Posted by lynn allin on December 14, 2006 at 20:44:58:
Waivers and Disclaimers
I have signed a lot of waivers before races, but never one that stated "I acknowledge that this event takes place during hunting season at both Huntsville State Park and the Sam Houston National Forest."
So I signed my life away and decided that since it is hunting season, and I have known Americans to shoot cows in Northern Ontario (true story!) that I would not wear my adorable reindeer antlers to run. Bah humbug.
The waiver should also have come with the warning that soft sand and tree stumps can twist ankles, cause you to fall and chip your front tooth and have the people at work look at you funny when you say you ran 50 miles in a race…yes, all at once.
No, it wasn’t a relay.
Yes, I do hurt today.
No, I haven’t lost my precious (albeit tenuous) grip on sanity.
Yes, I have heard of internal combustion engines, ha ha.
An old friend had been badgering me about joining him in Texas for a 50 km run. I told him I would drive to Texas and compete in the 50 km race if I could get Friday off. Heck, that is only about 6 miles longer than a standard marathon, so I thought no problem. I also thought the whole point was moot because there was no way I was going to get Friday off. Be careful what you wish for. There were no sick people in my unit and the hospital decided I didn't need to come to work afterall.
I called Tony and told him to sign me up, I was packing the car. He asked, “the 50 k or the 50 miler?” The words exploded from somewhere deep inside me, “Hell. I’m not driving that far for a lousey 50km. Bring it on!”, and so it was decided in this logical and pragmatic fashion, and not coincidently unlike the same manner in which I base most of life’s decisions, that I should run 50 miles. No training. No preparation. I had a 10 hour drive to think it over, chicken out, shrug why not, let cooler head's prevail, and then, in a fit of bravado...let it ride.
We spent the night at his friend’s house, Gretchen. We got up, bundled into the van and drove to Sam Houston park, about an hour north of Houston. It was dark, hovering at below freezing and I felt sick. Ultras are a breed unto themselves, as are runners in general. If you aren’t a runner, it is hard for me to describe how runners behave, but you can differentiate a runner from a cyclist with no training, simply in the way they behave and interact with the people around them. (hint: cyclists are generally introverted and arrogant…sorry) Runners are more jovial. Trail and ultra runner are downright pleasant, even at 5 in the morning before they embark on 50 miles of introspective hell. Even at the end of 50 miles of the same.
I stood in line, suddenly fearful. The words I uttered to my sister before my first Ironman echoed in my brain….”this is going to hurt”. Air horn and we’re off.
I will spare you the details and minutae consequent to a run that lasts over most of a day. Let me describe what I can, and what I think you need to understand about this race: it is on trails. Glorious trails that are covered, at times, with packed earth and littered with leaves and pine needles, and other times with loose, white sand, other times with mangled tree roots laying in wait and plotting your demise. Oh, you will say they are innocent trees and you are visiting their forest, but…no. I am in my happy place…The sand is so fine it gets in your shoes even if one had the presence of mind and knowledge beforehand to wear garters, which I did not. The sand blends with vaseline to grit your toes and strains your Achilles, which I can ill afford. The sand allows your feet to slip in all directions and robs you of forward progress. .I am in my happy place...The roots hide under leaf litter. The roots get damp and slippery. The trails themselves were sometimes, rarely, a forestry road, mostly a single track snaking through the woods with branches slapping you. They go up and down sharply. They drop out from under you with no warning. They get muddy and slick near water. I love those trails!
I love being a jogger and seeing things most people drive by or never notice: The sunlight coming up and washing the trees in gold. The mist on the water and the ripples caused by the wing tips of a heron taking off. The burrows of critters along the trail. The last coloured leaves valiantly clutching the branch, refusing to relinquish to winter.
What does one think about when running 50 miles?
First lap of 12.5 miles: wow, this is fun. Mantra: just a run through the park.
Second lap of 12.5 miles: this is starting to hurt. Tripped on fell on root, knocked chunk of front tooth out, “I want to quit. I need a good reason to quit.” There is no shame in quitting. Bullshit! There is nothing but shame in failure! Keep running…Falling, tooth or not, is not a good enough reason. Mantra: pain is temporary. Bragging, forever.
Third lap of 12.5 miles: self talk: “look, nothing is going to hurt any worse than it is now. All you have to do is maintain.”
Fourth lap of 12.5 miles: “ok I was wrong. There can be lots more pain”, like my back, my obliques, my biceps. The jarring and jamming of my feet is completely different than what I have experienced in road races. My feet slam forward into the toe box with every down hill step. My right toes all sport blisters on the ends. My second toe’s nail hangs precariously, I will lose it soon. Mantra: "relentless forward progress", which became "forward" when my brain forgot how the rest of it went.
I carried a disposable camera for the first loop, but I know pictures won’t describe the beauty of this park, the cool sweat accumulating on my fleece hat, the satisfying scrunchscrunchscrunth my feet makes when they hit the ground. The essence of running is the moment neither foot is on the ground, and I understand that.
I also understand when ultra veterans tell me to walk up the hills. My goal is to finish, I have no record to break, and no one to race but myself. I call this run my catharthis. Nothing physical can hurt nearly as badly as I have felt in the last few months. I had a pensive, heavy, negative visit with myself on the trip over. I visited the first house Shawn and I bought. I remembered the dreams we had. The stuff that will never happen.
In fact,I am a little tired of chatting with myself, so I just think about the landscape, the runners around me and the joy of getting out and celebrating my health. I also chat up other runners. Here is something you will never see at a marathon: the leaders chatting with each other as they run. The winners’ time works out to a 6:45 min/mile pace. I would give a pinky to run this, and these guys are doing it on sand and leaves!
I ran with my friend for 2 laps, but had to break off at the third because he was taking too long at stop in the rest stations. But more importantly, the second half is where the race begins. The mental challenge outweighs the physical now and I needed to be alone, chant my mantras of hope and courage, and try to believe them. I had to do this with myself and for myself. I have a box of Shawn's stuff which I want to burn. I hadn't decided on a date yet. I suddenly realized the right date is Dec. 21. The soltice. The year is reborn, Shawn is free to go, I am free to go on. I plan the ceremony while I run. I contemplate a phoenix tattoo.
It was 10:27 when I grabbed my bright pink boa and posed at the finishing line. On one hand I don’t care about my place, finishing is enough. But I am happy to find out I was 4th in my age group and 124 overall. 225 started and 193 of us finished. Getting the finisher medal and seeing the look on my running team’s faces is enough. Getting a highly sought after tyvek finisher’s jacket is also enough. That'll do pig, that'll do.
I took a shower at Gretchen’s and drove home that night. I stopped twice, once at a gas station and then at a truck stop. I slept until light at the second one, and when I woke up, a tiger was sitting in his cage, directly in front of my car, looking at me. It was a rest stop with wild animals to drum up business I guess. It was also a great way to end this trip. I thanked Tony for encouraging me to race. I never told him the real reason though. The drive to Houston was a drive down memory lane for me, and it was a hard one. I have lost a certain luster, and my zest for life has wained. When things are good, when I am appreciating life, when I am striving to succeed professionally, when I am chasing physical dreams…I call that time, those moments of brilliant light spent in the zone, "the eye of the tiger". This tiger looked back, and he smiled.