Wishful Thinking

With less than a week before I run the Green Jewel 50k I've been checking the weather constantly to see what the forecasters are predicting for race day.  I suppose I should have known better than to sign up for an ultra in Cleveland in March but it's too late to back out now.  Weather, in Cleveland is always a concern, especially in early "spring."  Spring, I'm afraid, is some weeks away here. 

My hope when I forked over the $55 to get myself entered was a partly cloudy day with high temps around 40 degrees.  Not too bad for running and a reasonable expectation for March in Cleveland...or so I thought.
The actual forecast? (you're dying to know, no doubt):

"Snow showers at times. Highs in the upper 20s and lows in the upper teens." Estimated  high of 27 degrees with NW winds at 12 mph.  (that's from weather.com)

Could be better.  Could also be much, much worse.  All I can say is...it will be fun.

Otherwise I feel decently prepared for the race.  Weather has been an issue for training too, somewhat, but I just finished a 42 mile training week capped with an 18 mile run at 8:05/mile pace that felt really good.  I'll call myself cautiously optimistic at this point.  I just need to manage my race well and not obsess too much over the weather.  Change the things you can, right?  And accept what you can't change.  It sure would be convenient to be able to change the weather sometimes though.

You Never Know How Strong You Are Until Being Strong Becomes Your Only Choice

"Why?  What goes through your mind when you sign up for these things?"

I sat in a chair sipping hot soup and enjoying the immense satisfaction of knowing that I had run a good race and finished.  Despite hurting all over, I felt good.

The question was posed by the spouse of a fellow ultra runner who was still out on the course.  It was a fair question, not uncommon, and yet difficult to answer.

"Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time," I laughed.  He laughed too, and didn't press the issue.  My wife already told me I was incoherent and I'm sure he didn't want to stress my already fritzed out brain.

It wasn't until the next day I read this little saying:

You Never Know How Strong You Are Until Being Strong Is Your Only Choice.

That's it, I thought.  That's why I run ultras.  There comes a time during each of these 30 plus mile runs where your body screams "Stop" but you don't stop; you can't because the finish line is still a good 20 miles away and you made a commitment to cross it.  And even though it seems daunting, even impossible, to think of the miles that lie ahead you keep putting one foot in front of the other, step after step, mile after mile.  Sure your mind wigs out (its not uncommon for ultra runners to hallucinate) and your body may collapse occasionally, but time after time, you rise again and somehow find the strength to take another step and go another mile.  Proving that you are stronger than you ever thought and that the impossible is only unattainable when you cease to strive for it.

Rocky Raccoon 50 Mile Endurance Run

The weather was perfect.  I feared that running in February would pose all sorts of discomforts (I hate to run in the cold) but race day dawned with temps in the low 50's and the promise of 60 to 70 by mid afternoon.

The course was perfect.  Rocky is set in Huntsville State Park, about an hour north of the Houston Area, in a wooded park.  The trail is mostly soft dirt with a few roots here and there ;).  It is relatively flat and has a reputation as a fast course.  Many a PR was set at Rocky.

The aid was perfect.  As many ultra runner know, the life of a race often lies with the volunteers and the aid stations.  Rocky's aid stations and volunteers were OUTSTANDING.  On a scale of one to ten, they get eleven.

I was less-than-perfect.  Coming out of the New Year's Double where due to illness, I was forced to drop from back to back Marathons to a Marathon followed by a half marathon, my confidence may have been a little shaken.  I had also intended for Rocky to be my first 100 mile run but was forced to drop to the 50 miler due to scheduling conflicts.  To simplify a complex situation--I was not 100% going into the race.

Mindi took it upon herself to be my crew.  For anyone who hasn't had the privilege of "crewing" before, it is an extremely dull and unrewarding job that is usually done out of sheer love.  Crew's wait for hours while their runner plays in woods.  At the aid station, the crew attempts to see to the needs of an often exhausted, glycogen-depleted runner who usually thinks his/her needs are the only thing that should matter.  Runners are not always as kind and appreciative of our crew as we ought to be.

