Susan Donnelly

Another 100, a scant five days after my Javelina finish with little sleep in between.  Why?  In this case, a couple of very good reasons.

First, when good friends like Stuart Johnson and Paul Schoenlaub put on a race, it’s like being invited to a party you know for absolute sure is going to be good and I’d been looking forward to the race for months.  Second, it’s new trail for me, which automatically gives it high priority on my overly stuffed schedule.  And last, I’ve finished 35 100s, so upping the challenge by doing back-to-back 100s is yummy icing on the cake.  I’ve done it before but this time would be two tougher courses than before.

There’s something irresistable about a new challenge.  Could I do it?

Getting There is Harder Than the Race

Rob and I left Nashville in plenty of time to make it to the pre-race briefing but as with races, things rarely go exactly as planned.

Long painful story short, we got caught in what looked like a construction delay, immediately followed by an accident detour.  When all was said and done, we’d lost an incredible three hours of travel time, missed the pre-race briefing (something you really don’t want to do for a brand new race), and were going to be horribly short on sleep.  To top it off, we finally arrived at the hotel to find I’d packed the kitchen sink but left my camera at home.

But an e-mail from good friend TR put it in perspective, reminding me that at least we weren’t the cause of the accident.  We would just have to adapt as best we could.

I just wasn’t sure how to adapt to three hours of sleep before the race.

Race Morning

We left hotel at 2:30 a.m., in plenty of time to make it by 3:00 a.m. to the buses that were to transport the runners to the start of this point-to-point course.  Eerily, there was no one else on the highway.  The country road was dark and empty.  We turned off to go to the Bass River Resort and followed the Ozark Trail Association signs down a dirt road.  Still no other cars in sight.

We kept driving down the dirt road, both of us silent.  Finally, I re-read the directions for the 10th time and realized we were supposed to be on pavement.  Aargh.  Rob turned the car around in a five-point turn.  Who knows what the Ozark Trail Association was and why they had signs out there.  I told Rob to drive as fast as he could and tried not to look at my watch.  It was like we were still in last night’s traffic all over again.  The buses were supposed to leave at 3:30 a.m. sharp.  When I finally dared to look, my watch read 3:15 a.m.

At 3:20 a.m., we finally pulled up at the resort in the first visible parking spot and jumped out in a panic to unpack drop bags and get ourselves together and on the bus in time.  Friends gathered around to greet us and chat while we tried to focus on the business at hand and the ticking clock.  A careless mistake made in a hurry could carry big consequences later.  We ignored friends as politely as possible, and tossed our drop bags in the correct piles, checked in with Stuart (so good to see you!), and hopped onto one of the buses with only a minute or two to spare.  John Taylor politely moved over a seat so Rob and I could sit together.  I already had a stress headache.

The line of school buses chugged out of the resort and started along the two-hour drive to the starting line.  Rob and I tried in vain to sleep.  An hour and a half into the two-hour bus ride, Beth Simpson-Hall stopped the entire line of buses for a bathroom break.  She wasn’t the only well-hydrated runner.  Once the bus stopped, everyone spilled out to form a neat line along the side of the road (thank you Beth).

When the buses finally arrived at the start, we got to talk to other runners we knew in less of a panic: Louise Mason (happy as always), Beth Simpson-Hall (looking fantastic as always), Caroline Williams (bright and ready), Leonard Martin (rested and ready to run a new course), John Taylor (ready to put feet on trail), Mike Smith (calm as a smooth pond), Al Sauld (quietly waiting), Jen Foster (who had actually napped on the bus), Mun Sang Yue (excited to be there), and Dave Wakefield (way too nervous but ready to run fast).  Deb Johnson calmly checked us all in and both Paul and Stuart were there.

There was only one person missing – Jerry Frost.  He’d broken his neck in a bicycle accident a week or two before the race and though he would thankfully recover, he certainly wouldn’t be running today.  As disappointed as I was not to see him and get to run with him, it was a huge relief to know he was going to heal to run another day.  I decided to mentally carry him along with me since he couldn’t run like he wanted to.

How to Approach a New Race?  Start Slow

Stuart started us off in the dark.  We’d be running with headlamps for about half an hour.

