then again...where the hell was she? I rounded a corner, hoping to see her easily trotting along. Nope. Then I pulled into a straightaway, where I KNEW I'd see her. Nope.
My runner had vanished.
I put the hammer down, not really understanding what was happening. I finally spotted her far up the trail and she was HAULING ASS!
I caught up to her. I said nothing. She was laying down a really solid pace, and like a delicate flower, I didn't want to touch it. Like a pitcher on the cusp of throwing a perfect game, I dared not change a thing. My runner was moving and that's all that mattered to me.
Hayley finally spoke. And she may as well have breathed fire while wrestling a bear, for she chose and meant every single one of the following words with every fiber of her being.
"You know what? I may not make it...but FUCK IT...I might."
In this exact moment, the way I viewed this woman changed forever. Hayley was no longer this tiny little girl who liked running. She was a tough and stubborn ultrabadass who had just dug herself out of the deepest hole in the universe. She had gone to hell and back, and we were back in the hunt for a belt buckle.
I still didn't know myself whether we could still finish, but now that she was gung-ho for giving it her all, I was gung-ho to do every god-damned thing I could to make it so. We burned through a few miles of downhill, including scaring a herd of cattle off the trail so we could pass, and as we rolled into the Beaver Mountain aid station at mile 75, I proudly proclaimed to the world that We Meant Business.
"Hayley's got the eye of the tiger!" The crew members were visibly relieved to see us, and seemed excited that things seemed to be going well. Little did they know how close we had been to oblivion. Erin had taken over crewing and informed us that we should aim for 20 minute miles from here on out. We had several miles of climbing ahead of us, then some flats after the next aid station.
With our renewed resolve, we charged out of the aid station through a short flat section and then got into the business end of five miles of climbing. We powerhiked like we were born to do it. We passed people. LORD, did we pass people. We crossed into Idaho. We continued climbing. Every now and then we'd get a short flat or downhill section, and I'd urge Hayley to "run to that tree" or whatever landmark seemed fitting. We were moving uphill and still putting money in the bank. The aid station was approaching, and then a few miles of flats which we planned to try and run.
We were in and out of the Gibson Basin aid station at mile 81 relatively quickly. We then started out across a vast meadow on a road that was pretty muddy. And by pretty muddy, I mean it was a completely soul-sucking bog. Unrunnable.
Unfair. It was slicker than snot, and even walking it was difficult. We were at a pretty high altitude once again, and this had all likely been frozen before sunrise. As it was, it was thawed and miserable. Here was yet another portion of trail where we expected to make up time, and were once again stymied by crappy trail conditions. I began to wonder if the rest of the trail would be like this. And that worried me a lot!
Up to this point, Hayley had been doing calculations in her head(honestly, how she was still capable of rational thought was beyond me). She kept insisting that if we made it to Ranger Dip at mile 92 with at least 2.5 hours to spare, we'd make it. Doing the math in my head, I wasn't sure what kind of math she was doing, but I didn't want to tell her I thought her math was wrong because I didn't want to risk discouraging her in any way. Her plan remained "the plan" for the time being.
Finally out of the muddy meadow trudge, we ascended more. We were doing pretty well on our time splits and when we finally reached the next section of downhill, we were pleased that only parts of it were too muddy to run. We tip-toed the nasty sections and ran the still-firm parts which were in the shade and hadn't yet thawed. The next aid station was at Beaver Creek, mile 85. This one had crew access, but we didn't see them there. We assumed we'd see them at Ranger Dip just before the last brutal climb of the race.
All through the previous 10 miles, I kept doing math in my head. I'd go back and forth between "Shit, we ain't gonna make it" and "Hot damn! We're gonna make it!"
The long climb out of Beaver Creek was no exception. It was steep and muddy. Parts of it were difficult to get past without a sturdy branch to grab. We passed a runner and pacer coming the opposite way. The woman had turned her ankle and was unable to continue, so she was retreating back to the aid station. So much training, so much work...my heart broke for her, and I remained vigil, promising myself the same fate would not befall Hayley. I was going to look out for her and keep her safe.
We faced endless climb after endless climb. Hayley was hurting so much and it was all I could do to keep us moving at a good click. We were past the point where it would do any good for me to say "We need to pick it up." She already knew, and she was already giving me everything she had. One thing I decided to try was to really overemphasize and exaggerate pumping my arms as I hiked. I thought that maybe it might subconsciously convince her to do the same, and maybe we could squeeze an extra 30 seconds off of that mile? It seemed silly, but I had nothing to lose. (I later found out that this technique worked EXACTLY as I had intended, and did actually get her moving a little faster).
Time was still really tight. Every single mile, every single climb, every single step felt like it mattered. And it did. I knew we were going to come down to the wire. But we were making up time still. I called out our time split every mile. We looked forward to some good downhill and we really really REALLY hoped it would be runnable. If it was, we were gonna be golden!
It wasn't. Not even remotely.
