Happy Birthday to Me: Run A Hundred Miles on My 41st Birthday
The final few days before the 2012 Buffalo Run 100 I was walking around sick to my stomach with anxiety. I was ready as could be, ready to go, but with nowhere to go until noon Friday when I and 50 other hardcore running maniacs would start a hundred mile journey in and around Antelope Island. I managed to get some useful sleep the night before, but it is never enough. The noon O'clock start time helped, but I became to dawdley in the morning, even watching one of my favorites - Chariots of Fire - to fire me up with inspiration. Then there was a last-minute stop at Wal-Mart on the way out to get moleskin. When I finally arrived at the island, I ran up to the group gathered at the starting line and heard "Twenty seconds!" Shit. I didn't even stop running, so actually I did 100.10 miles, counting from my car to finish.
My plan was to put on earphones and listen to my favorite music for 50 miles while running a comfortable pace. After an awkward start and some pack adjustments on the fly, I saw the leaders round the fence opening and run past me on my left. That's when I saw him in all his glory: Speedgoat. It was like one of those slow-mo shots you see of some beautiful creature doing what it does best. I saw him only once more at close range when he dashed through the Frary aid station, eleven miles ahead of me, not stopping or slowing.
Overall, I had a very good front 50 miles. I learned to never again wear my waistpack with two full bottles for a serious long distance run. Heavy, bouncy, awkward. I left it at the first aid station at Elephant Head and just ran from there through all the back trails carrying the two essentials: bottle of water and wipes. Just before the switchbacks I made a clothing adjustment and 50 yards uphill was aware I had dropped my wipes. Gotta go back for 'em! Dudes heading uphill may have thought the heat was getting to me and I was turned around; thing is, it wasn't hot. Thank God it wasn't hot out there all day. We had cloud cover and some wind and temperature was perfect.
I ran the switchbacks. Easy. Up and over, back toward Elephant Head. I could see Karen wearing white shirt and red shorts about a mile ahead. I finally caught up to her at mile eighteen. Between breaths: "Are you Karen?" What if it wasn't her? What would I then say to this woman? "Yeah" she replied promptly. "Are you Matt?" My bud Scott had talked to this woman a few nights before, told her she may see me out on the trail. We ran for about half mile, chatting, then I kept my pace and got ahead. Back at the race headquarters at mile 19 I had to take 20 minutes to correct all the mistakes my disorganized lateness cost me. A change of shoes, moleskin applied to my now seriously blistered feet, exchanged the waist pack for two hand-held bottles - ah much better. I even moved my car closer to the tent area. (Is that illegal? I did ride in a vehicle during the race.) So I just blew 20 minutes at an aid station. Crap. Ah well, a learning experience. And I did learn on the go that in a well-aided race such as Buffalo, a bottle or two is about all you need.
Back at it up the hill, then down to the East side of the island. Kind of a blur from here but I remember the guys at the small aid station down at the fence line being super nice. I had enough mental capacity to grab my headlamp heading out of my car to leave at he fence line aid station. I estimated it would be about sundown by the time I ran 22 miles out and back - and I was exactly right. I ran by myself 5 miles to Frary aid and was greeted by super positive, friendly and helpful volunteers. "What do you need? We got hot soup broth, drinks, sandwhiches, GUs..."
"Broth! I want broth. And Coke. They became the two words I said most at the aid stations throughout the night and into the morning. A variation was "Ramen. Give me Ramen!" Later that night as I ran my next 50 miles in the dark, Matt W. (Dorsimus) wrote a soulful sexy hit song titled 'Coke & Ramen'. You can find it on K-Tel's collection of Ultra Running Hits.
As I slurped broth at Frary, a cowbell rang out for some important event. I looked up. It's him - Speedgoat. Cool, I will get a chance to say hello and good job and - hey! He's not stopping. Doesn't he eat? Doesn't he need Coke & Ramen? He moved quickly. In a few moments he had disappeared again into Ultra space. Seeing him 11 miles ahead of me did not discourage me at all. I just thought, 'cool, man'.
I got back on the trail, happy and warm with broth. So warm I removed my shirt and ran the rest of the first fifty miles topless. They had a dude set up on the most scenic part of the trail taking pro photos. Should I smile? Look serious. Give a thumbs up? Look into the camera? I opted for Serious Running Face, like the one Dan Vega had when he finally passed me coming the opposite direction. He looked pissed. Heard later he was chased by a bison bull. He was the last year winner, but this year was looking all Speedgoat. And in the end it was.