Time to inventory the situation.  I hadn’t run once during the few weekdays since Javelina 100 because of work deadlines – not the best scenario but you do what you have to.  We’d run Javelina well – no real damage – and my hip flexor was the only thing a little tight.  It felt so good to run again!

The course looked to be gently rolling but I kept stumbling over little fist-sized rocks scattered underneath a thin cover of leaves.  The effect was like running on large marbles and it would surely take a toll over the course of the race if you didn’t pay attention.

I fell into line with John Taylor, talking about food and work.  John’s a vegan and I’m an ovo-vegetarian and we were both still trying, to no avail, to replicate a dreamy quinoa salad Mary Croft had handed to us at Superior Sawtooth 100 back in September.

Speaking of Superior, John took off and I ran for a bit with Gary, who I’d run some with at Superior Sawtooth two years ago.  Ozark was a very runnable course and while everyone else seemed to be taking off, he and I were both waiting to see what the course had in store before ratcheting up the pace.

I also ran with Jen Foster a bit, who told me about her record run of the Highland Trail in something like 62 hours.  Awesome story, plus, she got my plans to do the full length of another trail back on the front burner.  Hmm…

And then to my delight, I caught up with Lynn Saari.  We talked and laughed and the miles disappeared as a line stacked up behind us.  In fact, we got so wrapped up in conversation that we mis-navigated slightly across a powerline cut.  Everyone in the group we’d been holding up fanned out and in hash fashion, the group quickly figured out the way into the first aid station.

Grasshopper Hollow (8.0)

With all that good trail company, this aid station appeared way before I expected.  It was full of people and runners milling around, too much going on.  I got a drink, filled up my bottle and left as quickly as possible.

We’d had several miles to string out along the trail but there were still lots of runners ahead, though now only in groups of two’s and three’s.  After socializing on the first section, I really needed to focus on what I was doing and how I was running.  It was time to find some trail where I could stretch out at my own speed and settle into a comfortable pace.  A line from U2‘s Stuck in a Moment popped into mind “I’m just trying to find, a decent melody, a song that I can sing, my own company.”

I found some clear trail and my stride was just getting comfortable when the landscape changed.  This section must have been one of those hit by the windstorm back in May.  There were downed trees everywhere, huge root balls sticking up out of the trail, leaving pits where there had been trail.  It went on for miles, the trail swerving wildly around root balls and pits.  Work crews must have really sweated cutting all these trees.

Suddenly, I came upon John and another guy standing on the trail.  John had fallen right after the other guy, over the same vine, and gashed his palm open.  After discussing options I gave him one of Rob’s Smartwool gloves that I’d borrowed at the start.  Rob had mixed the gloves up, so I had two of the same hand.  I gave John one and kept the other, so Rob would have a matching pair, but it left John running with one glove the whole way. A little odd even by ultrarunning standards.

I met Beth and Mike, crossing a river.  Passing Beth worried me.  I checked to make sure I wasn’t running too fast.  Beth is NOT slow.

The view from Sutton Bluff was spectacular and it was fun running down the hill to the aid station.

Sutton Bluff (17.6 mi)

It was nice to see Larry Pederson, race director of Superior Sawtooth 100, at the aid station.  I wanted to talk more but needed to keep moving.  Someone said he was pacing a runner, so I hoped to see him later on the trail.

I climbed the gravel road out behind another runner.  Signs out of the aid station said “the pride lasts longer than the pain” and “pain is only temporary,” really macho slogans, then oddly “I have promises to keep and miles before I sleep,” complete with a Robert Frost sign off at the end.  The juxtaposition of tough and poetic was so funny, I had to laugh and the runner ahead of me knew immediately what I’d just read.  We laughed about it together for a while until I hit trail and moved on.

Finally some free and clear trail.  Body settled into a comfortable pace but mind wouldn’t.  Getting to the start, talking to friends, and settling into a good pace had all distracted from a big problem – I was burned out and it was hard to summon the motivation I wanted to have to be here.

