A gift. At our pre-race briefing for the Grindstone 100 race director Clark Zealand reminded us that what we were about to experience was a gift. The physically ability and mental desire was a gift. The land we would travel and weather we would experiance, was a gift. The aid station volunteers, our crew members, and the rest of the non racers involved were gifts. In short, the opportunity and ability to start this endeavor was gift to be cherished and remembered, especially as we suffered along on the course.
As I sat crying at the top of Little Bald Knob I thought of those words and wondered how much of this gift I had truly appreciated.
The race started beautifully, a prayer of thanks, a communal star Spangled Banner performance and we were off. It was in the mid 60’s, sunny, and the forecast said clear sky for pretty much the next 38 hours. Perfect weather after a few days of serious rain.
I purposely started WAY slower then I felt I needed. I told myself after the initial surge of bodies, and the typical thinning out that happens over the course of the first few miles that I wasn’t going to pass anyone, unless it was completely and utterly effortless. The handful of racers that I did end up passing I made sure to hang with them for 10 min or so. Swapping info on who we were, trying to glean information that may be crucial later in the race, enjoying the company before slowly moving onward.
By the time I hit Dowells Draft and saw my crew for the first time the ranks had thinned. The leaders were well on their way, us middle packers had formed small pockets of runners that continued to run into, pass, and be passed by each other. My overall pace was a little slower then I wanted, but I felt strong, energized, and plain happy. My crew acted like a NASCAR pit crew, it was if they had rehearsed exactly what each of them would do. I was taken care of, resupplied with gels and drink, then sent on my way. Off into the wilderness I went.
The weeks before the race the nerves started to set in, the worrying & wondering. Trying to account for everything, going over plans for the umpteenth time. Luckily for me I received a copy of Born To Run in the mail. A very good friend had coincidentally sent me a copy of the book at the exact time that I needed to sit, read, and relax. I devoured it, and it soothed my nerves. The words reminded me of why I had decided to take on this upcoming endeavor. Not to beat someone, or to conquer a course. It was because I love to run, and I love a good challenge. Reading that novel let me set into my head that I had done the training, the planning, the worrying. Now I got to relax. I was going to get to camp out for the weekend, see friends I haven’t seen in awhile, meet new people, and run trails I had never set foot on! I was ready, now it was time to enjoy.
It was these thoughts running through my mind as I picked my way down the trail, staying relaxed, focused, and happy. I was about an hour behind where I wanted to be, but well ahead of were I thought I would be, so I wasn’t complaining. I had started a lot slower then I normally would have, helped a down and out runner on the trail, and had to change shoes. All in all I felt fresh, energized and kinda giddy cruising along, enjoying the quiet of the trail.
Pulling into North river Gap and Aid Station #5 I saw my crew for the second time and knew I was truly ‘in my element’. It was about 03:30 Saturday morning and I felt like I had only ran 10 or 15 miles. Another couple of hours, the sun would be rising and my energy would get a lift even more. Another layer to fight of the predawn temperature drop, refueled, and motivated I set of, once again into the wilderness, feeling fresh and happy. I would have covered over 1/2 the course by the time I saw my crew again, back here at North River Gap.
From Aid Station #5 to Aid Station #6, miles 35.91 to 43.74 are completely uphill. I forgot this fact. I had gotten used to a long grinding uphill battle after an aid station followed by a relatively interesting downhill run into the next aid station. Would things be different if I had just looked at the elevation profile to remember that fact before pulling out of AS #5? Would I have approached things differently, from a mental aspect if I hadn’t been on this stretch at a notoriously dark part of the day, those hours just before day break. These and many more questions would plague me over then next couple of days. But none of that mattered as I crested Little Bald Knob, sat on a rock, and cried.
By the time I reached that little rock, the sun was shinning, it was roughly 06:30 in the morning, and I had spent the last 3 hours first physically, then mentally battling the pain creeping up my leg. By the time I reached that rock, the pain had won, I was defeated and was having a really hard time coming to grips with it.
I hobbled into Aid Station #6, the Little Bald Knob AS ready to DNF myself. I was quitting, I was broken. I wish I knew his name, one of the cats crewing AS #6, but he wouldn’t let me quit. He knew what to say and do. He simultaneously acted like there was nothing wrong with me while trying to take care of what it was that had mentally squashed me. After some motrin, wandering down the trail to come back, stretching, hot chow and a fire I had been convinced to keep going. “That climbs a leg shaker, don’t let it be a deal breaker.” Onward I went.
I felt good, hobbling turned to walking which turned to jogging (on the flats & downhills of course). I was moving along again, I was even running a bit. I teared up a little, thinking about how I was going to give that aid station guru a hug on my return trip through Little Bald Knob, inward bound and heading towards the finish line. I started thinking all kinds of good, happy, finisher thoughts, mentally prepping for the ups and downs. Both literally and figurative. Then that twinge showed up again. I was only 20 min down the trail and that damn tweak was rearing its ugly head. The motrin kept it at bay for 20 min, I could just keep popping some through the finish line, right? But kidney failure isn’t an option just to finish, or is it? Come on! You know better then this, stop and mentally analyze were you are physically, and what can be done, if anything. I felt doomed.
Upon reaching the Reddish Knob Aid Station at mile 48.19 I knew I was done for. I had slowed down to a 25 min mile on the easiest terrain of the course, it would only get worse the further I got down the trail. I made my way up to the summit, punched my bib and looked around.
I spent 10 minutes at the top of that summit. Walking, hobbling from corner to corner. Looking at the view, thinking about the gift. To be standing there, to have gone through the physically endeavor that I and all the other runners had to get there truly made it a gift. I stood there, thinking about why I was there. Why was I trying to do this? To prove that I can, the feeling of accomplishment, the challenge? Yes, yes, and yes but the real reason I started on the adventure was because I love to run. I love moving along a trail with nothing but the slosh of my water bottle and rhythmic chant of my breathing to listen to. I love constantly checking my environment, and myself as I move deeper along a trail. I love the effortless feeling of gliding through the trees that comes only after hours of painstaking training. I truly love to run
The realization that there wasn’t going to be anymore running for me on that course is what finally did me in. I choose to quit, I choose to stop because finishing wasn’t worth it anymore. I could slog my way through, hopefully keeping in front of the cut off times, but at what cost? Did I want to suffer that much, it was only going to get harder, I was only going to get slower. And I wasn’t going to be able to run any of it. That realization is what truly broke me, that is what made me pull myself at Gnashing Knob, Aid Station #8, 51.56 miles, 16 hours and 56 minutes into the race. I decided I would rather quit now, so I could recover quicker, so I could run again sooner then later.
It’s 4 days after I DNF’d myself. And my brain has wandered to that decision every chance it’s been giving. Second guessing almost every decision made on the course. Wondering and what if-ing back and forth. I’m not used to failure, I don’t like the feeling. I don’t like feeling like I let friends, family, and myself down. I had plenty of support, tons of help. I quit, and it’s been hard to swallow that. It’s been 4 days and do you want to know the only time I haven’t second guessed my decision when left alone with my thoughts? When I got to go run 3 miles through the woods, on trails I’ve never set foot on before.
The last week has been a gift. One that I am truly thankful for. I’m thankful for all aspects of that gift, even the ones that have been hard to swallow.
