Trick or Treating and Training Session

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Uploading some photos this morning to my blog, my profile caught my eye.  I am not sure why it drew my attention today, but the sucker punch was anything but subtle. It was one of those moments that sneak up on me, feeling more like a bitch slap than a gentle nudge!   Waiting for the upload, two phrases blinked back at me. Ok, so some things have changed in my life and I neglected to update my blog.  As I read the words I am transported back to what used to be.  And the “used to be” compared to my current state is what shoves me headfirst into the empty spot of what once was. In my heart I know life changes every day, and change is good and unavoidable.  My problem with change is twofold.  One, I am not in charge of it.  Two, I am not in charge of how long it hurts.   I can accept change, I know it is necessary and inevitable. I spend many moments of my life accepting it by challenging myself with variety and coloring outside the lines.  It’s an illusion which pacifies me most days.

One of the words which jumped out at me this morning was skydiving, which until recently I had held out hope of doing again.  Maybe not fully licensed, but even a couple of solo jumps just to satisfy my love of the freefall and the thrill of navigating terminal velocity.  Having not been able to jump in ten years because of the physical risk. I have held out for the day I might. My style is to accept limitations with all of the grace of a 2 year old in full tantrum.  Even when I hold it together on the outside, on the inside I am belly down, arms and legs swinging, wailing and screaming “NOOOOOOO”.  The word limitation and disability make me want to punch someone in the head.  I’m aware of how childish that is, but if you are looking for real, there it is.  Recently I have had to accept that the chances of me being under canopy again are slim to none. 

Early on in life we learn the silly game of crossing our fingers behind our back while saying an untruth, as though it has some kind of magic power to forgive and protect us.  My verbal version of this is “for now”.  It’s a ridiculous game I play, like someone else seeing your fingers crossed while they know you are lying to them.  It makes me feel better to say “for now” even though I know it might not be true.  It gives me relief from the absolute of saying never again.  So in fairness I should remove skydiving from my profile list, but that seems so permanent.  Though I have gotten up off the floor and stopped kicking and screaming, I will concede to no skydiving for now. 

After I lost Tanner this summer.  I was not exactly in a frame of mind to focus on the details and my blog profile.  My heart was broken and it still aches when I think about the hole he left behind.  When asked how many dogs I have, I still say three. Then I catch myself modifying to “two” and sometimes, not wanting to acknowledge he isn’t here anymore, I don’t bother to modify.  Explaining that I used to have three creates a lump in my throat making me incapable of speech or breathing.   So I let it go.  Soon I will have three dogs again and I am not sure how I will feel then.  It won’t be automatic to say four, yet Tanner will be in my heart as I answer, just as Bella still is.  I know it is just words on a screen yet I am reluctant to change it, so I leave it.  For now.

For now, I have two dogs and skydiving is not an option for me.  Like any other change, like any loss, living the moments are hard.  Even when it is re-living them.  The truth is when I was skydiving I wasn’t a runner.  And I spend far more time running than I ever did jumping, and I have traveled the world and met a world full of amazing people.  When I lost Bella, I wound up with two amazing dogs, who give me more joy and love than I thought possible.  The holes don’t stay empty, they get filled with other pieces of life and love.  And what they have been filled with has exceeded what I could have imagined.  As the holes have been filled, I have come to learn two very important things.  Knowing something else will come along and taking up some of the space, doesn’t do one damn thing for the ache I feel in the present as I walk through the moments.  The hole doesn’t exactly get filled in the same spot, it’s somewhere alongside of it. While it covers some of the emptiness, the trace of the is just visible enough to remind me of the ache.  It’s a faint outline of what used to be,  but it gives me the guts to say for now as I cross my fingers and move on.  

Fall Beauty in the Woods

There is no place I would rather train than on a trail, miles away from any noise or distractions.  I love taking deer trails just to see where they go and I love the thrill of discovering new places.  Yesterday was a perfect fall day to hang out in the woods exploring and spending time with my best friends.

Fall trail run photos

Lessons from a Little Boy and a Day at the Farm

 

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Although I always feel meloncholy as summer fades with the color of the leaves, I look forward to several October traditions.  A trip to the Little Farmer is one I get most excited about even after 15 years.  Luckily I got to bring Kaden this year and every corner of the farm becomes a new experience when shared with a 4 year old.