It was hard not to think of all the things I’d put off and left undone for months.  Travelling to West Highland Way, Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc, Superior Sawtooth, and Javelina wouldn’t normally be a problem but it had all been blanketed by months of constant work to make the inaugural Cumberland Trail 50k happen, and happen well, along with a course on ultrarunning I taught for the University of Tennessee the weekend immediately after the Cumberland Trail 50k.  The one free weekend I’d had between the UT class and Javelina was consumed with CT 50k follow-up.  I simply hadn’t had time in months to breathe.  I was mentally worn out.

There’s no way you’re going to finish a 100-miler facing something like this.  I had to find a way to deal with it.  Physically, the course was very do-able and DNFing for mental fatigue was not an option.  I was way tougher than that but this was a tough problem.  You can’t just manufacture motivation.

It took a few miles but I found a way to deal with it.  I had to remember that this day would never come again.  I would never be here again, on this day, with these people in this weather under these circumstances.  Even if I were to be here in a fresher state next year, it would be different, and I didn’t want to wish this moment away.  Thinking about the future or something else I needed to do wasn’t going to get that other stuff done anyway.  It was just preventing me from enjoying what was all around.

Besides, in a couple of weeks, I’d be wising I was running another 100 and would regret not enjoying this while it was here.  I didn’t want to get home and not remember the race because I was thinking of other things the whole time.  I wanted to be able to remember this day well and smile about it.

So in the end, I put a box around the day and shut everything else out.  Let the rest of it go until tomorrow.  This was the last 100 I’d have the chance to run for a few months.

In all the mental wrangling, the Stillwell Hollow aid station came and went.  The next thing I knew, I was in Johnson Hollow and a better frame of mind.

Johnson Hollow (28.0 mi)

Paul was there to greet everyone at the aid station.  The day was starting to heat up and some of the runners who had taken off early were starting to go quiet.

This section went by quickly.  My right shoulder that had seized up at Javelina was starting to seize up again.  Massage didn’t help and changing arm swing didn’t either. The only thing I could do was switch my hand-held bottle to the left hand but even that didn’t bring relief.

The day was hot and the miles slipped by in a meditative trance, just me and the noise of leaves swishing underfoot.

Finally, I caught a toe and fell hard, bashing the more problematic of my two knees.  The kneecap was unhappy and a little bloody but wasn’t a show-stopper.  Still, the footing wasn’t that bad and I shouldn’t have fallen.  I have a full schedule ahead and this is was a damage-control race.  Ugh.  Pick up your feet!

With shoulder and knee both now hurting, I gave up and did something I normally don’t – took an Aleve, making a mental note not to be careless with hydration.

Carol’s Aid Station – Gunstock Hollow (34.8 mi)

Carol Izadi greeted me coming into Gunstock Hollow before I could even say “hi.”  It had been years since I’d seen her and we talked briefly about her running and Jerry’s condition.  She said with a big smile that she was getting back into running (good news!) and that Jerry was doing well and might be at the finish line to greet runners, though she’d rather he stayed home.  I remember the year I had to cancel from Massanutten because of a stress fracture. I hadn’t been able to make myself go watch the race and couldn’t imagine Jerry doing the same here.  It was hard.

Stuart was there helping out.  I’d packed a headlamp and night clothes in this drop bag, not knowing where I’d be at nightfall.  It was still sunny but I took the headlamp just in case, nibbled a bit, and drank extra fluids.  There were more night clothes packed in the next drop bag.

With all the trees down in this section, there was little cover from the sun.  Again like at Javelina, I figured a runner from the South should do well in the sun, so I did.

Until, somewhere in this section, the unusual hit me – gastro-intestinal problems.  It caused an unanticipated stop.  Definitely not good, probably something I ate and just a temporary problem.  No big deal.

A few miles later, to my surprise, I saw Jen Foster standing in a sunny curve of trail ahead.  She wasn’t feeling well but didn’t need anything I had on board and said she’d be fine.

I could identify.  My stomach was now either rumbling or nauseous or both and I was still feeling a little unstable GI-wise but it could be ignored.  I was still running well, stride felt great, and I passed a guy coming into Joan’s aid station.

Joan’s Aid Station – Brooks Creek (43.5 mi)

Joan saw me coming into this extremely crowded aid station before I could take in all the busyness.  I don’t get to see her often, so this was an aid station I’d been looking forward to.  She filled up my bottle and we talked about Jerry.  She also said he might be at the finish, though like Carol, she also wished he’d stay home.

