Blue is my pace. (big spikes are stops at aid stations and cramping walks)
I had some goals: none were better than others, they were simply different goals I hoped to hit:
DO NOT get caught up with what others are doing, and instead run my own race, with the paces I felt that I could hit. RESULT: Best managed trail ultra I've ever run. Kept the pace where I wanted it instead of getting caught up with the fast crowd at the start.
Improve on my personal course record of 4:59. RESULT: Finish time of 4hrs50min
Finish Top 15th: RESULT: Finished 13th
Finish as close to 4hrs30 as possible. FAIL
Finish Top 10: FAIL
Race report:
I was feeling good. I immediately counted 15 or possibly 16 people take off ahead of me at a faster pace than I was determined to stick to. I then had another clump of 4 pass me about 2 miles in, so I figured I was about 20th.
My goal was to keep it between 8:20 and 8:45 mins per mile (which is my cruising speed these days between roads and flat trails) and the aid stations and climbs would add some time to that to get me in around 4 hours 30 to 4 hours 40. I got to 15.5 mile (my half way point) right at 2 hours 14 which was exactly where I wanted to be (8:40 pace) Especially with the major brunt of climbing being out of the way. I slowly and methodically reeled about 12 of those overly excited runners back in, so I now figured I was maybe about 8th place. And I was feeling great and really fresh. At the mile 22'ish aid station i had my ipod waiting, which I knew would give me the music stimulation I would want for the last 9 miles, or 80 or 90 or so minutes. Things couldn't look any better.
But by mile 23-24ish, my race time decision to not carry two water bottles from the start caught up with me and I cramped on both calves really bad even though I was drinking tons of Gatorade at every aid station, got salts from gels, and acted like a crack addict popping salt pills.
Initial discussions with Mer, leads to simply not getting enough water in, and needed more salts.
I limped in for the last 7-8miles and lost about 5-6 spots to finish 13th in 4:50 instead of around 4:30-4:35.
So despite very bad cramping over the last 8 miles that slowly reduced me to a jogger/walker, I achieved three of my goals, which I'm pleased with.
Scientifics:
Click here for my Garmin data. (splits bottom left) (disregard anything past mile 31 as I inadvertently restarted the timer for almost an hour!)
How would I reach 4hrs 30?
My goal was to run smart, keeping it between 8:20 and 8:45 pace, then have time added for hills and aid stations:
8:20min/mile pace is a 4:18 (+ 10mins = 4:28-4:31)
8:45min/mile pace is a 4:31 (+ 10mins = 4:39-4:42)
Hills and Aid stations reflected in the Garmin data:
Mile 6, 10, 16 and 22 are in the high 9's and 10's from aid station stops leading up to crossroads aid station at mile 22.
Mile 1, 3, 7, 24, 25, 29 are hills. Mile 8 is ice cream hill where i really took it extra easy. (longest climb)
And then the 9:27 at mile 23 was the beginning of the cramping and then it all went to hell.
Rough estimation is that I lost 12-14 minutes from the cramping, which would have put me in at 4:36-4:38 range. Had I not been cramping, the idea was to have run these comfortable paces, so I would be fresh enough to give it all i had for the last 4 miles, shaving maybe another 2-3 mins. which puts me around 4:33 or 34. (Ideal world, or course)
Overall I'm happy, as I improved my course best, but I'm competitive so the cramps are still a major source of disappointment, as I know I had plenty in the tank. Oh well, we'll get it done next year!
But dang... my splits through Mile 23 are a thing of beauty!!
The most difficult part of pacing, is when you have no one left but you still have to run that agonizingly uncomfortable pace till the end on your own. (My opinion)
This weekend I was fortunate enough to be an official pacer for the San Antonio marathon. My assigned time goal was 3 hours 45 minutes, which is an average pace of 8min 35seconds per mile. Lately my relaxed "long run" pace has fluctuated between a 7:50 and an 8:15 (depending on weather and distance), so 8:35 was slower than anything I comfortably run, meaning this should be a cake walk.
What is pacing? Simply put, we pacers volunteer to run a certain pace to help runners achieve their goal time. We put our time on our shirts, and we carry a time flag so people can choose to run along and know that this person will run an even paced run all the way to the end.
I opted to wear two watches (one for backup in case i inadvertently stopped the other one, etc.) and a pace band with overall times for every mile to ensure we were where we needed to be.
(Photo by Todd J. Husband to Kristal who is waving hello and was running the half. Half marathoners would split away at mile 11.)
I probably had about 25-30 hopefuls running the pace with/around me. I did my best to entertain the group, encouraged the spectators to cheer my runners on, had a multitude of jokes and stories to keep their minds entertained. Some people had music on from the start, and some hung back enough or a little ahead of me, and just used me to stay steady. Everyone had their own plan, except me. Mine was simple: run as close to an 8:35mins per mile regardless of terrain, all the way to the finish, and don't deviate from that plan no matter what.
While it sounds quite simple, it's actually quite difficult to be "on" for an entire marathon. Typically, if one has a time goal, you may pick up the pace on a downhill mile, or slow down on an uphill to then make the time up on the downhill you know is coming. Maybe you want to walk through and aid station to get extra fluids. Maybe you feel like crap for a few miles. Maybe you feel great. But most of all, on race day, you run for yourself, your pace varies, and well, if you fail, you've got no one to blame but yourself. I, on the other hand, had a multitiude of runners relying on me to stay steady and on pace.
It was great fun, but what I thought would be a simple long run, with an additoin of encouraging runners, turned out to be a challenging grind, mostly because of hot and humid weather conditions. It got hot in a hurry. New reports I've read say it got as hot as 79 F, but that's in the shade. This course had no shade, and the asphalt just made things even worse as the sun just beat down on your head.
As you can see from the photo below, i carried a water bottle, and i drank like a fish and took my own salts. I even drank cups from most water stations even if my bottle still had water. Destruction was everywhere, people were in trouble quite early. We passed many runners that had been reduced to a slow walk, were stretching out their cramps, etc. I can't begin to tell you how many times I told my runners to take both Cytomax (electrolyte drink) and water to stay on top of the humid and hot conditions. Heck, I was drinking like crazy, had my own salt tabs, and come mile 16, even my legs started to get a little tingly. (Personally, I doubled my salt intake from then on, and it thank fully kept any disastrous cramping at bay)
Most miles were within 5 seconds of goal time, and based on people's attitudes I really thought i would have some contenders late in the game. Unfortunately, even after 2 long miles full of encouragement, motivational quotes and stories, my last runner dropped off the pace a little after mile 21, so I was then on my own, and that's where this hot and humid party became a tough grind to the finish. My job was to run 8:35s no matter what. There could be someone in front of me or someone shadowing me, and I was their reference point, so there was no option to speed up to something more enjoyable, or pick up the pace to get the run over with. So there I was, passing fading runners, runners that were walking, runners that were limping, or stretching their legs. I had gone from a pacer that began the day with a goal of helping make people's dreams come true, to a runner who was now crushing dreams of runners as I caught and passed them, holding the dreaded 3:45 sign they so did not want to see. "oh no", "fuck", "ugh", "dude, you're running too fast, you're not allowed to catch me yet" were just a few of the things I heard people say as I was forced to be the bearer of bad news.
But I had a job to do, and that was to run my eight thirty fives and get in as close as possible to 3:45:00. The problem was, I was ready to be done, my legs were hurting from an abnormal pace, and it was hot, and i was tired, and I wasn't allowed to run any pace I really wanted. I HAD to stay on pace. And so I did. And it got tough. Those mile markers took forever to appear. And it was hot out. And no shade. And a pace that just plain sucked to run on my own. Just one runner. Just one is all I wanted. It would have made things completely different. The pace would have been great, had I had just that one runner! Funny how the brain works.