At 7:00AM, an eiery cry rose from the woods and over 300 runners began what would be a full day of running, walking, eating, puking, bleeding, limping crying, and more running.  An additional 300 runners had left an hour earlier on their way to run 100 miles.  We call ourselves "Ultra Runners," the rest of the world calls us "Crazy".

The 50 Mile course consisted of three 16.67 mile loops with 5 aid stations along the way.  Mindi was able to be at the first (Mile 3), second (Mile 7) and last (Mile12) aid stations.  The fourth and fifth aid stations were too far off the main road to be accessed by crews.

I finished my first loop in under four hours.  I had two concerns: I was sweating a lot--which meant I was losing a lot of fluids and electrolytes, and my knee hurt.  A given amount of pain is expected during an ultra...but I hadn't expected to hurt this bad until 25 or 30 miles.  I changed my knee brace and added some extra athletic tape for additional support, drank as much coconut water as my stomach could handle and headed back out for more. 

By the time I reached the first aid station on my second loop, I knew I was in trouble.  The new knee brace, despite the extra athletic tape, was not helping my knee at all.  Every step sent shocks of pain through my leg.  I could deal with that..yes, but could I deal with that for another 30 miles...

I sat down on a log and tried to evaluate the situation.  I had run 20 miles (roughly).  My pace was good (I hadn't set any particular goal because I had planned to run the 100 mile race).  I was sweating a lot, but I was still peeing which meant I was sufficiently hydrated.  All was well...except the knee.  I tried to adjust it and winced in pain.

"What do you need?" my beautiful crew captain asked. 

I had to admit a hard truth to myself: I could handle some pain...but this would be too much.  I would not be able to continue running for 30 miles with this pain.  The way I saw it, there were two options:

1.  DNF: Drop out of the race, go home shower, lay down, enjoy the weekend and hate myself for the next six months.  OR

2.  Take an Ibuprofen.

I chose the lesser of two evils.

"When I see you again, will you bring some vitamin I?" I asked.  Mindi looked at me dubiously for a moment, knowing that I hate to run on drugs because it can do major damage to your kidneys and it prevents your body from strengthening itself naturally.  But the look in my eyes must have explained the balance between pain and determination because she nodded, helped me up and pushed me in the right direction.

Rash from the knee brace

I would still have to run close to ten miles before I got any relief.  I found that my knee hurt just as bad walking as it did to run, so I ran.  Step by step, mile by mile.  I reached the aid station affectionately named "Damnation" where crews could not  get.  The aid station volunteers were everything a runner could ask for.  I got some food and some salt pills.  By this time, my muscles were starting to cramp due to lack of salt (I think).  I drank as much water as I could and filled my water bottle.  I needed to get a TON of water down if was going to take those pills.

I made my loop and headed back towards towards the fourth aid station.  The cramping had increased despite the extra salt (I don't think it had hit my system yet) and I wanted to slow my heart rate some so the medicine I planned to take would be effective and not just burn off.

As I limped to the next aid station, God blessed me with another gift.  My good friend and training buddy, Ace, ran up behind me.  Ace was running 100 miles in this race.  He was also experiencing some difficulties so we ran, walked and limped along for several miles.  Running with Ace took my mind off the pain and monotony of running over 30 miles.  We didn't keep a fast pace but we kept moving forward.

As we moved through the Damnation Aid Station for my final trip, Ace split off to follow the 100 mile course and I cut across, following the 50 mile course.  I refueled as best I could and trudged on toward my last aid station. 

An ultra is an adventure.  There are a lot of ups and downs.  I came up on a racer who was literally crying.  Its always a little awkward to see a girl crying...
"How's it going?" I asked.
"I tore my (ok, I honestly don't know what exactly she tore, but it sounded really painful and judging from the tears, it probably was).  I'm going to have to drop out out at the next aid station," she sobbed.

What do you say to that?

She had run close to 40 miles and would not finish the race.  Another friend of mine ran 71 miles (of the 100 mile race) before having to drop out due to injuries.

I had been struggling with knee pain for the last 30 miles.  Fortunately for me, the pain did not seem to be getting worse.  "Its only pain," I told myself.  The scary-make-you-drop-out-of-a-race pain is that which leads to permanent and serious injuries.  I was lucky to struggle with only pain.