My stomach didn’t seem to want much so I ate some Fritos and drank extra, while looking around.  There were lots of runners in the chairs, looking distinctly stationary.  Brad Birkholz, in particular, was sitting there scowling straight ahead.  I hoped he’d continue but it didn’t look like he was in the right frame of mind to head into the night.

The rest of my main night clothes were here but it was still hot so I only picked up an extra shirt and tied it around my waist.

Just after the first climb on this section, I fell again – this time in a hard body-slam that took my breath away and bent the thumb of the right hand holding my bottle back so far and painfully, it was surely broken.  A runner behind me asked if I was ok (darn, a witness) and I said yes, though it was hard to pick myself back up and pretend I actually was.  I’d broken a bone in the same hand one year at Massanutten and though it swelled ridiculously, it didn’t stop me from finishing.  After all, I wasn’t running on my hands.  Take a deep breath and get going.

There were a couple of runners nearby, all going about the same shuffly pace in the leaves, each in his or her own world of thoughts.  Soon, though, I heard talking.  A runner and someone that must have been his pacer came flying up from behind, running the hill I and the others were walking.  The pacer smiled brightly as he ran by.  They ran like front runners but if so, they shouldn’t have been behind me.  The runner looked like the one I’d passed coming into the last aid station.  Hmm.  Either the runner had really perked up or the pacer was doing a really bad job.

Not much later, dark descended.  With so little sleep all week and only three hours the night before the race, this would be the hard part.  I waited for the sleepiness to hit but was oddly okay.

A couple of hills later and I spotted two runners on the side of the trail.  One was standing and the other was sitting on a rock, head in his hands, elbows on knees.  I asked if they were ok, and the standing one turned to me, smiling and said that no, he indicating the runner on the rock, was having trouble and just needed to sit for a minute.  The speaker was the pacer from a few miles back, and the one sitting on the rock was the runner.  The pace must have caught up to him.  That’s a hard lesson to learn but an unforgettable way to learn it.

I went on with my own pace through the night but not long after, the sleepies attacked.  It took awhile to realize I was falling off pace and wobbling, even falling asleep while walking, just as I feared.  Ok, maybe I could think of something.  How many hours of dark did I have to go?

In the rush to unpack from the last race, work, take care of errands, and pack for this one, I had figured the night and day times to estimate where to stage clothes, but had never actually added up the hours of darkness.  The total now hit me now like a ton of concrete. This was going to be the longest night I’d ever run in a 100 – 13 long, dark, sleepy hours of it, and I was having serious trouble only a few hours in.  I knelt down on the side of the trail, staring at but not seeing the leaves in my headlamp beam.  There were plenty of other serious problems I could ignore or re-coup from but there’s nothing much you can do to stay awake on 9-mile sections of trail in the dark.  Despair entered my mind like a grinning devil.  A vision of not finishing flashed into mind. I might actually DNF here not from physical ability but from simple, preventable sleep deprivation.

The anger and frustration were strong enough to get me up and moving again.  “Keep going until they pull you.”

Sometime later, before the anger had worn off, I heard footsteps behind me.  A runner named Jeff caught me and passed me but I hung on and we started talking as we went.                     Slowly, a miracle occurred – I woke up.  My stomach was still unsettled but I was awake.  Jeff and the faster pace were my angels.  There was a way I could do this.  I just needed to run and have someone to talk to.

Highway DD (51.0 mi)

We made it to Highway DD.  It was still warm and I hadn’t put on the spare shirt, so I passed up the clothes in this bag.

Mun Sang came breezing into the aid station, looking great.  I was awake but my stomach was by now very upset.  I was down to eating only GU.  I bypassed the food and ducked out quickly into the dark.

This section went by slowly, with one notable event.  My GI problems returned and I made another unscheduled stop.  This time, there was clearly a serious problem.

Martin Road (59.2 mi)

Quick stop here.  No eating.  The diet was down to GU and not much else.

I was running by myself when I heard gunshots ahead.  The trail turned into dirt road and kept heading toward the gunshots.  My watch said it was midnight.  Who in the heck would be out in the middle of nowhere, shooting at midnight?  Best not to answer that one.

