50K > 26.2: My First Ultra-Marathon.

So here I am, walking through the woods, eating jellybeans. The rain has finally stopped so this has turned into a wonderful day to be walking leisurely through the wooded trails at Fall Creek Falls State Park. I am, however, supposed to be running this trail. It is a race after all. 

 Six months before I had put together my training plan for my first ultra-marathon. I had run this course twice before, but both times it was the half-marathon distance and I felt it was time to rise to a new challenge. So I researched training plans, marathon nutrition plans, and racing tips. I spent weeks talking about nothing but ultra-running. I put together my own training plan and started preparing my body to take on something new. I planned, four phases of running training as well as four phases of strength training. Strength training is a very good idea if you plan on running long distances. This was going to require me to run double the longest weekly mileages I had before, so everything had to be carefully planned to build up to the challenge without overtraining.

 I had every run meticulously planned, but I also had each week's runs prioritized so that if my body told me I was doing too much, I knew exactly what workout would be dropped from the schedule. At the end, several workouts had to be dropped. I was pushing the limits of what my body could do at that point in my life.
 It was fun.
It was hard.
And then it was race day.

And it rained, and rained and rained.

 The rain turned out to be a major problem.

There it is, that stupid log again! This is the fourth time I've crossed this log. It didn't bother me the first time. The first time I lept over it like a hurdler, the second time, still wasn't bad, I put one hand down on the log as I hopped over. Last time, I stopped, took a breath and stepped over gingerly. This time I'm not sure how I'm going to get over it. Here we go. 

Walk up to log.
Sit on log.
Lie on stomach.
Swing legs over.
Use hands to push back up to standing position.
Keep Walking.

I had been watching the weather for as long as race day showed up on the 10 day forecast. I watched as the chances of rain waxed and waned, then once the day arrived, rain chances were at 100% for the race. The sound system at the starting line couldn't be set up due to the rain, announcements were made by yelling really loud to the crowd of over 200, 60 of whom were signed up for the 50K, the rest running the half marathon. My wife loaned me her brightly colored rain coat. Uncommon colors for a guy to wear, but I figured if there were bears in this part of Tennessee, they would think I was poisonous and not bother me. I stood under a picnic shelter as the registration line crawled into another shelter. I didn't want to stand in the rain to wait.

Finally everyone was signed in and it was time for the race to begin. Spirits were high all around despite the pouring rain. We all took off, talking to one another like old friends although the only thing we all had in common was a love of trail running. With the hood up on my wife's raincoat all I could hear was footsteps rolling up the road, raindrops beating down, and the susurration of the raincoat. The trail rolled on before me and I was feeling alive. My body feels strong, powerful, and swift.

I can barely walk, but I feel alive. The rain is gone, and I am struggling. The struggle is what makes me feel so alive at this point. My running mantra has been changed through the day. My default mantra is, "I am Strong, I am Powerful, I am Swift." When my pace dropped down slower than 10 minutes per mile, I dropped the, "I am Swift," part. I'm not feeling particularly strong or powerful right now either, so my new mantra is, "I am capable of moving forward."

Sporting the "Ultra Man" bandana my wife
made with 3/4 of a mile to go.

Rainy, wet, muddy, and slippery. This race is going to be tough. I've run this course twice before for the half-marathon version of the race, but the trails were much drier for those runs. This day, going uphill took much more focus and energy, if I pushed too hard with a step, my foot would slide downhill. The flats (as they were) were often canted to one side or the other, requiring stabilization with each step to avoid sliding sideways. The downhills, were probably the worst, usually on downhills I adopt this relaxed, quick stepping, high cadence run that allows me to fly down the hill with little effort, but on this slippery as snot course I had to have constant tension in my quadriceps and hip flexors to avoid my feet sliding out in front of me and dumping me on my butt. It seemed like every step took twice the normal amount of energy.

