Hello friends, by now many of you have seen my post on Facebook that I DNF the Last Call 50 miler. I made 14 miles before badly rolling my ankle, and then I walk/jog/hobbled another 19 miles after that, finally throwing in the towel after 33 miles. But there is much more to the story, which I will share now. I faced adversity all the way along the course, the kind of adversity that makes a person question nearly everything.
The pre race briefing was thorough, enjoyable, and left me feeling confident. At the stroke of midnight, we were off!
Soon headlamps in the night were spread apart far enough that we couldn't see each other around the curves on the dirt road. This was my first major mistake. I should have stayed with someone.
But I was feeling confident, soaring even. This is common in the first few miles of a long race, and I shouldn't have let it get to me. Soon I was zooming on the dirt road, focused ahead of me. This was another mistake, as I immediately missed the first turn. I went until my GPS on my phone told me I had run 4 miles. It was at this point that I realized the turn to the first aid station was just after mile 3. Great. I turned around, looking for the headlamps behind me. Nothing.
What's more is, the cut off at the first aid station was 1:00 am. It was now getting close, and I had to turn around. I ran the mile back to the proper turn, and spotted the obvious sign that I had already missed in the night. I came into the first aid station at 1:05am, but they let me go on, knowing that I had made a silly mistake like adding a few bonus miles.
I dashed into the woods, ready to catch up with the next racer in front me. Little did I know, this would never happen.
I ran until the next turn, and this time, I paid very careful attention to the flags and signage. Too much attention, actually. I was wasting precious time debating whether I was still on course (this time, I was). It was pitch dark and I was confused and lost, so I took it slow... too slow.
Eventually, the moon began to rise, and this gave me an energy boost.
I knew when I left the first aid station that I had about 8 miles to go to the next aid station, which didn't have a cut off. It was the following aid station, another 5 miles after that, which had a 4:45am cutoff.
Those 8 miles from the first aid station to the second were very long lonely miles. I faced some nighttime hallucinations already, as the moon being out created interesting shadows that seemed to pop out, despite the light from my headlamp.
Mileage is difficult to determine at night and GPS isn't always accurate in the woods. It was after 3 am when I first began to think I wouldn't make the 4:45am cutoff at Tarryall.
I rolled into the Trout Creek aid station just before 4am. With 5 miles to go to Tarryall, and only 45 minutes before the cutoff, I already knew I wasn't going to make it on time. But I wasn't going to give up without trying.
Soon after leaving Trout Creek, the sun began to rise. It was a stunning sunrise. It took away the nighttime hallucinations and it gave me a level of peace. Even if I didn't make the cut off, I was still enjoying my time on the trail.
Soon after the sunrise, I wanted to turn off my headlamp. It just wasn't dark enough to justify keeping it on, I thought. This was probably my biggest mistake of the whole day. It wasn't more than a few minutes after I decided it was light enough without my headlamp that an unexpected root on a silty downhill caught my foot.
As I left the ground for the air entirely, I heard an awful cracking noise coming from my right ankle, which had caught the root. I landed on my left knee, but I knew the worst damage was going to be to my ankle. I sat on the ground for a moment, stunned. I was sure my ankle was broken, from the sound it had made. I evaluated my situation.
I wasn't going to make the cutoff anyway, so no loss there. I was probably between 2 to 3 miles from the Tarryall aid station, a distance I could manage, I thought.
I stood up and tested the ankle. A slight soreness, but no sharp pain. Success! I could walk, at least. And so I did.
As it turns out, I was not far from a critical junction. At the intersection, one route went to Como (where the 100 miler goes) and one route to Tarryall. Since I was still fairly confused and shaken from the fall, I didn't pay careful enough attention at this intersection.
Yes, you guessed it. I went towards Como. Another mile after that, I began to feel that something was wrong with my direction. The sun had come up more fully now, and it felt... wrong. It was. More bonus mileage!
I turned around again, made my way back to the intersection, and finally crawled my way into Tarryall. I was almost 2 hours past the cut off and pretty defeated, 20 miles into a race at the mile 16 aid station.
No one was there. The aid station had been torn down, but the folded tent and empty water jugs sat waiting to be picked up. I bugged some people in a tent at the aid station. They'd been pacing a friend in the 100, and would be headed back into town to catch the finish in a couple hours. I really didn't want to go back along the course by myself, nor did I want to sit at Tarryall for a few hours waiting on a ride from some people who were obviously still trying to sleep.
Most fortunately, as I walked along the road by the aid station, I ran into a guy who was picking up the little pink flags I'd been trying to follow all night. His name was Eric and he was the course sweeper.
I told him about my ankle and he offered to walk with me back to the start.
I really didn't want to, but I would rather walk with someone than by myself, and I would rather walk than watch some people sleep while I waited for a ride from them.
Walking back towards the start with Eric it was. Since he was picking up flags along the way, and I was limping and going slowly, it was less of me walking "with" him and more of him catching up to me between flags. I was also tired, defeated, and broken, so I wasn't much for conversation, which is pretty unusual for me, as those of you who run with me know!
I was wishing the Trout Creek aid station would still be operational by the time I reached it, but I didn't have much hope for it, considering I was now 3 hours behind, and the Tarryall station was already torn down. And of course, it wasn't there. Eric caught up with me again to remind me that Poor Man's aid station wasn't that far off. Truthfully, I knew it was still 8 miles, but I had no choice now, deep in the woods. I just had to press on. The day became heated, and I glanced back at Mt. Silverheels.
Eventually the course came to a point where the racers deviate from the outbound route. It was here that I said goodbye to Eric. He did not want to leave me, but I knew now that I had only 2-3 miles back to the Poor Man's aid station and the day was wearing on. I did not want to add another few miles to my crawl back to town.
I intentionally got thigh deep in the stream and washed my bloody knee and allowed the cold water to momentarily calm my ankle which was making itself known more and more as the day went on.
Less than a mile from Poor Man's, John and Hollis came upon me on their ATV. I told them I had gotten lost at a few points and rolled my ankle, and then proceeded to put almost 20 miles on it after that. They assured me that there were still folks at Poor Man's. I was relieved because this meant I could save myself the last 3 miles of hobbling by catching a ride.
I hobbled into Poor Man's and gladly took a bumpy ride back into town. I ended up with 33 miles total.
Later, my ankle swelled up enormously.
As I told Eric, when I was out there on the course, I was seriously reevaluating my life choices. I told him I was having an early midlife crisis, where I was going to quit running, move to the west coast, and pick up sea kayaking.
Some of that might still be true.
Nonetheless, despite all the adversity I faced, I am at peace with my experience at the race. I have to thank John and Hollis for hosting such a challenging, inspiring, and difficult event. It was worth participating, no matter what struggles I had.
And I must thank Eric for being my pacer for over 10 miles of hobbling back along the course. I don't know what I would have done without you!
And I have to thank my husband and our friend Greg for coming with me to support me, and drive me to dinner and home afterwards!
It's going to be a few weeks before I feel ready to run again. This pains me, since the mountains are still my safe place. My therapy. I enjoy the weight room and the gym, but it isn't the same. The mountains bring me peace. I hope to be back there soon enough, though. I am humbled by my experience at this race.
I'm thankful that I was able to watch the sunrise during a race - something that I've been wanting to do since April of last year when I pulled out of the Palmer Lake Fun Run before sunrise. The small victories are sometimes worth celebrating!