Some runners ahead would see me catch them and I'd encourage them to "hop on" and I'd lead them in. I so wanted to help people, but their minds had won, and they could only hang on for a few minutes until the invisible rubberband holding us together would snap and they'd yet again, be reduced to a death march.
I can't tell you how happy I was to see the Alamodome to my right, which meant less than a mile to go and I would be done. I continued to encourage runners I passed and motioned with my arms to the crowds crowds to cheer on the runners all the way to the finish (which for some reason works really well when you carry an official pace flag). I took the hard right, dipped down under an overpass, then the final hill about 300 yards from the finish (which i took a little too fast), and the final straight away to the finish line.
I decided to take the sign with my left hand, and proudly bring in the 3:45 pace group across the line.
Even if the pace group had long ago become a party of one.
My final time was 3 hours 44 minutes and 53 seconds.
(7 seconds off of perfection, but I had no interest in slowing down in the final 40, 30, 20, 10 yards to artificially get a closer time, so that was an honest, even paced, run to finish.)
(some official race photos. Clockwise, Early on around mile 3 or 4. Finish line photo. Two close to the finish.)
A while after the run was over, two of the people that had tried to run the time, found me (walking around with my pace flag). Eventhough they fell apart and finished at 4:03 and 4:09, they thanked me for what I did, and said there was no way they could have stayed on pace as long as they did without me. That was the best thing I could have heard all day, and all I needed to hear, to know that the hot, sunny, miserable grind, was worth every second. Can't wait till next year!
This marathon didn’t start this past Monday at 10am EDT in Hopkinton, MA. This Marathon didn’t start last year at mile 24 when I was running towards the sub-3 promise-land, feeling great just having to make up 24 or so seconds in 2.2 miles, when my calves seized up and killed the dream.
This marathon started a couple of years ago, when I set a goal for myself to qualify for Boston at CIM in 2008, then achieve this. The game of life dealt me some crappy hands in the last few years, so I needed a goal, I needed a focus, I needed a dream - a dream that could become reality if I worked hard at it to help with everything else. Sub 3 in Boston 2009 was the plan. The dream evaporated last year , so this year, I needed this more than anything I’ve ever needed. Come hell or high water, there simply was no other option but to get this done.
A LONG ROAD FULL OF OBSTACLES
After Boston, my coach and I agreed I needed a break from road racing , to recharge the batteries. 9 months of high mileage trail running that produced a 2nd overall and a 3rd overall at two local 38mile and 50mile races, culminated in a very disappointing 100km trail race DNF on January 10, due to stupid mental games. I quickly buried that behind me, got mentally angry, and started my relentless focus on achieving my sub 3 goal on April 19. It was time to take that huge fitness base to the streets, bring back the speed and get it done. I was as focused as anyone you’ll ever meet and things were going really well.
On the morning of Feb 23, the tip of the quad by my right knee tightened up and stopped my training like a head-on collision. Immediately went to my sports doctor, and he said, rest would heal it. Ummm… I don’t have time to rest, buddy.
My coach, Steve Sisson, insisted that I hop in the pool, something I reluctantly went along with. Steve made me my very own workout schedule, all pool based, different workouts, HARD workouts mimicking the track and speed work the team was doing on the roads. He claimed that I would come out of there, as good, if not in better shape than my teammates. He quickly turned someone who teased Aqua-joggers, into a firm believer in the benefits of Aqua-RUNNING - easy to do when you have me absolutely exhausted after ever one of the 12-15 pool sessions I did.
Then came the morning when taking out laundry out of the dryer, I slammed my little toe of my right foot into the door frame and broke the toe. It hurt like nobody’s business. It hurt so much, that for a couple of days, it actually helped the pain the in the quad/knee go away. But there was nothing to do but tape it to the sibling next to it, and keep moving.
Sisson and I also discussed 2 crucial runs I just HAD to try and get in. The two “race preps” (race simulations) that would be keys to figuring out if I even had a chance at Boston - a 24 mile run with 20 miles at MGP, which I ran on my own at a 6:41 average (Marathon Goal Pace of 6:45), and a 27.5 mile hilly run that ended on the track for a continuous 6 miles, at progressive paces of 6:45 to 5:58min/mile. I nailed them both, and those where great confidence builders, so I knew I had a shot at this, even though I was still in the pool.
After the 2nd race prep, I had been running a couple of times a week with the team in what some would probably call severe pain. “Mind over matter, mind over matter. Keep the goal within grasp.” Is all I thought to myself. Time was running out, and I just had to run, plain and simple. I’d promptly ice down the issue after each run, and played the icing off as “maintenance”. Not sure why I didn’t seek out a second opinion sooner, but eventually a friend convinced me to go see a second Doctor about my injury as it was simply not improving. This doctor turned out to be the miracle I needed. He quickly re-diagnosed my issue and got to work on it, pulling, stretching, stimulating it with ultrasounds and electric pulses to getting me back on the roads in 2 sessions! I now had less than a month to go till race day. I wasn’t completely pain free, but compared to before, this was heaven. In total I ended up seeing Dr Miller 9 times before the marathon to treat my quad/knee.
Things were starting to look quite rosy for me leading up to race weekend, when on the night of Wednesday to Thursday, I woke up at 2:07am with a ridiculous pain in a muscle on the outside of my right leg, between the knee and the hip. It hurt so bad I couldn’t roll over without waking up, and when friends saw me out and about they couldn’t believe what they were seeing! I joked about someone having a voodoo doll to torture my right leg, and that’s pretty much what was going on. I couldn’t walk, get up, take stairs up or down, or even get in my car with severe pains. The visits to see Dr Miller now totaled 11.
On queue, another miracle happened. My hotel roommate Larry, had brought his little portable electro-stimulation machine for some work on his lower back, so I proceeded to set up my own rehab sessions all weekend long.
I iced, then hopped in the shower for hot water on it, then E-Stimulated 1 time on Saturday. Sunday was a 30 test/easy run, and it was bad, bad, bad. The quad/knee and the new muscle issue were both REALLY unhappy with the cool weather, and the plane ride and things were looking dismal. I repeated my rehab of ice, heat and e-stim 4 times on Sunday, and 1 time before we left the hotel at 4am on Monday morning. Larry brought the E-stim with him on the bus out to Hopkinton, so I plugged it on to my problem muscle one more time at 8am, two hours before the start.
My power words I wrote down on my pace band for this race were Family, Friends, Sufferfest, Destiny, Revenge, 24. All key words that would hopefully help me in times of need.
RACE TIME!
We had a plan. The plan was actually done last April when I analyzed my splits upon my return to Austin. But it was solidified in 4 months ago, then ratified by all powers well before it was time to get nervous about race day. Jim and David and I all wanted a sub 3, and since they wanted to run with me, I gladly accepted to have company on the run as long as they accepted my plan as theirs. My goal was to run around a 2:57:00 pace (6:45) until the hills start at mile 17, slow it down to a 3-3:05hr (6:55-7:05min/mile) pace through those, then getting back on track for the final 5 miles, getting in at 2:59:10 giving us plenty of cushion if things went wrong somewhere. All of this was based on feel, as I don’t run with a GPS and instead prefer to just feel the pace.
Hotel, Bus, Walk to the start - I love Hopkinton!