I was reminded of a couple of important lessons though....

Trust   
             Part 1. An old metal trough turned into a sink still looks like farm equiptment to a child and convincing him it was ok to wash his hands in it was quite a trick.  Finally after seeing it in action, he relented and had fun with it.  In his mind, he was not about to jump into something that didn't quite look right, he needed a bit more proof.
           Part 2.  There is a picture (above) of Kaden in full leap into my arms from the hay bale.  If you had been watching you would have seen the process of figuring out whether the giant stacks were sturdy.  After some physical proof, he decided he would climb them but with my help.  I was thrilled when it took only a few more minutes for him to start climbing on his own, scrambling to the top and yelling "Look at me".  The picture of him mid-leap doesn't tell the whole story, the story of promises.  To catch him, to promise him I wouldn't let him fall and to repeat each promise twenty times.  The look on his face as he jumped was priceless.  Lips scrunched and twisted, fierce concentration and blind trust.  I felt a twist in my chest part admiration for his bravery in jumping and part validation because there is nothing like the blind trust of an animal or child to make you feel like the best person in the world!
            Part 3.  Don't trust the weather forecast when you are heading to a farm and the storms are supposed to go around you.

Get Wet! 
 We could hear the thunder for a bit before it got to us and with the first couple of rumbles I didn't think too much of it.  My brother (also star photographer for the day) pulled up the radar and it still looked like it shouldn't be much of an issue.  The rumbling claps got a bit louder and the clouds a bit darker so we decided to head to the bakery barn but only after promising five times we would come back to the hay bales.  On our walk over to the bakery, the skies opened up and the words that come to my mind are torrential and downpour.  It was the kind of rain that forces you to pull over, because even the wipers can't keep up.  We made it to the barn which isn't a bad place to wait since it is filled with apples, pies and muffins.  Once our shopping was done, we tried waiting for  a bit along with too many other people under a small section of roof that jetted out toward the orchard.  As we waited, a tug on my hand pulled my attention down and Kaden timidly told me how much fun it would be to splash in the puddles and  play in the rain.
I knew what he meant, although now in my 40's,  one of my favorite times to run is when it is raining.  There is something soothing and magical about the feel of it, so whenever possible I grab my shoes and go.

My immediate response was "go for it!"  After checking my face to make sure I was serious he stuck his head out, then pulled back in.  Again, he tested the feel and stayed out a bit longer.  Then with one more encouragement from he, he was out and splashing, stomping,  and running in an effort to get as wet as possible.  Standing there watching him giggle and play having the time of his life, made me smile along with every adult standing there watching.  I had anticipated his next move, grabbing my hand and pleading with me to join him.  Grabbing him in my arms, flipping him over face to the sky I told him his goal was to catch as many raindrops with his mouth as he could.  He laid on his back as I ran him in a circle and the smiles on his face is printed in my heart forever.  Mouth wide open, half smiling and half catching, giggling and sticking his tongue out all at once, it was one of those moments which gets captured forever for him and for me.

 My mom sitting under the awning commented that when she was a kid, she used to love to play in the rain.  She could even remember where they went to play and what they did, telling the story with a smile on her face. As I thought about it later, smiling with the memory I thought about all the adults standing there smiling at him as we splashed.  No one joined us in our silly game of catching the raindrops, but I didn't expect them too.

I am sure for many the rain put an end to their day or ruined what their hopes had been for it.  Stopping by the animal pen one more time before we left I was wet and cold with a tiny hand holding mine asking why the goats were hiding and didn't they know how much fun it was to splash.

With no logical answer for his questions, I made up silly little boy answers and in the squeeze of his hand, felt the squeeze of my heart.  Through my sogginess and chill I was never more grateful that somehow I haven't grown up enough to join the other adults under the awning.  As adults many of us do a good job of talking about living life and finding time for the playful moments.   It can't be done under the awning and sheltered from the storm.

Celtic Traverse Pictures

50 Miles-Is It Really Worth It?

50 & done! 

