Running Solo?
Well, it sure wasn’t pretty, but
I finished. The Massanutten Mountain
Trails 100 Mile Run was every bit as difficult as advertised. For me, it was a tale of two halves. The first half was fantastic, the second was
awful. I reached the Indian Grave
Trailhead Aid Station at Mile 50.1 in 10:23, feeling strong, in control and in
the top 20 overall, ready to tackle the 2nd half. The second half took me 19:10. Ugh.
So what happened? Not quite sure. My hydration, calorie intake, legs and
physical state were strong. However, my
mental state deteriorated rapidly. Could’ve
been the lack of course preparation before the race, oncoming sickness that
took hold after completing the race, racing in the solo division with no
outside support, or just general apathy, but just after the mile 54 aid station
I mentally checked out of the race. I no
longer wanted to be there. I no longer cared
about finishing. In fact, I spent miles
56-60 thinking about how I would write a devotion for LIFE Ministries about
quitting! Decision made.
The decision to drop is not an
easy one. I have never dropped from a
race of any distance, despite having some miserable experiences. This was different. I was convinced that my day was done and I
had every intention of dropping at Camp Roosevelt (Mile 63.9).
Around mile 60, John Dove passed
me. John is an amazing ultrarunner with
over thirty 100 mile finishes under his belt, including a win at Pinhoti a
couple years ago. He could tell I was
struggling and offered me some encouragement.
Our conversation was brief, given that I was stumbling through the woods
and had just thrown up, and he was moving along quite well, but here is a
snapshot of how I remember it. My
unspoken thoughts are in parenthesis after my actual verbal response in quotes.
John: “No, no, no.
Get going. Can’t stop now.”Me: Grunt, grunt, “Feeling awful”, grunt, grunt. (How is he moving so fast?)
John: “This will pass. Keep moving and you’ll rebound.”
Me: Grunt, grunt “Yeah. Aid station. Good. Slow. Sit. You?” (I’ll rebound back in the hotel room after I get a ride off this mountain.)
John: “You need anything? Salt, gels, food?”
Me: Grunt, grunt. “Aid Station. Good. Slow. Sit. Good.” Grunt. (What I need is a ride back to town after I drop at this next aid station. Wonder if I can still make a late showing of Iron Man 3.)
John: “Just think of all the time and energy you put into training for this and the sacrifices made. You don’t have to move fast, just keep going.”
Me: “Yeah, thanks.” (Dangit John! Why’d you have to say something like that? Now I may have to actually stay out here and slog through another 40+ miles.)
So, with that encouragement I continued on after a long stop at the
Camp Roosevelt Aid Station. Around mile
72 I decided to drop again. I sat down
on a rock and stared into the darkness.
I started calculating…the next aid station is Visitor Center at mile
78…25 miles to go at that point…at my current pace that’s over 10 hours
remaining to finish…absolutely not. 25
miles wasn’t scary, but 10 hours was. I’m
out. At that point a runner approached,
who saw me sitting and asked me to come with him. He said his pace was slow, but a lot faster
than my current sitting pace. I agreed
and hitched on with Nelson Hernandez from North Carolina, but originally from
El Salvador (I think...brain wasn’t fully functioning), and he kept a strong
hiking/jogging pace that kept me moving.
He also talked to me constantly, asking me a lot of questions. My responses, as well as the concentration it
took for me to decipher his accent in the middle of the night, made me
momentarily forget my misery and helped me focus my mind on something
else.
I remember none of our
conversation, but I do know that Nelson’s presence enabled me to get to the
Visitor Center Aid Station at mile 78. Just
before the aid station I developed a plan.
I would stop at mile 78, abandon the solo division, take a nap in the
crew vehicle of my friend Andon Briggs who was also running the race, wake up
when he arrived, then run the rest of the race with him. Or, if he dropped I would simply do the same
and catch a ride back to the hotel with his family. This way I either have company for the final
10 hours or I quit and get some sleep. Good plan. I arrived and Andon’s family was nowhere to be
seen. I found someone with a cell phone
signal who checked and confirmed that Andon had dropped at mile 64 due to
sickness. He came down with strep throat
two days before the race, so getting to mile 64 was pretty amazing. So, no cozy crew nap vehicle. No company. I was disappointed for him, as he had never
dropped from a race, but was mainly jealous.
So much for my brilliant plan. He
better not be at Iron Man 3.
I then sat, dejected, and began a
10 hour display of impressive emotional eating.
I was sad and depressed, so I ate like a teenager after a breakup. Typically I eat gels and easily digestible
food in these races, but no longer. I
immediately consumed an entire cheeseburger and three quesadillas. After eating I was faced with a
decision. Drop now and figure out a way
back to my rental car at the start line, or finish the final 25 miles,
regardless of pace. No looking
back. If I left the aid station I would
finish even if it meant crawling. I
chose this route, but it was no easy decision.
I left the aid station, half-joking with a nice volunteer that “I’m
going back out there, but I’m not happy about it.”
Shortly after leaving the aid
station I met up with two runners, Bill and his pacer Judy. I asked if I could tag along with them and
they graciously agreed. I stayed with
Bill and Judy for hours, through sunrise, and all the way to around mile
94. Bill and Judy were ridiculously
positive and upbeat. It was amazing. Their pace never changed, and they continued
to chat regardless of the terrain.
Uphill…chatting, downhill…chatting, boulder fields…chatting. Their positive energy was exactly what I
needed. We talked about family, races,
politics, and anything else that came up.
When we parted ways at mile 94 I
realized that I only had ten miles remaining.
This was a huge mental lift. I
still felt bad, and my pace remained slow, but the end was in sight. After a couple more aid stations and more
eating (grilled cheese sandwich, five more quesadillas, pancakes, bacon,
sausage, etc.), the finish line was in sight.
I crossed the line in 29:33, about 4 hours slower than I expected. Despite the slow finish, I was satisfied with
the race. It was fulfilling to complete
a race when I didn’t want to. To truly persevere.
I received an extra award for
finishing “Solo”, however I don’t feel like this was warranted. Sure, I set out to do the race by myself, but
in three different occasions detailed above, other runners came to my aid at
exactly the time I most needed help. At
these moments I was not mentally equipped to proceed alone, but John, Nelson,
Bill and Judy, through their encouragement and company helped me go on.
Our Christian faith is much the same.
Our relationship with Christ is personal, but not private. Our faith is strengthened by walking with
other believers and encouraging each other along our way. Sometimes only a little encouragement and
support is needed, while other times more care and attention is required.
Encourage others, be involved, care about people’s struggles and their
successes…and be prepared for them to do the same for you.
My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me
through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in
me and I am in you. May they also be in
us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. I have given them the glory that you gave me,
that they may be one as we are one: I in them and you in me. May they be brought to complete unity to let
the world know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.
- John 17:20-23