I was starting to think about slowing down for the gunshots (getting shot is not a good race strategy) when I saw a light off to the right.  Whoever it was wasn’t moving much.  The shooter?

The light bobbed around a bit, then the person wearing it walked into water and stood still.  What on earth?

As the light moved again, further into water, I finally realized it was another runner.  I was running on road and sure enough, moments later, the course took a sharp right toward a creek crossing.  I’d have certainly missed the turn if I hadn’t seen the other runner…who turned out to be Jeff again.

The trail wound around through the woods with several more creek crossings.  My headlamp was getting dim, which didn’t help keep me awake.  Worse than that, I was starting to chatter and slur my speech a bit in the cold.  Thank goodness there was a drop bag with a fleece sweater coming up.  Hold on, just hold on.

Hazel Creek (68.5 mi)

Jeff and I arrived here in the deep, freezing night.  I immediately grabbed my drop bag to put on clothes before I cooled down any more.

But there was no fleece and not much of anything else.  To my dismay, the drop bag only had a thin, long-sleeved shirt and an equally thin pair of socks.  No sweater, no jacket, no gloves, no hat.  My packing was atrocious, and my own fault.

But getting frustrated at bad packing would do nothing to get me to the finish line.  I did what I could.  I added the long sleeve shirt on top of the other one and used the socks as mittens.

The battery problem was harder to solve.  The bag held no options.  The extra batteries I thought I’d added weren’t there.  I hated to do it but asked Stuart if he had any extras.  Sure enough, he found some but said they were questionable.  Still, more comforting than nothing.

I slugged down a small V8 from my drop bag and crammed some more GU in my pocket while watching another runner stagger out.  Literally.  He was trashed.  People cheered him on but he didn’t look like he’d make it one yard, much less the seven miles or so into the next aid station.  I couldn’t believe he was leaving.

I scoured the food table. Nothing looked attractive to my horribly upset stomach except, possibly, one of my most forbidden delights – a donut.  I grabbed two powdered ones and headed out.

But I was just settling into the gentle climb leaving the aid station when I saw a runner coming toward me, in the wrong direction.  It was the staggering runner, going back to drop.  That was probably best.  A few yards later, though, I realized I’d forgotten my own water bottle.  I turned around to go back and get it, cussing the whole way, and passed Jeff who’d been right behind me.  We both agreed it was grim seeing another runner like that.

I eventually caught Jeff and we ran together, talking to stay awake.  It was his turn to get sleepy.  We got to a junction in the trail, didn’t see a marking, and took our best guess.  A minute or two later and we were in a grassy cul-de-sac with no clear way forward.  Sigh…  We retraced our steps and found the turn-off to the trail that we hadn’t even seen before, just as two other runners blissfully ran by in the right direction.

I felt okay running and tried to keep the two runners ahead of me in sight.  Jeff dropped back so I was on my own again but my headlamp beam was starting to dim to the point that I was getting sleepy and have a hard time spotting the rocks hiding under the leaves.  Stuart had advised me to wait as long as I could before changing batteries since he didn’t know if the batteries had a charge.  Well, it was time.

I did it in the dark, by feel, and pressed the button.  Voila.  It was like a switching on the sun itself.  I was delighted.  Why had I suffered and not tried them sooner?

Jeff caught up to me in the process and even he remarked on the improved light.  I’d lost the runners ahead but was able to stretch out and cruise into Machell Hollow with some relief.

Machell Hollow (75.1 mi)

It was nice to see John Muir, the captain of this station but I just wasn’t getting in enough calories.  My stomach was still queasy, even now with GU.  I tried a Raspberry Hammergel just to change out flavors.  It felt pretty stable in the tummy.

Jeff left a little before me.  We descended, then climbed a hill.  At the top, I could see his light ahead at about the 10:00 position.  I turned with the trail to head that way and in a few steps, lost the trail.  I stopped cold and scanned a 360 with my headlamp.  Nothing.  I’d have to back-track on the trail and try it again.