Last night, getting the soreness worked out of my aching muscles, my massage therapist commented “I could never run 50 miles”.   I am never sure I can either,  I have the same fear each time I make my way to the start line.  I doubt whether I have what it takes, and as I look at the runners around me, am sure any minute someone is going to figure out that I don’t belong here.  More often than not I am pretty sure there is no way in hell I can do what I have signed up for.  But  then as I cross the line, my body starts to move, arms and legs pumping,  and I know nothing will make me stop before I have marked each mile.  And although throughout the day my brain creates  fantasies of finding honorable ways out, justified reasons to quit, I don’t.
Saturday morning as I took my place near the inflatable red arch,  I was more nervous than usual.   Because of  an unpredictable day at work,  I left later than I wanted.  The drive, normally two hours now stretched out even longer and I arrived at the store with less than ten minutes before pack pick up closed.  Dinner was a necessity, but taking the time for a decent meal also meant  by the time  I checked into my hotel it was after 8:30. The  race start was 5 am, my hotel was a half hour away from the start line, and  I still needed to organize my gear and supplies for morning.  Every few minutes I found myself obsessively recalculating how much sleep I was going to get. My heart rate hit the red zone every time I did the math as the hour got later.   My mental checklist of race morning racing through my head,  I realized I had forgotten one of my bags at home.  A quick trip to Target just as they closed would have to do, and I said a quick  prayer that I didn’t need anything else from the bag, still hanging on the back of my dining room chair.
And that is how I arrived at the start line.  Less than four hours sleep, stressed,  wanting to be a runner and afraid I wasn’t.  Pulling in to the park, the glow of the official start line barely visible through the hazy darkness it was impossible to get my bearings.  Feeling lost,  the dark and fog wrapped around me, adding to my apprehension.   The air was so wet that despite my layers I was chilled and the dampness settled heavy  in my lungs,  my chest thick.  Making my way through the wet grass I could hear the announcer’s overly- caffeinated voice  yelling  we had  7 minutes before go time.  Ok, so much for warming up or one last bathroom stop.  Choking down a bowl of oatmeal  during the thirty minute drive,  it now sat heavy on my stomach,  alongside the fluttering.
  I reached up to touch my headlamp several times to make sure it was there.  I was reassuring myself as I fumbled with my gloves and watch, but also because it had been  underlined and bolded in the course guide,  not having one was immediate disqualification.  The open area, lit for the countdown was fairly crowded by ultra standards.  A few minutes later  the voice from the mic counted back from 10 and we were off.  The sounds of heavy breathing, footsteps  and random conversations  mingled together creating an odd mixture with the silent blackness of the trail.  With a couple hundred  headlamps the  path was easily visible and the occasional flash of a photographer’s camera was blinding at times.  It didn’t take long before I found myself between groups of runners.  Despite the early hour  being alone is normally fine with me and most often I prefer it.   This time though,  I found something else as I separated from those in front of  and behind me. The trail seemed darker than it should be and  I chalked it up to my one light versus the light of a pack.  It didn’t take long to realize my light was not so light.  In my haste to get everything ready and hoard a few extra minutes of sleep, I had not checked the batteries.  Now I was in between groups of other runners, wanting to catch the group in front of me but not willing to slow down to wait.   Officially daybreak was  6:15 am but in the middle of the woods it arrives a bit later. Forced to slow my pace, and  frustrated  knowing it would be a while before daylight, I adjusted felt my way through the darkness.  Although falling was a concern, I was more worried about a race official.  I didn’t want to get pulled from the day without getting a chance to really be in it.  Trying t blend with other runners, I stumbled once, coming down partially but catching myself quickly and without any damage.  Later on I wouldn’t be so lucky.
Just short of the aid station at mile 11 I went down hard.  I thought I went down knees first, but later, tracing the trail of bruises from my chest bone  to my knees to my ankles I realized I had belly flopped, hitting all parts equally.   I wish knew what I tripped on, but one minute I was running and the next I was face down in the dirt pain shooting through every cell of my body. I laid there,  every part of me hurting, tears trickling down my face  and I thought about just quitting. For a brief moment I fantasized about being done and going home.  Another runner came up behind me, because in the twisted law of running karma , it’s important when you are face down and chewing dirt that at least one person witnesses  it.
