Deanna
Sue Canevello at Finish!
Julie Aistars
Sue Johnson fueling up
Speedy Christine Crawford
Carey at Finish of his first 100 mile!
Think rolling hills and winding roads; hemlocks, pine, and poplar; friendly people with Canadian-like accents; and cheese (Okay, not really on the cheese, or at least I didn't taste any.) Think Wisconsin. She treated me well this weekend: the weather was mild and scenery beautiful.
I arrived at the La Grange General Store near Whitewater, WI at 8:15 PM late for packet pick-up, which is not a big deal since packets are available the morning before the race, but I like to get mine the night before, to be more organized. Plus, what could be more fun than sitting in a tent sifting through a goodie bag? I decided to visit the Nordic trailhead--the Start/Finish area--before setting up my tent at Whitewater Lake Campground. This would save me time in the morning and ease worries of getting lost on race morning. At Nordic, I ran into Tim Yanacheck or "Timo", one of the race directors, and asked him directions to Whitewater Lake.
Finally, at 9:30 PM my tent was set up and pasta cooking on the whisperlite. I pulled out a mini bottle of Ravenwood wine and had a pre-race party backcountry style. After dinner, I rolled into my tent and tried to sleep. Usually the night before the race I sleep well but lack sleep a couple of nights before due to staying up late to pack. However, this time I had a fitful sleep (4 hours maybe) and was not well rested before Kettle.
The next morning I arrived at the Start/Finish with little time to spare, as usual, and picked up my packet before finding Carey to give him the present I made for his first 100 mile run. Previously, at Berryman, Carey and I had a conversation during the run about gaiters and I told him he should try them--they are awesome at keeping rocks, sand, and mud out and the lightweight design is relatively cool. He said that he would like to get some but that Dirty Girl doesn't make gaiters in solid colors. So, I decided to make him a black pair, and made myself a bright blue pair for Kettle. I wanted to give the gaiters to Carey at packet pick-up the night before so he could try them on, but I was too late. I had just enough time to meet Don Fritchl, chat a bit with Carey and retie my shoelaces before the race began.
Carey and I ran a few minutes together and parted shortly after--he was running 100 miles and I was only doing 62--he had to be more conservative than me, or so I thought. I probably should have been more conservative in the beginning too. Usually, I take it real slow at the start and end up at the back of the pack for the first 15-20 miles; then move forward as people start to slow. This time, at mile 20 I felt like stopping completely. My legs were already like lead and my mind was freaking out. I learned from this race that I do not have a solid enough base to recover in two weeks after a 50-miler. However, this experience can only help me learn and get stronger.
The topography of the first 20 miles seemed quite hilly. In fact, as I write this my race shirt is draped over my legs--the shirt has a map of the course that shows the highest point at 20 miles was nearly 1100 ft; total elevation gain for the 100 mile run was 12, 000 ft. In the beginning of the race, I ran real slow up hills but by the end I was speed walking hills. Recently, I read in Trail Runner that Krissy Moehl usually walks hills if she "can walk faster than she runs . . . . But she doesn't turn to a slouching schlep, rather a vigorous power hike that keeps her heart rate consistent with that of her running rate" (July: 29). I tried to make use of Moehl's advice.
I was fortunate to meet up with Stuart Johnson at about 20 miles; he caught up with me in a grassy meadow and put his arm around my shoulders. "You doing okay?" he asked. "So-so," I said. I ran behind him for a bit and inquired about DNFing (DNF: did not finish). Out of more than 100 races, Stuart has never had a DNF. He told me to take my time, take more walk breaks after running only 10-15 minutes. "Are you eating enough?" he asked. I told him, yes, food was not an issue yet. Every 30 minutes I'd pop two electrolyte tablets and suck back a Hammer gel. "Just make it to the turn-around and see how you feel," he said. I thanked him and let him ahead. Meeting with Stuart, his simple gesture of kindness, lifted my spirits and helped me continue on regardless of how tired my legs and mind felt. At the same time, I felt a bit guilty for being so lame at only 20 miles into the race--why so early in the race was I ready to quit? How many times had I ran 20+ miles and felt fine? I knew quitting really wasn't an option but couldn't shake the notion of sitting back at my tent, relaxing and watching the birds, letting the afternoon breeze cool my skin. Or hanging at each aid station to help Carey out.
Luckily, the next aid station (Hwy ZZ?) snapped me out of my stupor and things started to look up. At Hwy ZZ, I met the "Rocket" and had an inspirational conversation with him. Rocket came from California to run the race, then planned to visit his sister in Chicago. We chatted about the ultrarunning community and the different races Rocket has completed. He's been running for over 25 years and had plenty of advice. "Don't dally at aid stations, Deanna. The goal is to move from one aid station to the next." He told me to remember the idea of "constant movement forward." He thought I should stop to walk before I was completely exhausted and that listening to my body would help me from burning out. Rocket and Stuart's encouragement were supportive and made me feel a sense of camaraderie, like I was out playing in the woods with a large group of friends.
