It's 2AM, and it sounds as though a train is about to run over me in my borrowed Wal-Mart tent.
No, there's not a loud snorer in the campsite next to me.
There's literally a train just over the hill from my Ozark Trail shelter. Great spot...
I manage to get another 50 minutes of sleep in before my cell phone alarm wakes me up at 3.
Time to eat a bagel, gather my stuff, and get going. I've woken up early enough to get some calories in and find some coffee along the way to Camp Lutherwood- the venue for the North Face Challenge.
Driving into downtown Bellingham, WA, I'm mildly depressed to see that nothing is open. Nothing.
Going without coffee before a 10 hour+ event is simply not an option for me, but it might have to happen this day.
U-Turn, and it's a 10 minute drive to Lutherwood.
Upon arrival, I'm relieved to see that there's an array of food and COFFEE waiting for the racers.
I have just enough time to down a cup, eat another bagel and peanut butter, and pin my number on before it's 5AM and time to roll.
One of my favorite parts about Ultra-marathons is the start. No one sprints off the line. A wheelchair patient would beat most Ultra runners in the first half mile of the race. It's funny because you see all these super-fit people going in slow motion...I guess it's just not what you'd expect.
We run by the lake and up by the camps where all 90 of us funnel into a single-track, densely wooded trail. At this point, the trail is so tight and steep that it is pretty much a hike until we hit the fire road.
The pack starts to thin out as everyone begins to settle into their own pace. I pull up next to an older guy from Juno, Alaska. We run together for twenty minutes or so, talking about our hometowns, dogs, and bears. A first timer, he pulls ahead of me and I never see him again. Impressive.
After a steep mile and a half hike up the fire road, we hit the first aid station. I eat some crackers and drink some water, but waste no time. It's too early for slacking.
20 minutes later, we're ascending Chuckanut Mountain. And it is STEEP. Three of us hike and pant our way up the mountain, which would be a day hike for most. We know there's still some 40+ miles to go after this, so we do what we can to make light of the situation, talking about random things.
At the top, there's no real celebration or acknowledgment of the end of the climb, but the descent is long, open, and amazing. I get maybe a little carried away and let it fly for a while, clicking fast miles off...until I see two dudes peeing in the bushes. I'm reminded that I hadn't pissed yet....and suddenly, I REALLY have to go. My pee is still clear...so we're good on the hydration front.
The descent ends as we reenter a nasty section of single-track along the ridge of the Chuckanut trails. It starts with short, steep climbs and scrambles(on all fours), and ends with quad-busting, mentally draining technical descents. At one point, I look to my left and realize that I'm on the edge of a cliff with a vertical drop I don't care to estimate or think about.
It's at this point that I realize that I'm doing something I never would have thought about 5 years ago.
17 miles in, and my quads are already wrecked.
We come out of the woods, and all of a sudden, we're on fire roads again. It's a fast four miles to the next aid station, and it feels so easy to run when you aren't scrambling over things or holding yourself up with a tree to prevent you from sliding down a cliff on your butt.
I stay at the halfway aid station for a few minutes, taking stock of myself and downing bananas, chips, and drinks while a volunteer fills my Camelbak. I am a little tired, but my mind is fresh. My electrolytes are good, for once.
I pry myself off the pavement and start running down the fire road, raring to go. My levity quickly changes as I round the corner and stare at a wall. At least it's not technical, I think to myself, and start hiking.
Half an hour later, I round a turn and I'm still hiking. Half an hour after that, I get back on the trail, round the turn, and I'm still hiking. At this point, I'm pretty frustrated. Honestly, how long can a hill be?? Only after the race do I find out that the "hill" was actually Blanchard Mountain.
The hills level off, and I am running on the ridge of Blanchard, trying to keep my spirits up. That bitching mountain sapped a lot of my energy. I had gels and bars in my Camelbak, but I couldn't stomach another one of those. Finally, I get to an aid station and down potato chips like a pro. I take the whole bowl for myself and just chow down. I know I need it because of how amazing it tastes.
I leave the aid station and this time it's a climb in the middle of the woods. Not even a trail. There's an orange marker every fifty yards, and that's the trail. I'm pissed, which I know is bad, but I can't change it. I'm tired of climbing and tired of lifting my legs to get over boulders and downed trees the size cars.
The descent begins, and each step kills my feet. My muscles are sore already. It's a double-edged sword in that it hurts my muscles to hold myself back on the downhills, but letting it fly kills my feet, which hurt as well. I bitch and moan all the way to the aid station at mile 42.
My attitude improves immediately upon seeing human beings after having run alone for hours. I chill out for a good 8 minutes at mile 42, trying to sway my spirits to the better side of things for a last push to the finish. The volunteers, who aren't runners, tell me that the last 8 miles is all downhill. I trudge off feeling as though these last few miles will be an easy celebration of the day.
2 miles later, I'm staring at something I cannot comprehend. Gnarly roots. Massive rocks.
The Oyster Dome, called "Kill Bill Hill" by the locals, is a vertical monster that I can't even explain. Although I want to cry, I can only laugh at the situation.
There is no place for despair when you are out there. No one can really help you. You have to put one foot in front of the other and just deal with your own little crises as they come.
There are day hikers on the trail at this point, and they clear the way for us as we literally stagger up the mountain. You can see the sympathy in some of their eyes...for they are struggling up it, and know that after already going 45 miles, it must really suck.
I feel no thrill as I pass 4 racers on this section. We're grabbing trees to pull our bodies up and are forced to stop every couple of minutes to catch our breath and keep our wits about us.
I get to the top and try to get myself together, as I'm pretty messed up in the head after the climb. I descend the last 5 miles- a mix of painful single track and fire road. I'm so traumatized by all the climbing that I honestly expect a climb after every turn, even though I know these last few miles are downhill.
Finally, I run by the camps we ran by earlier in the day. I come out of the woods, and there's the finish line.
I'm beat up, but mentally good to go at the end... even faking a fall right after the finish line, to the laughter of the people I had run with throughout the day, and the concern of the medical people who didn't know I was joking.
So I was able to keep my electrolytes in balance, which has been a challenge for me in the past. I do need to improve my eating though, and discipline myself to eat even when I don't want to. Gels and bars are better than zero calories. That was my downfall in this race. I really feel as though I'm learning a lot with each Ultra I do. I certainly am proud of the finish, even though it took a lot longer than I hoped. I had never run anything that severe, so mentally I kept it together and that's all that matters for October.
Thanks for reading...
KP
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