After a giant bowl of cereal in the hotel room, and some help from Coach to tape up my problem areas, we headed out to the VIP buses. Yes, you pay a bit extra, but it’s worth every penny. Nothing beats having your team around you for 2.5 hours before race day. We were all in the same VIP bus, and we kept each other calm with fun conversations. Dionn and I sat together as we did last year, to not upset the running gods.
The ride up there was fine, but my right leg did not enjoy being stuck in a 90 degree angle for that long. Drank 16oz of Nuun by 8:30am, ate a banana at 8am, and a 480 calorie magic (trail running) cookie between 8 and 8:30am.
I don’t think there is a better walk to the start of a marathon than in Hopkinton. That alone is reason to kill yourself to qualify. Everyone walks together down a narrow street for 15 minutes. On this day… YOU are an athlete. YOU are the spotlight. YOU are a Boston marathon runner.
Miles 1 -3 : +3 seconds
Before the start this kid in a Hansons/Brooks singlet came up to me and asked my goal pace. I told him mostly 6:45’s which he apparently liked as that would keep him slow (2:57) and he wanted a 2:55 which he would achieve by pickup up the pace later on. He asked if he could tag along. I said: sure, just know that we’re running terrain adjusted miles so some may be a tad fast or slow. I’ll call this guy “Hanson”.
National Anthem, then a flyby of two F-16’s, and we were off! I looked at David, and Jim and my friend JT that was also there with us, and that was the last calm moment for me. It was time to put on my game face, get down to business. This was war and I was ready for battle.
First mile was a little congested, but we kept our calm and just found some room to make up time where we could. Two big down hills helped in getting us somewhat close to our goal. We were 6 seconds slow on mile one, but that was irrelevant. Goal for mile 2 was a 6:35 as was mile 3. Both screamingly fast miles, and we just wanted to stay contained but shave a little bit of time. Hanson freaked out when he saw a 6:34 split for mile 2 and told me I was way too fast. I told him it was built into my plan as was the upcoming fast mile. He didn’t like what he heard and ran off somewhere. Mile 3 was more of the same (6:35 goal)… a fast mile, with plenty of down hills. I tossed my tube/sock arm warmer throwawayables as it was well warmer than low 50’s with the sunny skies. We clocked mile 3 at 6:33 pace and were now only 3 seconds slower than our goal time. Unlike last year where I simply forgot to drink water, I was well under control on my hydration this time.
Miles 4, 5, 6, 7: Even Steven.
With the major downs beyond us, it was time to get down to business and lock in on 6:45’s. Too bad Hanson had fired us, because here’s where I/we shine. We quickly came upon the 5km timing mat which means the Internet that’s tracking us would be seeing us for the first time. David and Jim are not as talkative as I am, but I made sure I said: “Guys, with this timing mat, the world is watching us. Our loved ones, our families, our friends. This is why we do this. This run is for them.”
I continued to drink out of my water bottle as the plan was to be done with the water by mile 7 and use the last bit of it, to take down my first salts (2 thermolytes pills). But it was well warmer than originally planned and I was sweating so I decided to go with salts at mile 6. My glute muscle issue and my knee were NOT happy with me today, so I also moved up my plan of some pain relief to mile 7 from the planned mile 10 treat. At the 10km mark (6.2miles), we yet again passed a timing mat, and I made sure I again told Jim and David, that the Internet is watching and they must be happy to see that we’re on pace!
Miles/pace wise we were doing well. Legs were finally warming up. Mile 4 was planned as a 6:40 and we hit 6:33, mile 5 was 6:45goal, we delivered a 6:49, and miles 6 and 7 were both planned at 6:45, which we nailed at 6:45 and 6:44. We ended mile 7 at 46:52, with a goal time of 46:52. Even Steven!
Miles 8, 9, 10: Easy tiger! -14
I guess we either felt great, or there were more downs that we thought, because we finished these 4 miles at about 5 miles to fast on each one, right around 5 seconds too fast. The highlight here was Hanson was spotted talking to 2 more teams of runners clearly inquiring about their race plans and asking if he could run with them. I commented to David and Jim: what kind of a moron comes to Boston without a game plan and expects to run a 2:55? (I hate to say it, but I was looking forward to seeing him some more). Took my first gel at Mile 8. We crossed the 15km marker and yet again, we knew the world was watching and that all of you were getting rewarded for staring into your computer screens. Thanks again guys, you’re keeping us motivated to do well. We ended this stretch 14 seconds faster than where we were supposed to be. Not really a concern as it’s really just 1 second and change per mile.
Somewhere in here I also decided I really don’t like people that write about their lost loved ones on their backs. I truly admire their drive and that they want to dedicate their run to someone they loved that they have lost… but to me, I need positives positives positives, and reading repeated notes on people’s backs that read: “in loving memory of JOHN DOE. I love you.” Etc, just bums me out. I keep thinking, why don’t they write that on their arm for themselves. They can’t read it on their backs.
Miles 11, 12, 13, 14: Money. -11
Here’s where I make my living. Flat miles - Cruise control - Lock in the pace and enjoy the scenery.
Unfortunately, Jim wasn’t doing too well. He fell off pace a bit and David yelled at him to get back up on our asses. Jim complied but then fell off pace a bit more. He ran back up to us, and told us he was suffering of really bad nausea and was going to take it easy for a bit and hopefully reel us back in. It was unfortunate and as much as we wanted to wait for him, all three of us knew, that we had to continue on with the race plan. We would never see Jim again, but he rallied and came in a strong 3:07 requalifying for next year’s war.
(Jim on left in black)
Here’s the section where I’d get some more pain relief in me, some more salts and a gel at mile 12.
After a 6:45 mile 10, Mile 11 clocked in at 6:48, and then we hit Mile 12 at 6:43. Immediately before mile 12 is where we ran up on Team Hoyt. It was awesome to see them out there yet again this year. Did you know that Dick Hoyt (the father) is 69 years old? (they would go on to finish in 5hrs26minutes.) Awesome!
Right after Team Hoyt, we started to hear the scream tunnel of the girls of Wellesley college. We came upon them and I did my best Hulk Hogan (hand to ear) impersonation to get them to scream even louder! It was awesome.
Neither David nor I had time to stop for a kiss, but maybe next year, I’ll add a few seconds to the plan!
After the scream tunnel, we came upon the best sighting of the day. Both David and I laughed our asses off! This big burly guy was on the side of the road, NY Jets fan with a heavy heavy Jersey accent yelled at us:
“Good stuff guys. This is really good stuff!”
Hysterical and easily the best thing anyone has every yelled to me!
At some point in the last 4 miles, I’ve been thinking. Wow. My leg hurts, I wonder how bad it would be hurting without pain relief. My hamstring is now also feeling quirky, so I’ve got a knee, a glute and a hammy on my right leg just wanting me to stop. But there is no stopping. There just isn’t. I keep thinking… David has no pace band on him, he is relying on me for timing, and like me he doesn't wear a GPS, but little does he know, all the pulling is done by him because he’s seriously pulling me along here. Without him, I’m toast.
David, who had been battling Turf Toe since December and spent a few days in the pool with me, and missed plenty of runs then tells me: Hey, my toe is REALLY hurting so if I can’t keep going, do not slow down. Just keep going. Since it’s time for me to get some more pain relief I extended the offer to share. Today, we make this happen.
Mile 15 and 16 have a big down then an up, it’s the perfect greeting to get you out of flat running funk and wake you up for what’s ahead. Along with 17 that has a climb over a big freeway, they’re the miles that break up the flat section and prepare you for 18 through 21.5 where the HILLS await. I missed hitting the split button on my watch for all three of these miles. We needed a 20:35 for this stretch and we clocked in at 20:41. We’re now 6 seconds fast, but come on!, that’s friggin outstanding 17 miles in!
