Learning to Run

Months ago, Abby and Bess decided to tackle their first ultra. They searched long and hard for a race that fit their schedules, and when they found it, they quickly signed up and starting training. At one point, long ago, I contemplated running the Belmonte Endurance Run with them in some capacity. 50 miles, was the first thought, but they settled on the 50k when their research revealed that this is arguably one of the hardest courses out there: record times roughly two hours longer than most 50 mile courses, massive elevation gains and rumors of body-eating terrain. I’ve long been curious about running an ultra, but I don’t have the kind of discipline to train that most runners say you need, and so I haven’t brought myself to sign up for one.
Well, I thought about it, and after deciding against it, a couple of months passed. Then I thought about it again, before shelving the plan a second time after a bad ankle sprain in November. As I’ve alluded to, running has not been happening for me lately, but after our 12 hour adventure race got the season going, temptation reared its ugly little head, and I spent the last few days considering signing up…if they let me do so on race day…yes, I was already talking myself out of any thoughts of running this race since a lot of races don’t allow race-day registration. Also, I promised myself mid-week that if I did run, it would be the shorter 25 k run. No training, massive elevation, my competitive nature…Taking on more would surely end badly, I told myself. The entry-cost would be high for such a “short” event, but it also would give me some insight into whether I actually like running races (I’ve never raced anything longer than a block on foot in my entire life…adventure racing doesn’t count…and these days, I’m not that interested if it doesn’t involve maps and compasses), and I’d learn how my body would respond to 15 brutal miles without any serious training.
So, we rolled up to the start in pitch black, frigid morning air in the George Washington National Forest. I strolled up to the table, dressed in my running gear with a check in hand, ready to turn back for a warm car and a nap.
“Sure! How long do you want to run?” the kind woman said. I paused for a moment, but I had also promised myself by 6:00AM this morning that if they said yes, I’d be running. Even if I didn’t make my secret goals, it’d be a good experience and a good day of training. So I forked over the money, quickly ran back to the car, dropped my fleece, put on an additional thermal top and made my way to the start, marked by a line of people along the crest of a an earthen dam. I set myself up in the front, worried about a bottleneck, as the crowd would be hitting trails in 100 meters or so. Good thing I did, as Abby and Bess told stories of walking the first two miles! The RD said, go, and I was off, quickly breaking away from the pack with a lead group of 15-20 people. We quickly spaced out, and I immediately found the trails to be both exhilarating and rather technical.
Since January, I’ve run a few times, nothing longer than 6 miles, and nothing that felt “good”. I’ve finished each run feeling out of shape, slow and less than happy, but despite the steady climbing, I found my legs felt strong and fresh. When I hit real climbs, I walked, and there I found I was very slow compared to the better trained athletes around me, but on flats and downs I gained time and more than made up for the slower moments.
It was around mile 5 when we crossed a road with a small crowd of cheering spectators. I zipped across the pavement, hit a trail, said to a new friend, “This is what I like!” as we zoomed down a slope, and then it happened. I looked at my watch. Lesson learned, and a mistake I hope to never make again. I should have looked at the time when I was on the pavement, but I didn’t think to; after leaving the safety of flat tarmac, it occurred to me I should check my time. It was then that the ankle that still was swollen from November rolled and left me screaming out on the ground. For the next 7-8 minutes, I hobbled. I sat. I leaned against trees. I started walking back up the trail to the cars above, knowing my ankle wouldn’t recover from this one. I turned back down the trail, determined to “man up”. I stopped and walked back toward the cars. All the while, runners steadily passed me by. Needless to say, I was rather demoralized. I knew I was doing better than expected, and I also knew my cautious optimism was evaporating with the shots of pain shooting through my lower leg. I had come into the day, hoping to come in under 3 hours and finish in the top ten. At the time of injury, I was well under pace, and I knew there were very few runners ahead of me, not to mention that the return would be largely downhill and technical, something I’m usually quite strong at. As people passed by, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold anybody off, and thoughts of the rest of the season, hanging in the balance, swirled among my frustration. I turned back up to the cars a third time. A fourth time. And then, I turned back down the trail following a woman and man who had smiled with empathy and a hint of pity, and I started hunching my way along the trail.
At that point, knowing nothing about the race or course, I thought I’d be coming back the exact same way. That meant about two miles more to the turnaround for the 25 k and then back down. If the ankle just couldn’t go, then I could always bail out when I got back. So I worked my way up the trail, getting passed by numerous people. A while later, I saw three runners coming down the trail. I knew the top guy was too fast for me to catch regardless of the injury, but I also knew that numbers two and three had been right in front of me when I went down. Shortly after, the woman and man that had passed me as I finally decided to give it a final go also came back, and I was stunned to see how well I had been doing, though also a bit disappointed realizing that the podium had been very realistic.
Ultimately, I finished the final thirteen miles. The bailout option turned out to be a ruse as the course diverged shortly after the turnaround to travel along a solitary ridgeline lined with rocks. My pace fell apart and the terrain was excruciatingly technical. People passed me, but I managed to hold off most of the field, finishing in 12th place and winning my age group. Looking at the splits, I shook my head as I realized that I had fourth locked up, at worst, but I also was excited to try again. My body felt amazingly good for how little I’ve done, and I easily could have run far more, even with my small base. Despite the injury, I managed a respectable finish, and while I won’t run again anytime soon, as the ankle has to start healing all over again, I’m dreaming of 50 k or 50 miles in the fall. I’ve always enjoyed my occasional training runs, but I’ve never loved them the way many runners do; this I loved. I wish it had been more comfortable, but getting through 2/3 of the course the way I did will make the next one that much easier. Not to mention the fact that everyone I spoke to was in awe of the difficulty of the course, saying that it was hands down the hardest ultra course they’ve done. I might tackle something easier next time, but I also suspect I’ll be back down here next March, ready for some revenge:)
And Abby, and Bess? They did great, finishing their first ultra on a course most people probably should save for the time when they’ve run a few. As always, a great day in the woods. I might pay the price of not being able to race in April, but I was glad to get out there finally and see what this running stuff is all about!