I crossed the finish line. Someone said "Congrats, you just made 13 hours." Someone else put a medal around my neck. And then I stood there, a little confused, for longer than I should have. For the past 13 hours, a single simple thought had been my sole focus. I had repeated it in my head so many times that it had become a sort of mantra that was now etched across my consciousness. That thought was to just keep moving . . . just keep putting one foot in front in front of the other and eventually one of them will find the finish line. Now, upon arrival at the long anticipated destination, I didn't quite know how to wipe that thought away. What was I going to do with myself now?? But eventually some guy grabbed my arm and said, "Come on, let's go get a burger!!" I was sure that I did not want a burger, but at least my feet had a new reason to move.
When I sat down to write this race report, I realized that I do not have an especially clear memory of my first 100K. Perhaps this is because of the determined and repeated reminder to myself that I must exist only in the present. Only by not dwelling on how far I had traveled or on how far I had left to go, was I able to narrowly side-step that ever-lurking, and potentially race-ending, conclusion of "I can't." I guess that if a clear recollection of the entire 13 hours is the price I paid for finishing, it was completely worth it. So here are the things that I do remember, and also the lessons that I learned during our 62 mile trek through the hills outside of San Francisco.
- I remember a start on the beach at sunrise. The Pacific Ocean roared behind us and an series of intimidating hills loomed ahead. Someone announced the start, and we headed for the hills.
- I learned that you should always check the elevation chart before sending in your race fee; but at least at MiWok, the views from the top of those elevation peaks were worth every penny.
- I remember running with Clea for the first 21 miles. There were steep descents into the first couple of aid stations. Gravity pulls me down those hills a little faster than it pulls Clea, but she would catch and pass me as I stopped to empty the beach sand from my shoes. Then I would speed up to catch her again. We enjoyed this game of leap-frog and our easy conversation between stations until after the 3 mile climb to Pan Toll. At that point my shoes were finally emptied of sand and from the time I pulled ahead on the next long descent, we faced the remaining miles on our own.
- I learned that five-inch tree slugs and large green and yellow snakes live in Western California. I learned that the snakes will move to get out of your way, but that the tree slugs just lay there. The slugs also make a disgusting sound when you step on them and, if you already feel a little queasy, that sound doesn't help the situation.
- I remember a long, steep downward slope around mile 31. I remember feeling proud of myself as I sped swiftly past other runners in my hurry to get to the aid station at the bottom. I remember the feeling of surprise when my foot caught a root and I flew, superman style, for about 10 feet before skidding to a stop on my belly in the dirt. I remember feeling embarrassed when one concerned runner stopped briefly to ask if I was okay while another amused runner shouted out "SAFE!!" With a bunch of scrapes, but no real injuries, I dusted off and continued more carefully to the aid station at the bottom. I consoled myself by thinking that I probably the only person that day who would run, walk, and FLY to the finish line.
- I learned that what goes down the hill must go up again. When the course gives you a break one moment it is only preparing to take it back, and then some, around the very next turn. When we got to the bottom of the steep hill of my superman slide, the volunteers turned us around and sent us back up. The only redeeming thing about this part of the course was that I got to see Meredith (ahead of me and on her way back up when I was speeding down) and Clea (speeding down as I was marching back up). They both seemed to be doing well and their smiles and greetings put a spring in my step for a few miles.
- I learned that you can reach a low point during these longer races and still come back again. I learned this lesson around mile 34 when, during a long tree-covered stretch (ground smattered with the slimy tree slugs), my stomach began to churn. So I stopped running and I didn't even "power-walk" like we did on the hills. Instead I took a moment for a "leisurely stroll." I ate some energy jelly bellies and took a few swigs from the camel back. After a few minutes of strolling, I felt better. Lots better! So I started to run again.
- I remember a long stretch of very narrow switch-back trails through the greenest grass snaking along the side of a series of hills. I heard someone call this part "the Ridges." I remember that these narrow trails (almost too narrow for my feet) were slanted downward with the hill grade and that these miles were very exposed to the sun. I remember that slanting trails are hard to maneuver when the heat is making you a bit dizzy.
- I remember emerging from the narrow trails to see Meredith up ahead. Meredith is lot faster than I am, so I was surprised to see her. Also, I was excited to because of the prospect of some company for a while. When I did finally reach her, we chatted and shared our experiences thus far. Mer had had some bad luck with harder falls (resulting in what must have been a very painful toe injury) and some out-and-back adventures in a wrong direction. She was still smiling though, and we joked and chatted through the early 50ish miles. I remember telling a random fellow that "this is officially my longest run!" and that he really didn't seem to care. Meredith pretended to be proud of me though!! We ran strong together down the 1,900 foot descent and then Mer thought it wise to go easy until getting some additional nutrition. I still had some energy left, and so by mile 55, I was on my own again.
- I learn that I have a "filter" that turns off somewhere after 55 miles. I started muttering to myself, and the words that came out of my mouth were unusual for me, and not especially nice. I remember that one section the trail branched. One path was flat and clear around a ravine. The other path went steeply down into, and then steeply up out of, the ravine, which, by the way, was filled with brambles (picture the "briar patch" from the old Uncle Remus cartoons). Wouldn't you know it -- the little pink ribbons led right down into the briar patch. I think I was about half way through when my filter shut down and I let it fly - "WHOSE FU#*ING BRIGHT IDEA WAS THIS?!?!" As I tore angrily out of the other side of the ravine, I almost ran smack into a woman and her little girl hiking. They looked a startled, and maybe even a little scared. I realized that they had heard my ranting. I blushed and quickly apologized, and I remember thinking that getting quickly away from them at least gave my feet a reason to keep running.
- I remember, VIVIDLY, the last 1,000 foot climb at mile 58-60. I remember repeating my mantra on the way to the top - just keep moving . . . just keep putting one foot in front in front of the other and eventually one of them will find the finish line. Reaching this particular summit will be one of those moments that will remain with me forever. I remember the ocean stretching into the sunset. The ocean breeze was almost cold by this time and it blew strong in my face and felt refreshing from this high, uncovered point. I turned, and there was the mighty city of San Francisco behind. Then I looked down. Just as Meredith had predicted, I could see the finish line below and it was ALL down hill for the last two miles. The sight gave me a smile. The sight gave me hope. The sight gave me more than enough energy to run those last two miles. I surged ahead. It was going to happen. I WAS going to finish. And as you already know . . . I did.
MiWok was absolutely the most physically difficult thing that I have ever voluntarily endured. In fact, I am still enduring it - every muscle in my body aches, even now, two days later. Overall though, it was a good thing. I made memories and I learned lessons. When you boil it all down, aren't those two things really what life is all about? I am so lucky to have friends like Meredith and Clea, who put up with me and are willing to encourage and share these unique adventures. Meredith planned everything for us - from directions to drop-bag instructions. I now have a heightened respect for her training and plans to run the Western States 100 Miler. Clea encouraged me to train, and her company always makes that training endurable, and even more, she makes it fun. The jury is still out as to whether I will ever run another 100K. I am glad, however, that I did this one. After all, the memories, the lessons and the bonds of friendship last a lot longer than the pain.
Post Script to Clea: I have not forgotten our deal - If I agree to run MiWok, you agree to go skydiving with me. When are we jumping?