I'm not a big socializer, probably the most socialization I ever do at one time is on trail races. For whatever reason I just feel a kinship with those around me and we talk. We greet each other, wish each other luck, discuss running, trails, race nutrition, encourage each other, and cheer each other on. The layout of this race course really lends itself to crossing paths with other runners frequently in the final miles. That really helped me with not having to spend too much time alone in the woods towards the end. 

I came across people who were still running strong when I was reduced to a walk, passed others who wound up not finishing, chatted with people all through the race. Towards the end, more and more, the conversation was mostly checking up on each other and encouraging each other through the end.

All that work stabilizing myself on the muddy trails took its toll. My speed was dropping, my legs were getting heavy, I was alternating between walking and running. I was headed towards aid station 3, which is about a mile from the ending of the course, but to make the 50K course, you repeat the course, then turn back, go to aid station 2, then return to station 3 and finish. In short, on arriving at this aid station I would have to turn back, run 3 or so miles, then come back this way again. 

With my new slower pace, I was beginning how much longer it was to the aid station. I started trying to estimate it based on people running back towards me on the course. I was getting tired, then I heard, "Come on O'Nan you can do it!" My wonderful wife was at the aid station, she had been there encouraging runners and waiting for me. I ran to her, and hugged her, she took her raincoat back from me, the rain was gone and it was mainly a burden now. I got some gatorade and gu and told her it was going to be longer than I had expected. 

I told the other volunteers I needed someone to run behind me singing the theme from Rocky. One of the boyscouts wanted to, but his mom told him no. I ran back into the woods and set a new record for the slowest three miles I had ever done in my life. It took me about an hour to get back to aid station 2. 

I was walking, jogging, shuffling up and down the hills, over roots, rocks, and rotting logs, I had started humming and singing to myself. Music from Rocky, "Be a Man" from the movie Mulan, the theme from the old Superman movie, Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, whatever popped into my head. 

I made it back to aid station 2, they were out of gatorade, and nearly out of gu, I turned around and started to run back. 

Aid station 2 is on the road way, to get back on the trail, there is a steep little descent going from the road down to the woods. As I walked down it my hip flexors protested. They didn't scream in pain, they didn't lock up or cramp. They just sat down right there on the factory floor and refused to do any more work. So I walked.

After an extensive walk break I decided it was time to run again. A signal went from my brain down to my legs telling all the necessary muscles to run. My hip flexors sent a message back to my brain.
The message was, "Nope."

I could not lift my knees.

I could swing my arms and lean forward which caused my legs to swing forward allowing me to continue a walking motion, so I kept moving forward with about 4 miles to the finish.

So here I am walking through the woods eating jellybeans. . . 

Before leaving for the race I packed everything I would need including my fuel belt which carries four water bottles and has a pouch that fits several energy gels. The one thing I managed to leave behind was the fuel belt. So not only was I lacking my belt, most of my fuel was back in Bowling Green too. We made a quick stop at WalMart searching for a source of glucose for the race. I bought a hiker's waist pack (I refuse to call it a fanny pack), a bottle of gatorade, and two bags of jellybeans.

Walking towards the finish, another couple is running towards me headed back for their final turnaround. She is just in front of him, she looks, grim? determined? angry? I ask how they are doing, she keeps running, he raises his hands, palms up and shrugs his shoulders.

It takes me an hour and 45 minutes to complete the three miles between stations this time. My wife is waiting for me in the woods. I say, "Want to see me run?" She says yes, and I tell her too bad, I can't run anymore. 

On the final stretch three deer walk out of the woods onto the road. One of them jerks its head up and looks at me, evaluating. After a minute it goes back to nibbling at something on the ground. I think it decided that I could not possibly be a threat since I could barely move forward.

The final downhill. I see the finish line and giggle to myself that I thought I would have been finished two hours ago. I had enough energy to sort of run now. Downhill on pavement doesn't require much lifting of the knees. 

I finished.

17 out of the 60 did not finish, so I call that a good day.

I am an ultra-marathoner.

Some of the mud my shoes collected and of course my finisher's medal.