Finally arrived at the Ranch aid station early evening, and caught up with Karen again. She was looking good, fast. She went out of the station before me and I would not see her again until I finished my first fifty. After more broth, Coke, Gu I began the long haul back to civilisation. I consider the Ranch the equivalent of Wastach's Brighton "The Morgue" station. It is way out there and when runners who are 18 miles from finishing show up, we probably look near death. I know I felt it later the next morning as I sat at the Ranch again.
I ran out from the Ranch feeling terrific. Again through the Gladiator-style tall white grass the camera guy snapped another of me. I again gave him Serious Running Face. Back though Frary, the handsome, friendly-faced dude said I made good time to the Ranch and back. That was encouraging, but I wonder if he tells that to everyone. A little boy, about the same age as my six year-old boy, asked me what I needed. "Coke," I replied very politely. "Thanks man! You guys are awesome." The atmosphere at those aid stations is so positive I want to volunteer next time. Seems to be a very fun time.
It was getting dark. I hoped to get to my headlamp at the next aid before sundown. I ran around a long curve on the East side of the island and beheld the sunset. Nice. A lasting light to get me to my headlamp. Hoofed it up the hill and I saw some figures silhouetted against the silvery dusk, standing on the road looking down at me. It was my crew. Brethren! Matt and Scott walked with me to the top of the hill, then we agreed to meet in about an hour at race headquarters where Matt would go out with me to begin my next fifty.
Up the hill for the last six miles of the first fifty. Now I was wondering if I would see my family at the last aid station. They were camping near in Bridger Bay. The trail through the tundra above the beach was well marked with reflective sticks. The trail drops runners straight into the last aid station. I heard my mom shout "There's Matt!" Then I hear "Dad!" Then I shout: Yeaaaah! My parents, my wife and my boys all there. Just a sweet moment, I want to cry. Hugs, kisses, and of course Coke & Ramen, the off again into the night, around the North end of the island. I felt terrific. I mean, really good. I was bounding around the rocks, passing three guys, singing to the music only I could hear. Ran it in to the end of first fifty. Smooth up in ya!
Scott and Matt were in the tent, waiting. I ordered the usual. After several minutes of preparation, Matt and I walked out into the night. Yes, walked. Although I had felt terrific coming off my fifty, I was now into unknown territory and I felt sick. We walked the first few miles up the hill to allow me to digest some needed mid-race nutrition. When we got running, finally, it was much slower. Better to take it easy than to puke. I looked forward to the Lone Tree hill to get a break from running. We got to Elephant Head aid and I ordered up some Coke & Ramen, then out to the turn-around at Elephant point. A lot more walking now, which was getting me down. This is a RUN and I wanted to run. But I couldn't. Had to walk some. We met Karen after the turn-around and I never saw her again until I finished later that day. I expected her to catch me sometime during the night but she later dropped at mile 70.
Down the hill to Split Rock Bay I got chilled. Matt let me wear his jacket. I felt like we were now going steady. All I needed was his class ring.
Down at the lowest point of the Split Rock trail, the clock turned over to midnight, and my clock turned over to 41 years. What the hell was I doing out there? Seriously, it was just an understated, quiet yet intense way to turn one year older. I loved it. Of course Matt sang to me, and the singing didn't stop there. We went through all the Ultra Running Classic Hits, all by the original artists:
Coke & Ramen
Glide My Crack
Feeling Like Shyte at Mile 65
Get Glid (Past tense of glide)
Anton Krupichikikia
Do the Ultra Shuffle
Glide My Sac
And many more!
Somewhere in all that laughter I got a nice burst of energy and we picked it up really well for a good stretch through a rocky section of trail I even ran some of the switchbacks. The pattern throughout the night was pretty much this: Hey, feeling good. Feeling like crap. Feeling kinda good. Nope, feeling like poo. Good! Crap!
And so on.
Matt kept me going, kept me in good spirit. One last Coke & Ramen at Elephant Aid and we made the long 4 mile run back down to race headquarters and mile sixty-nine. We could see several lights from headlamps at various points along the trails we had just run. Leaving the aid station we walked up the hill heading toward the Mountain View trail and my final 31 miles. Felt like crap, ran when I could. We met Scott at the end of the mile out-and-back and said goodbye to Matt. Thanks man.
