Post Race
Recap: Black Hills 100
“Hills Make
You Stronger”
From my pre-race blog:
“Do I have a time goal for Black Hills
100? Yea, I have an idea of what I’d
like to run. But I know there will be
struggles. If they’re small enough, I
know I can reach my time goal. If
they’re big, probably not. But then I
get to prove my strength by overcoming those obstacles, and I will be just as
satisfied with my efforts.”
The last two sentences rang true for
Black Hills 100. Unconsciously, I think
I knew that this was not going to be my race, that I was going to have to fight. And fight I did…for all 100 miles.
The race started at 6:00 am on a
beautiful morning at Woodle Field in Sturgis, South Dakota. I started out slow, really slow, as the first
1.2 was on a paved bike path and I needed to make it to the trail without
stopping to stretch without having to stop and stretch my leg/hip. I succeeded, just barely.
After that, the race would follow the
Centennial Trail for the next 40+ miles.
It started off with beautiful rolling hills of green grass and wild
flowers, with endless views into the horizon. I couldn’t help but smile.
We didn’t enter the woods until about
mile 6. At mile 7 I thought “my leg is
really f*d up” as it still felt tight.
Luckily, we hit a climb after that and the discomfort subsided. My breath was unusually heavy for the slow
pace, but I shrugged it off, thinking I just had to shake out the cobwebs from
my taper. The course was completely new
to me, more gorgeous than I could have imagined, so I just need to relax and
enjoy it.
By mile 20, I had already fell hard
twice and dealt with 3 side stitches. By
mile 29, I was already feeling exhausted and knew my only goal would be to
finish.
Already, I was praying for strength
and repeating my mantras in my head. Trying to match it with the “hih-huh” of
breathe, I repeated “believe” over and over again. At large steep and rocky hills, I told myself
“hills make you stronger”, even if at the time I just felt like they were
breaking me down.
At the Dalton Lake aid station, I saw
Steve and could tell he looked a bit concerned. I had just blown a nice downhill, but my
legs just wouldn’t let me take full advantage.
He tried to push me out of the aid station, but I told him I didn’t need
to rush. “I’m sooo tired babe” I said,
as I tried to stuff very low calorie watermelon down my throat. I knew I was going to finish, I just knew it
was going to be grueling. Already, I had
no hopes for placing.
I was almost in tears hiking up the
rocky ATV trail, which would last for the next 13 miles (being tired, the rocks
even made running on flats difficult, and I often walked the downhills to avoid
gorging myself with a stone). In thought
“He doesn’t understand!” I felt like he
was pressuring me. Well, he was
actually. All he kept telling me is that
he wanted that darn buffalo head that the top 3 men and women would
receive. I felt like top 10 would be a
stretch. Don’t get me wrong, I love that
Steve believes in me, but I just wanted to run to run. And I wanted to run with no expectations.
I kept going, shuffling as best I
could, walking when the rocks were too much to pick my feet over, or when I
crossed paths with a 4-wheeler.
After 6-7 miles, I reached the Nemo Aid
Station. I was not amused when Steve
told me “just keep swimming”. Then it
was another 6-7 to the next aid station.
Finally I reached the aid station at
42.5 and stuffed another 4 slices of watermelon down my throat. I knew from reading the course description
that the next few miles would be some of the most runnable on the course. Still, I left the aid station walking. However, I was getting close to the
turn-around. I knew if I made it to mile
50, I could make it to 100, no matter how much I suffered. I began to access some positive thoughts (I
had already tried many of my other positive thought mechanisms earlier, such as
gratitude list, but I couldn’t fully grasp them) and started to run-maybe
shuffle- a tad faster, with a smile on my face.
I can’t say I caught a second wind, as I never really had a first one,
but I did begin to feel a little better.
Still, my legs were almost useless,
so, I ran with my heart.
This time, that took new meaning for
me. I realized I had given very large
pieces of my heart to several others, so I ran with them.
