What's Real, What's Imagined (Beast of Burden 50 - winter)

It's a common enough story- my first 50k wasn't exactly an easy experience (you can read about it here), and yet there I was a day later reminiscing fondly and planning for another race. I'm sure part of it is the excitement of the challenge and the soft edges of memory, but a good chunk has to be attributed to plain wishful thinking. I've always tried to be very calculated and conservative in my approach to running, but when training distances by necessity fall far short of what you run in the race itself, it can be difficult to manage your expectations and stay on track. Ultra brought with it my bizarro self.

In the few months leading up to the Beast of Burden 50, I developed a problem with an achilles tendon. Being a new injury to me (and the first I'd had in 2 years), I was hesitant to really dig in and work on it. I ought to have known better- had previously learned better. But I went straight for the outdated RICE protocol. I mean, some rest is a good idea, but movement, compression, soft tissue work- these are the things that'd kept injury at bay. So after two weeks and no improvement I woke up, went to the compression band, the rolling pin, the eccentric exercises. No anti-inflammatories, NO ICE. And a couple of weeks later I could run 3 hours, then 4 hours. I was feeling good about my progress, and not thinking too hard about having only put together a few 50 mile weeks, and two long runs(20,27). Even then I might've been ok if I'd adpoted a much more conservative strategy, but with so much unknown, I just elected to start out easy and walk as needed. At least I got my gear dialed in.

I am in dark red

Race day dawned with temps in the 20s and wind out of the west at about 10mph. The vast majority of the course is on the Erie Canal towpath from Lockport to Middleport (12.5 miles and almost completely flat), and although long sections were clear, there were significant patches of uneven ice and snow. Still, it was simple enough to keep up a good easy pace. I ran with buddy/competitor Will Kolek and we worked on keeping it relaxed, but still we were clocking 8:35/mi. I would come to regret this. Dani was waiting to swap bottles for me at the turnaround, but we were in and out pretty quickly.
---> Leg 1 of 4 - 1:54

Will is in light red

The second leg I ran with Will again. The wind comes right down the canal at you on the way back, something I'd prepared for with a neoprene facemask with a hole cut for easier breathing (awesome) and a pair of ski goggles (didn't use). There weren't any gusts to speak of, just a consistent 10-15mph bitter wind in your face. Still at easy effort, we had slowed to around 9:00/mi. I was starting to feel like I'd need to change up some shirts, but that stuff was all back at the Middleport turnaround, so I'd have to wait till mile 37. My nutrition was mostly Tailwind with some caffeinated gels for backup, and it was going ok, but it was becoming difficult to drink as much as I needed to get the calories in with 250cal/18oz bottle. If I were to do it again (I won't. Not this one, anyway) with these temps I think I'd go with 350, despite what the literature says. Around mile 22 I was starting to tire, and knew it was too early to be feeling this way. No freakouts, but then, no plan either. We reached the Lockport end and seeing Dani and friends briefly lifted my spirits as I picked up pacer Charlie, but I ran into and walked out of that aid station.
---> Leg 2 of 4 - 2:02

Mixing Tailwind is serious business

At this point, knowing that I was only halfway there was kind of daunting. The feeling was not unlike the last loop at Mendon, but having a lot longer to go. I didn't want to run, but Charlie did his level best to keep coaxing me into it. Around 30 miles I got so confused and tired, my eyes starting to close, and I slowly became dimly aware that finally, finally I had reached a personal goal. Bonnnnk. And whose fault is that, anyway? Yeah. Right here. It sucked, and I didn't have anything else to take in, let alone the wherewithal to ask Charlie for something. But he did get me to keep picking it up. So it was run walk run walk run walk BROTH. Ah, broth, restorer of my soul. I loved the folks at the Gasport aid station. They also had apple cinnamon Hammer gels. After that, things got a bit better, but I tried not to think about the final stretch.
---> Leg 3 of 4 - 2:27

I picked up Dani for the last leg, finally got some new clothes on and another cup of broth in me and was feeling good for the first half mile, though of course it didn't last. The headwind was a constant companion and it just wasn't possible to walk for very long without the chill creeping in. It was getting darker, and sleet began to fall. We arrived back at Gasport with ice buildup, and it certainly wasn't going to get better. Dani was convinced that the impromptu run-walking was hurting more than helping, and I had to agree that it hurt most to walk- I just couldn't sustain a run. So she hatched a plan to grind it out, we're talking 10:30 pace here, and actually reminded me to slow if I started to pick it up. And you know what? It worked. I could handle the pain level of the grind, even if muttering, "I can do it," incessantly was part of the package. I squinted ahead into the darkness and sleet, the way on barely illuminated by our too-dim headlamps, and entered a timeless space. It was better not to think of what had come before or what was ahead. I thought to myself, "There is only now. Only myself and her, only this slow churning ahead through the darkness, only icandoit icandoit icandoit."

