This is what we do: The Vermont 50

 

“Racing teaches us to challenge ourselves. It teaches us to push beyond what we thought we could do. It helps us to find out what we are made of. This is what we do. This is what it’s all about.” ~ Pattie Sue Plumer, U.S. Olympian

Race morning…

We stayed in a hotel that smelled of cigarettes and flatulence. The cigarettes were from the people who had the room before us. The flatulence, well, I guess we have to own up to that.

John and I joked as we fell off to sleep, “At the starting line, people are going to say, ‘Hey what’s that smell?'”

 “Oh, sorry – that’s just us. We smell like fart cigarettes.”

The combination of the smell of the hotel room, an unfamiliar bed, a paper-thin pillow, and pre-race jitters made it hard to sleep. (Note to future Vermont 50 participants: The Rodeway Inn in Claremont, NH is nearby and inexpensive but you get what you pay for. I’ll be camping next year!)

I dozed for a bit, and awoke at 2:28 a.m. I never fully went back to asleep again.  Sleep the night before any race is always hard to come by – even when the conditions are perfect. Anyway, who needs sleep? I was about to run 50 miles across the Vermont countryside–my favorite place on earth.

Cars heading into the parking lot, 5:25 a.m., Sunday, September 26th.

There was a crisp chill to the morning air (45 degrees), and at 5:25 a.m., the sun had not yet begun to add shadows to the dark horizon.

The race didn’t start until 6:25 a.m., and unlike a triathlon, there simply isn’t that much to do before a run. I relish this simplicity. For me, there is something almost soothing about the moments before a long run. In this case, the longest run I’ve ever attempted.
 
The race director had set up a large tent at the starting area, where we could wait. They had bagels, and coffee, and sports drink. Awesome! My perennial problem when we travel to races is how I’m going to get my coffee in the morning. No stores are open at 5 a.m. on Sundays. I LOVE Mike Silverman, the VT50 race director, for thinking about this detail. If John and I do create our own trail race, like we’ve been talking about, I would definitely have coffee at the start. It’s only right :).
 
While we sipped our coffee, we met Kenneth. Turns out, Kenneth had also done the Labor Pain Endurance Run – 7 loops, just as I did. Like me, He would be running his first 50 miler. We chatted with Bill, who we had met the night before. Bill had run several 50s, and a 100. He gave John the location for his first 100: the Pinhoti 100, which will be held in Alabama in the beginning of November.  And, then there was Gene DeFronzo – a 70+ year old legend, who had run a marathon in every state–SEVEN TIMES! He had also run a 50k every week for the last 13 weeks. I’m talking some seriously amazing people. This is what we do, indeed.
 
It’s time to start…
The starting line, the day before the race.

The Vermont 50 event includes a 50 mile and 50k run, along with a 50 mile mountain bike race. As we waited in the tent for the start of our race, the mountain bikers (all 600 of them!) shuffled out for their tiered start. About 10 minutes after the last mountain biker was off, it was our turn.

“Can we have all the 50 mile runners to the starting line?” boomed a voice from the speakers.

“We’re up,” I said to John.

We headed out of the tent. By now, the sun had risen a bit, and the sky was aglow with the pinks and purples of an Autumn sky. The weather promised to be perfect. John and I went through our usual ritual: a kiss and a fist pump.

“Good luck. Start smart.” That was my mantra. There would be no benefit to starting a 50 mile race as if I were running a marathon – at least not for my first 50 miler.

The race started quite unceremoniously, just a handful of spectators (several of whom were still in their PJs), and the relatively small huddle of runners (about 200 of us) waiting for the word: “Go!”

And we started. I love the sound of shuffling feet at the beginning of a run; that’s something I miss during triathlons, where everyone is so spread out by the time you get to the run. I could also hear the buzz of chatter, as almost everyone had the same idea: start smart.

The race

I should put race in quotation marks, because it was NOT my intention to race. My race plan was to run slow, yet steady until I got to the first big hill. Some ultra runners like to do a run-walk pattern right from the start, but because I knew this course had some serious elevation, I decided to take advantage of the relatively flat first few miles. With over 9000 feet of climb, I knew there would be plenty of walking uphill to come, but then I could bomb down the hills. I am happy to report that I executed my race plan exactly as I had hoped, with one catch. Around mile 25, my right IT band started to get cranky. So, I had to make adjustments to my pace on the downhills. Until that point, I was cooking pretty steady. While I slowed a bit, I was still able to keep moving at a pace that would bring me in under 11 hours (my goal).