I knew Sandi was sending all of her
positive energy my way. I pictured her
running strong and silent behind me. I
knew she wouldn’t say much, because she knew I was doing all I could to keep
putting one foot in front of the other. She knew I was fighting my demons. Still, I could feel her strength emanating
from her very being towards me, and just knowing she was by my side gave me
strength.
I ran to the aid stations to see
Steve, even though I knew he’d try to make me eat more food that my stomach was
at war with. I ran knowing that soon it
would be dark, the sun would stop burning my skin, and he’d put on his headlamp
and be with me to the finish.
At times, I even pretended Pacer was
there running next to me, trying to race ahead.
In my head, I constantly had to yell “Heal!”, “Back!”, “Slow Down!”, and
“You’re not being a very good pacer, Pacer!”
After a short time, I started to see
some of the top runners come back down the course. The top female (who finished second overall
and ran under 20 hours!) looked amazing, and we yelled encouragement to each other. Even thought it was somewhat disheartening
seeing the all the runners headed back and knowing where I should be, it was
still great to spread some good vibes amongst each other.
Around mile 46, the course hops off
the Centennial Trail and takes another trail to the turn-around. Before I knew it, BAM!, there was another
ginormous hill to climb. I didn’t realize
that the “runnable section” only lasted for about 2-3 miles. The 4 miles before and after the turn-around anything
but easy. For about the 4th
time that day, I ran out of water with well over a mile left to go, even with a
fuel belt.
In any case, I was pretty happy to
reach the turn-around. I stayed a few
minutes to fill up my water bottles, and even managed to walk away eating the
Larabar Steve handed me. Of course, as
soon as I did turn around I saw about 5 other women right behind me. I didn’t really care. I figured they’d pass me shortly, so I just
hiked up the next long climb as best I could.
Here, my thoughts started to drift to
my dad. I had an idea before the race
started, and now I was certain. I wanted
to give my buckle to him. Over the
years, he had done a lot for my sisters and me.
Even though I had been a bit upset with him the week prior, I knew he
would do anything his little girls.
Without a doubt, I knew that during a near death experience from heart
attack 16 years ago, when his heart stopped, he came back to earth because he
knew we still needed him.
I knew my medal was not going to
represent my best performance, but instead, my best effort to overcome
adversity and prove my ability to persevere.
I wanted that buckle for him, as just a small token to say “thanks for
everything Dad”. That thought would fuel
me the rest of the race.
Back at 57.5, I asked Steve if he
would begin running with me there. He
said “no”, he had already worked out a car arrangement with some other people. I
was somewhat disappointed, but I left that aid station in good, trying not to
thinking about how I was going to kill myself running through the next section
in the dark.
The next 7 miles were more runnable
than I had remembered, and I made it to the Nemo aid station still in
daylight. To my surprise, Steve was
there waiting for me in his running clothes, having rearranged the car
deal. The only downfall to this was that
I didn’t have enough time to tell him I wanted my arm sleeves. (Luckily, it turned out I didn’t really need
him. The only time it really got
cold-cold enough where I could see my breath- was when we reached a section
with Native American spirits. At the
time, I didn’t want to know anything about that. Looking back, I wish I would’ve been a bit
more relaxed and intuitive there, as I very much respect their spirituality, as
it mirrors my own in regards to our oneness with Mother Earth.)
I was happy to have the company as I
had been running on my own nearly all day.
We were even able to get in a bit more daylight running before I had to
turn my headlamp on somewhere on the top of the hill.
The next 10 miles weren’t easy, but I
was able to do a decent amount of running, even on limited calories.
Then I hit rock bottom. Even with under a marathon left to go, the
distance seemed almost unbearable. I didn’t
stop, but I began to panic as I ran. I
felt light-head and nauseas, my breathing was sporadic. I began to trip,
stumble and fall.
Once, I fell on to my hands and
knees, crying to the ground. It took all
my will power to stand up again and keep moving.
Another time, I kicked a small
boulder into my left ankle, and I curse the night sky.
Steve said relatively little. He knew I was working hard to keep it
together. I knew I couldn’t afford the
wasted energy.
I kept thinking “Things have to get
better. Low periods have their end too.”