It was just over 4 miles to the finish line.  I had run almost 46 miles.  It was time to finish this thing.  I kissed my beautiful wife/crew chief goodbye and told her I planned to pick up the pace a bit.  I grit my teeth and ran out of the aid station.  The pain in my knee was still full force.  The Vitamin I I had taken had all but worn off.  "Its only pain," I told myself and ran.  I lengthened my stride and pumped my arms.  My garmin said I was doing an 8:30 mile average.  My goal was to not let anyone pass me during these last 4 miles.  Not that I'm a jerk (ok, I'm something of a jerk) but I wanted to finish strong--and put the last bit of myself into this race.

I came up on and passed several runners.  Each time I passed one, I tried to increase my pace, knowing that it would be so disheartening to be passed by someone flying along at that stage that the runners being passed wouldn't have the heart to try and keep up.

I crossed the finish line after running for 10 hours and 58 minutes.  It was bittersweet; I planned to run 100 miles at this race.  It wasn't possible and frankly, if I was forced to admit it, I probably couldn't have finished it if I had tried.  I sat down, ate some soup and enjoyed the feeling of knowing that I had run a good race (and PRed by more than an hour and qualified for WS100--if I had the resources and luck to get into it).  I sat visiting with Mindi and a couple other people whose spouses had psycosis similar to mine.

"Why?  What goes through your mind when you sign up for these things?"

Sometimes you need to find out if you're strong enough.

Dropping

Dropping, not to be confused with Lance Armstrong and "Doping", is similar to the feeling you get when walking down a flight of stairs and you think there is one more step but when you step down you bottom out and your stomach smashes against your spleen...

And you drop.

I took the phone call about two weeks ago.  It was my boss and one doesn't generally ignore calls from the boss if one desires to keep one's job.  "I need you to attend this conference in Austin.  You'll have to be there on Sunday, February 3rd at 1:00pm."

And I dropped.

To understand the significance of this, you must realize that my whole YEAR has been leading up to Saturday, February 2nd (Happy Birthday, Mom).  Rocky Raccoon was to be my first 100 mile race.  No small task in the undertaking; no small feat in the preparation.  To run 100 miles, I planned on spending at least 24 hours on the trail.  Although it was very likely and even probable that I would be out for more like 28-30 hours.  The race begins on Saturday, Feb. 2nd at 6 am.

What my boss told me essentially was that I would have to start running at 6AM on Saturday.  Run all night.  Finish (assuming I did) the race in 28 hours or so.  Shower and change clothes.  Then make the 3 hour drive to Austin in about an hour and a half to check into the conference and spend the rest of the day (on NO sleep) going over financial statements on loan compliance.

Impossible, you say. 
Maybe for others. 
But for me.............................................................Impossible.

And I dropped.

I contacted the race director, who happens to be a very understanding man, and despite the fact that the refund deadline had already passed, he allowed me to drop from the 100 mile race to the 50 mile race.

I will still run, I will still ache when it's over.  I will still hold my head high and proudly cross that finish line and display my finishers medal on my wall...but I will have to wait for my first 100 miler.

Failure's not Flattering

The day dawned bright and sunny.  There was a slight breeze and just a hint of a cloud cover.  62 degrees and PERFECT for running.  I never felt better.

I wish I could start my post this way.  I wish it was true.  But if you've come looking for an inspiring post about the perfect Marathon...you, my friend, will have to keep looking.  It is my sad but serious responsibility to record the truth, no matter how unpleasant.  And the unpleasant truth in this case is that the day was anything but bright and sunny.

Grey clouds hung low overhead, so thick that at times you felt as if you were walking through them.  You could be the optimist and say, "At least it didn't rain."  But you would be sadly mistaken.  For it did rain.  It rained for most of the day.  Not the pleasing "I love the smell of rain" rain, but the bitter "My wedding day is cursed" rain that Hollywood so aptly applies when the Hero dies.