 “You okay?”
Where I got the strength to jump to my feet I will never know, but pride is a powerful  thing.  “Yep, I’m good”.
 From somewhere in my brain I could hear “Liar” being screamed.   “Your knees are bleeding, you can’t breathe and your arm feels broken.  You want to cry like a baby and call for your mommy, you are NOT ok” .
Being  very careful to disguise any limp while the other runner, who was clearly not believing my springy “ok”  was still there, I dusted myself off.   “You sure?”  he was still doubtful.
  My brain and my mouth were now on the verge of snarling “Get the hell out of here so I can stop pretending  .  Shoving back the feral instinct,  I smiled  and making sure my voice was steady, assured him I was fine.  He finally moved on still not appearing to believe me, but thankfully he was moving  faster than me at that point,  which meant  I could slow down a bit once he was out of sight.  Holy Mother of Pearl, I felt like I had been hit by a truck.  I wanted to look at my knees but was afraid seeing them would trick my brain into thinking I needed to quit. And so as long as I could keep running, I was going to keep moving forward.  Running was a relative term at that point, but self-perception can be a delusional partner.
Downhill’s are one of my strengths as a runner.  I usually make up quite a bit of time,  not afraid of picking up speed and rolling with gravity.  I quickly realized I needed to readjust my strategy. My knees felt as though they had balloons in them, and  screamed in protest as I tried to use momentum heading down a hill.  For the next forty miles I proceeded to  toe pick my way  downhill every time I hit a decent.
Frustrated with Murphy ’s Law kicking my butt all day I could have found reasons to quit.  I hurt, I was frustrated and there was no chance of hitting my goal time.  I was struggling.  It is these moments that I ask myself the same question so many have asked me “ why am I doing this? “
Running is such a paradox, given how much of life is spent trying to achieve certainty and security.  Most of us spend large parts of our life trying to achieve a state of balance and stability.  We work to buy things that make us feel secure and successful.  We avoid pain and spend time altering our emotional states with food, alcohol, caffeine, other drugs, work, shopping, internet and many more things.  The list of ways to avoid pain, to distract from our discomfort.  Ironically, we often create more discomfort trying to avoid the pain of uncertainty. Running is really about pushing yourself headlong into the unpredictable and the pain.
I remind myself often that discomfort is a teacher and the lesson is found only if I stay with the experience.  I don’t believe in self-punishment but sometimes if we just sit with the moment, we learn the most from those particular moments.
Running requires a tolerance for instability, flexibility and withstanding the mental and physical tug of war.  The discomfort has to be tolerated and at times even embraced or none of us would ever get to the start line. Every run is different and some days everything feels great and other days for no good reason it’s all wrong.  “Is it really worth it?”  is one of the questions I am asked most often and I have yet to come up with a simple answer. I have lots of answers, all true though.
My  list so far:
• Because once I couldn’t.
• Because I can.
• Because I get to.
• Because I am grateful.
• Because I love it.
• Because it keeps me sane.
• Because I love losing myself on the trails for hours with my dogs.
• Because I feel strong.
• Because it gives me a sense of power and certainty in all itss uncertainty.
• Because once someone said I couldn’t.
• Because it is better than drinking, smoking, shopping, gambling, (fill in the blank with anything else).
• Because it reinvents me each and every time.
• Because when I am running I can’t feel worthless or weak, those thoughts can’t exist together.
• Because it is one of the few ways I can relax into not knowing if I am ok, if the world is ok, or what the hell will come my way later in the day or week, but for the moment I get to breathe in the moment and not care.
• Because in those moments I am authentically me and that is all I care about.
• Because after a couple of hours of running, the only thing I have energy to do is to experience the one moment I am in, one foot in front of another.  It’s the closest to Zen I will ever get.
• Because out there no matter what happens I can’t cling to a plan, I have to be flexible and roll with what happens and change my plan and adapt moment to moment.
• Because we get one life to live, the minutes are ours to spend and I have never ever regretted the minutes I spent running.
It’s a lot like everyday life. Running reminds me that when I resist all the things which are beyond my control, I feel more afraid. When I let go and relax I move smoother and the whole world seems to have less resistance.  When I lean in to all those variable hurtling my way, my life and my running flows.  Despite all the moments we spend attempting  to predict and manage the world around us, life is hardest and best when we are facing our fears and letting go.