After topping out a long arduous climb to our first view of the spectacular and breathtaking Bear Lake, we looked at the dreadful state of the fire road we had to descend. It was awful. There wasn't a single spot you could stand still without your feet sliding downhill. It was just too muddy and too steep to run. This seemed like our worst nightmare was coming true and our successful finish was once again called into question.
As I negotiated the mud, I began to really fixate on how
unfair this was. Again with that WORD! Who the hell am I? I don't even believe in this crap. Life is neither fair nor unfair. Life simply happens, and you do the best you can with what you have. But here I am, cursing fate that we would come so close to victory, only to have it STOLEN from us by these lousy trail conditions. I even began to convince myself that the race director was probably going to make a special allowance for this and extend the cutoff by half an hour.
RIGHT. In all reality, when I'm being a normal human being, I have a philosophy which guides and defines why I am absolutely in love with trail running. It is as follows.
"You accept the trail for what it is, and the trail accepts you for who you are. You are grateful for the opportunity to experience the trail, regardless of its condition, dry, muddy, or snowy. In exchange you get to be yourself, complete with all of your flaws and faults, and the trail allows you judgement free passage." Good luck finding another single place where this holds true.
So I was a bit out-of-sorts with all this fixation on fairness, but I
thought it, so I have to
write it. Them's the rules.
The Ranger Dip aid station at mile 92 took Fucking Forever to reach. We were through the hellish mud and were on a pleasantly solid road that was slightly downhill. Hayley was in so much pain she could only run sporadically. Over the past 5-6 miles she would occasionally come to a complete stop and simply say, "I just need a moment. Just need to regroup." I allowed these stops, and smartly took them as an opportunity to make her eat something. I kept reminding her how close to the razor's edge we were, and that if she was going to ask her body to respond when it was do-or-die, she'd better have something in the tank to back it up.
Approaching Ranger Dip...we kept seeing people standing on the side of the road and thinking "Oh thank you! The aid station!" But no...it was just folks watching. No aid station in sight. This happened roughly a thousand times(slight exaggeration) before we ACTUALLY reached the aid station. To my slight dismay, our crew was not there. Luckily, we didn't really need anything from them, but it would have been nice just to see some friendly faces. Just as Hayley had predicted hours and hours before, we arrived with almost 3 hours left to negotiate the final horrendous climb and hopefully the final descent would be runnable, otherwise we were going to have problems.
Needless to say, we could not linger long. We each got some snacks and inquired about the upcoming section of trail. The volunteer told us it was 1.5 miles uphill with an elevation gain of 600 ft. Then downhill the REST OF THE WAY!
I did not have the heart or inclination to tell Hayley that my hydration pack had been empty for the past several hours. This was her race, not mine. I was not going to take up precious minutes filling my pack only to have her miss the finish cutoff. No fucking way. So I sucked it up and we turned to face the bad mamma jamma climb to the final summit, appropriately named The Gates of Paradise, elevation 9000 ft.
As an interesting sidenote, in retrospect, I look at how focused I was on Hayley's well-being, and how much I neglected my own. I know for a fact that if it were ME out there racing, I would have blown up big time if I ignored my own hydration and nutrition so badly. For some reason, however, since I was not the focus, since I was not important, I was able to just deal with it. There's a lesson to be learned in there somewhere. Still digging that one out.
The final climb. It was less than 1.5 miles, but DEFINITELY more than 600 ft elevation gain. And it suuuucked! Parts were so steep, you absolutely had to grab trees and branches to get up. And when there weren't trees or branches, you had to had to literally claw with your hands for traction while your feet did the best they could.
After about a mile, we reached a false summit and the trail turned back downhill. Or at least, I THOUGHT it was a false summit. I knew at any moment we were going to turn a corner and we'd have more climbing to do. I just knew it, and I dreaded it. I knew Hayley was near her limit, and I feared she would explode at any moment. This amazing woman had been fighting for 33+ hours at this point.
The trail continued downhill and began to switch back and forth down the hillside. I eventually let my guard down and admitted to myself that we were DONE climbing for the rest of the day! Many sections of the next few miles were very runnable, and we ran quite a bit of it. And slowly and terribly, the descent steepened to the point where even MY legs were too fatigued to handle it, much less was there any hope Hayley could do it. So we hiked down some more. We were now within 5 miles. Every mile, Hayley demanded to know what our previous split was, how many miles remained, and how much time we had before 36 hours would elapse. If the math was easy enough, I'd even throw in a bonus of the minimum average pace we'd need to maintain to make it.
The results were encouraging. It seemed we had gotten over the hump and we were more likely to finish than not finish. But suddenly I got paranoid. I was basing my predictions on the assumption that the course was exactly 100 miles. Or that my Garmin was fairly accurate. Oh shit! Any one of these things being off could spell disaster! What if the course is a mile long, or if my watch is reading a mile short?