The optimist may venture to say, "We need the rain, and as long as there is no wind the rain can be dealt with."  The optimist, in this case, is correct.  Unfortunately for the runners, there was wind.  Cold wind.  The kind of wind that cuts though your layers of technical clothing and pierces not only your skin but your very heart.

When all has failed my "the Glass is Still Half Full" friend may attempt the never failing, "Well, at least you have your health" line. 

WRONG AGAIN!

Sucking down my special prerace drink

This race was supposed to be a training run for my 100 miler next month.  It probably wasn't the perfect scenario anyways but it was what I wanted to do.  I was signed up for a marathon on New Years Eve and a second Marathon on New Years Day.  2 Marathons in 2 Day.  It was not the craziest race I've ever signed up for.  In fact, I hadn't really given it much thought.  I would show up, run, run some more, go home and keep running to get ready for the Big One.

The week before the race, I ran 26 miles to let my body feel what it was like.  Then all hell broke lose.  The flu ran through town and found it's way into our home.  Colds, allergies and bronchitis ran through town as if they were training for a Marathon also.  I worried about the minor aches and pains that I had dealt with for months.  Would they flare up in the middle of the race?  Had I over trained?  Had I trained enough?  Was I fit enough and mentally prepared for this?

I started coughing a couple days before the race.  No big deal, I thought, as I chewed on Vitamin C as if it were Skittles. 

I set two objectives going into this race: (1.) Finish a Marathon in under 4 hours and (2.) Finish two marathons in 2 days.

I accomplished neither.  (My head hangs in shame)

The 30 degree temperatures and rain made the day cold.  The wind made it miserable.  But with my first goal in mind, I took off from the starting line like there wasn't a care in the world.  I averaged an 8:30 min/mile for the first 6.6 mile loop.  If I kept it under 9, I would break 4 hours.  I did a quick systems check: I was not cold only because my body heat kept me warm, my hands were a little cold because the rain had soaked my cotton gloves, my legs were pretty tired considering I was only a quarter of the way into this beast, my pace was good.

In retrospect, I should have focused less on my pace and more on all the other issues.  I didn't.  I kept the pace.  By 13.1 miles (halfway) I was at 1:54.  I was pushing hard.  Judging by the tax on my body, I would have guessed that I had run a 1:45, maybe even a 1:40 half.  Or that I had covered 18-20 miles.  My heart rate was up and I couldn't keep my breathing steady.  This was a very bad state to be in at the halfway point.

I allowed my pace to slow for the next loop and began to walk through the aid stations as I drank Gatorade.  Without the extra effort, my breathing came under control and my heart began to slow...I also began to shiver.  My clothing was now soaked through and through and the wind cut like a chain saw.
I tried to focus on the music I had, it didn't help.  I tried to focus on the racers around me; it didn't help.  I looked for my cheering section...they were wisely back at the hotel.

I passed a sign that said 16 miles.  I thought I would be elated when I passed the sign but all I could think of was, "Please, not another 10 miles in this crap."  But there was nothing to do but grit your teeth and run.

By the start of my last loop, breaking 4 hours seemed impossible.  I was already at 3:10.  The chances of my running a 50 minute 10 K after running 20 miles in 30 degree weather with wind was not likely.  But I found some small comfort in knowing that it was the last loop.  I told myself, "It's the last time I take this corner.  Last time I'll hit this aid station, last time I'll jump over that snake (or stick that looks like a snake).

By mile 23 I picked up my pace again.  I began hunting the runners in front of me.  One by one I would pick them off and pass them.  Each time I passed one, I would look ahead and pick a new victim.  My legs were cramping pretty badly by this point, but I knew I could muscle through it.

Just passed mile 25, my cheer squad was waiting.  There wasn't a lot left in the tank but I tried to push anyways.

As I rounded the 2nd to last corner, there was one person between me and the finish line.  It didn't seem likely, but I decided to try and catch her anyways.

My official finishing time was 4:21:57.  Not even close to my goal of 4 hours.  What was worse...I knew I was now full fledged sick.

As I tried to walk the 10 yards from our car to the Hotel entrance, I began to shake so violently that I could hardly stand.  My skin was hot and dry and my legs wouldn't cooperate with me.  And I had less than 24 hours before I had to do it again.