North Face Endurance Challenge: Start Line

Cold and dark 5 am start for North Face Endurance Challenge.  The 50 mile started early, with start line temp of 43!  

Change in Hindsight

I start most mornings with an amazing view of a sunrise from my front porch,  and on the days I am lucky enough to get home early enough a spectacular sunset from my deck.  Some days the scene looks the same and others, such as this week near the full moon, the colors and display are incredibly vivid and beautiful.  
Although I am mindful of being lucky enough to have this amazing place to be, ability to move my body as I run with my dogs watching the sun rise, the days still seem to tick by with a speed which is dizzying. The calander or this week the full moon reminds me the days have now formed a chunk of time, another chapter to mark events and life by.  

 Have you ever had the experience of being completely mindless, the one where you get to work and can't remember the drive there? Some days I feel as though I have made one of those drives through an entire week.  And then I begin to worry that life is passing me by, the chunks of time somehow moving so fast I miss them. 
We have a tendency to lump these chunks together, it is what we do as humans.  Yet the days, months and years are made up of a million moments which pass through leaving memories, biology and psychology in their wake. 
This morning as I watched the moon, a beautiful orange globe, framed in the black of the pre-dawn horizon, I realized I was doing it right.  I am naturally intense in my personality and I tend to get caught up in trying to capture every moment and somehow imprint it in my mind and my heart to save forever.  Yet as I looked watched the  moon moving this morning, without being able to see it move, I realized taking the time to sit and appreciate it,  is all I really need to do.  I don't have to do it better than that, just stopping and noticing.  
In the next 30 days, I plan to do something that's been on my "to do" list for quite some time.  I am going to take a photograph every day, just one, just one of my "moment" whether it's my view, my dogs, or anything else that makes me stop and look, taking in the moment.  I am not going to worry about the pictures being perfect or even good, just an acknowledgment of the moment.  If I had to guess I would say my notebook will have mostly pictures of my dogs, trails and the horizon. I look forward to looking back in hindsight and seeing how the chapter comes together.

Happiness

A Jeep ride with one of my girls, music playing, sun shining, her paw resting on me the whole way. Feeling loved!

Hitting the trails by 6 am on Sunday morning means I have them all to myself and the lake too. The stillness of the world is my peace.  

Results Final and Posted

Official Results

Ireland, Part I

In the mist and early morning blanket of gray which had settled heavily in the air, I could barely make out my rocking chair as I slowed my pace and pulled back slightly on the two leashes tethered to my waist.  Always happy to have a few more minutes of their run both dogs immediately wandered into the grass, absorbing themselves in the aromas and clues left behind overnight.  This far in the country it was a morning smorgasbord for their acute senses.

The mist and light fog clung to my skin, mixing with my sweat and hanging heavily on me, adding to the already significant emotional weight I carried.  It suited my pensive mood, which I had been trying to shake for days now.  The inner scolding in my head had been waging a constant war with my heart which chided me, and reminded me to be grateful for my upcoming trip.  Ireland was known to be a beautiful and mystical country, and I would be connecting with girlfriends I had not seen in far too long.  Yet I couldn’t quite feel in my heart what my mind was telling me I should be feeling.  In the furthest part of my heart there was a piece of me that didn’t want to go. 

In the weeks leading up to my trip, in the moments I should have been focusing on other things, important things I found myself ruminating over my inner turmoil and conflict.  How could I not be excited?  It had not been easy for me to swing this trip and I had had to work hard to make it happen. 

I carried out internal opening and closing arguments every day.  I always ran through the same checklist.  Was I afraid of a catastrophe, a plane or bus crash?  Nope.  Long ago tired of my desperate need to control the world around me, I had given up those large pieces of “what if” which are silly to even worry about.  Unless I am flying the plane or driving the bus I no longer allow myself to worry about it, because in the end it is not in my control anyway.   Ironically enough this epiphany happened as my knees pressed into my chest, jammed in the back of a Cessna, climbing to 10,500 feet.  My heart was pounding so hard I could feel the movement on my knees and as I tried to talk myself out of being too afraid to jump, I realized all the decisions were out of my hands already except that one.  Jumping was the only thing I had to worry about.  The pilot was in charge of the plane, the chute had been packed and I didn’t possess enough skill to do either anyway.  So the only thing I was in charge of was jumping and then staying in my head to make sure I deployed and landed safely.  This imaginary box I drew around what I could do was life changing and thankfully it has translated into other areas of my life as well.  Giving up control on that visceral of a level is either crippling or liberating and for me it was the latter.  Was I afraid of the run?  There was a piece of me which was apprehensive however I had the comfort of knowing I could drop my status to a lower distance, and that some of the other girls were likely going to do this as well.  So although I had not run since June 1, almost four weeks earlier, I wasn’t overly concerned about this either.  Which by the way, if rational is the benchmark, this should have been it.  A stress fracture in my foot which popped up only two weeks before I was to leave should have been the primary source of my angst.   Maybe, I thought, it was connected to being overtired and burnt out from long hours and little time off, with work and financial stressors at an all-time high.  But, I argued to myself, then I should have been looking forward to the break, and all I felt about being away from work was a slight sense of relief and a strong sense of apathy.

