Old Pueblo Fifty Miler Part Deux

The entire week leading up to this race was filled with nightmares and relatively no sleep.  It seemed all too real that I was turning hypothermic again while getting lost in the middle of nowhere.  Even with the forecast stating it would have a high of seventy and total sunshine, I still packed three ponchos.  I wasn't taking any chances ever again.

The night before the race, I only got about four hours of sleep as the nightmares were even more vivid than the previous five nights.  I woke up with a mixture of dread and determination.  This was going to be a long day.

I arrived at Kentucky Camp about thirty minutes before the race started, which gave me ample time to get my wits together, sort out my drop bags and try to calm down.  We all lined up and the siren went off.  No one moved at first and then it seemed like everyone had a collective thought of, "Oh, that was the signal to start!"  We took off.

Somewhere around mile four, I rolled my ankle for the first time.  Knowing my body and it's tendency to keep rolling the ankle once it's been rolled this first time did not bode well for me.  Turns out I was right.  I made it to the Mile 7 aid station fighting the urge to drop.  The determination in me won that battle and I continued on my way.  I didn't want to let anyone at the aid station know about my ankle that early on for fear that they would pull me off the course.

Early on in the race, there was this really nice older man that I kept passing and then he would pass me again.  Eventually we got to talking and I was motivated by our conversation.  He used to be a hard core trail runner, winning Old Pueblo back in the 90's, but was a shadow of his old self after taking an extended period of time off due to a torn Achilles.  It was really neat listening to his stories about the old trail races and people he had met along the way.  Eventually, I had to speed up to try to make some of the splits that my coach had outlined, but the conversation had been just what I needed to take my mind off the pain.

Mile 25

At the mile 19 aid station, I heard the volunteers tell me to take a "sharp........", but I had my headphones on and didn't hear the rest.  Shortly after I left the aid station, the road made a sharp right turn and I assumed that was the sharp they were talking about.  Half a mile later, I realized there were no markers and made the trek back up the hill to see where I went wrong.  I came across the sharp left arrows.  From there on out, I vowed to pay more attention to my surroundings.  I couldn't risk getting lost again if I wanted to make the cut offs.

Once I was headed in the right direction again, I looked up and there was my buddy Ken.  We chatted for six or seven miles about anything and everything.  His foot was really sore, so he was having to take it easy on the uphills and I was looking for more conversation to distract me from my ankle pain.  I eventually took off again, when I feared for the cut off times, and turned up my music for distraction.  At mile 29, I finally decided to tell a volunteer about my ankle.  I didn't think they would pull me by that point and thankfully, they didn't.  They actually had some tape in the first aid kit and tried to rig some support for my bum ankle.

Mile 29

The tape helped for the first couple of miles after that and I was able to make up some time.  Based on my calculations, I would have plenty of time to make the cutoffs.  I could breathe a small sigh of relief and take in the surroundings.  The Santa Rita mountain range was truly a beautiful place.  I started thinking positive thoughts (finally) and decided I was going to finish this race no matter what.  Then I got to the mile 33 aid station.  I could go to the left and make it back to camp in three miles, or I could go right for seventeen more miles of torture.  Thankfully, my buddy was working the aid station and would not let me go left-I had to keep going.  He told me the next portion was mostly forest service road, which would be easier on my ankle and gave me some hope.

I started flying down the road, feeling rejuvenated from the fruit, conversation and level road and totally missed my turn.  Again.  I noticed the lack of markers almost half a mile out (I'm seeing a trend) and turned around.  When I got to the turn I missed, I felt like an idiot.  The first turn I missed had been a little sketchy, but this one was marked clear as day and I just wasn't paying attention.  This part was really rocky and I had to take it easy on my throbbing ankle.  The last thing I needed was a fall or another roll.

By this point, I had been left alone with my thoughts for too long was starting to entertain the idea of dropping out again.  After rolling my ankle a gazillion times and getting lost twice, I was nowhere near my split times and there was no way I could catch up.  Then, I noticed another runner behind me.  Yay!  Someone to talk to!  That other runner happened to be the guy I got lost with last year.  We had wandered around the freezing rain for hours looking for non-existent course markers.  It turns out that after I dropped at twenty five, he got lost again and added an extra twelve miles off course before finally finding someone to pick him up and dropping out of the race.  How miserable that must've been!  We spent about five miles together, constantly calculating and recalculating our splits and what we needed to make the cut offs.  We were both pretty paranoid at that point.  He told me how his family was waiting at forty and he had to finish for his kids.  I told him I had to finish for all the people cheering me on via Facebook.  How times have changed :-)

We reached an uphill and I decided I needed to run it (we had previously been walking the steep uphills).  He stayed behind.  I passed another runner as I was heading into the mile forty aid station and thought to myself, "There's at least two people behind me.  Whew!  I'm not last!"  I made it to forty with plenty of time to spare and could relax a little.  This was the last station with a cut off, so I was in the clear.  I only had eleven miles left, which was a mid-distance training run for me.  How many times had I run eleven miles?  Enough to know I could crawl and make it if needed.

Re-enacting Blair Witch

A couple of miles out of that aid station and I had to finally turn on my flash light.  The terrain was getting tricky-especially in the dark.  I passed another runner around forty three.  Good.  There were at least three behind me so I was definitely not last!  There was a lot of tall grass and I started imagining all the creepy crawlies I couldn't see.  What if I got bit by a snake or spider or something else?  The rational part of my brain knew it was too cold for that, but no one thinks very rationally after being on their feet for 40+ miles over thirteen hours.  I sped up and stumbled.  Crap.  Now I was having to watch my step, look out for scary things that go bump in the night AND try to find the course markings?!?!?!

Based on my calculations, I was 1.8 miles over from being directionally challenged, so when I reached the 47.8 mark on my Garmin, I fully expected an aid station to be there, but all I could see was endless tall grass.  Where was this aid station?  How did I miss it?!  Am I going to be stuck out here all by myself with Lord knows what lurking behind the next tree?

BACON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I eventually rounded a corner and saw some lights in the distance and down some switchbacks.  "Runner!!!!!  We've got a runner!!!!  Hurry up and get here already!!!!!"  The volunteers had spotted my light and were ready and waiting.  Scrambling down the hill, trying to find my way in the dark abyss, I hear "Bacon!!!"  I ran as fast as my bum ankle could carry me!  That is definitely one of my magic words  :-)  I had slices of bacon and even pocketed a travel sized tequila bottle for post-race celebration before taking off.  They told me I either had a short five or a long four ahead of me however I wanted to look at it.  Short five sounded nice, and off I went.  From there on out, it was pretty well marked with glow sticks.  There was one last horrible climb.  Two miles out, Chris calls to check on me.  We talked for a few minutes (mostly about how I was totally over this race, thankful I was going to get my buckle and swearing never to do it again.)

I have never been as thankful in my life as when I saw the "One Mile to Go" sign.  One mile.  How many times had I run one mile?  When I reached the finish line, I broke down sobbing.  This moment had been a year in the making and after one hellish experience followed by dozens of nightmares, an injury and the hardest battle I've ever fought in my mind, I had done it.  I had my Old Pueblo buckle.  Don't judge, but I slept with it under my pillow that night.