After my experience at Cactus Rose in 2011, I approached this year's iteration with much more respect for the course and the distance. I began training after Pandora's Box of Rox in May; I was consistent in training; and I followed an actual training plan with a peak run of about 30 to 31 miles. In short: I came to Bandera a much different runner this year than I was last, and I intended to prove it. With a finish six hours faster than last year, I'd say I succeeded.
This year I was able to arrive at the park well in advance of (1) dinner; (2) bedtime; and (3) the 5 a.m. start on Saturday morning. For previous races, my anxiety has tended to be through the roof worrying about finding the race; getting my packet; changing into my race gear; et cetera. This year, I got to the park at about 2 p.m. on Friday afternoon, dropped my bags to my liking, picked up my packet, visited with some folk, had dinner, and dutifully parked myself in a chair until 3 a.m. on Saturday. I was curled up in a bundle of blankets by 7:30 p.m. for a full eight hours of sleep, with everything set out and ready for the morning. Anxiety check? Little to zero, save for the whole "Okay, you're running 50 miles tomorrow on the Cactus Rose course."
I did have some anxiety about the weather., though Traveling to Bandera involved steadily dropping temperatures and a biting cold rain no one enjoys. The radar indicated it would be gone by Friday evening with promises of perfect running weather for Saturday, but this is Texas. No weather forecast is ever too reliable. I worked myself in my head, getting ready for any possibility.
Three a.m. came just fine. I got dressed, drank a few Diet Dr. Peppers, and had my english muffin with peanut butter and jam. I sat in the car for a while, saving my energy and trying to accrue a bit of warmth. The temperatures were about steady from the evening before, which meant they were only going to get warmer as the day progressed. I convinced myself not to overdress based on this as well. Finally, around 4:30 a.m., we made our way to the start/finish to visit with folk, get the adrenaline pumping, and hit the trail. I was so nervous last year that it was refreshing to feel ready, confident, and excited to get started, sprinkled with healthy nervousness. Finally, Joe called time and off we went.
Fairly quickly I realized I did not, in fact, have fresh batteries in my headlamp. My lamp was hardly visible. I tagged along on the lights of those around me, but I wasn't sure I could pull that off for the next two and a half hours until sunrise. Thankfully I'd packed a flash light in my Camelbak. If it came down to it, I knew I could rely on that. As it turns out, I couldn't. I finally pulled it out, afraid I was pushing the pace in an effort to keep up with the lights. I didn't want to destroy my prospects of a solid race so early in the course. The flash light is small and light, but it's also fairly cheap apparently. As I am cruising along at a decent clip, the light flickers and fades out. I was confused, royally confused, because I knew the flash light, at least, had fresh batteries. Ah, the "cheap" factor. The flash light was so poorly manufactured that the connectors weren't reliable. I could click the flash light on and off at intervals, but could not be sure the light would remain on consistently, especially with the jostling involved. For some reason, I kept the same pace and just took extra care in where I stepped. Fairly quickly I found myself at Equestrian, four and a half miles in to my fifty mile foot journey. After a general request for batteries with no response, I lit out, wanting to take advantage of the dark running as much as possible. Running in the dark tends to melt away miles. By the time the sun rises, you've been at it for two and a half hours and can have as many as fifteen to twenty miles behind you, depending on your pace. I also knew this was the easiest and most runnable portion of the course, and I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity for a quick pace. Onward and forward.
The course was starting to look and feel very familiar. Not familiar enough though, and the 5.2 between Equestrian and Nachos dragged on longer than I'd anticipated, which isn't a great psychological place to be so early in an ultra. Finally, I came upon Nachos. Having had four Diet Dr. Peppers at this point and still fueling off of breakfast and my seemingly infinite glycogen stores, I grabbed a Lara Bar as a security "blanket" and left Nachos fairly quickly. The next 4.8 miles was going to be a bit more challenging, but also offered some of the most amazing views of the Texas Hill Country. I wanted to be at the top of the climbs in time to catch some of the sunrise before head down-feet forward took over.
