Run Woodstock – Hallucination 100

24 September 2010

 

Backstory

Entered this race on a bit of a whim following a summer of crappy training, injuries, and DNFs. My goal – perhaps even further misery and self-pity to put a cap on a crummy season.

 

After Burning River 100, I made the commitment to full-time barefoot / minimalist running – something I’d been working on for the preceding 10 months. My plan for Woodstock was to start in VFF Treks and go to a more traditional shoe if needed as the race progressed.

 

A week before Woodstock, I was just past mile 8 in a road half marathon when something in my left foot snapped. Unable to walk, I managed to find the one square inch of usable foot and hobble it in. Over the course of the week, I rested the foot and sought help from my ART therapist. By Friday morning (race morning), the foot was a little bit better.

 

I had a decision to make…

 

Could I run in FiveFingers?
Uh… no!

 

Could I run in my old trail shoes – untouched since Burning River eight weeks prior and still caked with mud?
Well, I managed to eke out a mile around my neighborhood in relative comfort.

 

How about the new-in-box x-country flats I’d set aside to evaluate for winter running?
One quarter-mile lap around the block – they felt pretty good.

 

Shoes are tools that can enable me to reach certain goals… Let’s do it.

 

About Run Woodstock

Run Woodstock is a weekend long festival of trail racing, camping, and live music. There are races going off at all hours of the day and night – distances ranging from 5k up to 100mi.

 

The 100mi and 100k runners start together at 4:00pm Friday afternoon. An interesting start time… we’re “fresh” for the darkest hours, but tired from having already put in a full day prior to the race.

 

The 100mi course is 6 loops of 16.67 miles, returning each time to the start/finish tent in the Hell Creek Ranch campground. The 100k runners share this course, with 3 loops plus a modified final loop.

 

Our field is small – 72 100-milers and maybe 12 100k runners.

 

Loop 1: Miles 0 – 16.7

I’m at the start in sparkly white Saucony Kilkennys, looking very out of place among the seasoned ultra runners. Who runs trails in white shoes? Nobody! For long.

 

My goal – get the lay of the land and finish the first loop before nightfall. (If I do this right, it'll be 1 loop in daylight, 3 loops at night, 2 loops in daylight.)

 

What am I doing running at 4pm? I’m so confused! It takes more than the usual two miles to adjust to running and find a groove. My foot feels OK with a slightly altered stride – certainly not my best barefoot form!

 

I fall in with three other guys and wind up leading our pack. They declare my pace excellent – I must be going too fast.

 

Loop 2: Miles 16.7 – 33.4

In to the start/finish tent just in time for sunset, but a bit ahead of my planned conservative pace. I don’t have to remember to take my lights, I’ve been wearing them from the start – just in case. They’re calling runners to the start for the 5k – oh crap!

 

Back on the trail I sense thundering hooves behind me… I pick up my pace and hug the right edge of the trail – fortunately, their turn-off isn’t too far ahead.

 

The skies are clearing and the moon is nearly full. I run without lights down a section of rail trail. I catch up to a small group of guys and decide to take a walk break… Heh, I’m walking as fast as they’re running – very cool.

 

After the rail trail, I’m on my own for the rest of the loop. The pack has thinned. We exchange greetings in passing on the two-way section of dirt road linking two single-track loops.

 

Loop 3: Miles 33.4 – 50

I’m still running a bit ahead of pace, but feeling OK about it – I don’t see how I could comfortably go any slower.

 

My world has been reduced to a 6-foot circle of light – just me, the rocks just in front of my feet, and the eerie shadows of weeds and wildflowers.

It’s a magical thing to run through the woods at night.

 

I love the ease with which I’m running the downhills… that barefooting is paying off. I feel like a dancing puppet on the end of a stick.

 

I try to recall the upcoming features on the trail… Downhill around the island, steep climb to the left, mud pit. Nope. I feel like the Orbitz guy – bicycle, unrealistic splash, embarrassingly transparent. Annoying.

 

Loop 4: Miles 50 – 66.7

Approaching the 4-mile aid station, I see runners sitting off to the side of the trail. I know these folks – Dick and his pacer, Marit. Dick’s having issues with rapid heart rate – they’ll be returning to the aid station to drop.

 

My feet are tired of being stepped on. And I’m feeling some tweaking in my Achilles. I’ve been able to relax away other twinges and pains, but the miles are taking their toll.

 

A voice calls out in the darkness at the 8-mile aid station – Last Place (barefoot) Jason! He’s here to help his friend Jesse in the 50-mile race set to start at 6:30am. It’s good to see a familiar and friendly face. I explain about the shoes… tools and all that. I’m going to change into the trail runners after this loop – the extra cushion might be welcome and the added heel lift could take some strain off the Achilles.