And then the light, cutting through the darkness down the canal. Wide Waters. The finish. All that's left is to go down to the lift bridge and back up the other side. 2 miles. It felt like forever, but she actually got me to pick it up for the last mile, and you know what? I was fine. I thought of Ray Garraty in The Long Walk, at the end of all of this still finding more within. There's always more, it seems. And help as well. Even when we do it all wrong.
--->Leg 4 of 4 - 2:24

Finish time - 8:47:19 - 10th place - C goal met
p.s. Will beat me by half an hour!

Captain BNAC and the Middleport Mustachio, with pacer extraordinaire Dani shedding some light

*Photos 1+2 by Dan Salmons, 3 by Adam Hudson, 4 by Sarah Anderson, 5 + 6 by Jay Lang

Just Because It Burns Doesn't Mean It'll Keep You Warm (Mendon Trail Run - 50k)

I have been training for today for the last four months, but the reality of it goes way beyond that.

When I came back to running a little over 2 years ago, I swore that I would never run more than 3 miles at a time. I had enjoyed racing XC in high school, but I never trained well and the inevitable post-race nausea resulted in an aversion that took 20 years to cure. But with careful training came a string of successes, and the distance I was willing to run gradually ballooned to the point of 'ultramarathon'. This is how I found myself in Pittsford, NY this morning, toeing the starting line at the Mendon Ponds Trail Run 50k. In the end, I finished in 4:47:40 and in 9th place... not bad for my first time out. It was a grueling run, but despite that I got a lot more out of it that than a cup of soup and a finisher's medal (both of which I was very happy to receive).

The day dawned cold and rainy, and we shivered as the RD gave his instructions and sent us off. As planned, I began at around 8 minute pace, a good bit off the lead group but well within myself. The course is a 10k loop that rolls constantly and for the first three laps everything was great. I was putting in an honest effort without redlining and grinding slowly up the few short, steep hills in low gear, a skill that I've had difficulty with in the past. I was waving to volunteers and enjoying a day out in the woods. The Mendon course is mostly made up of a trail that winds its way over eskers, geological formations that are like little ridges and being among them is both beautiful and isolating. During the fourth lap, my muscles started to tighten up and I got some salt into me, just in case, but I don't really think that was the issue and by then I'm not sure that there was anything I could have done.

Not far into the fifth and final lap, muscle and joint pain slowed me to a walk. I would try to get going again, only to be reduced to walking a few hundred meters later, legs screaming. My mood was black. I got passed. And so I called upon what's always gotten me through:

I have to confess that I've often fueled my running by burning off pain and frustration from my life. Sometimes it feels like the running is what makes everything else possible, the locomotive carried along by the power of the fire within. I've met lots of people who do the same or similar. And while there's nothing wrong with or quite like an honest 5 miler to clean the slate, the mistake I made was thinking, "I have known such darkness and always found the dawn on the other side - this is what I will use to get me through a difficult race." Dragging myself around the course I called upon it... and it only took me further down. I could see what was happening, but couldn't find the way out. I had to be led.

***

He came up slowly on a slight incline and I looked over and gave the standard trail runner greeting, "Good job." He half smiled and shook his head as he passed, wincing with each step. He was clearly hurting, but he just kept going, growing the gap between us... until I realized he wasn't getting any further away. I had unconsciously begun mimicking him. When he walked, I walked, and when he broke into a shambling run, I did the same. His bright yellow rain shell bobbed up ahead, always about fifty feet away. I began to realize that although it was painful to run, there wasn't anything specifically wrong with me. Once the pain had reached a certain point it didn't get any worse. And while turning this over in my mind I realized something else.

I was gaining on him.

When I finally caught up to him we talked a little. This race had been his first 50k, and since then he'd done it seven times consecutively. I mentioned that the first three laps had been easy, and he grunted in agreement,

"Yeah, I always tell newbies to take it real easy the first two or three laps or by the last one they'll be sucking, and look at me now. I'm sucking. But at least we can run."

I pointed out that the worst of the climbs were behind us and he laughed,

"Smooth sailing from here on."

Then we reached the aid station midway through the loop where he stopped and I went on. He didn't look back and by then I was afraid to lose the momentum. Because while we were talking I had begun to move pretty well again, like I had been caught in his orbit and then flung off in another direction. Or more likely, that I had been given something I could really use to help me along: a little human connection and the bond of shared adversity. I ran the rest of the loop, clocked a few better mile splits and finished with a smile on my face, despite coming in half an hour past my goal.

It took a while to struggle into some dry clothes and banish the bone-deep chill that had settled in during that last lap and I didn't see my new friend again, but I hope I'll get the chance to thank him someday.

[OK, spoiler. It's a little more poetic to say that, but these days it isn't difficult to look somebody up, and say, point them to the story you wrote about them. So thanks a million, Ted, for getting me out of a really tough spot. Maybe one day I'll be able to repay you.]

That afternoon brought the first snow of the season and with it thoughts about the upcoming Beast of Burden. How much easier would it be to run on a dead flat course even if I had to stuff myself into a parka to do it? But that was secondary to this:

Maybe we don't need to burn the darkness. Maybe it just dissipates along the way. And if I can get this locomotive cranking with crap fuel, just think of what'll happen when I stoke the fire something good.