I want to take a moment and note the incredible beauty of this part of the state. I was overcome with enthusiasm and energy last year when I saw these views, which ended up sapping some of my energy later in the race, but remain worth the elation. Driving into Bandera this year, I was overcome with emotion and nearly cried looking forward to seeing the beauty of the area from such great heights in the coming hours. I cannot find words sufficient to describe the beauty. I am so lucky to live in this beautiful state, have access to this breathtaking part of the Hill Country, and have been able to haul my behind up those climbs to see them yet again. The pain (i.e., "cactus," literally and figuratively) is more than worth the beauty (i.e., "rose," just figuratively, unfortunately, unless the sunrise can be described as "rose-like") of this race course. Moving along...
I approached the climbs and descents between Nachos and Equestrian with quite a bit of aggression, but knew that the following twenty miles would need most of that same drive. At this point in the race, my one rule came into focus: if the trail is remotely runnable, you'd better be running. I was surprised at the extent of flat trail; I didn't remember there being quite that much, but I certainly wasn't one to complain. These miles were fairly unremarkable: head down, feet forward, short stop on Ice Cream Hill for a sunrise photo courtesy of Brian Kuhn. I had a wonderful conversation with another lawyer who practices in Switzerland, as well. I'd call these the Tuesday-through-Thursday miles: just get 'em done.
Coming in to Equestrian I was so happy to see Ben waiting for me. He was such a critical part of my finish last year, I knew I couldn't do much better this year without him. I planned on more independence this year, as he was running a leg of the 100M relay, but I knew he'd be at Equestrian and the Lodge during my race. Seeing a familiar and supportive face can mean all the difference. He reminded me of my inspirations for this race, made sure I signed in at the table, and clapped me off toward miles 15 through 25, the first half of the hardest portion of the course. It is full of rocks (now even more due to erosion), higher and thicker sotol cactus (graze-the-face high), and incredible elevation ascents and descents. My mental resolve had to be airtight for the next ten miles into the Lodge.
With another Diet Dr. Pepper flooding the senses, I trucked pretty consistently into Boyles. Another unremarkable five miles, as far as I can remember, though the final three quarters of a mile to a mile of the section wore on, as the miles are wont to do in the middle stages of the race. By the time I came in to Boyles, I was recognizing a solid and reliable pace. I was keeping the same speed, despite changes in terrain and elevation. This was a good sign. I wasn't going as fast as I wanted to, a pipe dream of qualifying for the 2013 running of the Western States 100 in the back of my mind, but I was moving swiftly and strongly. Some energy in my systems, and I was off to the Lodge. My resolve was wavering, so I kept telling myself to just get to the Lodge and head right back out. As long as I got back out on the second loop, my ability to finish was that much more solidified.
The solid five miles into the Lodge were steady and measured. Again: if the trail was at all runnable, I ran and ran hard. This was where I could expend some energy, knowing I'd have a downhill toward more downhill coming out of the Lodge. With last year's experience too fresh in mind, I was worried about these five miles dragging on and chipping away at my psychology, but I rather quickly came upon the loop split and knew I had half a mile into the start-finish. I was still running strong, so I felt good coming in to cow bells, cheers, clapping, and more familiar faces, Ben and Alex. Seeing their smiles filled me with more energy and a resolution to get back out there. That being said, I had a chaser of iburprofen with my fuel and caffeine. My knees had been aching for fifteen miles, no longer used to the trails after five or six weeks of running roads in Houston, and my ankles were all but shot from the rocks and sliding. Note to Self: Wearing heels every day does not make your ankles strong enough for Cactus Rose.
Leaving the Lodge I was strong and had buoyed spirits. I knew I had more runnable sections than I'd recalled from last year, so I resolved to take advantage of those with gusto and a fast clip. I came up on two friends of mine, Michael Dino and Devon Kiernan. Devon and I ran quite a bit last summer, so it was good to get some run time in with him. I didn't chat with him for too long, as he was running the 100M and needed to focus. Michael and I chatted for a bit, which was refreshing given the solitude inherent in Cactus Rose. Before I knew it, I was dropping down in to Boyles. It is always a great feeling coming to an aid station before you'd expected to do so. Another round of fuel, systems check, time check, and I lit out. I was excited: I was coming up on tail end of the hardest, most arduous part of the course. I was doing this, and I was doing it well. I remember where I was physically and mentally at this point last year and frankly, I was no where near the positive position then as I was today. I made my way toward Equestrian: 5.5 miles to the midway point of my second loop, the longest stretch of the course.