But looking back, I couldn’t even find the trail behind me.  I tensed up.  The trail was really only slightly beaten down leaves here instead of an obvious path.  I scanned my headlamp around but couldn’t even see where I’d come from.  Leaf cover looked the same in every direction and I couldn’t see any trail blazes, probably because I was off trail.  Very not good.  I took my best guess, going slowly and memorizing trees this time in case I’d guess wrong and get even more lost.  Finally, I spotted leaves that looked more trampled than the others and after careful review, was able to remember which way, left or right, I should be heading.  Thank goodness I inherited a good sense of direction.  Jeff’s headlamp was long out of sight.

Somehow, I caught and passed Jeff as the section went on and was running by myself when the trail made yet another deep creek crossing.  Grr.  My shoes had just dried from the last one.  I waded across, trying not to stir up rocks and silt that might get in my shoes.  The trail took an immediate right up a short bank and turned into two-lane dirt road.  Good, something easily runnable at night.  I settled into a pace and felt my feet start to re-thaw.

Suddenly, wham!  I was on the ground and had bent back the fingers on my good hand.  It hurt so bad, I just curled up and laid there for a minute in the cold, muddy dirt and leaves, smelling the earth and watching my breath in the headlamp beam.  I’d never fallen this much in a race and really wasn’t feeling good.

Miles down the trail, the sky began to lighten and I reached the out-and-back to the Berryman Camp aid station.

Berryman Camp (81.5 mi)

Potato soup.  Vegan, even.  My stomach and GI tract said “iffy” but it was worth a try.  I managed to down their last cup and a half and it felt like it might stay put.

One of the guys working the aid station said Stuart and Paul had extended cutoff and he outlined the times.  The math didn’t quite line up in my head but the bottom line was I could still easily make the original cutoff and that seemed like a good, honest goal.

On my way back to the main trail, there he was.  Rob was on his way in to the aid station, catching me as usual (even with bad IT band).  Not good for my ego, but it would be nice to have the company.

Still, dawn put me in the mood to run againand there was no reason to make it too easy for him to catch me.  Back on the main trail, it turned downhill with a perfect scattering of rocks.  There was enough light to safely turn off my headlamp and I stretched out to enjoy the trail.

At the bottom of the hill, though, a sharp wave of nausea engulfed me and I stopped to throw up (nothing).  This was definitely not normal for me.  I walked for a moment to recoup and the GI upset took over where the stomach left off.  Another stop with the same serious problem.  The race wasn’t that hard.  I was well hydrated.  What was going on?

No longer feeling perky I walked and waited for Rob to catch me.

And waited and waited, and called, waited, called, waited, called, waited…you get the picture.  Finally, at the top of a hill, I just sat down on the side of the trail in the warm morning light to wait.  He couldn’t possibly be too much further behind.  It was warming up, I was tired and there was no one around, so I decided – what the heck – to take a nap.  Ahhh.  I’d never done that in a race before.  Eventually, I woke up, heard voices and could see Rob and another guy coming from a ways off.  I yelled yet again and he couldn’t hear me over the leaves.  In fact, he didn’t even see me until he and the other guy were right next to me.

It was nice to meet up.  I was a little stiff and groggy but ready to run again.  We swapped stories about the race thus far, the miles disappearing while we chatted.

Then, bizarrely, we heard gunshots in the direction the trail was taking us.  Again?

What happened next was a definite first for me in any race, and hopefully a last.  The rifle shots kept sounding, one after another, as we kept heading toward them.  We were nearing a gravel road and I could see someone moving around a truck.  As we got closer, the source of the shots turned out to be four oriental hunters decked out in blaze orange, with one of them shooting repeatedly at something in the top of the pine trees above the trail in front of us.  They totally ignored us and we couldn’t go further without being in the line of fire so I finally stopped and yelled at them.  They still ignored us (or me?) but eventually stopped shooting and walked leisurely back to their truck.  They pointedly never acknowledged our presence, even though we were only five or so yards away from them.  Weird and alarming.  Getting shot is not on my list of acceptable reasons to DNF.  The whole thing was very surreal.

A mile or so later, as Rob and I hit a spot that looked just like part of the Zumbro 100 course, another wave of nausea hit and I threw up.  Thankfully, I was running fine without many calories and with so little to go, I knew from experience I could make it in just fine.  But I still had no idea what was going on.