 

I remember seeing a bench tucked into the woods. When I find it, I will sit for a minute. One minute.

 

I’m starting to have trouble regulating my temperature… cold, no hot, no cold, no hot. All in all, it’s better to just leave the shirt off and continue in my tank top.

 

The sun’s coming up. Freeway cars and trucks. I’m actually going to be out here, still moving, to experience the lift everyone talks about!

 

Where is that bench?

 

Loop 5: Miles 66.7 – 83.4

Big change at the start/finish aid station. Timing is perfect to drop all of my lights and extra batteries. And, I change out of the flats and into the cushy old trail shoes. This requires cutting off and reinstalling the timing chip – amazingly, I’m still dexterous enough to do this. I continue on with my original socks – my feet are happy, why change?

 

The campground is waking up and the marathoners and halfs are getting ready to go as I sip a bit of soup. The announcer tells them to show mercy to the poor souls who have been out there running all night. I’m just hoping I don’t piss too many of them off.

 

Food is not tasting so good. I’m tired of sweet. The sandwiches are too dry – I spit them out along the trail.

 

The sun is definitely a lift. I’m enjoying seeing the trail again – it’s as if for the first time. But, this is short-lived, as I realize that I still have to go around another time.

 

OK – when I get to that bench, I will sit for a minute. One minute. I must have missed it last time, in the dark.

 

The right shankle kicks in. Tendons and retinaculum irritated by the many miles. That’s OK – at least it’s not mile 33 or 50. No wheels aren’t coming off nothing!

 

Amazingly, I’m still nimble on the downhills. WTF? Thank you barefoot running!

 

There is no bench. Dejected. There is a small section of log to sit/lean on by the side of the road. This will be my one minute.

 

I've slowed down enough that my body is starting to get rid of excess water. That is, I'm peeing - somewhat frequently. Fortunately, we're in the woods and I'm wearing shorts.

 

I’m queasy. I’m exhausted. I’m in tears. But, I’m moving forward. I still have to go around again. A ginger chew… that’s what I need. I’m nearing the start/finish… there are no ginger chews in my bag. Why didn’t I pack the ginger chews? I thought about packing the ginger chews. But, no – I don’t get queasy. I’ve never gotten queasy. No ginger chews. I’m queasy. I’m exhausted. I’m in tears. There is nothing that can make things better.

 

A ginger chew!! A flippin’ fully-wrapped ginger chew – right in the middle of the trail! Ginger chew from heaven! I’m not hallucinating.

 

A gaggle of happy people approach in the opposite direction – they’re hiking to a restaurant for lunch. I cry, I’m so happy to see them. How nice it must be to be so happy, hiking to lunch.

 

But, I have my ginger chew!

 

Loop 6: Miles 83.4 – 100

I’m still eating the ginger chew when I hit the start/finish. No food, yet – after I visit my bag.

 

Upon hearing my story, another runner retrieves some ginger non-chews from her bag for me. Bless you!

 

I meet up with the ginger runner and her pacer out on the rail trail. She’s dropping to 100k. I hope this is her last loop. She tells me how she finished Burning River, but sent back her buckle after realizing that she’d missed a 3-mile loop. Heartbreaking!

 

The company is nice, I feel like running. So, I do. Off down the rail trail.

 

Soon, I’m back to walking and my short-time companions are behind me. I know there likely isn’t much more running in my immediate future. Still, the wheels are attached – I’m just feeling like crap and my shankle has me hobbled.

 

I see other runners on the two-way stretches. Mostly, they all look worse than I feel. And, amazingly, a bunch of them are 50-milers. Sadly, this makes me feel better.

 

It’s all walking, but I’m still holding 20-minute pace. That’s a nice stroll – too bad it doesn’t feel like one.

 

And, astonishingly yet – the downhills are still a treat. I’m still nimble and light. My quads aren’t fried. WTH?!

 

Every time I see people, I cry. I'm so happy to see...anyone. It's a lonely, lonely course - and this is from someone who does very well on her own.

 

I'm peeing even more. This has its upside... My fingers are looking a bit less like sausages. And, every time I pull my shorts aside, a runner or biker comes by - so, I'm seeing people. Sure, I apologize rather than saying hello; but, it's something.

 

I sit for a moment at each aid station. With 1.5 miles or so to go, I come to a picnic table. Even with such a short distance remaining, I’m feeling uninspired. So, I lie down on the bench and put my feet up – instant relief. One minute.

 

Finally, I walk into the campground. I’m amazed at my lack of inspiration. Oh, come on! Are you really going to walk this in?

 

I round the bend to the straightaway into the finish. This time, I get to take the chute on the right, not the detour into the tent. Some campers look up from their fires and start to cheer.

