How it went down

I slept pretty well and we got to the start at about 4:30 am without any issues.  By the time I was in the corral, I was starting to feel too warm with a long-sleeved shirt, so I gave it to my husband to put in our drop bag (his race started later than mine).  I had a tank top on over my bra, but I'd pinned my bib to my shorts because I wasn't sure how warm it would get.  I wasn't crazy about the forecast high, but I figured I wouldn't be moving very quickly anyway.

I had my MP3 player tucked in my bra (and protected by a plastic bag just in case), but I didn't turn it on then.  It was dark and I didn't need distractions.  I put myself near the back of the pack and was soon dropped by almost everybody.  The lights ahead of me faded into the gloom.  However, it was easy letting everyone go on ahead (at other times, this has felt demoralizing if not scary).   I was trailing someone somewhat closely during the stream crossings, though, which helped.  There were four, and I could jump the first, but the rest were too wide--I tried, but I have poor depth perception even at the best of times and even though my light was adequate, I misjudged and got wet feet early on.  Fortunately, I'm not unused to wet feet, and I wasn't worried about it.   Meanwhile, it was really cool being in the dark all alone, rushing along a mysterious trail.  Fog added to the intrigue.  I had a flashlight, and there were glowsticks to mark the trail, but since some parts of the trail were narrow and through fields or forests without much undergrowth, it wasn't always easy to follow.  A few times, I veered into brush, including thorns.  However, there were only a few roots, and no rocks--there wasn't anything dangerous.

The first hour, and for most of the race, I was on my own.  I had no expectations, actually, and I had music on standby; I felt really comfortable.  That was my goal for the first two laps: wake up, then warm up.  It was going to be a long haul, nearly 20 miles further than I'd ever gone before, and I needed to settle into a good groove.

I got to the first aid station a bit after 6:00 am.  Just five miles.  10 percent, yeah!  I can't remember if I took Coke and/or banana chunks then, but these, and water, were the only things I took from the aid stations.  They also had cooked potatoes that looked really good, but I didn't want to burst my comfort bubble by asking about gluten (sometimes fries and other random things are coated in flour).

It was still dark, but the haze was lightening.  At one point, I thought I was running along a precipice, but it turned out to be a lake.  Sometime after that, I came to a confusing fork in the road.  It looked like I should go straight, but there was also a path to the left with signs for the trail.

Uh-oh.  I went down one option, and then down the other.  And then I remembered the trail description: tadpole, stay right.  The lap started at the tip of the tail, ran around the body, and back onto the tail.   But I wasn't sure if I was where the body met the tail, or on some different part.  Fortunately, two other runners caught up to me, confirmed that we should stay right, and I followed them.  They pulled ahead and I went back into my bubble.

They saved me 7 extra miles.  Turns out that some (most? all?) of the people ahead of me took the left turn.  On the one hand, I felt almost guilty, as though I had cheated; on the other hand, I felt relieved because, though I hadn't majorly detoured during my prior 50 mile attempt/DNF, I'd gone mildly off-track a lot, and I wouldn't have wanted that miserable "learning experience" to have been for naught.  It was before I'd found out that I can't do gluten, and I hadn't realized how weak I was then, and I probably wouldn't have made the first cut-off at any rate...but to DNF for the same sort of mistake a second time would have bit.  I might as well have chowed down on those cooked potatoes.

Near the end of the first lap, it was becoming light enough to see; I was switching my flashlight on and off.  It soon became apparent that we were back on the tail of the tadpole.  Back to the stream crossings.  This part of the trail was starting to get muddier, but it was still ok for running on at this point.  It got progressively boggier.  I keep my shoes loosely tied, and they didn't stay on my feet a couple of times, but I didn't lose them permanently or get them too full of mud.

There was also another potential false turn close to the end, but the two guys from before weren't too far ahead of me, and we sorted it out.

First lap: 10 miles, 2:06 or something like that.  It was nice to return to the startpoint--lots of cheering.  I ditched my flashlight, grabbed another gel, another bottle of mix, some more Coke and banana.

