Hallucination 100 Mile--RR

I just had to know.

From 5k to 100k, I’ve learned about what all of the various different running distances are like and how to best prepare for them. Each has it’s own unique charm, challenges and rewards. But after 7 years of running there was one thing missing, one final unknown to discover in order to truly complete my running portfolio. And it was the biggest test of all. I had to do a “hundo”.

The course at Run Woodstock, 16.6 miles of single-track, rail-trail and dirt roads is one that I’m familiar with from previous races of 50k and 50 mile distances. So I knew what to expect…except, you never really know what to expect in a 100 mile. One surprise was how small of a factor “running” was in the grand scheme of things. Another was the seemingly large difference there was between laps 1-3, and 4-6.

Last year (2012) was a lost year due to injury, but my strategy of doing at least 90% of my running this year strictly on Trails Only had been paying nice dividends—zero injuries, good strength from the hilly terrain at Holly Rec. Area, and several solid race performances including the Dirty Burg 50k and Old Farts Marathon. I also did a Lot of 3 mile walks during my lunch hour at work which I felt had good benefits. It’s all about Specificity Of Training in this sport and I knew I’d be doing a lot of walking during this race. My weekly mileages got up into the 30-40 range with 1 or 2 weeks in the low fifties—a pretty significant amount for me, but not nearly enough for a successful 100 mile on this moderately hard trail course. As September came around I had to make the decision, and since I was feeling so good at the time, I decided this was as good a chance as I was ever going to get.

So I signed up the Friday before the race……and two days later I developed a serious back problem. It was a steady ache all through my lower back, I couldn’t sit for any period of time in my car, on a couch or on my chair at work. And sleeping became a nightmare because it was impossible to get comfortable enough to be able to get to sleep. At it’s worst I remember using 4 pillows—one for my head, one under my hip, and two between my legs. Curiously the only time this nagging back ache went away was when I was walking. So there was some hope. But still, battling a severe back ache for the first time in my entire life was clearly not the ideal way to spend the 5 days leading up to my first 100 miler.

I slept fairly well the night before, then arrived early for the race Friday early afternoon, killing time by reading about the Barkley Marathons, thinking if I read about how miserable it could be for those runners then it might lessen the blow for me. The pre-race meeting was at 3pm, followed by 45 minutes of nervous fidgeting and final preparation until 4pm finally arrived and the race began.

Everything felt great the first loop. I purposely made a concerted effort to try to run the loop at a very easy low/medium pace, one that I felt I could keep up later in the race if I had to (I’d read somewhere that this was a good pacing strategy, to run the same pace that you could run later in the race). Despite running it as softly and lightly and gently as possible I finished in about 3:40, by far my fastest loop.

 (At this point I feel I should mention, it was suggested to me that I leave out of my race report the issues I had with chafing; all I’m going to say is, I started having problems with it at the end of loop one, it continued to affect me the rest of the race, it got so bad I literally cut the liner out of my shorts at one point, and I now know there are very few things in life, if any, worse than “burning ‘junk’”. Very few. Trust me.)

For the second loop, out came the headlamp and flashlight. Still felt good, just a little fatigue as I got around the 25 mile mark, getting re-acquainted with running in darkness. I started getting more noticeably bothered by pebbles in my shoes, but whenever it was necessary I stopped, shook out my shoe(s) and continued. This loop went by pretty uneventfully in about 4:15 or so. Things looked promising.

Third loop that old familiar leg-fatigue began to settle in more in earnest, but I was still running, felt very fresh otherwise and had no issues with sleepiness. At this point I started to really believe that yes, I might actually be able to do this. However towards the end of that third loop I started to feel the effects of having run 50 miles and being up for about 20 hours. Part of the ebb & flow of ultras. Highs & lows. An ultra’s like, a roller-coaster baby baby.

I started to develop a hot spot on the ball of my right foot, enough so that I decided to do some maintenance before heading out for loop 4. When I inspected my foot I saw a Lot of caked sand in there, which clearly was causing the issue. After cleaning the area I couldn’t tell if I had a full-blown blister yet, but just in case I put a band-aid on the affected spot and then wrapped a strip of duct tape around it. This was my first experiment with running with a duct-taped foot, and as I would soon find, not a particularly good one.

Still as I started my fourth loop the foot felt pretty good, and perhaps because of some chicken soup, other various food (trail mix) and 2 glorious ibuprofens, I headed out feeling amazingly well. I think at this point I had fully decided that yes, this was the day—come hell or high water I was going to finish this race and earn that coveted belt buckle. Still I held back my pace and made a conscious effort not to push it, fully knowing I had many miles to go, but at least at that time I felt like a million bucks there at 5am.

Sure enough, half-way through that 4^th loop I hit another deep low and was reminded that this would not be easy and really all bets were off.  Plus I was getting really sick of the night running. Fortunately the dawn soon came around that time and at least I didn’t have to deal with the artificial-light-aided running anymore.