 In my daily introspect I could identify only one area which produced strong emotions and this was my dogs. 

In the four weeks since I lost my buddy of 14 years, my heart was still fragile when I thought of Tanner and experienced the daily reminders of his absence and how much I missed his big steady presence.  Ellie, my fierce and fragile rescue dog, shares an emotional enmeshment with me which is, I admit is uncanny most times.  She will mimic my facial expressions, she never leaves my side, she knows I am coming twenty minutes before I get home, and she refuses to leave her den for anyone else.  Maggie, my adorable little moppet of brown curls and tongue hanging out, loves the world.  However earlier this year when I was in Colorado she didn’t eat the entire time I was gone.  For any pain I have ever had in my life, my dogs provide the faith and love and healing which only unconditional, truly unconditional love can.  They give me safety, protection, significance and remind me daily to share with them the joy of the moment.  Ok so that was part of it, but it wasn’t IT.  And no matter how many times I returned to the loop, trying to unbundle the pieces which had now become woven so tightly together, I couldn’t come up with the answer.  I knew I would know it when I did, I knew it would resonate within me and then I would experience relief at the certainty of the answer and the promise of a solution.  Because surely as soon as I knew what it was which was creating this sensation of exposed and raw nerve endings, then I could find a way to address it sensibly and move forward with my trip and feel the way I knew I should. 

I write this in retrospect, having now returned from Ireland and am abashed at how myopic my vision was.  I truly was blind to the opportunity and experience I was about to encounter.  I am not always this nearsighted, my only defense, flimsy as it is, is the trials of the last two years. 

Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs describes a pyramid with the base level consisting of food, water, shelter.  Only as you reach this and each successional layer can you realize self-actualization which includes fulfillment and contribution. It is my true nature is to live with a focus on self-actualization, the traits of this being a strong part of my value system and my daily discipline.  Yet, as it often does, life took a spin for me these last two years and the series of changes and life changing events had left me reeling and moving through my days with rote and routine.

What I couldn’t have known as I vainly attempted to diagnose my pensive state was how much I needed this and how much the world was about to come barging in and remind me of who I used to be and how much I had forgotten who that was. The pieces of me which I had lost along the way and at times just let go of were still there.  It took traveling across an ocean, running beyond what most consider possible and opening myself to the very real possibilities of being hurt, feeling vulnerable and facing what I had allowed to happen to myself.  And as so often happens, along with the progress comes pain and lessons which defeat me in the moment but strengthen every part of me eventually.  As only retrospect can do, looking back with the clarity of hindsight, I am grateful beyond what words can describe for my trip to Ireland. 

300 Complete!

 

 

Impossible is what I thought heading into the Celtic Traverse 300k.  Physically I was sure it was impossible for me given the timing.  Something so challenging on any day, with the limitations I had heading in and the circumstances I had been dealing with.  I promised myself to take it day by day and just run as much as I could each day.  And I did, running the full distance of the 300k all six days.  I was third overall and first place female.  I struggle to stop myself from making jokes about how slow everyone else would have been, because I detest bragging.  But I know to do this would be rude to the other people who ran and also minimize that I started this race with a significant injury.  I am proud of myself personally but most of all feel grateful that somehow and someway I was able to be there and do this race.  More to come later on how incredibly life changing it was for me.  For now I need to rest up for 50 mile event this weekend.  I should be dreading it after doing 50k for 6 days in a row, but I am excited!!

Answering Questions About a 100 Mile Run

A little over a  week has passed since I crossed the finish line of the Kettle 100.