After running with the Rocket, I met Sue Canevello, a sweet gal running the 100 mile. I asked her if the waist belt she had on rubbed her back or slipped around. She said, no, it stayed in place quite well. The conversation rolled from there and we ran together for about 10 miles. Rarely do I get the opportunity to run with women during these races, so I cherished the time we spent together plowing through the miles. As we ran together toward the 31 mile turn-around, other runners passed us on their return; as male runners passed they would holler, "Looking good, ladies!" or "Keep it up, ladies!" I liked that they were encouraging both of us and that Sue and I were sharing the experience.
Sue was having stomach issues prior to our meeting, but said her belly felt better as we ran together. She had a huge crew of energetic family members who made her huddle at every aid station. During our run together, Sue asked for my email address so she could send me photos of the race. I told her it was an easy email to remember: climbhigherdude, and that she should visit my blog: runduderun. This led to a conversation about the word "dude" and I shared my thoughts about the word "gnarly", how I wished it wouldn't have phased out. "It's such a cool word!" I said. Sue suggested I incorporate "gnarly" into my email to make it: climbhighergnarlydude, or gnarly_climbhigherdude. We decided to bring the word back into popularity and encouraged passing runners with a "Looking gnarly dude!"
Unfortunately, I had to let Sue run ahead for a bit--my legs began tightening and I was tired. I told her I'd catch up in a while, but that chance never came. I got lost shortly after parting with Sue.
In between Antique Lane and Emma Carlin aid stations, at about mile 48, I ventured off the beaten path with another runner hot on my heels. I planned to make it to Emma Carlin at 4 PM, but made it to the Moraine Ridge Trail intersection instead. I told the runner behind me that the crossing didn't look right, too many horse tracks, but he didn't say anything. "I guess I'll go straight," I said and started running. The markings up ahead were quite different--styrofoam plates with black arrows nailed to trees, instead of yellow markings and white spray painted arrows on the ground. I looked behind me to share my misgivings about the trail and noticed the runner hauling ass the other way. I was angry that he left without telling me; after all, we were lost together and I thought we should try to make it back to the trail together, just in case one of us got hurt. I turned around and tried to catch him.
As I was running back the way I came, I ran into another runner. "Phew! I'm not lost," I shouted. He looked at me and said, "What? Lost?" I told him that the trail markings ahead didn't look correct and the path was messed by hoofprints; maybe the horses worked up the sand enough to wipe away any trace of spray painted arrows? He told me there were a couple of runners behind him and that he thought we were on the correct trail. It was about 10-15 minutes back to where I came from, the intersection, but I turned around anyway thinking we were in the clear. This section of trail that I would retrace four times was very hilly, rocky, and had a few sections of deep beach-like sand. It was tough running.
Finally, we made it to the Moraine Ridge intersection and, once again, realized we were lost. Ah! Luckily, this runner had a cell phone and called a friend who passed the phone to an aid station volunteer. The volunteer told the runner to take down the race director's (RD) phone number, but he didn't have a pen. I told him to memorize half of the number and I'd remember the rest; then I realized that we could write the number in the sand. He called the RD, got directions, and we got back on track.
Once on the race course again, I noticed the time: 4:40 PM. I hadn't eaten since 3:30 and didn't have any gel shots left. It would be at least 20 minutes until I reached Emma Carlin and I was hungry! Damn. I decided to take two electrolyte tabs anyway and keep up on hydration. However, good fortune came my way. As I was running, thinking of food, I noticed a small bag of green jelly beans on the trail--they were open but the bag was nearly full. I quickly snatched them up, hoping the runners behind me didn't see. I felt like a scavenger, but jelly beans never tasted so good!
At 5:00 PM, I reached Emma Carlin (50 miles) and wolfed down a couple of turkey sandwiches while sharing my story with the aid station volunteers. They thought the jelly bean part was a trip and a runner standing next to me informed me that the beans were his. I don't know if he was joking but I thanked him anyway.
After Emma Carlin I felt pretty deflated for getting lost, especially since my energy had been low since the start of the race, but I continued running when I could and walking the hills. I passed a group of runners, two men and two women, who were having a great time. Not long after passing them my left hip got real tight and I was slowed to a hobbly limp-walk. I took two electrolyte tabs and an ibuprofen. The group passed and a woman asked, "Are you okay sweetie?" "Yeah," I said, and let them pass.
