My husband John spends time on the internet looking for crazier and longer races. He succeeded in finding us a doozy to celebrate Labor Day Weekend: The Pretzel City Sports’ First Annual Labor Pains 12 hour endurance run.
Tracy and I "warming up" for the Labor Pain Endurance Run.
We managed to talk Tracy, my sister-in-law, into the craziness. Tracy’s plan was to use this race as training for the upcoming Atlantic City Marathon, October 17, during which she WILL qualify for Boston 2011 (oh, yeah baby – we will have quite the Boston Posse!).
Our approach to this race was quite relaxed. In fact, I didn’t even commit to doing it until Friday evening. It’s easy to tell what priority John and I put on races by the amount we drink the night before. I had 2 vodka & sprites, while John enjoyed 3 rum and cokes, and Tracy imbibed 3 glasses of wine. In comparison, John and I didn’t even sniff an alcoholic beverage for three weeks prior to Lake Placid.
We awoke at 4:15 a.m. to the sounds of the Rocky Theme. (I haven’t changed the alarm ringer since IMLP – it’s invigorating to wake up to it. Try it 
). We had packed our gear the night before (a HUGE time saver), so all we had to do was get dressed. We picked up Tracy by 4:40 a.m., and off we went.
According to the Green Mountain Club, which created the LT in the early 1900s, the Long Trail is the oldest long-distance trail in the United States, running from the border of Massachusetts, through Vermont, to the border of Canada. The section that we ran, out of Bennington, VT, is also part of the Appalachian Trail. (The LT is coterminous with the AT for about 100 miles in the southern part of VT.)
The particular section of trail that we hiked was incredibly challenging and exhilarating. It was quite technical, with large boulders covering most of the trail floor. And at some points, the grade was so sharp, I had to actually pull myself up holding on to tree limbs or rocks. At other points, magnificent large stones formed steps up the side of some of the steepest sections. Tree roots jutted up everywhere, demanding full attention to the trail. And, even with that full attention, John and I did a fair amount of tripping, but luckily, no face plants. And, going downhill was no easier than going up. Because the trail was so technical, we couldn’t really hammer the downhills for fear of tripping on a root, or slipping on a boulder.
After months and months of preparation for my first Ironman in Lake Placid, it seems that I failed to prepare for one thing: the post-Ironman blues. I had read about feeling depressed or sad after completing endurance events, such as an Ironman, but I was in denial that such a state of mind would creep into my consciousness.