I ate, rested, stretched, rested and ate some more.  My body felt like it had been run over by a freight train (I don't personally know what it's like to be hit by a train...but I imagine it was like this.)  By the next morning, I could hardly move.  I knew I was running a fever.

I tried to jog a little to warm up/loosen up.  The weather man claimed that the rain was over.  He obviously failed to look out the window because it was still falling.  I ran about 20 yards on legs that felt more like broom sticks.  If I tried to run 26 miles in this weather again, I was sure I'd be in serious trouble.

Some would call it quiting.  Some may call it self preservation.  I did what I had to do.  I dropped from the full marathon to the half.  It may sound crazy, but the thought of 26 miles seemed impossible.  13 miles, however, was just a walk in the park.  So that's what I did. 

By the time the race started, I knew I could muscle through 13 miles and while I wasn't happy about having to drop from the Marathon distance, I felt like it was the right thing to do.

I ran an easy half and finished in about 2 hours 5 minutes.

3 Simple Miles

The Whitney Elementary Reindeer Run is a 5K put on by our local elementary school.  I had not run a 5k all year because I wanted to focus on Ultra and Marathon distances.  But I felt a responsibility to support running in my local community so I signed up.  I had a secret goal that I didn't really want to verbalize because I wasn't sure it was possible...a sub20 5K.

For those of you who don't speak Runner, let me explain.  First of all, a 5k is 3.1 miles.  It is a crumb of a bite sized race when compared to the 26 mile marathon (and let me state here a 5K is NOT a marathon and calling a 5k a marathon in the presence of a runner is equivalent to dropping the F bomb in a kindergarten class) or 50 - 100 mile ultra marathon.

Not to belittle the 5K.  It can be a REALLY tough race because it is so short compared to the marathon, a 5k is more like a sprint than a distance run.  Yeah, you try sprinting 3 miles and tell me how easy it is.  I have seen plenty experienced runners cross the finish line and lose their breakfast.

Sub 20 refers to time in minutes. 

My fastest 5k to date was 20:04.  I ran that in July of 2011 on a perfectly flat course and after doing speedwork all summer.  I wasn't really sure that I could go any faster.  I felt totally wasted after that race and knew that I had give it my all.  The thought of tapping some unknown resource that would help me go even faster was unfathomable. 

Let's do the math: To run a sub-20 5k I would need to drop 5 seconds from my fastest time.  I knew from tempo runs I could run a 7 minute mile for at least 5 miles and feel pretty good...But if I carried three 7 minute miles, I was 1 minute over my goal.  My fastest miles were about 6:20.  If I could hold a 6:30 pace for 3 miles I would come in at 19:30 (plus 0.1 miles). 

Yeah, it sounds a lot easier than it is. I worked out several scenarios: 3 miles at 6:30; first mile at 7, second at 6:30, last mile at 6 flat (like that was going to happen); 2 miles at 6:30 and a 7 (much more likely but I would have to shave seconds off the last mile to keep it under 20 minutes). 

Two things I figured: 1--it was probably possible.  2.  It would hurt like crazy.

My training was mostly focused on Ultramarathon preparation.  I did a 50 mile race in October and had back to back Marathons coming up at the end of December.  Not to say that I didn't blast out a few fast miles, but for every mile of speedwork I did, there were about 20 miles of plodding along--teaching my body to keep going mile after mile no matter how slow.  Would the accumulation of all those slow miles do me any good in a 3 mile sprint?

In my favor were:
1. Weather: the weather was a cool 55 degrees.  Just about perfect for racing.
2.  I had a Batman Shirt.  Honestly, how can you go wrong with Batman?
3.  Pacers: I didn't have pacers but there were 2 kids from the High School Cross country team running.  I knew they would go under 20 Minutes.  If I could keep up with them, I would make it to.  (Before the race started I asked one of them what his goal was.  When he replied, "I'm going to shoot for 17 minutes," I decided keeping up with them might not be such a good idea.)