Around here would be our last Hanson spotting. We caught up to him and I told David to not even say a word. We did not need him latching on to us. I ran up beside him, and did my best Lance - Jan Ullrich "The look" impersonation... I look him straight in the eyes, then down at his bib to memorize his number, then back up at his eyes, and slowly ran away from him as he drifted back behind us. (Mr. No Race Plan but want a 2:55, ended his day at 3:21. I hate to see anyone have a bad day, but if you're not even prepared on the starting line, there's not much we can do for you).
Somewhere in here, Sisson found us and ran with us for a mile or so. I inform him we're perfectly on pace, I'm tired, but no where near in the gutter like i was last year.
Mile 18, 19, 20, 21. - The meat and potatoes.
Time to pop on the tunes, and get some help from Metric, Muse, Airborne Toxic Event and more of my favorites. You take a right and see the fire department, and that’s the start to the hills. 3.5 or so miles of climbs. Not as steep as exposition, but all longer than any of the exposition hills in Austin.
I’ve kept my cap on my all this time, even though I’ve been overheating. But the strategy here is to treat myself when I truly need it, so now that we’ve reached the hills, I toss my cap to the side over towards a group of kids. Who know if anyone wanted a brand new, but sweaty cap, but hopefully they washed it and did!?! The cool air on my soaking wet hair is welcome! Ahhh… so refreshing for the few moments it lasted!
Unfortunately, you can’t fool your legs. My legs aren’t fresh, but David is rocking! So he’s dragging me along, and I think he can tell I’m not quite there today. We cross the 30km mat at 18.6miles and yet again, I think of everyone that’s tracking online. It gives me a boost yet again, knowing that I simply cannot disappoint anyone today. I just can’t.
Mile 18 goal is 7:05 and I clock it at 7:03, Mile 19 comes along and it actually has quite a lone flat part that allows you to pick up some steam. Somewhere along here, David picks up a little water bottle from a kid handing them out. Then he STOPS, runs back to the kid a few feet, and I’m thinking… what the hell is he doing? What happened? He then catches right back up and hands me a bottle too. Wow. A life saver at this point. Thank you David!
At some point I yelled over to David who is still "eager beaver" cranking on the hills and motion with both my hands the international sign for slow down, take it easy… we only need a 7:00 here. We clocked in mile 19 at 6:54, but Mile 20 comes out 8 seconds slower than the 7flat we needed so those are a wash.
I asked David if we’re done with hills, and he kindly reminds me that there is one more left as there’s no sign of Boston College and the raucous students that will be greeting us. Great! Here we go, Heart Break Hill, you’re next.
A lady dressed and painted in green as the statue of liberty is there to greet us on the sideline. Not sure what that was supposed to represent as Liberty isn’t quite a motivator at this time. I loved the costume, but next time lady, how about a lion, or a gladiator!?
We attack Heart break hill, and it’s a doozy. It’s no where near the climbs we take on in Austin, but it’s long and it’s steeper than the prior ones and if you’re hurting like I am, you just suffer. I just stare at David’s shirt and keep running, thinking. I am hills. This is my hill today. I’m going to crest this hill, and be done with it.
I take our 21 mile split, at 7:08, which isn’t the 7:00 we had planned. But… we’re done with the hills, and I get up next to David, raise my hand for a high five, which he welcomes, and I tell him the good news: We’re EXACTLY ONE SECOND faster than where we are supposed to be at this time! We’re at mile 21, and we are RIGHT ON TARGET!” The race plan is working. We both know we know just need 6:55’s all the way home and we’ll be in at 2:59:10.
Mile 22 – Screaming Eagles!
Part of mile 21, and most of mile 22 is packed with Boston College (Eagles) students on each side. Some have beer cups in their hands, some don’t, but they all have one thing in common. They are loud and it is friggin’ great! At 21.7miles, we crossed the 35km mat and I looked at my inspirational words, staring at where the word Family and the word Friends that have now melted away from the sweat are supposed to be. You guys are watching, I know you are, but damn, this hurts bad.
Mile 22 has a screaming fast and long downhill, so that is a welcome relief. I tell David to not get too crazy on it, as we still have 35 minutes to run. We clock mile 22 as 1 second slow(6:57), and are now at EVEN time with the plan. With 4.2 miles to go. On the down hill I took more salts, more pain relief and another gel. My legs are done. DONE. I looked at my watch at some point and remember seeing 2:24 and thinking. There is no way in hell that I can run for another 35 minutes at this pace. No way. It’s not gonna happen. At some point here, David spots the CITGO sign in the distance and points at it. He thinking it's a good sign, i'm hating life thinking, come on!! that thing is about 100 miles away!!! Boy was I grumpy.
Mile 23, 24, 25 – Running on empty.
The work in the pool work has definitely saved me, but it hasn’t totally replaced the 20+ mile runs I didn’t get in to keep the legs conditioned. My legs are dead. Clearly this is where all the injuries, the set backs, the lack of mileage, the lack of sleep in the last 5 days due to muscle pains has caught up with me. Something out there does not want me to break 3 hours. Something is gonna make this really hard.
David and I didn’t discuss the plan too much. A couple of email exchanges, where I sent he and Jim my spreadsheet and they liked it. I also said something about, we stick together, but in the late miles, whatever happens happens, type of things. David and I would never run together from here on out. I saw his face squirm in pain as one of his calves seized up on him so I knew he was in pain. He slowly distanced himself from me as I just needed to conserve energy and he needed to take what his body gave him. We are even with the plan, and as I said before, all I need is 6:55’s to get me in at 2:59:10 which is now what I calibrate towards.
Mile 23 was brutal. I wanted to quit so bad. My legs have nothing in them, NOTHING. But somehow, deep within the misery brewing in my brain, something tells me to: Just. Keep. Running. I remember my word Destiny and somehow maybe that’s what keeps me barely alive. I’m slow, I clock in at 7:08. 13 seconds too slow. I freak a little, but I also know that I’m now looking at a 2:59:23 finish if I can hold flat 6:55’s.
Mile 24. +16
24 is my number. 24 is the key to this race. I’ve thought of 24 all run long. I have 24 written on my shoes, I have 24 on my pace band and now I run towards 24. 24 is going to be mine this year. 24 is not going to be where I fail again. I may miss my goal, but it will NOT be on mile 24. I somehow pull it together and manage to get the hell and feeling of wanting to just quit and go hide in the sewer out of my head and think 24. 24. 24. 24. I manage to crank out a 6:57, which is outstanding! Now the finish time looks like 2:59:24. I’m still a loooong ways away, and I’m barely at 2hours and 44 minutes in. How on earth can I keep it together for another 15 minutes. This is ridiculous. The thought of “It’s not gonna happen.” repeats itself in my head, but somehow, I just can’t seem to just surrender. David is now nowhere in sight.
Mile 25 – I’m doomed + 31
Just before you hit Mile 25, you cross the 40km timing mat. Which again means the world sees me. I clock in at 2hours 50minutes, and now the game of math begins. I know I need 4min 11-15 second kilometers to hit 6:45ish miles. But I also know a marathon is 42kms 195 meters. Somehow to me, 4:15+4:15 = 9 minutes. But then I realize 15 seconds is not half a minute, so I get really confused. I just decide that it’s gonna be close. It’s gonna be REAL close.