An hour and a half or so later, I finally came in to Equestrian. Things had taken some turns and I was becoming mentally shaken. The climbs and descents had taken their toll on my physically and more. "Another fifteen miles from Euqestrian?," I asked myself. "Impossible. What am I doing out here?" I kept the words of a few people in my head, namely Joe's "You don't have to drop out here if you refuse to let the excuses take over." "Keep on moving," I told myself. "Just keep moving." Equestrian finally came, as did another visit with Ben. Another round of ibuprofen. More caffeine and fuel. My knee was becoming almost unbearable: pain radiating around my left patella. Thankfully, I knew it wasn't serious and I could run on it. Remember: no bone sightings, blood, puking, or any combination thereof? Keep running, fool.
Knowing I'd need another boost at Nachos, I asked Ben to be there. Originally, I had thought I would want Boyles and Nachos as my quiet stations, as is the tradition at Cactus, but I knew I'd need the boost at mile 40. That was a good call. By the time I came through Nachos, I was in more pain than I could have ever imagined My resolve was nearly shot, and I just wanted to sit down...lay down...take a shower...anything but keep moving. Again, Joe's words "Just don't drop at Nachos, just bring it in to Equestrian. Trust me." Again, many thanks to Joe for his words of wisdom. Ben and I didn't speak much at Nachos, but seeing him there made all the difference. He didn't let on (until after the race) that I looked a touch broken down, worn, and on the brink. In fact, he didn't need to because I was well aware of how close to the edge I was at that point. Thankfully, Ben knows me well enough not to have asked how I was doing, or we would have had a full break down on our hands. I was, in short, exhausted. But I needed this finish: too much training put in, too much work already down, and too many people I unofficially was running "for" to quit with only ten miles to go. Holding back tears of exhaustion, frustration, and pain, I went off.
For the next 5.2 miles, I reminded myself where I was at this point last year and how great I was doing this time. Last year, night had fallen and I was dragging my leg. My knee had chosen to revolt and refused to bend without sending sharp and unbearable pains throughout the left side of my body. I was hardly at a half-way walk last year. This year, however, I was running. I wasn't shuffling. I wasn't trotting. I was running. I may have been in incredible pain, but, dammit, I was running with forty miles of trail behind me and less than ten ahead of me.
Eventually, my pace slowed. My frustration grew and gained strength. I tried to piece together this portion of the course, which was exceedingly difficult because I'd never run it in daylight and I only knew it by feel. "Okay, power lines. We're almost to the fence line, which means we're almost to Equestrian for the final four and a half miles." Wrong. "Another stretch of power lines? Another fence line? What is this incline?! That's Equestrian over there with the cars, right? It has to be, right?" Wrong. With every wrong assumption or conclusion, I became more panicked and angry. Even so, I kept on at a decent clip whether walking or running, never letting complacency take over no matter how frustrated I became.
Finally...finally, there was Equestrian. I knew Ben would be there with a large smile on his face, as would Misha. The two of them could lift my spirits without uttering a word. I also knew Olga would be there, which means I was finishing this race whether I wanted to or not. At this point, I knew the finish was in the bag. The only question remaining was how long it would take.
I was surprised to find I'd covered the 5.2 in about an hour and fifteen minutes, which was much faster than my emotions had led me to believe. I'd avoided looking at my watch as much as possible unless I was at an aid station. Looking at my watch mid-run tends to lead to some awful mind games. With four and a half miles ahead of me, with the longest stretches of runnable portions, and hours of daylight left, I knew I could pull out the finish in about an hour. Entirely palatable. I pulled on my gloves and jacket, which I'd previously ditched at the Lodge, as I knew the temperatures would drop in the valleys outside of Equestrian. I dropped my Camelbak with Ben. I knew I wouldn't need water over the next four and a half miles and I'd be able to move more easily, and quickly, without it. Pumped myself up ("I run six and a half miles or more a day damn-near in my sleep! Get outta here 'four and a half!'"), fist pounded the guys, made sure Olga saw my spirits, and off I went.