I am still fielding questions and believe me I understand the challenge of wrapping your head around a 100 mile run.  My mom mentioned in a conversation that it was difficult to imagine running that far and I understand what she means.  Even though I physically did it, it is still hard for me to wrap my head around that kind of distance.  In my head it doesn’t seem like it was that long and to be honest, there was no point out there where it felt that long.

Here are some of the most common questions.

Do you stop at night to sleep?  No!  Stopping was a constant temptation.  The bonfires that were going to keep crew members warm were tempting and the hard plastic chairs looked as inviting as my bed ever has.  As much as every cell in my body screamed for a break,  I knew allowing myself a rest would be more than a break.   

The urge  became a battle in my head the last few hours.  If you could have recorded my internal thought process I would have qualified for any number of diagnosis, and my sanity was no longer in question.  It was just nowhere to be found.  I seemed to be stuck in a loop of the same thoughts over and over with the same rebuttal and argument.  “Stop, rest”.  “Just keep moving,  don’t stop”.   Repeat that at least one trillion times and that was my thought process for the final 15 miles.

Do you eat?  Yes, at least at first.  I had everything carefully planned out, labeled, sorted, marked, organized into bins, times and aid station marked.   I had calories, mg of sodium and hydration marked out hour by hour. Part of running this distance though it the necessity of flexibility. We have had a cold spring here in Wisconsin and my last long run three weeks ago was in rain, sleet and 30 degrees.  At the start it was already over 70 degrees,  the humidity was 80% and climbing.  We have had high amounts of rain which  meant the trails and woods were wet and humid, and the air was tropical even at 6 am.  Within the first hour I knew my initial estimates for sodium was not going to be enough, so I doubled my intake.  This worked OK, but by 4 pm, about 10 hours in, my body started refusing calories.  With a long way to go I knew this could be an issue, so I quickly came up with a new goal.  To make it through the race without vomiting. Judging by what I saw at aid stations a lot of runners were not so fortunate.   Nutrition from that point on was sporadic at best, it was a constant balance of trying to get something in me and to figure out what might stay down.  As long as I kept up my hydration and sodium I thought I could make it through.   As evening approached the aid stations started providing broth which would turn out to be a lifesaver for me, and just under the 100k mark, one of the stations had perky volunteers making grilled cheese!  It was the best sandwich ever!  

How do you run that distance?  Early in the day, I was surprised multiple times when I looked at my GPS.  The course, although extremely difficult was beautiful and I was feeling good.  I remember looking down several times and being completely surprised to see another 5 or 6 miles had clipped by.  It was clipping by and I was enjoying every moment of it.  Part of my strategy mentally is just running from aid station to aid station which makes it feel like a bunch of shorter runs clumped together.  The camaraderie of ultra-runners is also amazing and even though most of us were out there running on our own, there is a genuine encouragement versus competitiveness among runners.  Whether it was someone coming back on a loop meaning they were really far ahead of me or someone I was passing, no one ever passed without an encouraging comment.  I was shocked and surprised that I didn’t hit a wall until after the 100k mark. The training I had done had prepared me well.  Through the night as my pace slowed,  I kept trying to figure out what was wrong.  I had slowed down, I was tired and cold and the miles started to feel really long.  In my head I caught myself a hundred times trying to determine if it was an issue of fuel or hydration.  Then I would laugh at myself realizing that at 3 am after running for 21 hours, it wasn’t any of those things.  I was just tired!!  And then 5 minutes later I would be mentally checking my list of what I had taken in, trying to figure out why I was falling short.  Mental smack. “ You are just tired, you should be tired.  Oh yeah.”  Repeat.

The race was officially 100.8.  On any normal day .8 is not a big deal.  The last few hours of the morning though, I had fantasies of stopping exactly at 100 miles and making them move the finish line to me. 

Would I do it again?  Without a doubt.  Despite the pain, the fatigue, the challenges that come with it there  is nothing quite like it.  It is sense of pushing myself in a way I will never be able to put into words and a feeling of empowerment which is priceless.   It is a sense of coming face to face with your deepest layers and your deepest fears.  It is facing them, acknowledging them and knowing that no matter what they are you will be OK and you have what it takes.  It is a personal accountability and a personal challenge to survive the highs and lows and to know you can go from heaven to hell and back again, but in the end smile as you hit the finish line. 

Pictures from kerrie

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