Race Day Surprises Like a Wrapped Gift
Race Day Surprises Like a Wrapped Gift
A Desert Rats 50K report, plus 3 rules to follow in any ultra and in life
I had a bad week leading up to last Saturday’s 50K. On three nights, I was on the verge of falling asleep—in that transitional state when normal thoughts begin to morph into weird images signaling the onset of dreams—and then as if shot by adrenaline, my stomach would clench and feel butterflies, my eyes would open, and I’d have to start over trying to fall asleep. One night, this went on until 3 a.m. It’s related to stress and sadness from a situation of conflict and controversy briefly described at the end of my last post. The point is, physically I felt depleted and stressed.
On Friday, I drove three hours to Fruita (just past Grand Junction) for the Desert Rats Trail Running Festival 50K. I scrambled to get out of the house, running back inside as the car idled to grab nearly forgotten trail-running shoes. I hadn’t even checked the race website. I just had to get there and then figure out the course and the timing to get to the start Saturday morning. (“Oh, we need to take shuttles to the start?” I asked at that afternoon’s check-in, showing I hadn’t done my homework to prep for this event.)
I got to a hotel, got my shit together for waking up at 4:30 a.m., and then right before bedtime, I received an email that made made my eyes tear up and burn. A woman with whom I’ve been developing a friendship wrote to tell me she didn’t want to collaborate with me at our nonprofit anymore because she felt so hurt by my opinion opposing the local development that she supports. I felt misunderstood and outcast, and I was so upset and worried that I couldn’t sleep that I took half a sleeping pill, which I rarely do because everything I’ve read from sleep experts says to avoid sleep aids. I passed out, then woke up groggy six hours later.
I was about to run a 50K feeling exhausted from the start.
Well, I told myself, this is great practice for the second half of the 100K.
This 50K was a final training run for the May 7 Miwok 100K in California, and then I’ve got another 50K in Durango followed by the San Juan Solstice 50M, all part of the buildup for late July’s High Lonesome 100.
How would I run this race? For no reason other than it being mid-April when in past years I’ve run the Lake Sonoma 50M, I heard the words of former Race Director John Medinger reading runners the rules at the Lake Sonoma start. He would stand facing the lineup of many of the country’s elite ultrarunners, taking his sweet time as they bounced on the balls of their feet antsy to run, and like a wise old uncle he would announce three cardinal rules while counting to three on the fingers of his raised hand to drill in the points:
No Littering
Be Nice
Have Fun
I would follow those rules. Keep it simple, stupid.
At the start line, my spirits lifted—and I got teary again, signaling emotions so close to the surface—as people from past years surprised me by their presence and gave hugs of hello. I reconnected with a woman, Mandy, I met a decade ago when we both ran the inaugural Grand to Grand Ultra stage race. And Sasha, a former client. And then I sat talking with the event photographer Eszter, an accomplished mountain athlete who takes incredible photos, and we talked about mutual friends and summer plans.
All of this felt like a soothing balm and put me in a better frame of mind to embrace this gift—to unwrap this wrapped present—of discovering new trails with my phone’s notifications silenced.
The race started, and I settled into a comfortable pace midpack. The first chance to Be Nice came around mile 3, up a steep hill, when the guy in front of me fiddled with his pack, and his phone fell out without him realizing it. I stooped to pick it up, saying, “Don’t want to lose this!” He looked so grateful.
A couple of miles later, I heard a woman behind me tell someone it’s her first 50K. I slowed a little so she could catch up, and then I congratulated her and we talked about her training. Being the mom and coach that I am, I encouraged and gave advice.
The first chance to Have Fun by enjoying the surroundings and not taking myself too seriously also came in those early miles, when I let myself pause to take photos and marvel at Mcinnis Canyons National Conservation Area, the high-desert public lands with canyon walls carved by the Colorado River. This region bakes in the summer, but now, with temps only in the 60s, springtime grass added a green hue to the reds, browns and grays of the landscape.
I discovered, to my pleasant surprise, that the first third of the race ticked by quickly with no problems, and I had the gratifying but odd feeling of fatigue diminishing rather than increasing. In other words, this run felt energizing, recharging the metaphorical batteries. I didn’t bank on it—surely I’d struggle in the final third—but I decided to enjoy it while it lasted.
Winds started to pick up, blasting but refreshing. I briefly departed from the trail to chase down a gel wrapper’s tab and land on it with my foot, following the No Littering rule. Later, I did that side-stepping dance again to retrieve a crumpled tissue.
I had more fun while leapfrogging with a few women. When a branch knocked the hat off one, I bent down to get it. When another woman stepped to the side of the trail and stood with a hand over her heart, taking deep breaths, I stopped to make sure she was OK. She explained she had a heart condition and needed to pause periodically. I ran behind her for a while longer, talking. It’s funny how the rule Be Nice made me feel better.
Somewhere around Mile 23, it hit me that I was running better than in my last 50K three weeks ago. Reaching the final summit—a plateau called Mack Ridge with a bird’s eye view of the striated canyon walls—I decided to pull out all the stops and run the final segment on Hawkeye Trail aggressively to practice the technical downhill segment we’ll face in the final segment of the upcoming Miwok 100K.