The second half of the fourth loop I started my “death-waddle”. (If your junk isn’t burning then it’s simply a “death-walk”, but if it’s burning like mine was then it’s a death-waddle, but enough about that) Complicating things were the hundreds of 50 milers, 50k’ers, marathoners and half-marathoners who started their races Saturday morning and were now sharing all or some of the same trails. It reached a point where there was a solid line of them running down the middle of the single track while the other ultra-runners & I had to walk along the berms on either side of the trail.

As an added twist, the Michigan Mountain Bikers Association decided to have some sort of Bike Challenge event, so there were areas of the course where these riders were flying down trails at 30 miles an hour while sleep-deprived 100 milers were stumbling along on the same trails. At one point, when a 50k runner nearby yelled out suggesting that they slow down because there were runners on the course, one of the riders yelled back (and this is a direct quote): “We don’t have to slow down, we’re mountain bikers”.

Anyway, Fifth loop was all death-waddle, almost no running, but I had a great conversation with another entrant doing their first 100 miler; nothing like talking to somebody to help the time go by. You get to meet some really great people in these races. It was another reminder that people who do ultra-marathons are some of the nicest people on earth. I was also very moved by the unusual support we were receiving from the competitors doing the other various distance races. It seemed that us 100 mile entrants got an extra amount of love—as you’d see people going the other way on the stretch of dirt road or trail you could see them checking your bib, seeing that you were a 100 miler and saying extra-supportive words of encouragement every time. That right there is why this is such a cool sport.  

Before starting that 5th loop I put on my gaiters (which I should’ve done before the race even started). Despite this, I soon developed a hot spot on my left foot; apparently the sand was already in there and had done its damage. Unfortunately I still had about 14 miles to go before I’d be back at the camp where I could do anything about it. There was also a very real and significant fatigue that was starting to set in at this point. I might’ve been getting a little cranky? But I made a conscious effort to stay positive, and knowing I was getting close to the point where a finish would be a very real possibility kept me moving relentlessly forward. I continued to seriously think I was actually going to see this through.

My work-buddy Andy Johnston showed up to pace me for my sixth loop. Because of a slight time-crunch I wasn’t able to do much maintenance on my feet (really wanted to tape my left foot), so after a couple more ibuprofens we set out. I was able to run during a few stretches on this loop, and more importantly when I did death-waddle, I tried to waddle Quickly when possible.  Still, this lap was brutal. My feet at this point were just hamburger, and every step hurt a lot. Plus the fatigue of having been awake for well over 30 hours straight was new to me, and minor little mini-hallucinations started appearing from time to time. (Earlier in the race I could’ve sworn I saw a dead-shark on the side of the rail-trail section, but alas it was only a damaged park bench)

For a little while I had the idea of trying to break 29 hours but I just couldn’t make my body go fast enough. Besides, pushing it too hard and destroying the whole thing with a broken ankle at mile 99.5 would’ve been a fate too horrible to bear. In that situation, you don’t get hung up over a time. Just get to the house. Get the damn belt buckle.

For the last 2 miles we were back in the dark so it was a combination of night-running, having been up for 36 hours straight, having traveled 98 miles on foot, lord knows what kinds of deficits in my hydration/nutrition/electrolyte levels, junk on fire, feet on fire, and most of the worst hills (up and down) of the whole course. Good stuff. I felt amazingly miserable, impossibly painful; my pacer Andy was getting sick of hearing me whining and groaning and bitching and cursing, but he was the perfect pacer in that regard because his almost zen-like coolness was a perfect antidote to my ordeal. And that whole mantra of Relentless Forward Progress was the perfect refrain to keep me moving. Knowing I had finally reached Hell Creek Ranch was a small, minor, but poignant ecstacy. I was able to run the last 100 yards to the finish, and now I know how it feels to go 100 miles. Time 29:15.

POST RACE REFLECTIONS:

The first half of the race was fun, light-hearted, an enjoyable little running race. The second half of the race was serious, a profound lesson in numerous ways, with perhaps the greatest lesson being one of humility. I even recall saying to somebody at one point during the start of the fourth loop, “This is where the race really begins,” not realizing just how prophetic those words were. I now have a whole new respect for in-race maintenance and the importance of training. We can read a thousand race reports and hear the advice of countless people…but you just don’t get a True understanding of 100 miles until you’ve actually been there. My eyes have been opened, to say the least.

One of the key factors I tried to implement in this race was the importance of consuming food and drink and electrolytes, early and often. This is a vague guesstimation, but I’m thinking I probably had at least 20 gels, 10 bags of sport beans, a half-pound of trail mix/nuts, 3 half-sandwiches, 6 bottles of Ensure. Oh, and 3 Tums. J But it wasn’t enough. I needed more food.

I also got a better understanding of the Great Disconnect between normal people and people who do ultramarathons—it’s not just running and running and running and walk-breaks and running, then you get your medal and go home. You must, MUST have the following:  Good training, high mileage, good luck in the form of No Injuries, you Must eat when you’re supposed to, you Must eat only what you can/should eat and have the wherewithal to adjust on the fly based on how you’re feeling, you Must drink What and When you’re supposed to, and you Must figure out the way to keep your electrolyte levels where they need to be. In regards to your feet, you Must know how to recognize the peculiar challenges of each particular course and adjust accordingly, and act when you need to act, before a minor problem becomes a Situation. This is what I mean when I say that running is just a small part; it’s all the other shit that determines whether or not you’ll be successful.