The second lap was pretty much like the first, except it was light, and I turned on my tunes.  At the beginning, I met the lead woman (and lead runner), Connie Gardner, leading a pack in the other direction--she asked me if I was doing the 50 mile.  Oh, so that's what the cheering was about.  Were the two guys and I the first ones through the first lap?  I told her there must have been a wrong turn.  I figured I was ok, because my first five mile segment had taken about an hour, and I'd taken two hours overall to do ten.  The math seemed legit, and well before my math moron stage (later on during long runs I attempt calculations, and fail).  I figured that they would catch me.

But when?  I made a few goals--please please don't catch me before the 5 mile aid station, the tadpole joint...etc.  I decided if I could hold off until the last stream crossing, that would be great, and I wouldn't be a hindrance on the path, nor feel like I had someone breathing down my neck.  I set off on the second loop and was like seeing the trail for the first time again!

And my feet hadn't retained any experience, either: downhill, heading toward one of the streams, I found myself in flight.  I got good air.  I'm not sure if I tripped or slipped: one instant, I was running, and the next, I wasn't connected to the ground anymore.   I landed on my left knee, left shoulder, and left side of my face.   My knee hurt, but I figured that maybe the shake loosened everything up.  It actually did, and I went on without incident, although I realized later that my left knee was kind of bloody.

There were a couple of Air Force guys stationed at the tail-head junction of the tadpole, and there were other people at the other dodgy intersection, which really helped.  Even though I'd been there before, I still almost messed up.   The two guys were still just ahead of me, but at some point, I passed them.  I don't recall when, maybe at the aid station.  I tried to stick in their vicinity, but eventually I guess I drew ahead.  EDIT: oh, I remember, I think: they stopped on the side to take care of business, and told me to not get too far away or whatever because I was part of their pack now.  So I stayed just ahead of them for a while and eventually pulled away.

Second lap: about 2 hours.   I was passed by Connie shortly before the last stream crossing.  Not bad.  Other people passed me later--unfortunately, I can't recall exactly when, and there more people out because the other races had started.  I was pretty much an island of tunes around the body of the tadpole, and then I took an earbud out on the tail because it was nice to chat with oncoming runners there, plus much of this was single-track and thus I wanted to hear if anyone was catching up.  At the end of the lap, I restocked and ditched my tank top.  It was starting to get warm.  I reapplied bodyglide after each lap after this, but still chafed.  I have lats now.  Ok, I'm a bit flabby too.

Third lap: about 2 hours.  Same-same, a bit warmer, the sun came out, Coke and bananas, I was passed more often than I passed others, mud, sand, glorious tunes.  Near the end of the lap, I started to feel sore.  That wasn't a surprise.

The last time I ran about 30 miles, the last couple were quite wretched.  This was a bit of a concern: was I facing 20 more miles of that?  However, the hip-quad tightness didn't seem to get worse, and my core was fiiiine, amazingly...but uphills started to prove troublesome.  However, once I got through the stream crossings and onto the body of the tadpole, and I knew for a fact that I'd gone farther than I ever had before, I felt overjoyed.  Yeah, it hurt, but it wasn't getting worse, and I was still moving.   I had been worried that the second last loop would be the worst mentally, but it was great.  I've rarely, if ever, felt more uplifted.  It was more than the usual endorphin rush.  It felt close to intravenous Demerol (surely that story is already in this blog somewhere).  Oh, so that's the runner's high.  AH.  Only took me, what, twelve years to get it?  Now I can quit!  (joking)

That glorious penultimate lap was also slow: about 2.5 hours.  Oh, well!  My husband had returned--he had finished his 50K in under 6.5 hours.  I'm so proud of him.   We heard about and signed up for these races last month, not really a last-minute decision, but neither of us had planned to run so far in November until then.  Anyway, it was a big boost seeing him at the start/finish area.  I ended up changing my socks and shoes because the mud and sand inside them was starting to bug me.  Otherwise, I felt fine, sore, but ok.