As we exited the woods, we were rewarded with a view that was filled end to end by possibly the most beautiful lake I've ever seen(For reference, I was JUST in Tahoe). Bear Lake is an unbelievable hue of blue that almost glows. We're still on a fire road that is too steep for our worthless legs to run, so we're still hiking. But we can SEE where we will finish. It seems impossibly far, but we know we won't run any farther than the lake's edge. The small town of Fish Haven, Idaho stretches out in front of us.
 |
| Like that, but more so. |
A friendly fellow jogs past us going the opposite direction, telling us we're almost there and that we look great. At first I think he's just a rando, but after he passes us a few more times, I realize he actually knows this course and is just out running back and forth on the last few miles encouraging runners. HE KNOWS THE COURSE! He tells us we have a short climb up to a water tower, then a short downhill and 2 flat miles to the finish line. My fears are alleviated as this information proves beyond a doubt that we've actually done it! My calculations show that we have to average at least 30 minutes per mile for the final few miles. Despite the new knowledge that we are absolutely going to make it, Hayley still asks for the splits every mile. We fight up the final short climb, descend down to the road, and Hayley kicks it into high gear. And by "high gear" I mean an 11:00 pace...but it still feels like a god-damned sprint. Still fighting and clawing for every single minute, my respect and admiration for this woman grows even more.
We're on the final straightaway. We pass our cabin. I tell her it's another 100 yards to the road, quick left turn, quick right turn...and bingo. She charges forward and before we know it, we're in the finishing chute. I run stride for stride with her, clapping and encouraging some damn cheering from everyone there. I am not entirely certain how I'm going to react to her finishing...maybe I'll give her a huge bearhug. Maybe I'll cry. Guess we'll just wait and see.
Hayley Esson finished her 100 mile journey in 35:25.
 |
| Bringing it home, complete with warpaint. |
She celebrated her finish with Sophia, Erin, Erica, and whoever else was there to greet her. The next few minutes aren't entirely clear in my memory, but as in previous race finishes where I wasn't in entirely good shape, I knew I wanted to lie down somewhere. Having spent the last 14 hours running 40 miles and completely neglecting myself had left me in a pretty sorry state. I also knew I had been out in the sun for quite a while and hadn't been too diligent with my sunscreen use. The finish line tent was casting a nice shadow behind it. I stumbled over there, away from the light, the noise, the commotion. I dropped my long-since empty hydration pack on the ground and laid down in the grass. My head was swimming, but the shade felt good. Being off of my feet felt wonderful. I was still breathing hard. I was wheezing a bit. And then I was wheezing a lot.
Remember how great Singulair and albuterol have been working for me all year? Well, they are slightly less effective on my asthma when I don't TAKE THEM. My wheezing turns into coughing, which turns into more coughing, which turns into panicked wheezing and coughing. Having learned this lesson last year, I realized that the patency of my airways is slightly more important than my overall bodily comfort, so I sit up and assume a squat so that it's a little easier to breath. It helps, but only a little bit. Sophia sees me sitting there coughing and wheezing. She asks me if I need anything. I cough and sputter a few sounds that don't quite qualify as words from the English language, and after a moment she realizes that I'm having an asthma attack and asks if I would like to use her inhaler.
She goes and fetches it. While I am waiting for her return, another concerned bystander approaches me and
I Shit You Not, she asks me "Are you wheezing?"
I still was unable to verbalize anything, but the sheer ridiculousness of the question would have left me speechless anyways. After seeing my labored breathing, my bloodshot eyes that were streaming with tears, and yes...hearing my wheezing...she did offer to get me her inhaler, but since Sophia was imminently arriving with hers, I politely declined.
A few puffs and I was back in the business of breathing like a normal person. Hayley, upon seeing me, reportedly exclaimed, "Oh no, I killed Danny!"
How adorable. I cannot say enough words to fully explain how amazed I am by this woman, and how proud I was of her at that exact moment.
It is overwhelming how meaningful this entire experience was for me. I mean, pacing seems like such a simple proposition. Just run with them when they get tired...keep them moving...make them eat. But it is so much more than that. Or at least it was for me.
It wasn't my race. It was hers. But at a certain point, I was just as emotionally committed to her finish as she was. Her highs and lows were my highs and lows. I can't get over how much it meant to me to be able to give myself completely to this task to help another human being achieve something so great.
In many ways, this entire trip out west...watching my brother achieve an amazing goal, and HELPING Hayley achieve one...it has been exactly what I needed. You can spend all the time in the world and all the effort you can muster on your own goals and dreams. But when you get to turn away from all of that and simply GIVE of yourself, it truly is a blessing. I still think my most meaningful half marathon was pacing my Dad. And pacing Hayley for The Bear might now be one my most cherished memories of being an athlete.
Thank you all for reading, and especially to all who have been following along and offering support all year. My own 100 mile journey starts on
Saturday at 6 am in BFE Central Missouri. I will have an amazing support crew out there helping me, and I can only hope that their experience seeing me to the finish line is as memorable as mine was for Hayley! Well...maybe without the bonking and the awful trail conditions.
Hopefully later this week I can hammer out a pre-race blog entry and list some thoughts and expectations about Ozark Trail 100! See you then!