I jogged 3 miles to warm up then did striders to stay loose and get my legs ready for the real running.  I told myself (as all runners do) that the world wouldn't end if I didn't go under 20 minutes but (as most runners do) I didn't really believe it.

We lined up on the starting line.  I pushed my way to the front...not that I'm a jerk (maybe I am) but I was going for a RACE here; I couldn't afford to lose precious seconds behind the joggers and kids that hadn't truly paid the dues to be at the front of the starting line. 

The horn sounded; it was as if a gunshot rang out from behind us and the crowd surged forward with the momentum of a derailed freight train.  Four of us quickly dropped the crowd and it became painfully evident who the runners were.  Three of the guys were from the cross country team (the two I expected and one more).  I drafted behind the main group, knowing that I could not possibly beat them but hoping they might drag me to a PR.  At about a half mile I glanced at my Garmin and almost gasped when I saw that we were on pace to do a 5:34 mile.  I had never done a mile faster than 6 minutes...Don't think about the pace, I told myself, just follow those t-shirts.

And that's what I did.  It was shortly after the first mile that one of the 3 cross country kids slowed and I passed him.  The two that I knew were fast shared the lead.  It was about this point last year that I faltered and they dropped me.  This year I held steady until about mile two.  By this point I was totally spent.  I didn't even have the energy to flip my wrist up and check out time/pace.  The boys pulled up to a 10 then 20 yard lead.  I could her the PE teacher (who was riding in the vehicle leading the way) shouting at me to hurry, that I could still catch them.  I willed my legs to spin faster but nothing happened.  The best I could do now was hold on and hope it was enough.

We rounded the corner off the street into the school parking lot.  There was about 600 yard to go.  My brain shrieked, "ENOUGH ALREADY! Just coast in...there will be other races to set a PR."  I thought about the agony of the last 2.5 miles.  Was that all to be wasted?  No Way, Brain, I argued.  We go hard to the end--then you can kill me if you want.

I pumped my arms to keep my pace as fast as possible, gasping for air.  My vision blurred as I leaned into the last turn.  Just through the chute.  I grit my teeth and gave the rest of me over the race.

Someone was calling for me to come back...they needed my race bib or something.  It didn't matter.  The race was run and I needed to find a trash can to throw up in.  I waved my hand in acknowledgement and waited for my vision to come back, gasping for air and savoring the sweet, satisfying ache of having given it my very best. 

My time?  What was my time, I suddenly remembered that I had set a goal.  I looked at the clock.  Stared for a moment to try and register what I saw and then nodded with a pride I felt only a few times in my life.

19:05.
I not only set a PR, and broke the 20 minute barrier but KILLED my previous time.  It was enough to earn 3rd place overall, behind the cross country kids (and in front of a few).

So now there is question in my mind: what will happen next year when I focus on speed training?

Brutally Beautiful

 Cactus Rose is one of, if not the toughest races in Texas.  Runners chose between 50 and 100 miles of the toughest terrain The Great State has to offer.

The Race Doc begins: "WELCOME… to the Texas Hill Country: where everything Stings, 

Scratches, or Bites. The name CACTUS ROSE seems so appropriate for this 

event. Where Pain accompanies Beauty."

Travis and I looking extra chipper for 4 AM

If you have never seen the start of an ultra marathon...try to imagine a group of 6 year old kids coming in from Trick-or-treating on Halloween without any restraints on the sugar intake.  You see, ultra runners, when training for a race, generally run anywhere from 50 to 100 miles a week.  Sometimes more.  But a couple weeks before the race...we taper.  That means we drastically reduce our weekly mileage (in order to conserve energy for the race) and the result is a bunch of obsessively healthy freaks with more energy than they have had for MONTHS.  It's great.

For years I had dreamed of this moment.  My first 50 mile race.  I had done smaller Ultras before and sure I knew there were bigger fish to fry and hills to climb but for the time being...this was it.  I was entering a new world in the running community.  A world that most runners don't even dare to admit exist, much less attempt.  But here I was shivering in the dark with a head lamp on at 4:30 in the morning.