The adrenaline must have kicked on at some point because I was moving at a pace I hadn't seen since the early morning. It was smooth and steady, though it remained painful. Four and a half miles..."less now," I kept telling myself. In fact, through the entire race, I kept reminding myself: the longer and faster you're moving, the sooner you are to the finish line. Keep at it. This is such an easy lesson to say, but one I have learned consistently over the past few months with training, and weeks with larger, more daunting projects at work. It goes back to one of my favorite running quotations: "Be not afraid of moving slowly, be afraid of standing still." I kept moving. I knew there were some brutal and steep ascents and descents on this portion, which I was not looking forward to, but I also knew it would mean I was close to the loop split and the finish line. Again, more aggression, steady pace, resolve to finish. To be fair, I didn't have a choice but to finish at this point, but it all came down to how long it would take. I wanted a chair and something other than another Lara Bar in my stomach, so I kept up the steadiness.
One mind game I play with myself is purposefully overestimating how many more miles I have on a long run. "You've got about four more miles until you're in a warm shower with coffee brewing. Keep the focus and keep the pace. Four miles." In actuality, I know I have two and a half. Somehow, though, I continue to trick myself. It works well for psychological and mental training. I brought this trick into play in the last miles of Cactus Rose, and it worked gloriously. About thirty seconds after telling myself, "You've got about two more miles, so about twenty five minutes to go. You've got this. Keep it steady and bring it in strong," I saw the loop split. The loop split is about half a mile from the start-finish. Half. A. Mile. You'd better believe I began moving with more speed and conviction than I'd had all day at that point. It's incredible how much energy I can find at the bottom and at the end of a race. The pain in my knee? Disappeared. My ankles? Quiet. Finally, I saw the Lodge and flags. I started watching for the dry "creek bed" crossing with the smooth rocks. I knew that would mean I was a turn away from the time clock, finish mat, and a completed goal. Faster, smoother, and even faster I ran. I sprinted across the mat and immediately fell into a crouch. My shoulders began rocking with emotion: I'd done it, and I'd done it well. All of my hard work, training, and dedication had paid off into a solid finish six hours faster than last year and before the sun had set. I could finally believe myself when I tell people I'm an ultra runner.
A few observations.
1. With the amount of natural sugars I eat throughout the day in the form of whole grains and fresh fruits and vegetables, my hydration and fueling needs are wildly different than the average ultra runner. Also keeping in mind the newest "drink to thirst" advice, I found I was hydrated the entire fifty miles without drinking water. I'd be interested to get some tests done on my kidneys to see if they agree with my lack of need to drink water, but I never felt dehydrated, not once did I feel thirsty, and I sweat the entire race. No slosh in my stomach, either. It was very interesting.
2. Additionally, my glycogen stores likely are higher than the average ultra runner, again, because of how much of my diet are "good" carbohydrates. I dipped into the "lows," but never more than a toe-dip in and always around the time an aid station was due to arrive. My Lara Bars were great fuel sources: protein and more glucose, solid food to keep my attention diverted starting out from an aid station, and sustained me through each section. Going forward, I might drink less caffeine. I became concerned about the possibility of an elevated heart rate, though that never materialized. That being said, I may stave off caffeine at future races until it's necessary as a pick-me-up, rather than as a keep-the-levels tool.
All in all, this was a fantastic race. My resolve wasn't as even and high as at Nueces in March, but this was a solid run built on dedicated training and focus. I am immensely proud of my performance out there and I am really looking forward to my running continuing to improve. Up next may be Run Like the Wind 6 hour, then Round Two of Rocky Raccoon 50M, Nueces 50K, perhaps Hell's Hills 50K depending on my schedule, and the Army Marathon tucked in there somewhere.
Finally, it was so great seeing everyone out there: Diana H., Dave S., Dave L., David J., Sonya M., Devon K., Mike S., Michael D., Thomas O., Arturo A., Joe and Joyce P., Brian K., Olga, and many others I am almost positive I am missing. I miss you all so much, even just the idea of running with any one of you on any given day of the week. It was also great meeting so many new people out there this weekend. A great weekend full of catching up, keeping on, and moving forward.