 

Now, I’m running. This is it. 25 hours, 19 minutes, and 43.9 seconds. 100 miles.

 

 

Epilogue

So, what made this one possible?

 

I DNFed my first two attempts at 100 miles - Umstead (in March) and Burning River (in July). I had a dismal season of training and racing, although with more cross-training than ever. (Is it still cross-training, if it winds up being your only training?)

My spirits, confidence, and enthusiasm could not have been lower going into this race. I was only partially committed - didn't really mention it to anyone and didn't do any planning for it.

 

As far as I can tell, the successful finish came from:

• The countless lessons learned from a season of disappointment.
• The benefits of barefoot (truly barefoot) running.

Of course, there are probably a bunch of other contributing factors - but, who can isolate them?!

 

The barefoot running benefits made themselves known in three ways.

• The added strength in my feet, calves, and who-knows where else, helped lighten the load on other muscles.
• The form, although more difficult to maintain in shoes and with my injured foot, helped keep knee and other problems away. I also think the form helped protect me from blisters - my feet just weren't sliding and jamming in my shoes the way they used to. (The only casualty - and barely a blip on the radar - was one underlapping pinky toe.)
• The ability to relax (and reevaluate form) enabled me to nip issues in the bud - as a twinge of pain or tightness arose, I was able to just think the problem away. Additionally, for the entire 100 miles, I was able to relax and take every descent with ease - no fried quads, no pussy-footing. I was absolutely amazed that - even when I was barely moving - I was able to relax into and roll through every last downhill.

This race was both more difficult and easier than my DNFs. I feel better about my DNFs coming out of this race.

Umstead - I've learned things that would have kept me going for at least one more loop.

Burning River - I really don't think I could have done any better than I did, considering the amount of pain I was in and how early it came on. I limped a long way on a very flat tire.

 

I have a number of ultras (long marathons and 50Ks) planned in the upcoming months. My next 100 isn't until Umstead in early April - unless I find something else to do. I'm looking forward to all of it.

Liz!!! Hey, I saw you out there!  I was one of the 50 milers... we spoke multiple times!

You were tired?  Hm!  You never looked tired to me.  In fact, you were one of the few 100 mile types that didn't look like you were about to fall over dead on the trail.

 

HUGE CONGRATS!!!  I couldn't help but smile and cheer when I saw you coming toward the finish.  You looked so happy!  (and so NOT tired... how did that work exactly???)

 

Cassie

Liz!!! Hey, I saw you out there!  I was one of the 50 milers... we spoke multiple times!

Checking your profile pic... I remember you! You always looked so together and formidable (DEFINITELY not one of the death-marching 50-milers)! Congratulations on a great time!

 

I'm sorry I don't remember speaking with you; which is odd, because it seemed as if I saw you a whole bunch of times. I hope I was friendly!!

 

Thanks for cheering me across the line. I was seriously uninspired when I hit the campground... if nobody had noticed me, I'm certain I would have walked it in (and that's just pathetic - especially since I clearly didn't have to).

I'm not sure about this smile you saw... Really, I wasn't feeling it. Which is unusual - I'm usually grinning my way through every race.

 

I saw a bunch of dead 100-milers. I gave a guy a bunch of S!Caps to one guy on the dirt roads, on my way back in on lap 5. Met another guy that I'd run my first loop with on my way back in on lap 6... He said he wished he was where I was (he was on his way out). I thought he must be on his last lap... but, it looks like he DNFed. (I wish they'd post the splits for everyone who started.)

 

Thanks for the compliments!  That IS funny, but I guess you forget the more miles you have on the legs.  You were very friendly.  You were smiling every time I saw you.  We had short little conversations since we were both on the move.  The last time we spoke was on your last lap.  We were going in the same direction across a little wooden bridge path (I'm sure you had to be exhausted at that point, but you didn't look it).  I asked if it was your last lap, and you said it was.  I asked if it was your first 100, and you said it was your 3rd but you had not finished the first 2.  We both you knew you had this one in the bag.  You said, " You've inspired me to run for a few minutes!", and you picked up your pace. 

 

Uninspired you say?  Maybe just tired... because when I saw you turn toward the finish at the campground, you looked sooo happy!  You had a smile from ear to ear.  Perhaps you were too tired to even know which is entirely possible with 100 miles on your feet.   In fact, your smile was so genuine and big that I couldn't help but smile too and feel extremely happy for you, and I barely even knew you!

 

I agree about the results.  They really should post all splits whether or not someone finished.  They didn't have any splits for the 50 miler which is odd because we went across the mat on each loop, and they were writing stuff down at every aid station when a runner would come through. 

 

Huge congrats on finishing your 100!!!