More of the same happens here, except it’s even worse in my head. I just want to stop. I can’t physically put my leg in front of the other at a pace that is acceptable. I clock in a 7:10, 31 seconds over goal… which now means the finish line stands at 2:59:41. Oh lord. How am I going to get this done. I literally have nothing left. (turns out David crossed the mat 19 seconds ahead of me )
Mile 26 and 0.2 – I have no idea how I made it happen
The saving grace was a little sign on the street. You see, you still have 0.2 miles to run after you run mile 26. I did some sketchy math and thought that all I needed was to run about a 7:40mile and I’d be safe, but I didn’t trust my match because of the extra 0.2 that I knew needed to be run 1min26seconds.
But thank you to whomever came up with the idea of putting an official sign that read: “ONE MILE TO GO” on the course. The 0.2 had now been run on the front end, and my math now wasn’t so fuzzy. I actually had a shot at this, if only my legs had just a little bit more to give me.
I kept looking at my watch thinking I might get it done, but it would be close. I knew I was now 20 seconds from disaster but there was no other gear in me. At about 25.7 you go down under a highway, so you have a down, then an up. I wanted to cry on that up. I had no oomph to get me up it, but I stayed calm and slowed down a tad remembering the horrible calf spasm I got the prior year when trying to push the pace.
You get up from the underpass, take a right up a side street for maybe 150 yards until you get to Boylston, the final street. I’m just running for life here.
The side street has a slight incline and it is miserable, but here, there’s Revenge. There’s that building… the building that witnessed my watch go from 2:59:59 to 3 last year. This year, you’re mine you damned building.
I hit the final left turn as hard as I could running for my life.
I then looked down at my watch, a moment captured in time by a race photographer. .. high 2:56 is on the screen.
The finish line is soooo far away, I have no idea if I can run that far in so little time. I give it all I got, but it’s not much. I’m running on the left side of Boylston, and there in the distance I spot David. I’m slooooooowly gaining on him, which means he knows he’s either gonna make it, or he’s in big trouble.
I just focus on running and keep staring at the finish line way in the distance and at my watch. Watch. Finish line. RUN. Watch. Finish line. RUN MIKE RUN. Watch. Finish line. RUN. PLEASE RUN PLEASE. JUST RUN. Watch. Finish line. JUST FUCKING RUN. RUN. RUN. RUN. RUN. RUN. RUN. I repeat to myself with every other step.
It wasn’t till I was maybe 30 or 40 yards from the finish line that I realized I had made it.
Finally I could relax and breathe and just close my eyes and let all my muscles let up. I had done it. Last mile was a 6:53 and the 0.2 goal was 1:26. My clock showed 1:24, meaning I had crossed the finish line at 2:59:38.
The brain was overwhelmed. I spotted David over on the right just past the finish line and yelled over to him. He finished 5 seconds ahead and I was so happy we had done it. I walked his way and we high fived. We then began the long walk through the food and liquids stations but just before we did I turned around to David. He thought he was in for a high five again, but this was cause for a hug. We had done it. I still couldn't believe it.
I could but I couldn't. We collected our space blanket to stay warm, water, bananas, gatorade, little lunchbox with goodies, and finally a well deserved and well earned medal. I continued to thank all the volunteers for making this the best marathon in the world as we continued toward bag pickup.
I was overwhelmed. The dream. The 2.5 year goal, finally achieved. I wanted to cry but I honestly didn't know how. I was just overwhelmed with emotions as we walked towards my hotel. We eventually ran into Muz and Niccole who also had great runs 2:49 and 2:53 respectively. That's where I finally had energy to dig through my bag and pull out my phone. I turned it on and immediately it started to ping from all the congratulatory text messages and emails. Ping ping ping ping ping ping ping... It just wouldn't stop, and sounded like I'd hit the jackpot at slots in Vegas. It was fantastic. Tears wanted to fill my eyes again as I read them all but again, I was so emotionally overwhelmed that it didn't happen.
Larry and Steve showed up at the room within minutes, and after a hot shower to loosen the legs, we headed down to begin celebrating. I stepped aside to a quiet space of the hotel and unsuccessfully tried reaching a few people on the phone. And that where it eventually hit me. I had beaten the odds, I had overcome the injuries, I had done it. A goal that meant much more to me than just a time in a marathon had been achieved. A monkey off my back. A release. The flood gates finally opened and the tears streamed down my face as I could finally relax and move on.
Thank you to all of you.
Steve, you always keep telling me that I'm easy to coach because I trust, listen, believe and have the heart to get it done. Well, you make it happen. As I told you in Boston. This medal is as much yours as it is mine.
Ruth, Carolyn, and all the Rogue crew... you're the best!
David, we did it! We freaking did it! Against all odds, the two old beat up boys did it!
Family, we don't talk often, but you're there with me every step of the way.
Thank you.
Erin, hi! :)
Mer, thanks again for the positives, the nutrition and hydration plans and most of all for your belief in me. You and Paul are awesome.
Teammates, you're the best. You put up with my clowneries, my antics and this season had to listen to all my injury bullshit. Thank you to all of you.
Friends, you all know where you stand with me. You were with me every step of the way. This whole journey and this hell of a battle doesn't happen without everyone of you. Especially 24. And if for some reason you don't think you contributed to my success, then know that you are wrong. I draw great strength and inspiration from each and every person I accept into my life. Thank you to all of you.
It was hard, it was really hard, but no, it did not feel like it took all day.
*Pardon the curse words, but this is how it went down*
Pre race details:
The reason for running Cactus Rose 50mile (80km) was to learn what it will take to run Bandera 100km (62 miles) in early January. I’d never gone over 37.3 miles or 6.5 hours, so I really wanted to go much farther before my big race in January, and this was the perfect venue. Cactus Rose is held in the same State Park as Bandera; plenty of overlap in the hills you climb, the terrain you deal with, but certainly not the same “course“. The goal was to see how it feels to run that far, test out nutrition, hydration, salt intake, pacing, physical condition, clothing, gear, etc. This was not a race, it was a recon mission, a train-through race, a supported long run to learn. I also didn’t do a normal 2-3 week taper (rest) leading up to this, as I ran 82, 58 and 68miles the weeks prior to, including 7 hours on the last weekend, 3 of those hours at a hard pace. The week of the race, I took Monday off (as usual), ran Tuesday and Wednesday for a total of 17 miles, took Thursday and Friday off.
I made it down to Bandera, TX, in a little less than 2.5 hours. Picked up my race packet, set up my tent, sat through the race director speech, went and dropped my drop bags, and then just relaxed by my tent eating my pasta dinner I’d brought with me. I had nothing to heat it with, but that was the least of my concerns. (While I ate, I spent some time imagining how I could build some sort of a contraption I can put in the engine of my car with my food as a type of heating oven for January)
The course is a 25 mile mile loop that you run twice, first clockwise, then counter-clockwise. There were aidstations every 5 miles or so that were easily accessible by car. We would see 2 aid stations twice(Nachos and Boyles), and Equestrian aid station 4 times. See map first loop map: http://www.tejastrails.com/maps/CactusRoseElevCW.gif
The organizers had water and ice for us there, but it was up to us to bring anything we’d need at those stations. I chose a high calorie/carb cookie-type food, sports gels(I always eat in marathons), Boiled potatoes, potato chips, turkey sandwiches on wheat and salt pills. I also placed extra long sleeve shirt, short sleeve shirt, sleeveless shirt, socks, sunglasses, caps, gloves, sunscreen, chapstick, toiletpaper, in each. You never know what you might want or need, expecially when you have no idea what the hell you’re doing out there to begin with!
