The Friday before race day I realized I didn't have a headlamp. Where on earth does one find a headlamp? Racing the clock in an attempt to find this contraption before traffic became too heavy, I called all around Central Austin. "Hi, yes, do you carry headlamps? No? Okay, thank you!" Aha! RunTex had them and, what a coincidence, there is a RunTex on the way to my brother's house, where I'd be spending the night so we could head out at 2 a.m. for the race in Smithville. I bounded into RunTex, grabbed the first headlamp I saw, and was on my way.
After a heaping plate of Magnolia's migas, topped with salsa, jalapenos, and Tabasco, we set off for the Rocky Hills Ranch in Smithville, Texas. As far as I could tell, I was mildly anxious, but I knew I had enough time to finish. Furthermore, I knew I couldn't stand the car ride back to Austin with my brother if I didn't finish. So, at 6 a.m., toeing the line with a spicy burp, I started on my first ultramarathon, a whopping 31 mile run.
Again, I nibbled at each of the aid stations, and felt defiant in not drinking water too frequently. In fact, I finished the first loop in a surprising time and with little fatigue to speak of! "I've got this," I thought. I was so arrogant, I even called a few people on my way into the second loop, claiming I was "bored." I wouldn't be bored for much longer.
Eventually, my calorie and hydration deficit caught up to me on that second loop. I began stumbling, huffing, and slowing considerably. I began tripping on roots, eventually spraining both ankles. My vision blurred randomly and soon, I was slightly hallucinating. And by this point, I found myself only at the first aid station on the loop with nine miles to go. With one look at me, the aid station volunteers knew I was in over my head: "Swallow these salt pills. Drink this Coca Cola. Eat this entire sandwich. Hear, trail mix. You can do this, but you need to pay attention. Eat at least one of this before the next aid station and use the bathroom at least once. Once you reach that bend, that bend right there, you're in the single digits." Now, certainly they let me sit down, cry a little bit about my predicament, and question whether this was going to happen, but they didn't let it overwhelm me. They must have known this was my first rodeo.
I don't recall much of the rest of the course. I was tired, but buoyed by the enthusiasm and confidence of the aid station volunteers. By the time I hit the last aid station on the course, I was floored with exhaustion and pain. What had I gotten myself into? And it's not nearly over! The volunteers at the last aid station were equally encouraging: they shoved a popsicle and M&Ms in my hands, filled my water, and patted by back as I lamented how law school was easier than this! Then they dropped a bomb on me: "Well, know that you've run a marathon today! Isn't that something?" What? I've run a marathon? Somehow, the reality had slipped my mind that when one runs an ultramarathon, one also runs a regular marathon, something I'd never done before. The tears burst out of my eyes with such force, nothing could have stopped them! I stood up and vowed to finish, despite the swollen ankles, hallucinations, and sheer exhaustion.
Unfortunately, the last five miles are some of the hardest with interesting terrain, climbs, extremely steep dips, and some sun exposure just as early summer is starting to set in. With about two miles to go, a woman came upon me and instantly realized what was going on: "Hold on! Give me a second and I'll find you a walking stick! It will help, I promise. What's your bib number? I'll let them know you're on your way!" She hustled into the woods, found me a walking stick, and dashed off. The walking stick did help, but I knew I couldn't be seen with it coming into the finish.
Suddenly, I heard cheers and applause: the finish line. I ditched the stick and began trotting. It was so painful and I didn't know how I possibly be doing it, but I wanted to cross the finish at least trotting. As I approached the finish line, emotions overwhelmed me: this day was finally coming to a close. All of the mistakes, consequences, and pain was finally about to be over. Again, the tears flowed as the timing mat dinged, registering me as a finisher. I was handed a medal and told, almost sheepishly, that I had finished the 50K in dead last. Dead last? That's awesome! I stuck it out. I didn't give up! I finished in spite of it all! I left the Ranch with a finisher's medal, a "DFL" trophy, and more pride than I could keep within myself, along with a number of pains and tear stains.
