The orange-yellow glow from the street lamps turned us into a sepia-toned tableau. The air from our mouths froze into a cloud. It was as if we were each frozen in time and space.
And, yet, with each moment that passed, we moved – even if imperceptibly – just putting one foot in front of the other, along the 1 mile course that wound through the Sussex County Fairgrounds as part of the NJ Trail Series One Day race.
It was O’Dark:Thirty. We had been going around for some time now.
How long? I don’t know. I had long ago ceased checking my watch. I stopped keeping track of the laps on the display at the 1 mile check-in point. I suspended myself in infinite motion.
These were the lonely hours. The dark hours. The cold hours. The zombie apocalypse hours. These were the hours that prompted me to sign up for the race. I was looking for something in these hours.
The day didn’t start out this way. The day started as all race days start: with hopes and dreams and beauty and rays of sunshine.
Oh, and plenty of cold wind.
You’d think that a 1 mile loop would drive a person crazy, but honestly, the loop was the least of my issues. I like loops, and over the course of the race, I mapped the course into pieces – as the hours wore on, I just had to make it through one section at a time:
- Spectator Row
- The “Hill” Climb
- Half moon land
- Straight & Narrow
- The Trail Experience
- Creeping through the Alley
My crew–comprised of my husband John and my friend Tim–sat dutifully in Spectator Row. During the first half of the race, I was self-sufficient, and they got to mostly chill. I grabbed what I needed off the table, which they had arranged with all of the delicacies of ultrarunning fare. I drank Tailwind, ate clif bars, soft pretzels and grilled cheese.
Life was grand!
It was quite simple, really, this 1 mile loop format. While some may fear the format due to the potential for boredom, I like the familiarity and simplicity of loop courses. It allows you to tune in to the movement and flow. It made it easy to manage my fueling and hydration, and I was able to run quite rhythmically – sometimes in step with other racers, but mostly solo. It’s almost meditative.
For many loops, I did feel the flow of movement. Yet, as the day went on, and each loop changed the tone and color of the sun’s rays, clouding over hopes and dreams in a way that sometimes made it hard to remember what in the actual f*ck I was doing out there.
At one point, John called out after me as I left spectator row, “Remember your why!” I muttered under my breath that entire loop, something to the effect of: “Stick your why up your ass.”
It took about 14 hours before I got to this point, when the wheels officially starting coming off the handcart. Yeah, I wasn’t even a bus – I was just a hand cart. And, when the wheels came off, they flew off with grand flare. People: I don’t do anything half way – not even melt downs. I like to go ALL IN.
In those later night time hours, I entered the “spectator/crew” section of the course, and felt as if someone pushed fast forward. I wanted the bright white lights, the energy of non-zombie humans to last forever. But, things always moved so quickly as I grabbed my aid and went back out, heading back to the sepia-toned landscape where things moved slowly. Very slowly.
I had a series of impressive firsts in these late night hours:
- The first time I had to stop and sleep during a race. Thank goodness we brought our truck camper, as a dirt nap in 20 degrees didn’t seem appealing; yet I was out on the loop sleep-walking at moments.
- The first time I ever had muscle cramps, which led to…
- The first time John had to molest me with “The Stick” repeatedly during a race. After a certain point, I had to check in at crew central about every 45 minutes to have John rub out my legs and hip flexors with The Stick to keep the cramps from shutting me down. I had huge lumps in my adductors. I felt pretty sexy really.
- The first time I ever had to wear 4 layers of clothing to stay warm – and still shivered.
I tried to quit a few times. But John was having none of it. At one point, the cramping and tightness in my adductors was so bad, I couldn’t bend my knee. I came into Spectator Row convinced (hoping?) my day was done. John sat me in a chair, grabbed the stick and I proceeded to convulse from pain. After about 5 minutes of that, my knee starting bending again.
Out I went, running telephone pole to telephone pole, round and round I go.
Another time, I came in to spectator row, and I almost fell several times because I was falling asleep while I was doing the zombie shuffle. I wound up needing to lay down for a bit – maybe 30 minutes. I was ready to Q.U.I.T.
Again, John was having none of it.
He said, “Just think of this as good Tahoe 200 training.” (Ooops! Did I sign up for that?! hahahahah!)
With that, he changed my clothes, and sent me out looking like the kid from A Christmas Story. As I reluctantly set out on another loop adventure, I fell into step with two gentlemen, Elik and Jamey, who had been positive spirits all day long.
“Can I join you guys for this loop?” I had enough presence of mind to realize that I needed to distract myself if I intended to keep moving. At this point, my body was so stiff I was barely doing a Zombie shuffle.
During this loop, my new friends told me a series of jokes, and lifted me with their positivity. They were so funny – and it was like a routine they must have done for others several times that day. I am so grateful for their energy.
“Are you going to remember these jokes to tell your husband later?” They asked.
“Probably not,” I laughed. At that point, I was thinking I might block out the entire experience. 😉
So, they brought John out with them on their next loop to make sure we remembered the jokes. (And, yes, we remember them!)
Thanks to Elik and Jamey, my spirits were back in place, and I was able to start running again. Well, “running” seems an expansive term for what I was doing, but I was no longer in the Zombie-shuffle mode and I was producing enough heat to take off a layer.
Eventually, the light started to peak up in the horizon.
“Do you see that, Maria?” John asked, pointing.
There is something special about the sunrise after a day and night of running. As the light begins to flood the sky again, it is as if you haven’t been running for almost a day straight. The hopes and dreams and beauty return with the rays of sunshine.
This isn’t to say that the final 3ish hours to make it to the 9 a.m. finish weren’t rough. They were. But, I knew I would make it.
Then, I started doing math. Kooky twilight running math. Despite all of the craptacular firsts I experienced through the night, I realized that if I hustled, I’d get in 100 miles. Despite being far from my “super secret” goal, I invested in my new goal: finish as strong as I can and get to the century mark.
I have never – in all of the other 100 milers I’ve done – felt the level of pain I felt in this race, which I’m chalking up to the frozen asphalt. I fought that pain the best I could. The pain won a few rounds, but I ultimately took the match. I hit 100 miles, and managed to be the first place female.
This race experience may seem terrible, and I guess there were some awful moments. But, in hindsight, this race was exactly what I needed. As I like to tell my athletes: Every race is a teacher. And this one was chock full, as the tough days often teach us more than the easy days. My top 10 lessons from this one:
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Organization and Label Maker = <3 Flat road races are not easy. Every race is hard for its own reasons. Related to #1 is…
- Always respect the distance, the demands, and the effort.
- It can be hard to put your ego in your pocket, but if you want success, that’s what you have to do.
- Cramps in 20 degree weather are freaking horrendous. I still have hip lumps.
- Even when you are slower by HOURS than your goal, there is still value in pushing on – never give up.
- Cold ultras are a different animal than warm ones.
- When one puffy jacket isn’t enough, wear 2. Same goes with pairs of pants.
- Pre-race organization is key.
- Related to 8: I love my label maker.
- Most important: nothing is achieved in life without support. Thank you, John & Tim for your support! And thanks to the other racers for their camaraderie and positivity!
This was not a pretty one, but it’s a done one. I was looking for something in those hard fought hours, and I found it: the beautiful simplicity of putting one foot in front of the other.
It’s worth noting, that in the zombie hours, John & Tim had this song blasting from our portable speaker. It was pretty funny to hear this in the middle of the frozen night – and yes, it put a pep in my step.
Best line ever in a race report: ““Stick your why up your ass.””