The weather forecast seemed to keep getting colder. These race reports always start with the weather, huh? Anyone who I told I was going to Arkansas to run said, "ew, hot and humid." Not this time of year, and not with the weird weather pattern. The forecast finally settled on cool and breezy saturday with a high of 55 and cold during the night--down to 35. That's cold. The coldest weather I'd run in was probably Crater Lake Marathon in August, where because of elevation it was maybe down to 35 at the start but rapidly warmed up. It was daytime and sunny after all. This race would be running all through the night. My first time for that experience. I brought all the warm running clothes I could think of with me, and bought some more (pants, gloves, long sleeved capilene top) when I got to Arkansas. I thought I was pretty well set. I used all the drop bag stations, planning on a 28 hour pace (pace chart provided by the race director), and tried to figure what I'd need at each stop. After a lot of careful consideration I just shoved some stuff in each one and hoped for the best. The main stop was Powerline at 49 miles, when darkness would be approaching (figured 6:00 by the pace chart, sunset at 6:50) and it would be getting cold, and I'd want to change my shoes. So, jackets, tops, shoes, socks and flashlights. Extra stuff in case I wanted something different, since I'd see that stop again at mile 68.
The Friday checkin was fun. I met some people, thought Charley was pretty funny, and weighed in at what they wrote down as 125 (actually more like 128 but who's counting). Dinner of pasta after that and then back to the motel in Little Rock to finish up the drop bags, tape my toes and get to bed. Had to be up at 3:30 really, to give myself enough time not to worry about anything. I slept ok, ate a banana and made it out to Lake Sylvia in good time. It's about a 45 minute drive. Of course, most other traffic on the road was runner traffic, since a lot of people were staying in west Little Rock just like me. The Japanese couple was in my hotel, and Motel 6 was next door with a bunch of runners also. So, I checked in and turned in drop bags. Everything was pretty well relaxed. I had my pitstop and then the cow bell was ringing so we had to walk down the road a ways (I think it was down) to the start. Charley had said 6:00 am sharp, so suddenly a gun went off and some people looked bewildered and others were still walking over. One person started running in a real hurry, as if the bewilderment of the other runners would give him just the head start he needed to win the race. I started trotting along with everyone else. But it was uphill. The trot wasn't much more than a walk. Many people had flashlights, I had a little white photon II light, that's good enough to see where your feet are stepping. This first section was road, and then we turned onto a gravel road, so, nothing treacherous while we were in the dark. We were all pretty bunched up. Some people like to talk a lot during races. Sometimes I do. Other times I prefer my solitude. I liked getting advice early on. "First 100?" "Yeah" "Well, don't go out to fast, and just keep going." Things like that. Don't quit. Even when you're depressed at 2 in the morning. Just keep going. I kept thinking of John Morelock's email to me with all his advice. "Stay inside your run. Don't fall for anyone else's pace." I liked that. It's my run, and it doesn't really matter what other people do. I could just do what was right for me. So my running pace was fairly slow, maybe 12 minute miles, but then I walked all the uphills and made sure to get enough nutrients at aid stations. Oh, I'm talking about this beginning part, mind you. Later the pace was much slower. It averaged out to more like 14 minute miles, i think. Anyway, occaisionally I'd check the pace chart, and I seemed to be somewhere a bit under where I wanted to be, so that was good. The single track trail section was in the first part. We went along in strings, mostly walking and trotting. The rocks hidden under the leaves were bad. At one point, I was sort of in the middle of a pack when I went over on my left ankle. I think all I said was, "Oh, oh." And stopped to let others pass me. It was enough to bring tears to my eyes, but luckily I didn't panic. Sometimes I get that panic if something hurts, the fear that I won't be able to finish the race. It just heightens the pain though, so don't think that way. As I was standing there, one person who passed me said, "Walk it off." And so I did. It only hurt for a few minutes, and then I could continue at the ultrarunner walking pace, a bit more carefully. So that was the Ouachita trail. Fairly hilly, but kind of rolled along. My feet were already starting to feel tired from all the rocks. I had knee fatigue early on, also, with a fleeting thought of uh-oh, knees hurt at mile 15? What's a hundred going to feel like? and then banished that thought to. Pain, or perception of pain, is never constant during these runs. It comes and goes.