Next Year: sub-12:00.
Cactus Rose 50M
October 27, 2012
12:30ish (actual time to come later)
This year I was able to arrive at the park well in advance of (1) dinner; (2) bedtime; and (3) the 5 a.m. start on Saturday morning. For previous races, my anxiety has tended to be through the roof worrying about finding the race; getting my packet; changing into my race gear; et cetera. This year, I got to the park at about 2 p.m. on Friday afternoon, dropped my bags to my liking, picked up my packet, visited with some folk, had dinner, and dutifully parked myself in a chair until 3 a.m. on Saturday. I was curled up in a bundle of blankets by 7:30 p.m. for a full eight hours of sleep, with everything set out and ready for the morning. Anxiety check? Little to zero, save for the whole "Okay, you're running 50 miles tomorrow on the Cactus Rose course."
I did have some anxiety about the weather., though Traveling to Bandera involved steadily dropping temperatures and a biting cold rain no one enjoys. The radar indicated it would be gone by Friday evening with promises of perfect running weather for Saturday, but this is Texas. No weather forecast is ever too reliable. I worked myself in my head, getting ready for any possibility.
Three a.m. came just fine. I got dressed, drank a few Diet Dr. Peppers, and had my english muffin with peanut butter and jam. I sat in the car for a while, saving my energy and trying to accrue a bit of warmth. The temperatures were about steady from the evening before, which meant they were only going to get warmer as the day progressed. I convinced myself not to overdress based on this as well. Finally, around 4:30 a.m., we made our way to the start/finish to visit with folk, get the adrenaline pumping, and hit the trail. I was so nervous last year that it was refreshing to feel ready, confident, and excited to get started, sprinkled with healthy nervousness. Finally, Joe called time and off we went.
Fairly quickly I realized I did not, in fact, have fresh batteries in my headlamp. My lamp was hardly visible. I tagged along on the lights of those around me, but I wasn't sure I could pull that off for the next two and a half hours until sunrise. Thankfully I'd packed a flash light in my Camelbak. If it came down to it, I knew I could rely on that. As it turns out, I couldn't. I finally pulled it out, afraid I was pushing the pace in an effort to keep up with the lights. I didn't want to destroy my prospects of a solid race so early in the course. The flash light is small and light, but it's also fairly cheap apparently. As I am cruising along at a decent clip, the light flickers and fades out. I was confused, royally confused, because I knew the flash light, at least, had fresh batteries. Ah, the "cheap" factor. The flash light was so poorly manufactured that the connectors weren't reliable. I could click the flash light on and off at intervals, but could not be sure the light would remain on consistently, especially with the jostling involved. For some reason, I kept the same pace and just took extra care in where I stepped. Fairly quickly I found myself at Equestrian, four and a half miles in to my fifty mile foot journey. After a general request for batteries with no response, I lit out, wanting to take advantage of the dark running as much as possible. Running in the dark tends to melt away miles. By the time the sun rises, you've been at it for two and a half hours and can have as many as fifteen to twenty miles behind you, depending on your pace. I also knew this was the easiest and most runnable portion of the course, and I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity for a quick pace. Onward and forward.
The course was starting to look and feel very familiar. Not familiar enough though, and the 5.2 between Equestrian and Nachos dragged on longer than I'd anticipated, which isn't a great psychological place to be so early in an ultra. Finally, I came upon Nachos. Having had four Diet Dr. Peppers at this point and still fueling off of breakfast and my seemingly infinite glycogen stores, I grabbed a Lara Bar as a security "blanket" and left Nachos fairly quickly. The next 4.8 miles was going to be a bit more challenging, but also offered some of the most amazing views of the Texas Hill Country. I wanted to be at the top of the climbs in time to catch some of the sunrise before head down-feet forward took over.