John at the mile 31 aid station - Dugdale's

The Vermont 50 has fairly evenly paced aid stations, between 4 to 6 miles apart. As I ran, I concentrated only on the mileage between aid stations. If it was 4.3 miles – then I had a 4.3 mile run. At no point during this race did I think of the total distance. I found it much more manageable to think of the distance between aid stations. As I progressed through the miles, this strategy became ever more important.  As I’ve written before, any large goal can become much more attainable if we think about the little goals that will carry us through to the end.

In terms of the course itself, the race website includes a great overview of the course, so I won’t reiterate that here. But, I will give some of my impressions of the course. The first half is easier than the second half–and that is not only because I’d already run 25 miles by the second half. The second half includes more single track trails, a ton of switchbacks (my poor IT band…), and more climbing.

The course is GORGEOUS. The Autumn colors, the mountains, the life. When John did this race last year, it poured rain the entire day. So, we couldn’t really enjoy the scenery. This year, the weather was absolutely perfect: low-60’s, mostly sunny skies.

The course terrain is varied, with a mix of dirt roads, single and double track trail, fields, and even the occasional paved road. I liked this mix because as soon as you became weary of one type of terrain, you were shifting into a different type. The trails are well-maintained, and not very technical at all. Compared to some of the training runs we did, with boulders and roots, this trail floor was quite soft.  

It's all down *this* hill to the finish line.
 The last few miles of the course are terribly challenging, especially for tired legs. The race director has signs posted every mile starting with 5 miles to go, which I found terribly distracting. I just did NOT want to know how far I had left to go.
 
The final mile of the race is all downhill–literally,you run down Ascutney Mountain (former ski area) to the finish line. My legs were on fire, and I would have preferred to be running uphill. By the time I got to the end, my right IT band was HATING the downhill. But, I saw the finish line sign, and saw my family (much love and thanks ALWAYS to our awesome cheerleaders). I could feel the medal around my neck. So, what’s a few weeks of rehabbing the IT band for this kind of glory? This is what I’m made of.

Running buddies

One of the most enjoyable aspects of ultra running is how social it is. While certainly there is a “competition,” many athletes are there for the individual challenge, to learn something about themselves–not to beat someone else. So, as you run, you fall in with various people and chat.

There can be some dark moments during a 50 mile run, and your fellow racers can be an excellent source of support. Two people, in particular, became my running buddies for a good portion of the race: Clayton and Jess, who were running their first 50 miler as well. And at various times we joked about having numb legs, about wanting a beer and a cheeseburger, about the various parts on our body that didn’t hurt. Each of us took turns playing motivator for the others.

Tracy and I in the final yards of the race. Hippity-hop down the bunny trail!

By far, however, my favorite running partner was (and always will be) my sister-in-law Tracy, who graciously agreed to pace me for the final 9 miles, which I am convinced are the most grueling of the whole course. Lucky her.

As I came up the road to Goodman’s Aid Station, I saw her. She hooted and yelled, “Yeah, Maria!” The best part? She was wearing bunny ears, fairy wings and a tutu. That’s my kind of pacer! I immediately felt better – it was like a shot of adrenaline to see her. I grabbed what I needed from the table (Goodman’s has GRILLED CHEESE sandwiches every year) and off we went.

The finish line

Those final miles were an incredible challenge. I spent a lot of that time inside my head, willing my feet to continue moving forward. Was it painful? For sure. What it worth it? Without a doubt.

Getting a little puppy love after the race.

Endurance sport is more than a hobby for me. It is a spiritual experience – to connect with myself, with others, with the earth. Running on trails, especially, allows me to feel the flow of my feet, my body with the other molecules that make up our existence. It is not a battle against the elements; it is a time to flow with the surroundings.

This is what it’s all about.

Considering going the distance? Here’s what I learned…

  • Use a good pacer. Tracy was the best!
  • Use aid stations or other sections of the course as “magnets” (as described above)
  • Eat plenty of food. I did NOT eat enough food, and paid the price for it after the race. My stomach hurt so badly, I could barely eat.
  • Don’t overdress. It was chilly in the morning, but about 3 minutes into the run, I was plenty warm.
  • If it is cold in the morning, use old race blankets that you can discard right before the start.
  • We saw someone wearing old socks for arm warmers, which he could then easily discard at an aid station.
  • Don’t dwell on the pain. It’s going to hurt. Suck it up and keep moving. Bring some NSAIDS with you.
  • Keep smiling.
  • Recover smart: stretch, ice, compression, repeat. 
The obligatory dirty feet shot 🙂

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