Race:
Layed in my track pants, sweatshirt, gloves and head beanie in my sleeping bag reading till about 9 pm, then have a decent night’s sleep all considering. Did get woken up by a couple things: some snorer closeby, then some woman laughing in her sleep. By 2:30am it got unpleasantly cold and by 4am when my alarm rang, my car registered 35 degrees. The neighbor’s car read 39, so we agreed on 37. Forgot my cereal at home, so I ate a cookie and gel before the race, washed that down with 16oz of water with electrolytes in it, and was happy to get a nice bathroom session in before the race. I opted to run in short sleeve, long sleev e, rain shell, gloves and beanie, because it was friggin’ cold out! (headlamp on head (small replacement in back short pocket ) and two handheld water bottles.
Email from Jason L: “…get lubed up like a pig at a rodeo before and then have it available for hot
spots.” He’ll be glad to know I put on so much body glide on, I was slicker than eel.
5am start, and we were off. I lined up way way up front and Melissa H joined me there along with Fagan who’s in town… hadn’t seen him in over a year… he cut his hair off! I counted what I think were 11 or 12 people ahead of me, and half of those took off like they were running a 5km road race. I settled in to a decent pace but was really struggling. It was really cold out, my legs hadn’t run in 3 days and they felt dead and heavy. The first climb of the day “lucky peak” greeted us inside of a mile of the start. “’Hello Lucky, I’ll be seeing you later again”, I told it in my head. About 20 minutes in, we reached a hot spot within the trees and I started to overheat. I commented to a couple of people around me. Mistake #1 – way too much clothing on – overheating!
Pretty uneventful first 4.5 miles to the Equestrian Aidstation in 47 minutes. I just concentrated on not falling on the descent and avoided some near sideswipe falls in the few but large mud pits! Phew! John Kuss is there to greet me but I don’t need much help from him as I’ve only had ½ of one bottle of water since it’s been so chilly out. It’s still super nice to have someone out there to call family who shows supports and cares how I’m doing!
Each aidstation had two notebooks, one for the 100 milers one for the 50milers and a watch. We were to write out bib number (131), and our time, and our name if we wanted to in the notebook to show that we’d been there. I check in, noticed that I was 3rd for the 50milers, and already 5 minutes behind the leaders. Stripped down to my short sleeve, kept beanie and gloves and refilled my waters. I figured if it got colder again, I could suffer through 90 more minutes of darkness before the sun comes up and heats me up. It wouldn’t be an issue. The next 5 mile leg over to Nachos aid station was also uneventful. I kept calm, letting my legs warm up, and taking advantage of the friendly rolling trails as I knew what lied ahead.
Tip from Meredith: "It’s not IF you’re going to face a problem you need to overcome, it’s WHEN you’re going to face a problem and how you will overcome it."
Mistake #2 – In freezing cold weather, things like cookies tend to get really hard and REALLY tough to chew. Mistake #3 – I had a couple of new handhelds and they were a little tougher to drink out of than my 3 yr old usual ones. I decided over a long drawn out thought process, that I will boil them in hot water to make them less hard. But the inability to eat my cookies is a problem. More than 50% of my calorie intake strategy lies within those cookies, at least for the first half of the race. In the distance you can now see the early comings of day break. It’s a beautiful view, black silhouettes of the landscape outlined by a slim line of yellow and orange. It’s absolutely gorgeous. Right there, looking west is that one star, I think mercury?, and for some strange reason, a song I haven’t heard in 25 to 30 years pops into my head. “Ain’t no UFO gonna catch my diesel. I don’t care if it came from outer space. Ain’t no UFO gonna catch my diesel. Ain’t no machine gonna take it’s place.” I’m singing these 4 lines outloud cranking away on the trail, with a big smile. It’s cracking me up. (it was on my cassette with the “Ah shaddup in you face” song I listened to when I was 7 ot 8 years old! RIGHT CLICK and OPEN IN NEW WINDOW HERE FOR THE SONG!)
At Nachos (Mile10) I reloaded with a bunch gels hoping they’ll keep my fueled, refill my handhelds, and noticed that I was now 12 minutes behind 1st and 5 behind 2nd. It made me happy as I wasn’t racing, and it meant that I was controlling my pace.
Aaaaaand here’s where the fun starts. At mile 11, you reach the first of many climbs over 28 miles… (right click, to make this larger in a different window). That's right 28 miles of continuous torture.
Ice Cream Hill is the first hill. It’s a bitch of a climb because it’s steep and tons of loose rocks so impossible to even power walk. You just need to make sure you don’t lose footing and crest it. It stung a little, but not too bad. A couple of miles later we reached Equestrian Aid station again (mile 14 of the race) and I decided it was time to switch from Handhelds to my camelback (water in backpack) as I didn’t like not having hands free to grab salts, food etc. Took off from Equestrian 12 mins behind 2nd, who signed the book: 131 - F. Garza - XX:XX (whatever time it was.)
Dawn was fast approaching and I technically could have run without a light from Nachos on, but I opted to play it safe. A friendly woman by the name of Eliza ran up to my side. “I need to stick to you because I left my headlamp and figure you can lead me if we hit dark tree areas.” Are you kidding me?! I adore company! Woohoo! We enjoyed out chats. She was from San Antonio, she was running the 100miler, and it would be her second 100miler. We had some overlap in running friends so it was fun. I had my trusted little course map (like the one I linked to) so I knew I had 3 climbs before the next station. When we reached the top of Sky Island, Eliza told me how the backside (our descent) which was very steep and ridiculously slippery due to the loose rocks, was nicknamed Mt Fuji. I figured it was a weird name till she told me the meaning of it. Mount Fuji. Mount F U J(i)oe. Race director’s name being Joe, people had kindly named him that. On the descent then climb of the next hill, I put some distance on Eliza.
I arrived at Boyles Aid Station, mile 20 of the race and my legs are definitely not as fresh as I’d hoped they’d be. All I needed here was to fill out the notebook, refill my camelback, and take off. I’m now 9 minutes back from 2nd, but really don’t care, it’s so early in the race, and there’s no telling how badly I’ll fade. I give half of my cookie to one of the volunteers, and take off to climb Boyles Bump. I figure I’ll be at the turn in about an hour to hour 15, which puts me waaaay too fast. My loose plan was to run 5 miles per hour, to start and see how well I can cling on to that idea. This would mean it should be 9am, as I’m 20 miles in, it’s a little past 8am. Not good, not good at all. Should I slow down? Naah. Might as well just roll with the punches till I can’t roll no more. So I take on Boyle’s Bumb, and when I reach the top, I fly down the backside, run maybe a quarter mile only to be greeted by Cairn’s Climb which is equally as nasty as all it’s friends I’ve had to scale. My legs are burning on this one, but I continue to climb as fast as I can without sending my heart-rate to the moon. When I reach the top, am greeted by oncoming traffic. The first place 50miler is running like he hasn’t broken a sweat. I ask him how far, and he tells me 14 minutes. I now have a mile and a half of descent and flat lands to cover to the return to the lodge and be done with loop one. I’d see 3 or 4 more runners heading back out as I get to the lodge, including Mr. “136 F. Garza”. I write my name in the book in 4:12, 3 minutes behind 136. Rush over to my drop bag pull out my bred, my turkey, my sprey butter, my gels, my potatoes and a new shirt. I’m switching to sleeveless. Robert Janiak is kindly there to help me open my turkey and grab a couple slices for me, and refill my camelback. Joe P chats with me too, and I tell them both I think that speed may have been a big mistake. Joe replies: “well, now it’s time to refuel so you can have enough energy to do it again.” I gobble down as many baby potatoes with salt as I can. Oh my, they taste soooo good, and they’re so easy to eat and swallow. I shove as many as I can in my mouth like a speed Hotdog eating contestant, grab the sandwich in my other hand and take off.
