Wednesday before Bear, I started coughing. Coughing for most would not be a big deal. Coughing for an asthmatic...? Only adding to the recipe for disaster. I still ignored the warning signs, sucking on Vitamin C drops like candy.
We got up to Logan midday on Thursday before the Friday race and headed straight to the hotel. The hotel wasn't ready yet, so we went to the packet pickup. On the way out of the Sportsman, I noticed my bib was not in my packet. The tiny panic that went through my brain was only compounded by the crazy eleven hour drive, coughing and sore ankles. Things just kept adding up. I was given bib #335 and told to get creative with a red sharpie. I guess a handmade bib is better than no bib at all, but it felt so unofficial. The mystery ended up solving itself-it turned out the race director had thought that was his bib, picked it up, returned it and it ended up being in a pile of paperwork. Still I was shaken and excuses were piling in the corners of my brain.
After the race talk and a nice dinner with crew and Shanna, I had a restless sleep, dreaming of everything that could go wrong.
Race day and the nerves were at their apex. I couldn't go to the bathroom (all runners understand that comment) and things continued to feel "off". I went to start my Garmin at the beginning of the race and it wasn't on my wrist. I am extremely over analytical and had everything organized based on time and pace between aid stations. The fact that I had no idea where I was at only added to the stress. The first climb seemed even longer than it was on paper and the second a break came where it was flat and runnable, I fell (like I do). All scratched up, people kept passing me on the single track trail as I gathered my wits. I tried to jump back into the conga line, but people just kept going around me. Finally there was a break when it appeared I was at the back of the pack and I started moving again. I ran a little further before rolling my bad ankle on a tree root. By now, visibly shaken, I began to limp only to roll the ankle I was limping on. I decided to walk a bit and down some of my nutrition. Salted Caramel Luna bars sounded fabulous in theory, but they made me throw up in reality and I wasn't even at mile five. Stomach settled after puking some and I began to pick up pace. I had no idea if I was on pace or not, but figured I would at least run the flats and downs.... and tripped again. Panicking from everything, I started feeling short of breath. This turned into an asthma attack. Yes, all of this was in the first seven miles. I texted my crew and told them I was done.
Shortly after I texted them, this man and his wife came up behind me. We chatted for a bit and they totally changed my mood. They finished the year before in 35:30 with walking most of the time. I made it to the mile ten aid station with half an hour to spare and felt 110% better. I could do this if I could just keep pace. I texted Meaghen and said that maybe I wasn't done.
Once again, I started getting my hopes up... I was in DFL, but the sun was shining and the foliage was gorgeous. Then the GI tract rumbled. No one was around, so I hid as far behind a slim tree as possible on a single track trail and went to the bathroom. The crumpling of leaves-someone was coming up behind me. I took a tree branch and mimicked a golf swing to fling my poo down the mountain. I know-that's a not-so-pretty visual, but it's part of ultra running... You have to go at some point and it's not always the best situation. It was time to move on (feeling a lot lighter)
Shortly after a nice downhill and some switchbacks, I ended up running through some gorgeous fields and ravines. I don't remember anything like these flatlands being on the elevation chart, but I wasn't going to complain. I caught up to and struck up a conversation with Scott from Illinois. He definitely made this portion more entertaining as we ran into multiple cattle drives complete with real cowboys and discussed his exploits from the year before. I eventually took off on the downhill as my knee caps felt on fire. 
When I arrived at the mile thirty aid station, my crew was nowhere to be found. I started panicking and all my previous fears and doubts came to the forefront as I realized I had no nutrition or support for another couple of hours. What went wrong? Why were they not there? Was there something wrong with my car? Were they lost? The panic continues to rise. That's when Scott from Illinois came to the rescue again. The first time kept me mentally on track and the second time was just to give me a cheeseburger. Those 350 calories are the best 350 calories I've tasted in forever and it was like a light shining in the darkness (no joke). I had enough nutrition to push forward even if I didn't have any on my person. We continued.
Between 30 and 37, I pushed on. I spent some time chatting with Scott before I pulled ahead, and the relatively flat ground helped me gain some time. As I neared the mile 37 aid station, there was an out and back section where I was able to see that nice man and his wife from around mile 10 as well as a couple of other runners that called out to me. This boosted my confidence and I cruised into mile 37 with my crew waiting. At least my worst fears were not realized and everyone was okay. I asked Julee what happened and she just kept saying, "Ask Meaghen." I guess I had a look in my eyes that I wasn't happy and joked around about the "wrath of Amanda." 
Meaghen wasn't supposed to join me until 45, but jumped in early to cheer me up. She caught me up on the conversations with Coach and had me laughing at his statement, "Just keep her happy. Do whatever you have to do to keep her happy because she runs best when happy." Sadly, he knows me sometimes better than I know myself and my racing! I kept asking Meaghen what happened as to why they missed mile thirty and she kept dodging the question. Finally, she fessed up. They were heading to the aid station when they pulled over to let some cars by and ran over a boulder that punctured my tire. $167 later and a trip into town to Discount Tire and we were back on track. I could finally relax and with Meaghen at my side, we were flying.... Well, as flying as we could go between 37 and 45 which meant eleven minute miles, but still. We almost missed a turn as we caught up to and passed multiple people. Feeling good, we rolled into 45 looking forward to switching into our cold weather gear while Julee put on her best cheerleader face... only she wasn't there. Meaghen looked everywhere in the parking lot as I shivered and huddled near the vegetable broth. The absence of Julee meant the absence of cold weather gear, headlamps and packable nutrition. Meaghen kept in good spirits while mine plummeted. All my previous fears kept coming back as we braved a 4,500 foot climb over four miles before a two mile descent to the next aid station. The elevation and cold air started taking it's toll on my lungs (again) and I found myself stumbling by the light of a $1 flashlight from Walmart, moving at sometimes greater than 30 minute per mile pace. Under normal circumstances, I could've crawled faster. By the time we got to fifty or so, I just muttered, "I'm done." Meaghen had shred her shirt so I could wrap it around my hands as gloves while I continued to stumble and despite everything, she wouldn't take no for an answer. About half an hour later of wandering led us to the next aid station in sight.... Only we couldn't get there. All we could see in between us and the aid station was this dark abyss of a lake in the moonlight. There were no visible trails and we shuffled back and forth looking all around for a way to get through to the warmly lit beacon. Two more people came up behind us and together, the four of us eventually found the poorly marked trail. Julee was waiting for us at the end of the path. I made a beeline for the car, curled up under a heated blanket and sobbed, sipping chicken noodle soup for twenty minutes, muttering unpronounceable words. Meaghen, bless her heart, kept checking in on me, waiting for me to get up and get going, but there was no moving. Eventually she coaxed me into moving next to the campfire, while I sat there and listened to others' stories of past ultras and their ups and downs before signing my life away at the DNF table.
I have been making excuses since the race as I've struggled with processing all that was Bear. As Meaghen said very poetically last weekend, "It's too soon. It's just too soon." Yes, I had significant physical issues, but I will finally admit that it was my mental state that did me in. Everything kept slowly wearing me down mentally and it culminated in that last extra mile before the 51.9 aid station. I was done. I could've kept going but every ounce of my body and brain said no. I have never felt so broken and such an overwhelming sense of defeat as I felt in the final moments of that race. Hopefully I will never feel that way again.