I normally think of downhill running as a weakness, something to manage and tolerate. Saturday was different as I followed the Have Fun rule. I worked to close the gap on two younger runners ahead while telling myself, “pick up your feet, lift up your knees” as I increased confidence and speed. The switchbacks on singletrack, descending the hillside for about 2.5 miles and 600 feet, felt like a luge gliding down a mountain. Occasionally, I slowed to navigate through rock outcroppings that created keyhole-like passageways, but otherwise, I ran hard and fast-for-me.
As I approached the couple ahead, the woman with a ponytail caught her toe and tripped, lunging forward and catching herself right before falling. She cried out with surprise and pain, looking flustered. I slowed and asked, “Are you OK? Good recovery!” She and the guy fell into pace behind me, and I called out, “We’re crushing it!”
“No, you are!” the guy said. He explained they were “just” doing the trail marathon, which had started an hour later. I told them I was in the 50K.
“I’m going for the old-lady age group award and a sub-6:30,” I told them.
“No way!” he said, “you’re not old.”
“I’m in my 50s.”
“No way!” he said again.
The three of us ran rhythmically in a line like a train building momentum. I played with my watch—can I get under 6:30? Not if this course measures a little long—and my legs did not rebel. My knees did not ache, my glutes and lower back did not radiate pain and stiffen. Instead, my lower body felt elastic and responsive. I found the fluidity I try but usually fail to achieve on downhills—the feeling of being water flowing downhill, choosing the path of least resistance, unhindered by the obstacles.
We saw the finish line archway in the distance. I charged ahead, the two young ‘uns kept up so we could cross together. I finished a little over my goal, 6:31, but I didn’t care, I had achieved the fundamental goal of “finish strong.”
I started tired and finished enlivened. I ran the early miles as “just a training run” and finished racing. I began sad and finished happy.
Ultrarunning never ceases to surprise me. I think I have it figured out, and then a race unfolds in ways I would not have predicted.
I’m so grateful for this healthy body, for those public lands, for the people I met and the finish line hugs. And for those three rules that guided me.
Our National Conservation Lands
Mcinnis Canyon, the area where we raced, is part of a network of public lands called the National Conservation Lands. Lesser known and less crowded than national parks, these newer public lands are managed by the Bureau of Land Management.
Several years ago, I began supporting and fundraising for the Durango-based Conservation Lands Foundation, the only nonprofit dedicated to stewarding and enhancing the National Conservation Lands. It does this in part by coordinating and supporting the efforts of some 70 “friends groups”—grassroots groups throughout the West working at the local level to advocate for public land protection and restoration. Check out their site to learn more about these public lands, join their mailing list and make a donation.
Saved by the Bell
I ended up winning my age group on Saturday, and race organizer Gemini Adventures awarded me a cool little cowbell that has the race logo on one side and “first place” on the other.
On Monday, I signed up as a substitute teacher and got to teach music to Kindergarten through 3rd-grade classes, which was a pretty easy assignment involving teaching the kids the I Can See Clearly Now song by Jimmy Cliff and watching a video.
As I was leaving the house that morning, I impulsively grabbed my bell trophy as something to get the kids’ attention and respect. It ended up being a perfect show-and-tell. The kids took turns ringing it and asking about my race. When they got too squirrely and distracted, I rang the bell to regain their attention.
As I said above, ultrarunning never ceases to surprise me, and it brings unexpected gifts.
One last random thing
On Friday afternoon, as I was driving to Fruita, my twitter account blew up with notifications, which is odd because I hardly use twitter. Camille Herron recommended a podcast I recorded a couple of months ago. It’s not every day a world record holder notices me and gives me a shoutout! This is the podcast if you’d like to give it a listen.
Related posts:
A Day Well Spent: a race report from another awesome trail system next to Fruita
Going Home for My Last Marathon: first race report of the year
I love your race reports. I too, had a good race last weekend! And funny how my 30-mile time was also 6:31 (Born to Run in Los Olivos)! Of course my run was much less technical than yours! I love the three rules. Any time another person's opinion clashes with mine, I'm reminded of this quote, "The people that matter don't mind and the people that mind don't matter." Great job with your race! And good luck with Miwok!
As always, well-crafted and relevant. I too had a great result Saturday at the Roanoke Marathon in my age group so it is a pleasant coincidence to share that with you. Cheers to you. And though this is the wrong platform I will say this gently, what-ever is unfolding in Durango (I spent time as a teenager skiing at Wolf Creek Pass in the late 70's before so I am somewhat familiar with San Juans close by) it would be worse on your soul if you stood idly by. Retiring principles is never going to sit well with thinking people and as a considerate and moral person you have to find solace that doing the right thing is not always easy. So anyway, back to me... (segue joke to make you laugh) the perplexing thing to me this past weekend in Roanoke is it started as a workup for a 25K at UROC, a forthcoming race in my area of the world, and a trail race (my preference) rather than a road race. In my playbook I followed similar mantra you shared this week to help thing flow, plus I remembered a few nuggets from your book. to smile at aid stations and profusely thank the volunteers. Your book is still a benchmark for "goodness" and is the best in class for new and established trail running knowledge. FACT! BTW, a small backdrop, I moonlight in Footwear part-time, train people, so I am positioned to extol the virtues of the wisdom of SLS when I wear a Green Vest at REI. Still staying away from the Mickeys Wide-mouths but not the color green apparently...MN