I was relieved to get back on the fire roads. They weren't a whole lot better as far as rocks are concerned. I started talking with two women who were also from California, Kathy and Jana, both southern. I remembered their names from the list of entrants. Kathy had done a bunch of 100s, Jana was on her first. They were pretty talkative. It was a change from before, so we kept pace for a while. This whole section was kind of flat, with some slight uphill. Other talkative people came along too, so eventually I pulled away from them. Now I had some solitude. Even though people were not that far ahead or behind, I felt alone on the trail. It was easy to follow the markings because there weren't many turnoffs, so I could just think. Of course, I did have this song playing in the background... "don't wanna love you if you don't love me, don't wanna need you if you don't need me" But other than that I thought about running and how much I still wanted to do, and how much time during a week I wanted to run, and I thought about my relationships and what I wanted out of them, and what I should do. I don't know that I came to any conclusions, but I liked being alone with my thoughts.
And then I started talking to myself.
And then I got giddy. What's so funny about "I couldn't decide which side"? The word side made me laugh. This was which side to go around puddles. But that all meant my spirits were up. And sometimes I'd be running with people but I was mostly on my own for this part. It all kind of blends together until Powerline, mile 49. I arrived smiling, even though, Powerline, what does that say to you? Somewhere high up, perhaps? Yes, this was after crossing Smith Mountain. It still wasn't a steep climb, but the trail had speed bumps that were kind of big. Were they to stop us runners from going too fast? It worked. Small thoughts of "that'll suck on the way back" but only small. At Powerline they dug out my drop bag for me and got me some chicken and rice soup, and I set about changing. All the aid stations with drop bags were really nice about it. The first one was Lake Sylvia at mile 17. I only had a drop bag there because it was also the finish, but as I came up to the station they had it open waiting for me, asking if I wanted anything. I was surprised at such service. Anyway, I changed my tops, changed my hat to a warm thing, got my headlamp on, with admiration from one of the volunteers "nice petzel, mine's just a weeny one." I also pulled on pants and heavy gloves. I felt like I was all set and looked pretty cool to boot. My focus was on getting to the turnaround. The out and back race is a huge psychological advantage to me. If you can get to that turnaround, the rest is downhill. My thought is that it's always faster coming home, and it's always downhill. Ok, it's not, but it means that to me. The next aid station was where they took my picture. That's gotta be funny. Anyway, I still wasn't up for chicken fajitas or anything like that, but kept having soup.
12:07 at 50 miles. I think. I saw the marker and was smiling to myself about hitting the halfway mark that soon and with the major aid station stop behind me. It was getting darker. Then there was this stretch where I realized I was seeing moonlight. I turned off my lights, since the trail was fairly smooth anyway. Beautiful and peaceful just to run by moonlight. Or walk. I can't remember which I was doing. It was probably this funny new gait I've picked up that isn't either running or walking, but almost sneaking along. I'm not sure when, but the leader finally passed me going the other way. It was a woman! She said "good job," and I said "you too," and after she passed I said "you nut." Then there were more people coming the other way. That was cool. Just about all of them say good job. So then I made it to the turnaround. I wouldn't have believed it was really the turnaround, but there was my drop bag, so it had to be. I'd stopped looking at the pace chart, because it was confusing me. So I wasn't sure what mile I was at. Only 58? Oh well. They had a nice big fire going. As I was on my way out (I really get to go back the way I came?) I saw Kathy and Jana. Jana's knee was all swollen up and I thought she might be packing it in. Kathy was still in shorts. Brr. Keep moving to keep warm. I trotted off. Now it was my turn to pass people on their way in. Not as many of course. So here's when things changed. I caught up to Betsy. She was walking along at a pretty good pace, so I switched my trot to a walk and asked how it was going. She said she felt bad and was going to drop at Powerline. No way. Loss of body heat and didn't want to be stumbling around on Smith Mountain. Come to think of it, I didn't really want to be stumbling around on that mountain either, especially alone. I didn't really say much about it, but continued to walk with her. We had someone else with us, talking away as well. The time passed pretty easily. So, by Powerline, Betsy was ready to go on instead of dropping. That was good.