And now I’m thinking and cursing to myself. 4:12??? That is fucking absurd. What the hell am I doing? I’m fucking 45 minutes ahead of the time I was planning on. This is going to be a disaster, a death march. I figure I’ll just wave as runners run by me in the last 5 mile and say “Hello! I’m mike, I’m a fucking idiot! Have a nice run! Congrats on pacing yourself!”
I take a bite of my sandwich from one of the corners, and start chewing, and chewing. As I’m chewing I’m seeing runners coming the other direction as I know head back for another 14 miles of continuous hill climbs. The bite of sandwich, it’s still there. I can’t swallow it. There’s nothing wrong with my stomach, but I just can’t get myself to swallow it. I climb the first climb on the return trip, Cairn’s Climb and when I reach the top, decide I need to wash the bite down the throat with water. 24 minutes of chewing on one piece is more than enough. I then look at my sandwich, which only has one corner bitten off, thinking of Joe telling me I need to refuel, and how I absolutely HAVE TO EAT SOMETHING and I shove as many bites as I possibly can into my mouth. I’d say close to half the sandwich is now wedged in my mouth and the other half gets flung into the cactus for some armadillo’s dinner tonight. I chomp away at whatever gets in the way, breathing as much as I can through my nose, as I’m running along the top of Cairn’s. I stop and suck as much water as I can out of my camelback and then just force that paste of bread and turkey down the pipe. For good measure, I pop another Hammergel Espresso since I won’t be climbing again till I reach the bottom. At this point I’m nearing 5 hours of running. The trails along this 28 mile rollercoaster are littered with Texas Sotol. A leafy cactus usually about 1 to 2 feet tall, but with all the rains they’ve had these things are wide and they’re reaching way out into the single track trail. Not only are they wide, but they’re tall too, reaching well up to my shorts. You simply cannot avoid them, and just run right through them. Hell, both Eliza and I had blood dripping from over our knees barely 3 hours into the run when we encountered the first race photographer, so this has been going on for a while. On the descents, there are some small options here and there; you can either step down through a really steep section, or take a slightly less steep trail that’s runnable, but littered with Sotols. Since downhill bombing is what I love to do, I take on the Sotols, and bomb the descents.
Raching the bottom, you then get to climb Boyle’s bump from the other side. It’s not as long as from the front side, but it’s very rocky, and simply slows you down. I catch up to Josue who’s doing the 100, wish him continued luck and strength for his journey. He looked very focused and strong. I’m now coming up on many runners - 50 milers and 100milers all streaming one after the other headed for the final climbs before they get to turn around and come back my way. I look for familiar faces and suddenly there he is... Mr Gordon Montgomery in all his splendor. Two green amphipod hand held bottles and a nice smile. I reach up to high five him, he throws out his elbow “chicken wing style” as he can’t high five with handhelds, and I wish him luck and to stay strong through out.
Eventually I catch Steven Moore as well (or did he catch me? I forget, but we’re now running together) He’s out for his first 100miler, and the one that beat me by 20 minutes out at Captain Karl’s 60km out and Ink’s Lake two month prior. He and I spend some probably 30 to 45 minutes within 25 yards of each other, I’m taking the hills a little harder than him, but then want the company so don’t push the pace. We chat a while about this and that, then eventually separate as we reach the aid station. I need nothing but a refill of cookies, since I’m barely 5 miles out from the turn, sign the book, and notice I’m now 9 minutes behind 131 - F. Garza and head out. This is where I think to myself. Fuck this guy. I just can’t seem to gain on him. And that’s where it dawns on me. 131 F. Garza. Precisely! F Garza! Ha ha ha
I’m now almost 32 miles into the race, I look at my watch, and it’s 10:45am. Why look at my watch? I want to remember the moment I take on Mt FUJI, and I proceed to curse at Joe all the way up the dam thing. It’s steep and it’s a bitch. I know I’m repeating myself, but this one is clearly the worst, because it zigzags, it has steep step ups, tons of loose rocks and turns yours calves to burnt toast. “Fuck You Joe, Fuck you Joe, Fuck you Joe”, is my mantra that I repeat quietly to myself till I reach the top. When I reach the top I stop to look back and spot Steven’s Orange shirt at the bottom about to take it on. I yell out: “STAY STRONG STEVEN, STAY STRONG!!” he replies with a “WOOOOOOOOO!!!”, and I take off guzzling down enough water to hydrate an army from my pack.
I reach the bottom of Sky Island and still have 2 more climbs, “3 sisters” and one more before I reach Equestrian. Why is this pertinent? Well, at every friggin’ aid station, I’ve forgotten to unload my headlamp and my backup headlamp. No I don’t have them on my head anymore, but it’s still unnecessary weight I’m carrying, and I’m many hours removed from darkness yet still carrying these stupid things. Clearly my brain isn’t functioning. I also made the mistake of forgetting to grab my Sunglasses at Equestrian at mile 15, so mile 35 would be my next chance, and I can really use some shades. I’ve been running on my own now for quite some time, once in a while I run into oncoming traffic, but they’re getting sparse. I do what I can to keep myself entertained, forcing myself to sing to my iPod that I picked up at the turn. I knew the battery wouldn’t last the entire race, so I figured I’d treat myself to music on the second half.
Eventually I reached Equestrian for the second to last time. I remember Josue telling me: “Good luck man, once you reach Equestrian, you’re home free.” I took his word for it, since he’s won the Bandera 100km, and obviously knows a hell of a lot more than I do about this sport, and I’m happy as can be to see Equestrian at mile 36. This time when I see the notepad, I see 131 F Garza! Only 5 minutes ahead! I’m thinking that’s good news, but I still take my time at the aid station. I need to refill my waterbottle, I need to pop more salt pills because my calves have been hinting that they’re not happy, and I need more gels, and I need to dump headlamps. MISTAKE #4 you guessed it. Carried Headlamps for 20 miles too many.
As I depart Equestrian , Eliza comes in to the aidstation. I run about 100 meters, and stop and turn back. I forgot my sunglasses. There’s no way I’m going another 10 miles with out them. I’d rather lose another 2 minutes. As I leave for the second time, people are talking about Steven. I tell them he shouldn’t be far behind, and like the whole thing was staged, as I’m heading into my treeline, he pops out on his side. We wave to each other and I’m off to attack my last significant climb of the 28 mile stretch from hell. Or so I thought.
Ice Cream Hill is a climb that is best described as follows. Trust me, I had tons of time to really think about this one, since I spent many hours along out there. Imagine yourself buying an icecream, the cone with a big heaping scoop of your favorite flavor falls out of your hand and SPLAT! Lands upside down on the ground. From the ground up, you’ve got ripples of icecream, then a bulge of icecream, then the cone sticking straight up. That’s Ice Cream hill. It’s pretty nasty. Especially nasty when it stand between you and your record longest run you’ve ever had to date (37 miles). It hurt, and it really took a toll on my legs. From the top of Ice Cream you could say, it’s smooth sailing. Only slight rolling trails with some minor not-so-steep climbs, but continous climbing for 12 miles before you finally reach the final climb of the day: “Lucky Peak, then a screaming fast 1.5 miles to the finish”
Email from Brownie: “You'll have high points and low points in your race. Just keep moving forward.“
This is where it started getting tough. Very tough. The mile and a half from the top of Ice Cream to Nachos aid station takes me about, oh I don’t know , seven hours maybe? Actually, probably only 20 or so minutes, but it felt horribly long. My legs are jello, my calves are pulsating and I’m popping salt pills with reckless abandon trying to eliminate any possible cramping. I’m almost out of water but I know I’ll refill at Nachos and dump some water on my head too. I sign in, only to find 131 F Garza 9 minutes ahead again. F Garza!!!!! LOL!
