The 50K that Almost Was......

Back in October, I attempted to run a 50K.  I didn't finish the entire course, and I haven't wanted to blog about it because it was a failure.  And I was mad- a little at the guy who rudely kicked us off the trail, a little at the sponsoring company who declared this a "perfect first 50K", and a whole lot at myself for "failing."

Here's the story.

I quietly signed up for the Stump Jump 50K in the spring of last year without telling anyone about it.  I then posted a link and mentioned casually to a friend that it seemed like an awesome race.  Once I admitted that I had already signed up, she signed up, and then our other friend signed up, and then one of her friends signed up.........and we all sat on our Facebooks (because we all live in different places) and metaphorically stared at each other and thought "wait.....what did we just do?"

Mushroom Rock

 
Over the (long and hot) summer, we trained.  We battled shoe issues, muscle gripes, IT Band flare ups, and our own self-doubt.  We bolstered eachother's spirits with powerful images, quotes, youtube videos, and songs.  We were all incredibly brave to one another, but then sat quietly in the corner with a jar of nutella and fretted about it all.  Our seasoned ultra-runner friends came to our aid, offering advice, support, and general "go get 'em tiger!" support.

This was not simply training, this was a pilgrimage, made daily on our local roads and trails, beginning and ending at our front doors, where we would smile and revel in our 5 minutes of invincibility before hunger, thirst, or exhaustion could set in.

Before

In October, the time had come.  I met Pellmell, EJ, and EJ's affable husband (and our lone crew member) Big T, at our hotel.  We drove to packet pick up, where through a series of "What do you see now? Where are you in reference to the giant yellow umbrella?"conversations over our cell phones, Mad and I ran across a pavestone courtyard where we crashed into a huge hug like long lost friends.  We picked up our packets, checked out the small expo, and made some plans for dinner, where conversation was held that could only be held by four runners and two cyclists.  In other words, we may have unintentionally grossed out the table next to us.  That night, we laid out our gear, dashing between hotel rooms to talk about the weather, did we need jackets, what socks are you going to wear, shorts or capris, gu or hammer, who has the first aid kit, which hydration pack are you going to use..............eventually we were organized and went to bed.


In the morning, we woke up at O'dark-thirty, which is to say, extremely early and got ready in near silence.  Last minute weather checks were done, trail fuel (food) was packed, and I received a text from Mad.  She was in the lobby having toast.  Down we came, one by one, to the lobby, where we sat in the half lit room and drank coffee and munched on bananas and toast until one of us finally said we should probably get going.

There's something about early morning car rides, especially when it's cold and a little rainy.  You're just sitting there in the total silence when it starts to dawn on you just what exactly it is you are about to do.  We all hit that moment at roughly the same time and we all said it and laughed and eased the tension in the car, so by the time we hit the start, we were jittery but laughing, wholly focused on what the day would be.

I'm not going to get into a blow-by-blow of the 20 miles of trail we covered that day or about how we were asked to leave the trail all together mid-race.  We had surpassed what we had thought was a 'soft' time limit and it turned out that it wasn't so soft after all.

EJ, PellMell, and Mad on the trail.

Tennessee River Gorge

Either way, the trail itself was beautiful, and very technical.  Much more technical than we had expected.  Each of us discovered strengths and weaknesses along the way.

Technical!  ROCKS!

It turns out- I love rocks.  There were a lot of 'rock gardens' that we got to scrabble over, which I bounded over like a mountain goat.  But, when it came to hydration, I sucked- I dealt with the repercussions of dehydration for 2-3 days after the race.  Meanwhile, we all dealt with different muscle and pain issues- at least one IT band, one knee, and one very ticked piriformis that I can currently think of.  And the blisters- there were definitely some beauties that night.  And Mad heard WAY more about my family history than she probably ever wanted to know, but it kept our minds off our aches or misgivings and kept us going.  At one point I told her that I would never ask how she felt or how she was doing and she returned the favor.  Sometimes assuming everything is alright is a good thing.

I *love* downhill and rocks!

The crazy shaky bouncy bridge at Suck Creek.

After the race, we shuffled back to our hotel where we ate waffles, showered, and then (all of us rather grumpily) decided on pizza for supper.  We stayed fairly crabby all the way to the pizza place where we ordered pizza (and I got a beer.)  Mad's hubby and EJ's hubby were very patient with all of us.  Once we were carbed back up, the good times started to roll again. 

Do you see the face?

I left the next day for home with a ton of good memories and stories, but the race itself left a bitter taste in my mouth for quite awhile.  And it jacked with the confidence I had in my own ability.  Worse still, I chose to focus on that- to focus on the negative.  I even said that I would never run another event sponsored by that particular company again because I felt that it was handled so poorly- not just the race official's attitude when we were asked to leave the trail, but the way the race had been advertised as the "perfect first 50K" which it most definitely is not.  It is a beautiful course, the volunteers at the aid stations were fantastic, the set-up was pretty flawless and we never once got lost on the trail.  I think one day I will go back to Stump Jump and run it just to prove to myself that I can do it.  It's all good.  After all, the distance will be there when I start and after I finish.  The only thing that will change is me.

After

FALAMTTOB!!

Missing my Dad

It's the stupid things.  The little things.  The things that don't seem to mean anything until they really really do.  Those are the things that make you miss someone the most.

After I moved back home with my then infant son, my Dad and I became closer than we had been when I had "run away" from home to follow in his footsteps and join the Navy.  I am almost the spitting image of my Dad, except I have blonde wavy hair, not black.  We were lucky enough to share very similar personalities- the storytelling, the wit, the analytical mind, the ability to think spatially.  It made for a lively friendship and sometimes some heated arguments.

We also loved the same kind of movies.  Westerns, wars, "make your feet sweat" action flicks.  He raised me on John Wayne, Roy Rogers, Randolph Scott and later we watched Mel Gibson, Robert Duvall, Sam Elliot, and Tommy Lee Jones.  If the movie was especially good, we would reenact our favorite scenes for my Mom (who would have left the room within the first 5 minutes of any grittiness).

My priest, Father Aaron, worked "Band of Brothers" into one of his homilies recently.  It was one of my Dad's favorite series to watch.  So much so that I got him the entire series on DVD for a birthday present when it came out.  He loved it.  We never sat together to watch the whole thing, but we did watch some episodes together.

Tonight, I tucked in the Kiddo and looked at the DVD shelf to choose a good Saturday night flick.  Mom wasn't here, so I had my pick.  I pulled Band of Brothers off the shelf and opened the case for the first time in over 3 years.  I looked at the discs, read the episode titles, and closed it all back up.  I'm not ready yet to watch "Band of Brothers" yet.  Because it really is the little things that can hurt the most sometimes.