The last loop, however, was a bit too much of more of the same, I guess.  There were fewer people running by that point, which was kind of depressing.  And I was starting to get annoyed with the trees.  So many trees!  There were a few sections through forest that seemed to elongate with each repetition, and I started thinking ungenerous thoughts about witch trees leading me astray.  The lowest point in the entire race was during one of these sections.  I walked uphill and   

 barely     

                  made       


it.

My thighs were so sore.  I didn't have ITBS, nothing that sharp and localized, just burning.  I tried to walk as quickly as I could when I couldn't run, and it felt like my knee joints were hyper-extending.  I imagined a future of crawling up hills and, eventually, across the flats, and down hills.  A three hour loop that would break me.  Where the heck was that field with the weird smell that was just before the other field with rusted artifacts, including what looked like part of a moonshine still (I don't know for sure), that was just before the aid station?  By this point, I had formed a general, though still hazy, expectation of the trail, but those trees stretched on forever. 

And if I start talking about the sand, which was so many times worse....

I run in sand all the time.  Doesn't mean I want to buy it dinner.

After from that (and what more could I expect from the Sandhills region, anyway?), the trails were fine.  There was some variety, some challenging bits but nothing that extreme or difficult, and ten miles was a good distance for a lap, I thought.

Anyway, I got to the aid station, restocked, and thanked the volunteers again.  They commented about my smile.  Other people did too.  Yeah, I guess I was enjoying myself.  It's great seeing other people out running.  I rarely see anyone else except on weekends, and usually it's just a couple of people or so.  I don't mind running on my own, and I often prefer it.  I sometimes find it hard to adjust to someone else's pace, sometimes I can't talk much because of cramps, and my dog and I have a pretty killer bond--but I like seeing other people out when I'm exercising.  And, coming from urban areas where I saw many people exercising every day to a rural place where there just aren't that many people outside of their cars is sometimes a downer.  So, anyway, I appreciated seeing the other race participants and volunteers--the latter were especially helpful!  They refilled my water bottle for me while I scarfed down Coke and banana chunks.

The last time, though, my water and mix residue tasted funny.  Probably my sense of taste was jacked up by this point, but I thought it tasted like soap, and it made me feel nauseated.  So I didn't drink any water after that first dismal mouthful for the last five miles.  This turned out to my advantage: it forced me to push through as quickly as possible.  END THIS NOW.  

Near the end, a girl passed me.  I have no idea if she was a 50 miler, or relay runner--I figured that bib numbers 100-130 were for fifty milers somehow, but I didn't get a good look at hers.  Anyway, I followed her toward a small ravine/marsh area, and I saw a man in black on the other side of the ravine going towards us.  And then, when I got to the edge of the ravine, I saw her, but not him.  My first running hallucination!  I should have looked for a stump or something that could have tricked my eyes, but I was too focused on looking for Mr. Cash.

My last five mile section was a bit over an hour, while the 5 mile section before that took me nearly 1.5 hours.  I even ran up some of the uphills. 

It was nice to finish under 12 hours, that being my general expectation, no matter how much I'd tried to dispel it.

My stomach was messed up and I didn't eat any of the post-race barbeque even though it was gluten free.  I managed to eat some salmon spread at home, though, and I think I fell asleep around 8 or 8:30.

The last two nights of sleep have been kind of rough with inflammation and sweating, but today I walked the dog and, more importantly, stood up without having to push myself off with my hands--I didn't even think about it.  My goal is to run again by Friday, but I won't force it.  I did some delt flies with light weights and might try some situps this evening to get back into the grind.

At any rate, the Old Glory Trail Trot was an excellent way to finally become an official ultramarathoner!  Edit: I have to emphasize how pampered I felt by the volunteers and race staff--they really took care of me.  The folks at the Old Glory Foundation were really kind, too. 

Now what?  I'm not sure.  I'm still on the wait list for a January ultra, and I have no plans after that, although my husband talked about doing a marathon in March.   I'm going to do a long run in December, maybe another 30 miles, just in case.