We made it unscathed into the next aid station under pines on the side of a road up a hill.

Billy’s Branch (88.5 mi)

Chocolate-covered donuts.  I love donuts but I only have one once every couple of years.  Yet here was another whole container of petite, chocolate-covered ones.  The powdered ones had stayed down earlier, so maybe these would work.  My stomach would either love me or hate me.  I took two.

They sat grudgingly but they sat and they probably helped get me to the next aid station.

Henpeck Hollow (95.0 mi)

My stomach was still iffy and taking most of my concentration.  A couple of salty chips and a few jokes with the guy working this station and we were off.

It was going to be another glorious, warm day.  The leaves here were crisp and  crunchy.

Casey from Chicago caught us right about the time my body demanded yet another pit stop.  Whatever was going on was still going on, and the problem continued to be serious.  Everything else felt okay, and we were so close that I decided to continue.

The trail wound through high, dry woods with exceptionally noisy leaves, then through an up-and-down, side-angled section still marked off for the crews that had just made it.  My feet inexplicably started to feel like they wanted to blister, now of all times, when they were perfectly dry.  Traitors.

Then we hit the dirt road.  We’d been told it was either three or four miles.  I hopefully voted on three, Rob was depressingly sure it was four.  At any rate it seemed like forty but road always seems to do that for me.

It finally took us downhill into farmland.  At the bottom, the road crossed a short almost-bridge over a beautiful clear creek lined with a clean, light-colored round pebbles.  As we approached, a woman put in to canoe the creek.  What a wonderful day for it.

The markers took us along dirt road near the river.  We were down from the hills and this intuitively felt like we should be nearing the finish but neither of us now remembered what the Bass River Resort looked like.  There was a big cleared valley and something ahead surrounded by a white fence.  Fence?  I didn’t remember a white fence from the few minutes we’d been there before boarding the buses.  Neither did Rob.  Trees?  I thought the place had been surrounded with trees.  Rob didn’t.

Turns out it was the finish.  We ran the last bit to cross the line, greeted by Stuart and Paul but no Jerry.  It was disappointing not to see him there but that meant he was home healing, which was much better in the long run.  I’d rather see him healthy and running at the next race.

As always with a 100, it was wonderful to be off my feet but also tough to know the race was over.  This exact day with these people would never come again and it was wonderful to have enjoyed it.

So How Was It?

Reflecting back, the course is very runnable with plenty of crew access points and excellent aid.  Though most of the aid stations are what might be considered far apart, I ran it comfortably with one bottle in the heat, drinking extra at the aid stations.  It wasn’t groomed trail but it wasn’t terribly technical either.  The rocks under that thin cover of leaves took a toll.  And though this isn’t mountainous country, 100 miles is still 100 miles.  It’s still tough in it’s own sly way.

I came out of the race with a thumb on one hand an fingers on the other badly hurt.  My hip flexor muscle was also screaming afterwards, probably from slipping around on the rocks.  But as difficult as the hand injuries made life, the GI and stomach problems were more worrisome. I didn’t have chance to give them much thought until one day at work the following week.

I was teaching a class on causal analysis and on break, I started analyzing the race with the method I’d just taught.

Turns out, I’d had the same exact problems – both stomach and GI – at Javelina the weekend before but hadn’t noticed the extent of the GI problems because the race scenario is slightly different.  Since I’ve never had these problems, certainly not at the same time, in any race that I could recall, something made these two races different than the others.

Of course, it was so simple – the Aleve.  I’ve never taken one in a 100-miler before.  I looked up the symptoms online and there they were with words like “serious” and “fatal” under the heading “call your doctor at once if you have the symptoms of…”  That was one mistake I’d never make again.

All in all, the race was more of a challenge that I expected for unexpected reasons, but I learned a lot from it.  It was right to set those errands and undone things aside for one more weekend.  I wouldn’t have passed this race up for anything, and sure enough a couple of weekends later and I’d love to be back there again.  Can’t wait to run it again next year.

Posted: Thursday, November 26, 2009, 8:40 pm | Tags: Blog | Respond | Trackback