I want to take a moment and note the incredible beauty of this part of the state. I was overcome with enthusiasm and energy last year when I saw these views, which ended up sapping some of my energy later in the race, but remain worth the elation. Driving into Bandera this year, I was overcome with emotion and nearly cried looking forward to seeing the beauty of the area from such great heights in the coming hours. I cannot find words sufficient to describe the beauty. I am so lucky to live in this beautiful state, have access to this breathtaking part of the Hill Country, and have been able to haul my behind up those climbs to see them yet again. The pain (i.e., "cactus," literally and figuratively) is more than worth the beauty (i.e., "rose," just figuratively, unfortunately, unless the sunrise can be described as "rose-like") of this race course. Moving along...
I approached the climbs and descents between Nachos and Equestrian with quite a bit of aggression, but knew that the following twenty miles would need most of that same drive. At this point in the race, my one rule came into focus: if the trail is remotely runnable, you'd better be running. I was surprised at the extent of flat trail; I didn't remember there being quite that much, but I certainly wasn't one to complain. These miles were fairly unremarkable: head down, feet forward, short stop on Ice Cream Hill for a sunrise photo courtesy of Brian Kuhn. I had a wonderful conversation with another lawyer who practices in Switzerland, as well. I'd call these the Tuesday-through-Thursday miles: just get 'em done.
Coming in to Equestrian I was so happy to see Ben waiting for me. He was such a critical part of my finish last year, I knew I couldn't do much better this year without him. I planned on more independence this year, as he was running a leg of the 100M relay, but I knew he'd be at Equestrian and the Lodge during my race. Seeing a familiar and supportive face can mean all the difference. He reminded me of my inspirations for this race, made sure I signed in at the table, and clapped me off toward miles 15 through 25, the first half of the hardest portion of the course. It is full of rocks (now even more due to erosion), higher and thicker sotol cactus (graze-the-face high), and incredible elevation ascents and descents. My mental resolve had to be airtight for the next ten miles into the Lodge.
With another Diet Dr. Pepper flooding the senses, I trucked pretty consistently into Boyles. Another unremarkable five miles, as far as I can remember, though the final three quarters of a mile to a mile of the section wore on, as the miles are wont to do in the middle stages of the race. By the time I came in to Boyles, I was recognizing a solid and reliable pace. I was keeping the same speed, despite changes in terrain and elevation. This was a good sign. I wasn't going as fast as I wanted to, a pipe dream of qualifying for the 2013 running of the Western States 100 in the back of my mind, but I was moving swiftly and strongly. Some energy in my systems, and I was off to the Lodge. My resolve was wavering, so I kept telling myself to just get to the Lodge and head right back out. As long as I got back out on the second loop, my ability to finish was that much more solidified.
The solid five miles into the Lodge were steady and measured. Again: if the trail was at all runnable, I ran and ran hard. This was where I could expend some energy, knowing I'd have a downhill toward more downhill coming out of the Lodge. With last year's experience too fresh in mind, I was worried about these five miles dragging on and chipping away at my psychology, but I rather quickly came upon the loop split and knew I had half a mile into the start-finish. I was still running strong, so I felt good coming in to cow bells, cheers, clapping, and more familiar faces, Ben and Alex. Seeing their smiles filled me with more energy and a resolution to get back out there. That being said, I had a chaser of iburprofen with my fuel and caffeine. My knees had been aching for fifteen miles, no longer used to the trails after five or six weeks of running roads in Houston, and my ankles were all but shot from the rocks and sliding. Note to Self: Wearing heels every day does not make your ankles strong enough for Cactus Rose.
Leaving the Lodge I was strong and had buoyed spirits. I knew I had more runnable sections than I'd recalled from last year, so I resolved to take advantage of those with gusto and a fast clip. I came up on two friends of mine, Michael Dino and Devon Kiernan. Devon and I ran quite a bit last summer, so it was good to get some run time in with him. I didn't chat with him for too long, as he was running the 100M and needed to focus. Michael and I chatted for a bit, which was refreshing given the solitude inherent in Cactus Rose. Before I knew it, I was dropping down in to Boyles. It is always a great feeling coming to an aid station before you'd expected to do so. Another round of fuel, systems check, time check, and I lit out. I was excited: I was coming up on tail end of the hardest, most arduous part of the course. I was doing this, and I was doing it well. I remember where I was physically and mentally at this point last year and frankly, I was no where near the positive position then as I was today. I made my way toward Equestrian: 5.5 miles to the midway point of my second loop, the longest stretch of the course.
