As I relax on my couch typing this, I can't help but reflect with a sense of enormous pride about my accomplishment this past weekend. It was the literally the culmination of everything I had put into my hobby. All the time and resources. Countless miles I had spent in solitude running on sidewalks and roads. Putting on my running shoes and shorts when my mind and body
really didn't want to. Waking up at dawn to squeeze 3 miles in before work. Shelling out hard earned money for shoes. Passing up a six-pack of beer or a pizza to keep my weight down (hey, the less you weigh, the less energy your body uses to get from point A to point B, thus allowing you to run further, right?). All of these decisions reared their heads last Saturday at a cozy lake in Warsaw, Indiana.
The time and logistics spent planning this excursion is almost too complicated to explain. When running 50 miles, you have to be prepared for
anything and
everything. You simply cannot over prepare. The weather, the elements, the course, how your body will react to what you're drinking or eating, etc. Combine that with the fact that I'm normally a fidgety, neurotic, anal-retentive goofball to start with, this was a dream come true.
I spent the night before at work in massive energy conservation mode, walking a fine line between "working" and "loafing." After I had put in my time, I bolted, hopped into my grandparents' bitchin' minivan, and hit the road. 2 things I was not accustomed made the trip more enjoyable: GPS and XM radio. Warsaw is situated north of North Manchester, where I spent 4 glorious years being an incredibly average college student with an above-average appetite for alcohol, and so the trip up there allowed me to reminisce. I thought of all the people and friends I had met during my four years and a deep sense of nostalgia overwhelmed me. But alas, this wasn't about the past. This was about the future.
I checked into the hotel, took all my gear up to the room, and got situated. The race didn't start until 2:30pm, and I wasn't planning on leaving the hotel until 12:45pm, so I had a little time to unwind. I received a much appreciated phone call from a dear friend before I went to bed that put me in an exceptional mood. Hearing her voice - I replayed it in the final miles of my last loop, too - was just what I needed to get to sleep.
I awoke at approximately 7:30am, and went downstairs to sample the continental breakfast, careful not to eat too much. I wanted to make sure my stomach was as empty as possible by 2:30pm. I sipped some coffee, read USA Today, and soaked in the sights. Unfortunately, those sights included a bunch of 13 year-old girls running around before their softball game. I finished my eggs and muffins and went upstairs to catch some more zzz's.
Awaking at 11:45am, I took a hot shower to loosen up. My gear had already been laid out, so all that was left to do was pack it up and hit the road. I checked my email and the weather one last time (72 and sunny, yeah!) and left for the lake.
The start/finish was situated away from the lake (that John Denver is full of shit), tucked neatly down a narrow winding road and into a clearing that is enveloped by trees on all sides. As I pulled in, the mountain bikers from that morning's races were leaving, and I could see the runners milling about. I find a spot right behind a vehicle with a Manchester College Alumni sticker. Sweet! I mozy over to the main tent, grab my bib and continue to unpack and stretch. It's starting to warm up. Hmmmm.
The 10-milers and 30-milers started before us, and after they took off I looked around. Only about 15 of us. Insane. The sun was shining full force, hardly any wind, a long, unknown trail awaited me, and I thought "This is it. There's nowhere else I'd rather be."
We started at 2:40pm. I was careful to not get caught up in the pace of those (few) around me. A slow, plodding pace to familiarize myself with the terrain and surroundings. My legs started to warm up and I got my breathing rhythm down. There were aid stations at 3.2, 5.5 and 7.0, and I made sure to stop at every one of them.
The course itself was a 10-mile loop. Mentally, I divided it into quarters: the first part was run along a creek and included some steep hills before the first aid station. The second part was flatter but the hills it did include had me walking up them. The third part, in between the 2 on-course aid stations, was real flat and out in the open, where you can open up the throttle and make up some ground if you're inclined to. Lastly, the fourth part was the most challenging: it crossed two creeks on narrow bridges and had some killer hills. If you break a race like that down into parts, you're mentally able to deal with it a little better. Of course, I had to do it five times.