Joyce, Joe’s wife was at the station making sure there was water in the coolers, and she’s an angel. She and her friend help me refill my pack, and we discuss salt and cramping issues. I figure she’s probably heard or faced more cramping situations than all of us combined being Joe’s wife and all. I depart Nachos to what should be an easy 6 miles back to Equestrian via rolling hills, and open fields. I’m really suffering. I feel like I’m going a tad faster than a snail at this point, and can’t stop thinking about Brownie’s email and also how we kept saying “Relentless Forward Progress” during our 3 day stint in Colorado in July. At the end of the day, this is a learning run, a recon mission, and training run, but you know what, I’ve been running in 3rd place for about 6 and a half hours, and this is now a race to pretect 3rd and a podium finish. 4th gets a medal, just like 3rd, but 3rd gets an award. I’m now digging deep for anything to get me through these 6 miles. I’ve decided to turn off my iPod because I’m thinking I’d rather have music for the final stretch from Equestrian home, than for this stretch, so now I start looking for help everywhere. I’m thinking of every race, every painful training run, every friend that wished me luck, all the support I’ve gotten, all the people I know are thinking about me. I’m thinking about John Kuss and how the day prior, he and I looked at the Metal Roses for 1st through 3rd and him saying: Mike, I predict you’ll be taking one of those home tomorrow.” I’m thinking about how Gordon and Steven have twice my distance to run. I’m thinking about how fresh and peppy Eliza was, I’m thinking about 100 mile and 50 mile race reports I’ve read. I’m thinking about how Erin has sacrificed part of her weekend to take care of my dog. I’m thinking about forward progress.
There were about 4 maybe 5? Road-crossings on the course, each one a simple, run straight across and keep going. So I reached yet another one and ran across and straight through. I’m now about 1.5 miles from Equestrian, meaning about 6 to 6.5 miles from the finish, and I’m running along. There’s a barb wire fence along the field to my right, and I vaguely remember running next to a fence line in the dark, so this is all good. Except, it doesn’t feel right. Something isn’t looking right. The trail is a jeep trail on soft dirt. I stare at it as I’m running, and I realize all I see are fresh horseshoe prints. How are there not 200 shoe prints all over this thing?? I stop, look back, and see that my shoes are leaving big prints. What the fuck?!!?! I start freaking. I decide we must have run on the grass part on the way out or that it was wet from frost so no footsteps. I continue running till I reach the end of this field because I see what I think is a course marker (red streamer) hanging off a post. But when I reach it, I notice it’s not a race marking, it’s an official park post, that is painted in orange. FUCKING SHIT. I’ve run the wrong fucking way. I look down at my watch and pick up the pace substantially as I backtrack for ever along this field to the road. I’m an emotional wreck at this point. If I wasn’t already in the dumps, I certainly am now when I see a guy in a dark red shirt running along this other field. It’s not Eliza (green top), it’s not Steven’s Orange shirt. FUCK. There goes 3rd place. I reach the end of the road seven minutes later, meaning at least a 14 minute detour, and there they are. Two big bright yellow sheets of paper with giant arrows point LEFT, and a BIG RED WRONG WAY sign on the trail I took. How the hell did I miss those signs??? There goes 3rd. I’m done. I’m so demoralized seeing this guy 200 meters ahead of me, that it’s all over. I’m ready to walk it in. Afterall, it wasn’t a race to begin with. I gather myself and start running as hard as my calves will allow. They’ve been unhappy with me for about an hour now, and all I’m thinking is, “Shit, in Boston they seized up something fierce, and I still was able to slow run my way in for 2.5 miles”… I’m gaining on red shirt man, but I know there’s no fight in this dog, so if he’s got a 50 miler bib, he can have 3rd place. I look down, he’s got a 100 mile bib, and I just hug the guy! “Thank god!” I say to him, and explain the deal. He tells me he went of course somewhere else earlier on so sympathizes with my pain. Crisis- naah… more like Catastrophe averted because that would have been the final nail in my coffin. I finally reach Equestrian, sign in, and don’t even bother to look at F Garza. Hell, I didn’t even bother to say F Garza.
I’m so tired, and beat, and my calves are so ready to pop that there’s no catching him, there’s only survive to the end. The last stretch of Bandera 50km is eventually on the same trail so I realize this as I look at my watch which reads 1:39pm. I know where I am. I know I have some winding trails amongst big cedars, some rolling single track mountain back heaven trails, the mud pits, Lucky Peak, and then a wide heavily used jeep trail home to the lodge.
My calves are seizing and I’m stopping to work on them with my hands, but can’t afford to stand around too long as I’ve give up 14 minutes to 4th place. Who knows how far back he is. Maybe he’s charging. Maybe he’s 30 seconds back. Must. Move. Forward. I do what I can, welcoming any down hills since the calves get a break, but dread any step ups I must face. I finally reach Lucky and just pray to everything that is nice on earth to allow my calves to get me up this last steep ass climb. I crest the top, look back to see as far as I can and see no one. I drop the backside as fast as I can. Thank god for downs and no calf use! I get to the bottom drink as much as I possibly can out of my pack, I pop 2 more salt tabs for good measure, and squeeze the crap out of my calves with my hands asking them for one last effort.
I’m doing all I can here, but it’s probably no more than 8:45 min/miles at best. I keep looking at my watch and now sub 9 won’t be possible as I simply can’t risk calf blow ups, so instead I look back to see if anyone is gaining on me, I take my iPod off and decide to enjoy the last ½ mile or so as much as I can. I started thinking again of the wonderful support team of fellow amateur athletes, friends and family that gave me so many good luck wishes and support prior to the race. John Kuss, Robert, Joe and Joyce for playing the role of my family and support crew at the race, because there is nothing that pulls you to the next aid station like knowing that someone might be there waiting for you. The countless hours on the trails with my trail running friends, the 5:30am Barton Springs runs for 10, 12, 14, 20 miles, Meredith’s support and mentorship, Erin’s continuous friendship and dog sitting volunteering. It all got me to this point, and I’m forever grateful.
Josh, a fellow Rogue and freelance photographer is there in the trees a few hundred yards from the finish, he snaps some photos, and reaches out for a High Five. As much as I want to comply with his request, I tell him I can’t veer off for 5 feet and risk a calf cramp! I keep running with “stretched out toes” and finally cross the dry creek, round the corner and there’s the finish.
I’ve done it. I’m going to finish a 50 mile run. Holy shit! I did it! And I think I’m going to get 3rd!!
I reach the mat in 9 hours 1 min 37 seconds, good enough for 3rd place overall and Joe is there to greet me with a handshake, my Metal Rose award for 3rd place, and a beautiful medal.
I was done; so happy to be done, but even happier to have done it, to have reached the finish line and run 50 freakin’ miles! And I can finally say that I'm an ultra-marathoner.
And now it’s quick recovery week, then 7 hard weeks of training for the real race, Bandera 100km on January 9th. See you there, for even just the 25 or the 50km. It's too awesome to pass up! Drive out that morning, then camp out and stay that Saturday night!!
PS -
Steven went on to finish in a strong 6th place for his first 100 mile finish.
Gordon ran strong all the way to the finish and got his first 100 mile finish.
Eliza continued to run strong and WON the 100mile race in a record time!!!
Congrats to them, and every single other finisher!