An hour and a half or so later, I finally came in to Equestrian. Things had taken some turns and I was becoming mentally shaken. The climbs and descents had taken their toll on my physically and more. "Another fifteen miles from Euqestrian?," I asked myself. "Impossible. What am I doing out here?" I kept the words of a few people in my head, namely Joe's "You don't have to drop out here if you refuse to let the excuses take over." "Keep on moving," I told myself. "Just keep moving." Equestrian finally came, as did another visit with Ben. Another round of ibuprofen. More caffeine and fuel. My knee was becoming almost unbearable: pain radiating around my left patella. Thankfully, I knew it wasn't serious and I could run on it. Remember: no bone sightings, blood, puking, or any combination thereof? Keep running, fool.
Knowing I'd need another boost at Nachos, I asked Ben to be there. Originally, I had thought I would want Boyles and Nachos as my quiet stations, as is the tradition at Cactus, but I knew I'd need the boost at mile 40. That was a good call. By the time I came through Nachos, I was in more pain than I could have ever imagined My resolve was nearly shot, and I just wanted to sit down...lay down...take a shower...anything but keep moving. Again, Joe's words "Just don't drop at Nachos, just bring it in to Equestrian. Trust me." Again, many thanks to Joe for his words of wisdom. Ben and I didn't speak much at Nachos, but seeing him there made all the difference. He didn't let on (until after the race) that I looked a touch broken down, worn, and on the brink. In fact, he didn't need to because I was well aware of how close to the edge I was at that point. Thankfully, Ben knows me well enough not to have asked how I was doing, or we would have had a full break down on our hands. I was, in short, exhausted. But I needed this finish: too much training put in, too much work already down, and too many people I unofficially was running "for" to quit with only ten miles to go. Holding back tears of exhaustion, frustration, and pain, I went off.
For the next 5.2 miles, I reminded myself where I was at this point last year and how great I was doing this time. Last year, night had fallen and I was dragging my leg. My knee had chosen to revolt and refused to bend without sending sharp and unbearable pains throughout the left side of my body. I was hardly at a half-way walk last year. This year, however, I was running. I wasn't shuffling. I wasn't trotting. I was running. I may have been in incredible pain, but, dammit, I was running with forty miles of trail behind me and less than ten ahead of me.
Eventually, my pace slowed. My frustration grew and gained strength. I tried to piece together this portion of the course, which was exceedingly difficult because I'd never run it in daylight and I only knew it by feel. "Okay, power lines. We're almost to the fence line, which means we're almost to Equestrian for the final four and a half miles." Wrong. "Another stretch of power lines? Another fence line? What is this incline?! That's Equestrian over there with the cars, right? It has to be, right?" Wrong. With every wrong assumption or conclusion, I became more panicked and angry. Even so, I kept on at a decent clip whether walking or running, never letting complacency take over no matter how frustrated I became.
Finally...finally, there was Equestrian. I knew Ben would be there with a large smile on his face, as would Misha. The two of them could lift my spirits without uttering a word. I also knew Olga would be there, which means I was finishing this race whether I wanted to or not. At this point, I knew the finish was in the bag. The only question remaining was how long it would take.
I was surprised to find I'd covered the 5.2 in about an hour and fifteen minutes, which was much faster than my emotions had led me to believe. I'd avoided looking at my watch as much as possible unless I was at an aid station. Looking at my watch mid-run tends to lead to some awful mind games. With four and a half miles ahead of me, with the longest stretches of runnable portions, and hours of daylight left, I knew I could pull out the finish in about an hour. Entirely palatable. I pulled on my gloves and jacket, which I'd previously ditched at the Lodge, as I knew the temperatures would drop in the valleys outside of Equestrian. I dropped my Camelbak with Ben. I knew I wouldn't need water over the next four and a half miles and I'd be able to move more easily, and quickly, without it. Pumped myself up ("I run six and a half miles or more a day damn-near in my sleep! Get outta here 'four and a half!'"), fist pounded the guys, made sure Olga saw my spirits, and off I went.
