"I did it", I said aloud, "I just ran 50 miles". I ran onto the field behind that school for the 4th and final time after 9 and a half hours of running. I didn't know whether to be excited about my accomplishment or kick myself for my stupidity. I caught the eyes of my father, husband and best friend who were all clapping wildly. "H O L Y S H I T" were my final words during that race as I took those last few steps through the gate and over the chip reader, followed by a flood of thoughts consisting of "fuck THAT" "never again" and "I can't believe I just did that".
Backtrack several months when I was persuaded to even sign up for this thing. I had participated in the marathon last year, and really enjoyed it. You can't beat running through the trails on a crisp fall day with great friends, being supported by amazing volunteers who did everything from offer you ibuprofen to cook you bacon. Trails are such a different animal than the pavement, and didn't leave my body quite so beat up. In fact, after I finished the two loops to equal a marathon, I remember thinking that I could have gone in for another loop and kept my wonderfully crazy friend Patty company for some of her 50 mile race - which she had done several times before. Well, apparently I had stated this silly thought out loud because months later when it was time for sign ups - she remembered. And I, remembering how good I felt, scrolled right past the "marathon" option and checked off the "50 mile" bubble.
Race day arrived as it inevitably would. I spent the week before facing the reality of what I've got myself into: this is nearly double anything I have ever run before. The thought of being 25 miles in and only half way done was terrifying. Patty and I gathered at the start (at that point excited to start since it was an uncomfortable 28 degrees), head lamps on in the pitch black, we were summoned to start and took off into the woods for the first of 4 loops.
The first loop was nearly silent. Dozens of runners tried to find their footing over loose rocks, roots and leaves in the narrow trail. Glow sticks and orange ribbon dangling from random branches lead the way. The pace was painfully slow and I couldn't wait for the sun to rise so I could see where the hell I was going and pick it up a bit - the less time out here the better, I thought to myself. At one point, a runner said "2 miles in" and I had two thoughts: it already feels like an hour, and we have 48 left to go.
The second loop was hell. The number of miles conquered verses the number of miles remaining was a crippling thought. My hips wouldn't stop reminding me of the stress I was putting on my body. The aid stations were a bitter sweet time knowing that I could take a break to sip ginger ale and stretch, but needed to get back out there before getting too comfortable. I was relieved to see my dad and his wife waiting towards the end of that loop - but was also very aware that their appearance marked the dreaded 25 mile and "only" half way mark. When I reached the field, I was envious of my girlfriend Lynn who ran the marathon and was done; all snuggled up in dry, warm clothes, ready for rest and alcoholic beverages, and Patty and I still had 2 loops to go.
Patty and I avoided each other like the plague in the weeks leading up to the race, simply to have something to talk about for 9 hours. Lucky for me, during that time she went on her honeymoon and I refused to hear anything about it before race day. We shared stories that make me fortunate trees can't talk, and left it all out there in unfiltered honesty. This was certainly one of those runs that does more justice than therapy. I watched us both learn new things about ourselves and each other, and grow closer in the process. Thank goodness for all of this, because it got me through those first four and a half hours.
The best piece of advice I got was from my friend and ultra marathon runner Sheryl, who told me to make sure I go in for the 3rd loop and I was sure to finish. She was right - entering the woods for the 3rd time made the countdown more tolerable. I was now more than halfway done, and knowing that we only had to do this one more time after this was mentally satisfying. Physically, however, was another story, when an unfamiliar pain plagued my upper calf and behind my knee. I popped an extra ibuprofen and trekked on, more than happy to walk the hills and stretch when I needed. The fatigue at this point was unreal - but in some sick way I was actually excited to be this challenged by running, which prior to this race had always been somewhat easy for me. Every step got me that much closer, and the thought that my husband might be there at the end of this loop gave me something to look forward to.
Onto the field for the 3rd time, no site of my husband. My knee was feeling better but my stomach was a disaster - downing energy gels, chugging electrolyte water, and getting in bites of oatmeal and bananas for the last 37 miles was taking it's toll. I wanted so badly to be done; I had a new mileage PR, would be considered an ultra marathoner, and could walk away satisfied. At that moment I was informed that my husband had arrived - it was all I needed. I ran (more likely waddled) up to him and burst into tears the moment we were wrapped in each other. "This is SO hard!" I blubbered. No idea where the water works came from, but I guess that's what 7+ hours of running and a little ibuprofen buzz will do to you. A few more bites of oatmeal, a "let's do this" and a high-five from Patty, and we painfully took off for the 4th and final time.
5 miles to the first aid station, then only 7 more to go. I felt my stomach pains worsen with every step of that 4th loop. For someone who doesn't tolerate dairy, wheat or soy, my stomach felt as if I had just devoured an ice cream cone topped with breadcrumbs and edamame, It was the most sick I have ever felt. Trees became bathrooms and my mind was tunnel visioned to the aid stations where I could get my next fix of ginger ale. Nothing helped but the thought of finishing. As terrible as I felt, I picked up the pace. I wanted to be done. The last 4 miles between the 2nd aid station and the finish were my fastest of all. I passed people left and right, dodging into the woods when needed. I was willing to nearly sprint after running 45+ miles than be out there one minute longer than I needed to be. Things in the woods started to look familiar, giving me hope I was close to the end. I picked up the pace even more. A little delirious and simply ecstatic to be so close, I started saying goodbye to certain rocks ans trees I recognized. "Last time I'll be seeing you! So long! I'm outta here! Never again!"
And I never will do that again, but I did it. I ran 50 fucking miles.
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