I wasn't sure I'd run another one, but I knew I'd accomplished something incredible...and it was amazing.
Hell's Hills 50K, Smithville, Texas
April 2, 2011
10:25:51
After a heaping plate of Magnolia's migas, topped with salsa, jalapenos, and Tabasco, we set off for the Rocky Hills Ranch in Smithville, Texas. As far as I could tell, I was mildly anxious, but I knew I had enough time to finish. Furthermore, I knew I couldn't stand the car ride back to Austin with my brother if I didn't finish. So, at 6 a.m., toeing the line with a spicy burp, I started on my first ultramarathon, a whopping 31 mile run.
Again, I nibbled at each of the aid stations, and felt defiant in not drinking water too frequently. In fact, I finished the first loop in a surprising time and with little fatigue to speak of! "I've got this," I thought. I was so arrogant, I even called a few people on my way into the second loop, claiming I was "bored." I wouldn't be bored for much longer.
Eventually, my calorie and hydration deficit caught up to me on that second loop. I began stumbling, huffing, and slowing considerably. I began tripping on roots, eventually spraining both ankles. My vision blurred randomly and soon, I was slightly hallucinating. And by this point, I found myself only at the first aid station on the loop with nine miles to go. With one look at me, the aid station volunteers knew I was in over my head: "Swallow these salt pills. Drink this Coca Cola. Eat this entire sandwich. Hear, trail mix. You can do this, but you need to pay attention. Eat at least one of this before the next aid station and use the bathroom at least once. Once you reach that bend, that bend right there, you're in the single digits." Now, certainly they let me sit down, cry a little bit about my predicament, and question whether this was going to happen, but they didn't let it overwhelm me. They must have known this was my first rodeo.
I don't recall much of the rest of the course. I was tired, but buoyed by the enthusiasm and confidence of the aid station volunteers. By the time I hit the last aid station on the course, I was floored with exhaustion and pain. What had I gotten myself into? And it's not nearly over! The volunteers at the last aid station were equally encouraging: they shoved a popsicle and M&Ms in my hands, filled my water, and patted by back as I lamented how law school was easier than this! Then they dropped a bomb on me: "Well, know that you've run a marathon today! Isn't that something?" What? I've run a marathon? Somehow, the reality had slipped my mind that when one runs an ultramarathon, one also runs a regular marathon, something I'd never done before. The tears burst out of my eyes with such force, nothing could have stopped them! I stood up and vowed to finish, despite the swollen ankles, hallucinations, and sheer exhaustion.
Unfortunately, the last five miles are some of the hardest with interesting terrain, climbs, extremely steep dips, and some sun exposure just as early summer is starting to set in. With about two miles to go, a woman came upon me and instantly realized what was going on: "Hold on! Give me a second and I'll find you a walking stick! It will help, I promise. What's your bib number? I'll let them know you're on your way!" She hustled into the woods, found me a walking stick, and dashed off. The walking stick did help, but I knew I couldn't be seen with it coming into the finish.
Suddenly, I heard cheers and applause: the finish line. I ditched the stick and began trotting. It was so painful and I didn't know how I possibly be doing it, but I wanted to cross the finish at least trotting. As I approached the finish line, emotions overwhelmed me: this day was finally coming to a close. All of the mistakes, consequences, and pain was finally about to be over. Again, the tears flowed as the timing mat dinged, registering me as a finisher. I was handed a medal and told, almost sheepishly, that I had finished the 50K in dead last. Dead last? That's awesome! I stuck it out. I didn't give up! I finished in spite of it all! I left the Ranch with a finisher's medal, a "DFL" trophy, and more pride than I could keep within myself, along with a number of pains and tear stains.
I wasn't sure I'd run another one, but I knew I'd accomplished something incredible...and it was amazing.
Hell's Hills 50K, Smithville, Texas
April 2, 2011
10:25:51
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