Mom and Dad made the much acknowledged sacrifice of arising from a warm bed at the obscene hour of 3:00 AM to drive us to the starting line.  Travis, my smart and speedy brother, shared a PBJ with me as we drove.  He would be enduring the next 12 - 14 hours with me.  I didn't know if he already knew or not, but after about 25 miles...I tend to develop something of an attitude problem.

 The first twenty-five miles passed in relative ease.  The terrain was difficult, as expected, but somehow running in the dark seemed to minimize the degree of difficulty.  We had covered 15 miles by the time the sun came up. I was grateful for the cooler temperatures (the high that day was in the low 60's) because rattle snakes don't come out much when its cold.

Sotol Cactus

Sotol Cacti covered the trail in some places to the point that it was like running through needles.  There was nothing to do but grit your teeth and take the plunge.  There was blood, as promised.  The trail was rocky. And Travis and I focused on making Relentless Forward Progress, one step at a time.  

Blood trickled down our legs after running through the cacti

We had told our wives (who would be assuming the role of crew chiefs for the day) that they should try to sleep in, enjoy the hotel breakfast and let the kids take it easy for as much of the morning as possible before coming to the race site.  We would be fine, we told them, for the first few miles.  But we made better time than we anticipated and by mile 25 (half way), I could tell Travis was anxious to see some support and some of the food they would bring.

We came through the trees into the aid station at mile 30.  Neither of us said it but we were on the verge of trouble.  One of the most critical aspects of ultra running is eating enough calories to keep your body moving for hours at a time.  I guesstimate that my body burns 1000 calories for every 8 miles I run.  That means that at this point, I had smoked almost 4000 calories and even though my head was a little fuzzy, I was pretty sure the peanut butter sandwich I shared with Trav that morning was a little under that.

Much to our relief, as we came out of the trees and into the clearing that housed our water stop, there stood Mindi and Jenny along with the kids and Mom and Dad.  It was one of many high points for the day.  They came with food and gatoraid which we gladly accepted.  We visited with them for several minutes.  Mindi commented, "I like this! Usually when we see you at aid stations, you're in and out so fast we don't get more than a few words in.  You're actually talking with us here."
I replied, "On other races, this would be the finish line....not the halfway mark."

Hobbled.
Not a word I usually like to use when I describe my running but in this case, it is probably the most accurate.

I hobbled.

I hobbled into the aid station, sat down at a table and grimaced.

It sounds so...lame...so unadventurous...so everything I hope to NOT be.  Nevertheless, it is the truth.  I hobbled into the aid station, sat down and grimaced.  On any other day I would be elated to know that I had run 35 miles.  Today, however, all I could think about was the next 15 long and arduous miles that lay ahead.

I sat and grimaced as those around me scurried about.  Questions were asked such as, "What can we do for you?" and "What would you like to eat?"  I couldn't really answer because my mind was occupied by two more pressing concerns: (1.)  Don't throw up; and (2.)  Don't freak out.  If I could achieve these two task (which was no small feat), the rest would sort itself out.

This was the most difficult point of the race.  My knees were aching with every step...especially going down the steep hills.  While most ultra runners chose to walk up the hills to conserve energy I was forced to walk down the hills and run up them.

Travis being a good Dad after running 35 miles

We came to fork in the trail and a sign that said "Start/Finish Line" with an arrow pointing to the right.  We were close.  I have always been a believer in big finishes so I took off sprinting as fast as my exhausted body would allow.  I sprinted for what felt like a half mile (it wasn't nearly that far but it felt much worse).  It's just around the next corner, I would tell myself, keep this pace until the next corner and you'll see the finish line.  But it never seemed to come.  Just when I thought I could hold the sprint no more, the trees cleared and I could see the colored flags lining the way toward the finish line.  With Travis right beside me, we charged...

Travis had previously done a 50 mile race and he was trying to beat his previous time.  We did it by about 5 minutes.

12 hours 48 minutes.  A PR for guess who!!!

I could not have done it without Travis.  We was a great support and a good companion on the trail.  Nor could I have done it without the support of my family and parents.  Everytime I look at my CR 50 Medal, I think of stotal cacti, rocks, steep hills, aching feet and knees, and I thank God for the good people who got me through it.