As they ran on I realized that if I let them go I'd be alone. I didn't want to run alone anymore and felt an overwhelming urge to catch them. Once I caught up, the guy in front of me asked if I wanted to pass. "No, no," I said, "I need people right now." He introduced himself as Bruce, and told me the women ahead were Michelle and Bonnie, or Bon-bon. Their laughter and constant commentary were stimulating and my spirits rose. My hip seemed okay (the ibuprofen must have kicked in!) and I was able to keep up to their run-walk pace. Again, we talked about the ultrarunning community and how everyone counts in these races, not just the winners but the middle-of-the-packers and back-of-the-packers too. Michelle said that her husband had a batch of BBQ ribs waiting for her at home after the race; Bruce was looking forward to Frosty's for ice cream and a burger (or three!); and Bonnie, though she didn't say this right out, was probably anxious to finish so she could rid of her running shorts and care for the rash that plagued her legs.
We reached Horseriders (I think this was the name of the aid station with the tropical motif) at 7:30 PM. I was worried that I'd be running in the dark if I didn't speed up--my headlamp was back at mile 31 since I planned to finish by 6:00 PM, or 7:00 at the latest. No headlamp meant I must finish by 9:00 PM, lights out, or run ragged in a dark, root-ridden forest. I was behind on calories, though, and needed to peruse the buffet table for a bit. Earlier in the race I was downing Hammer gels until they made me gag; I even tried Hammer's Sustained Energy, but that went down like a fart in church. Now I was hooked on solid foods.
A cool volunteer at Horseriders welcomed me as I ran in and asked what I needed. "Water," I mumbled. He filled both bottles and asked if I wanted food. I didn't know what I wanted. He offered soup. "Sure," I grumbled. After a couple cups of soup and a sandwich the volunteer pointed out how much better I looked--I was laughing and talking again. I was grateful that he noticed my basic needs--ingesting food and drink--were in desperate need of being met. Like mountaineering, ultrarunning seems to impair basic cognitive and motor skills. Simple activities such as speech, eating and drinking, or remembering to take electrolytes at the correct time can become difficult. It's the volunteers, crews, and pacers that pick up the ultrarunner's slack. And the further the race, the more need for assistance.
After leaving Horseriders, I only had 2.5 miles until Bluff aid station, a small oasis lit with tiny white lights in the midst of a pine forest. This is where I met Julie Aistars, an ultrarunner who ran 386 miles in 6 days. As I looked around at the pretty lighting of the aid station, I ate a delicious homemade oatmeal raisin cookie and grabbed a turkey sandwich. I was bending over to stretch my back and take weight off of my legs when Julie suggested I get going. "You want to finish in fifteen hours, not sixteen," she said. I told Julie thanks and remembered my need to get out of the woods before dark--it was 8:08 PM and I only had 5 miles to go.
The last few miles of any long race are a mixed bag--I'm happy to finish but don't want the race to end. This time, though, I was ready to get off my feet. Since only 5 miles remained, I ran like a bat out of hell. As I ran the final five I passed many 100 mile runners heading back out on their final 38 mile loop. Pacers hooted and hollered and I returned with much the same, overjoyed that I persevered rather than attempting my first DNF.
I rounded a bend and heard someone say my name and that he didn't know what happened to me today. It was Carey Smith and his pacer, Chris McMahon, on their way to the final loop. I greeted Carey with a "hey dude!" (should have thrown in a "gnarly" but it slipped my mind) and quickly told him about my fiasco of getting lost. I asked how his legs were and was surprised and impressed by his stamina and strength--he looked great and ready to rock out on 40 more miles.
As my eyes adjusted to the fading light, I let adrenaline carry me along the trail. At only 1 mile to go, I started to choke up with the realization that it would all be over soon. Finally, I saw the Finish banner and a smile crept up on my face. It didn't seem like anyone could see me since I didn't have a headlamp. What if they don't see me, I thought. What if I run to the Finish but no one sees me complete the race? My delayed cognitive abilities were showing again. I was noticed and, for the first time in a race, lifted my arms and let out a wooo oooo before slowing to a walk.
Timo was at my side saying what a great race I ran while leading me to the buffet table. I filled up on Mr. Noodles soup and olives. As I was eating, Timo offered me the traditional finishers copper kettle and a plaque for second place in my age group. I stayed at the Finish for about half an hour eating soup and watching crews care for 100 mile runners before hobbling to my car and calling Dave to let him know I finished. I told him how difficult the race was for me and that I wished he were with me. He told me how much he loved me and said he'd be at the next race to help out. He would crew for me. I can't wait for next time: to see his smiling face at each aid station and hear him holler, "Come on babe!" as I run in. I look forward to sharing a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and coffee with him. Running these races would not be possible if it weren't for Dave's love and support.
Already, I'm excited for next year's race and look forward to seeing my new friends and running the race on fresh legs. Thank-you Timo and Jason; Carey, Mindy, and Mr. Smith; volunteers--especially the Tropical Dude and Julie; Bruce, Michelle, and Bon-bon; Sue, Stuart, Tom, and Rocket; and thank-you Kettle Moraine for being good to me and keeping me safe on your wild flanks.
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