The first two loops went by uneventfully. My loops were within 5 minutes of each other, and I changed shirts after the first loop, as it was fairly warm and I worked up a good sweat - even at the relatively slow pace I was running. As I set out on my third loop, I donned my headlamp (but didn't turn it on) and slowed my pace just a little to conserve as much energy as possible. I was still feeling pretty good, and I was seeing fewer and fewer people on the course. My stays at the aid stations got just a little longer - more time to digest the trail mix and gels and to get as much water down as possible. It should be pointed out that not ONCE did I "feel" dehydrated or sluggish due to dehydration or food in my stomach. I attribute the avoidance of dehydration to the countless hours I spend in the sauna at the Athena Center, teaching my body to "sweat efficiently." It should also be pointed out that the HARDEST thing to do in a trail run is to force yourself to eat when you're not hungry. Ugh. I felt like I was 8 years old at the family dinner table again. Only this time I couldn't strategically move my food around to make it look like I ate it.
As I closed the third loop, the PA announcer called my name and said "congrats on finishing your third lap...too bad he's got two more." I was still feeling pretty good, but mentally that was a jolt to the system. I ditched the iPod, changed shorts once last time, turned on my headlamp and set out. The fourth lap, I determined, was the most difficult. It was run without music, and in the dark. I could only see about 10-15 feet ahead of me, but luckily I was starting to remember the course. That didn't stop me, however, from tripping over the occasional root...once such trip that almost landed me headfirst into a thorny bush.
As I approached the last aid station on the fourth lap, the race director pulled up on his bike, offered me some trail mix and we chatted. He was very friendly and encouraging, and as I set out, he said "Don't let 'em catch you."
I crossed the line after my fourth lap, headed to my vehicle and was very confident about my last loop. Water, Gatorade, banana, gel, run. Easy breezy. Coasting along, I made it to the first aid station with no problem. I left there, and then it came. It had been stalking me for a little while, disguising itself whenever I thought I had recognized it. THE WALL.
If you've never met the wall, I'd suggest you not make his (or her) acquaintance. It creeps up on you. Slowly but surely. When you least expect it, it's like you're entire energy supply is just drained. I hit the wall in my first marathon at 21 miles or so, like most newbies do, and it was awful. I felt like I couldn't run another step. This time, she approached me a little kinder and gentler. I still had the energy to put one foot in front of the other, but I was struggling. As indicated in my FB post, I passed an old man whose exchange and kind words allowed me to get my second wind. As I pounded through the last half of the lap, my thighs were burning and my back was starting to ache. I remembered the phone call from the previous night from someone I care very much for, and that helped tremendously. She probably doesn't know it, but it did. Even my arms were starting to get sore.
Since I was so familiar with the course by that point, I was able to tell when I was in the homestretch. I could hear voices and see lights. Any runner will tell you that on a run that long, you cannot overstate the excitement of knowing you're close to the finish. I came down a hill, and coasted through the chute a few minutes before midnight in 9:24:45. The few people that were left there were cheering as if I had just won Boston (what a rush!!!) and a beautiful woman put my finishers medallion on me (What the? Was I dreaming?). At that point, I wasn't tired necessarily, but my legs were sore and felt awfully rubbery. After changing clothes, stretching and getting some water, I headed back to the hotel around 12:45am.
I thought I'd be able to sleep like a log, but alas, I didn't. Too jacked up and my legs were too restless. I soaked in the tub with some ice and reflected on the day. My thoughts wandered about all the choices I had made - some good, some bad - that had led me to sitting in a bathtub of ice in Warsaw, Indiana. I thought about how my life unfolded differently than I expected it would - was I supposed to be married and have kids by now? Working 9-5 job somewhere? Well, none of that has happened. But I wouldn't change a thing.
Some interesting factoids that may or may not interest only me:
Calories burned: Anywhere from 8,000-9,500. That's at least 2 pounds of pure fat.
It took one runner 15 1/2 hours to finish the 50-mile course...at 6:00am the next morning.
The race director himself sang the Star-Spangled Banner...a noble effort indeed.
I saw black squirrels. Or skunks without stripes. One of the two.
I saw a spectator smoking. I just thought that was really strange.
I drank warm pickle juice at the end of each loop.
I didn't actually "run" 50 miles; I walked up all steep hills and in and out of every aid station. But I probably did run at least 47-48 miles.
I only had to pee twice: once after the third loop and once in the middle of the 5th loop (on the course).