Scott and I started off walking. And walked some more. He was able to coax some running out of me, but sometimes it didn't last long. I just did what I could, but it became clear to me I would not go under 20 hours. That's ok. But damn, I do not want to be out here more than 24 hours! Scott knows how to get me to laugh, and laugh I did, even when it hurt and he never let up. All night long and into the morning. He got me to the aid stations, but we didn't camp out. We got in, got the food and drink and went out carrying the cup of noodles. I could jog for a little while, then walk. Jog and walk. All night long. Frustrating. My legs were fine, even my blisters did not bother me. My knees were not hurting. I always had plenty of energy and stayed plenty hydrated - maybe too much hydrated because I stopped a lot to urinate. It was my lungs. They had filled with mucous. I could only take half-breaths and became seriously out of breath very quickly, almost hyperventilating. There was nothing I could do. We reached the end of the line aid station at the Ranch just as morning broke. I was weary, but never once did I even give a serious thought to dropping. I was going to go 100 even if I had to walk the final 16. But hell no I wasn't going to walk 16 miles. That sucks. I've done that and it sucks when there is no awesome mountain peak to justify the distance.
I ran as much as I could and it was very difficult for me. Scott was there to prod me, telling me to get running. Back through Frary aid. I sat in a chair, weary. The dude asked me what was my high point of the run; I told him on the other side of the island, turning 41 on the trail, running swiftly through the dark feeling a burst of energy at mile sixty-two. He asked me what was my low point. I answered: Right now.
The sun was fully up as we left Frary on the long trail back to the North end, and to the finish. I knew my family was there, but it was so far away. I had to set goals like, reach the fence line aid. A running dude, looking like Jurek came bounding toward us. Wow, he is running strong, I thought. Oh, he's the leader in the 50 mile race, which began a few hours before. Ten minutes later, a woman was next. Then a trickle of other runners, then a steady stream of fifty milers, all looking strong. "Good job" they would breathe to us as they ran past. We saw some familiar faces, even one who is subject of one of Scott's and my favorite inside jokes. Good times. As far as I could see, nobody was behind me. Good, I don't want to get passed.
Up the hill for the final six miles. Toughest hill climb I ever had, and this thing is barely a hill. At the top I did get passed by an older man, an experienced 100 miler. He moved well and disappeared down a hill above Bridger Bay.
I ran in to the last aid station at mile ninety-six, hoping to see my wife and kids. They were not there, but my parents were. I sat for a minute, ate half a banana, drank one last flat cup of Coke, then Scott had me up and moving. Walking, but moving. We entered the shoreline trail and I got into a good but difficult pattern of running and walking to catch my breath. Scott looked back at the aid station up the hill and stated that a runner had come in. It woke me up. The running became more consistent. Around the rocks the trail twisted. It was a beautiful warm morning. My shirt was off again. Just keep moving. It's ok if I get passed once more, I thought to myself. We made the turn around the North end of the island and then headed South. The trail traverses a small, rocky bay, then makes a final curve with a view of the big white tent and the finish line. Scott cracked the whip. Get moving, he's gaining. He wants to catch you. I ran more now than I had in the previous 6 hours. Keep moving. He's a half mile back. He's coming. You're doing great. Keep moving . The walking breaks became shorter and less frequent. He's back there! Don't let him pass you. Make him earn it!
We moved out of the rocky lakeside trail, then down to the gravel road. Some hikers strolling up the trail toward me had no idea. An elderly woman asked "You guys running a marathon or something?"
"It's a hundred mile race" I shouted. "And I'm at mile ninety-nine."
"Gasp!" (Not me, her.)
Scott: He's still coming! Move! Go strong up this hill. Run it. Run this hill.
Me: I can't.
Scott: Power hike it! Hills are nothing to you.
Me: I'll try.
I ran the top half of the hill. And it is barely a hill, but at 99 miles, it was a difficult hill.
I turned the corner for the final .90 miles to the finish on a straight dirt road. I could see the big white tent, the parked vehicles, the children playing, the other runners returning from the other races. Scott hounded me to keep moving. We had an 11 minute pace, then a 10, maybe down into the nines. I got into a loud, controlled breathing pattern. Shhh! Haaa- Shhh! HHaaa-shhh! Scott looked back for the runner. "Has he come up the hill yet?" I asked. "No," says Scott. "The hill wrecked him. Keep going!"
I was there. One more corner and another .25 miles to the finish line. When I knew I would not get passed by mystery runner, I took one last walking break to catch my breath, then ran it in strong. I saw familiar faces. My boys holding signs. My wife. My parents. Over the mat, I thought I heard a "beep!" registering my time chip. Cheering, clapping, hugs. Someone shoved a belt buckle into my hand. Then a guy on a P.A. : "One hundred mile finisher. And it's his 41st birthday!" More cheers. Awesome. A good homecoming.
OK, so I learned some valuable lessons for the future:
Do not be late
Moleskin the problem areas before I go out
No waist pack
Figure out what the hell was happening with my lungs
Coke & Ramen
Next up: Speedgoat 50k
then
Wasatch 100
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