The adrenaline must have kicked on at some point because I was moving at a pace I hadn't seen since the early morning. It was smooth and steady, though it remained painful. Four and a half miles..."less now," I kept telling myself. In fact, through the entire race, I kept reminding myself: the longer and faster you're moving, the sooner you are to the finish line. Keep at it. This is such an easy lesson to say, but one I have learned consistently over the past few months with training, and weeks with larger, more daunting projects at work. It goes back to one of my favorite running quotations: "Be not afraid of moving slowly, be afraid of standing still." I kept moving. I knew there were some brutal and steep ascents and descents on this portion, which I was not looking forward to, but I also knew it would mean I was close to the loop split and the finish line. Again, more aggression, steady pace, resolve to finish. To be fair, I didn't have a choice but to finish at this point, but it all came down to how long it would take. I wanted a chair and something other than another Lara Bar in my stomach, so I kept up the steadiness.
One mind game I play with myself is purposefully overestimating how many more miles I have on a long run. "You've got about four more miles until you're in a warm shower with coffee brewing. Keep the focus and keep the pace. Four miles." In actuality, I know I have two and a half. Somehow, though, I continue to trick myself. It works well for psychological and mental training. I brought this trick into play in the last miles of Cactus Rose, and it worked gloriously. About thirty seconds after telling myself, "You've got about two more miles, so about twenty five minutes to go. You've got this. Keep it steady and bring it in strong," I saw the loop split. The loop split is about half a mile from the start-finish. Half. A. Mile. You'd better believe I began moving with more speed and conviction than I'd had all day at that point. It's incredible how much energy I can find at the bottom and at the end of a race. The pain in my knee? Disappeared. My ankles? Quiet. Finally, I saw the Lodge and flags. I started watching for the dry "creek bed" crossing with the smooth rocks. I knew that would mean I was a turn away from the time clock, finish mat, and a completed goal. Faster, smoother, and even faster I ran. I sprinted across the mat and immediately fell into a crouch. My shoulders began rocking with emotion: I'd done it, and I'd done it well. All of my hard work, training, and dedication had paid off into a solid finish six hours faster than last year and before the sun had set. I could finally believe myself when I tell people I'm an ultra runner.
A few observations.
1. With the amount of natural sugars I eat throughout the day in the form of whole grains and fresh fruits and vegetables, my hydration and fueling needs are wildly different than the average ultra runner. Also keeping in mind the newest "drink to thirst" advice, I found I was hydrated the entire fifty miles without drinking water. I'd be interested to get some tests done on my kidneys to see if they agree with my lack of need to drink water, but I never felt dehydrated, not once did I feel thirsty, and I sweat the entire race. No slosh in my stomach, either. It was very interesting.
2. Additionally, my glycogen stores likely are higher than the average ultra runner, again, because of how much of my diet are "good" carbohydrates. I dipped into the "lows," but never more than a toe-dip in and always around the time an aid station was due to arrive. My Lara Bars were great fuel sources: protein and more glucose, solid food to keep my attention diverted starting out from an aid station, and sustained me through each section. Going forward, I might drink less caffeine. I became concerned about the possibility of an elevated heart rate, though that never materialized. That being said, I may stave off caffeine at future races until it's necessary as a pick-me-up, rather than as a keep-the-levels tool.
All in all, this was a fantastic race. My resolve wasn't as even and high as at Nueces in March, but this was a solid run built on dedicated training and focus. I am immensely proud of my performance out there and I am really looking forward to my running continuing to improve. Up next may be Run Like the Wind 6 hour, then Round Two of Rocky Raccoon 50M, Nueces 50K, perhaps Hell's Hills 50K depending on my schedule, and the Army Marathon tucked in there somewhere.
Finally, it was so great seeing everyone out there: Diana H., Dave S., Dave L., David J., Sonya M., Devon K., Mike S., Michael D., Thomas O., Arturo A., Joe and Joyce P., Brian K., Olga, and many others I am almost positive I am missing. I miss you all so much, even just the idea of running with any one of you on any given day of the week. It was also great meeting so many new people out there this weekend. A great weekend full of catching up, keeping on, and moving forward.
Next Year: sub-12:00.
Cactus Rose 50M
October 27, 2012
12:30ish (actual time to come later)