We stumbled around on Smith Mountain together. I felt tense. It was hard for me to follow the trail in the dark. My eyesight is not meant for this. Getting out of that section of the run was a great relief. It's funny, people in the aid stations tell you it's just 3 miles to the next one or something like that, so you start looking for it and it seems to take forever. Maybe it's better not to know. I think they say fewer miles than it really is on purpose so that you'll want to carry on. (Everyone knows that we just go from one aid station to the next.) So we did. We went from one aid station to the next. I thought we were moving at a decent rate, but was also concerned that maybe it wasn't fast enough to beat the cutoff. I decided not to pay too much attention to that though. I wasn't stopping until someone told me I had to stop. It seemd a long time to Lake Winona. Before this aid station was when I had my low. Betsy and I weren't really talking much by this point, we were just moving forward. I had had some hot cocoa and that didn't sit so well. I didn't think it would but knew I needed something hot, along with the shots of coke I was drinking. So, I was kind of down for the only time in this whole run, but looking back at it, I wasn't that down. Betsy and I had talked about hallucinations. I saw these funny little mice that at first were just there on the ground, but then one sat up and waved at me. Anyway, there were some colorful lights up ahead. We knew we weren't hallucinating, because we both saw it. I wanted to cry. The Lake Winona aid station was lit up like Christmas. It was absolutely amazing. I couldn't comprehend how this had happened, except by magic. I wanted to make a pitstop here, so I was told to follow the lights to the secluded "bathroom." Luxery, I tell you. I think we lingered a bit, but then were off, after the realization that it was around 6:00 am and we only had about 15 miles to go. This was when I finally felt sure that we would make it. I was hoping now for fewer rocks on the trails. There weren't any hills left really, but all these rocks were making unhappy feet. Then it got lighter and that was better, because we could see the rocks better and didn't have to step on all of them.
So, another aid station and we were at the 92 mile mark. This was when Betsy saying Go on, I'd hate to hold you back finally convinced me that ok, I'm going for a faster finish. I was absolutely sure that she would finish now, so it was ok. I started running. And it felt ok. And then I started passing some people. The first two seemed surprised, saying something like, "wow, you look strong," and I replied that "I like strong finishes." It's true. Even though in training runs you should cool down at the end, I always like to sprint to the end and pretend I'm in a race. So then I passed a bunch of people. Then I fell down. I thought that was funny. I guess I was feeling a little too cocky at passing them all. It wasn't a bad fall, but it was my left knee, which I always seem to fall on. Luckily it was right before a big puddle, and not in it. One last aid station stop, and the woman said "Look for the man in the RV, he's at mile 96." At least I think it was 96. So all I kept thinking was Where's the man in the RV? I finally saw him, and that was the beginning of road. Passed one more person, and felt like I was speeding up (I don't think I was). The end was soon. I wanted to walk again, but with the end so close there was no need. I did a bit for the slight uphill on the road, but then started again. You don't have to walk the uphills when it's the end of the race. 99 miles. 99.5. 99.75. I was starting to get a little worked up. I was running by the cars all parked in the road. My rental car was somewhere down there. Where was the turn in? Would there be a car in the way? I found it, and a kid's voice said "Runner coming." I was starting to cry. I was actually finishing this race. I think someone said you can stop now, and then I was hysterical. "I can't believe I did it." Dan who said his lucky number was 29, my number, helped me go inside, and then I don't know what I did. I got water, I wandered outside again, I sat and sobbed, and then I thought, OH, FOOD. I got pancakes, scrambled eggs and funny sausage, and sat by the fire with a group of people. That was great. There were in various states of recovery and tiredness. I moved to sit right by the fire and felt happy. So then we had awards, and now I have a belt buckle from the Arkansas Traveller 100. It is one of the most beautiful things I have ever owned. When I turned around to go sit down, people around me asked, "First 100?" It's that obvious.
So now I'm supposed to be concentrating on my work, and instead I'm trying to plan which 100s to do in 2001.