I was wrong.
At mile 10 my stomach could take no
more. I managed a few grapes and some
FIZZ. A volunteer had been nice enough to
make some of Scott Jurek’s ultra bars from Eat & Run and I took one with me,
but as soon as I took a bite I immediately spit it out. It was a very adamant “NO!” from my body.
I was hoping to throw up, anything to
get the terrible feeling out of my stomach.
Worse was that Steve and I were approaching daylight with a long section
of rolling downhill. I didn’t want to
run. Even the thought was
agonizing. On the other hand, Steve had
let me know earlier that I was 3rd
place, and he wanted the buffalo skull.
I could stand getting passed, but I couldn’t stand it knowing I didn’t give
it my all.
So I cried and I ran. I must have been whimpering like a wounded
animal, praying that my stomach would settle just a little bit, just enough to
keep from passing out from the awful feeling inside of me, mixed with the huge
caloric deficit.
We completely by-passed the last aid
station. There was no point, I was going
on fumes.
Steve asked me what was coming up,
but all I could really remember were some pretty views and rolling hills.
Somehow in the past days, these “rolling
hills” changed into a series of long climbs.
One felt like a wall in front of me.
I thought of the quote “When you can’t run, walk. When you can’t walk, crawl.” I was all but literally crawling.
The last 4 miles of trail were
agonizing with more small hills popping into view. I had never wanted to reach a road so badly
in my life. When we were almost there, a
herd of cows were spread out on the trail.
As we got closer, most moved out of the way, except one. I looked at the cow, and then at Steve. Both had the glint of charging bulls in their
eyes, but I was not about to be less than 2 miles from the finish had not make
it because of two testosterone raging animals.
I told Steve to c’mon, and he followed, possibly realizing the potential
harm of 1,000 lb cow.
It wasn’t until we reached the bike
path that I really began to calm down. I
could finally feel how close we were.
However, with .7 left to go, Steve then kindly informed me that I had 7
minutes to make it to the finish in under 25 hrs. I didn’t really care, but at the same time,
it’s not really in my nature to back down from a challenge. I tucked in behind Steve shoulder, letting
him pace me in. We reached the 100
meters left on the track with less than 30 seconds to spare. It took everything I had left, but I finished
in 24:59:44. I got that damn buffalo head for Steve. Immediately after crossing, I collapsed into
the the grass. I didn’t move
for 30 minutes.
The next few hours were a blur. Walking to the car, it was all I could do to
keep from passing out, experiencing periods of fogginess and blackouts. I laid down in the back of the car, and could
hear Steve’s voice, but couldn’t open my eyes.
I did smile when I heard him at the McDonald’s drive thru, and he cursed
as they told him they weren’t serving fries yet and the milkshake machine was
down. Later, with me still in the car,
he even went a coffee shop and ate breakfast, without me even knowing.
Mentally, I had never been so depleted. Without ever feeling good in the race, I had
used up every ounce of mental energy I had.
I didn’t want to think about running, let alone racing ever again. I still don’t. This may sound a little silly of me to say,
but I feel “washed up” and I need a break.
I don’t know if the urge to race will come back. If it does, great, but I’m ready to make a
mark in other ways. The past 2 years
have been a struggle to find my path, my purpose. While I still don’t feel like I have fully
uncovered that path yet, I do feel like I am getting closer. Perhaps my years of wandering are coming to a
close and running will shift out of my focus, to something I do simply because
I enjoy it. Because I love where finding
out where my own to feet can take me.
To close, here is a ripped article clip on Lynn Bjorklund from Trail Runner Magazine I've kept with me for the past few weeks, and constantly thought back to as I was running. In it, she offers advice to female runner are nearing their training and racing limits:
"Eat real food, enough of it. Keep your period. Train under a coach. Don't betray the long view for a single event. Train and race with enough caution so you'll still be healthy in 20 years. FIND YOUR WORTH INSIDE OF YOU, NOT IN SOMETHING EXTERNAL LIKE A RECORD OF SOMEONE'S OPINION OF YOU."
Happy Adventures,
Rach