Regarding feet, when I get back to normal running again, one of the experiments I want to try is to duct-tape my entire feet (including my toes) and run just to see how it feels. When I checked my feet the morning after the race, I counted NINE blisters, two of which were the size of a quarter. And at least a couple of these were created by the fact that I didn’t tape my “taped” foot correctly; shame on me. An ounce of prevention Truly is worth a pound of cure.

One last mention I’d like to make. We all have our various different motivations and inspirations that we have for doing things like this (which, really, are just completely and totally insane). But I had three very sane inspirations that I had, and there’s a common thread.

Craig Carrick is a guy I worked with at my old job. He’s a music promoter who loves music, not just any music but REAL music. The kind played with actual instruments. Well Craig has been battling multiple-myeloma (blood cancer) for a few years now. It’s expensive, exhausting, and well frankly it’s Cancer. Still throughout this ordeal he remains one of the nicest, most genuinely cool and positive people I’ve ever known. I’d spoken with him just a few days before the race; as happens every time, he deftly deflected the conversation away from himself—he wanted to hear about how I was doing. In this sadly ego-centric age we live in, it’s so incredibly important to be reminded of the importance of selflessness. Anybody who can remain that positive and sincere and more interested in others than himself, in the face of such a lousy circumstance, has my eternal respect.

Jimmy Dowsett is a kid I used to compete against when I was a high school golfer at Grand Blanc High School. He played for Davison High School. I’ve played golf against countless dudes in various such formats, but frankly I remember almost none of them. However I did remember Jimmy. When you’re a dumb high school kid and you’ve got that “us vs. them” mentality going on that’s so prevalent in sports, you tend to see everyone from opposing teams as an enemy. Jimmy was different; he was just too nice, to everybody, on every team. I was lucky enough to re-connect with him in college when we played together at Lansing CC for one of the top CC golf teams in the country; again, just a solid person, far more genuinely interested in you than in himself. Jimmy is now battling Multiple Sclerosis; this devastating disease is so random and unforgiving, I can’t even explain how unfair it is. Yet despite this, he remains one of the most positive and genuinely wonderful people I’ve ever known. For the rest of my running life, in the long races I’ll be wearing Orange in his honor, as a way to support his organization Moving Day For MS. It’s based on the idea of pro golfers wearing orange while going big on the Saturday of a particular golf tournament, trying to shoot a great score in order to put themselves in a position to win. Well, Saturday September 7^th, 2013 was my Moving Day; I went big and moved a Lot that particular day. He was there in spirit the whole way.

My third inspiration was a young lady named Regina Stoolmaker. She was a young, fresh-faced cheerleader in high school with a world of possibilities ahead of her when she headed out one night with friends and their car got hit by a drunk driver. Take a piece of paper, crumple it up as tightly as possible, and then set it on the table in front of you—that’s exactly what the car looked like afterwards. Three of her friends in the car died, and another was in the hospital. The story made national headlines because the two surviving young ladies looked so similar, and sustained such dramatic injuries, that when they were in separate hospitals in Flint and Saginaw, their own families couldn’t tell them apart and each family was watching over the wrong offspring for the several days that they were bed-ridden.

After a little over a week she came out of her coma, the confusion over who was who became cleared up and Regina began the process of rehab, which took many years. The company I work for employs her brother Rich who is an engineer and a very strong runner himself; they let him bring her in and have her set up with a desk and a computer so that she can do stuff online and have some semblance of a normal life. Due to the damage she suffered she is confined to a wheelchair (but not paralyzed), and has trouble speaking due to the closed-head injuries she suffered. However she is still not only coherent, but she is at least right up there with Craig and Jimmy as the most genuinely positive people I’ve ever known. Her story really hit home with me when she brought her scrapbook into work just a couple of weeks prior to the race, on the 17^th anniversary of her accident. I got to see the pictures, the news stories, and got a feel for everything she’d been through. It was probably the #1 key deciding factor in my doing this 100 miler and seeing it all the way through to the finish—learning about everything this sweet innocent young lady had been through, and most importantly, how genuinely positive and selfless she still is today, 17 years later. Shoot, run/walking 100 miles was nothing compared to that.

 So special thanks go out to Regina, Jimmy, Craig, for showing me that in the face of obscene adversity, we still can and should be positive and care about others. That translates seamlessly to ultras. Also want to thank the volunteers (especially the ones at Richie’s Haven at 3:30 in the morning, full of energy & positivity), Renee Tavakoli, some other person I was talking to at like 3:30am who’s name I’ve forgotten, Andy Johnston for pacing me that last lap, and Angela Justice & Randy Step for putting on such a great race.

100 miles. Now I know. Oh and my back feels great! Just wish my damn junk felt that good.