What It Was Like To Run My First 50K
From a certain run streaker perspective, the 50K is nothing short of a completely mad idea. Although I only run my minimum of one daily mile on a rest day, or after a strenuous race, the 50K could technically amount to a full month of running. Practically speaking, many runners consider 30 to be a solid number for weekly milage. But it was my friend Deb’s 50th birthday. When she told me this is how she wanted to celebrate, I told her it was awesome and she was crazy. Notwithstanding, her husband Tom, who no longer runs by the way, can sell ice to the eskimos. He proceeded to tell me how “neat this thing is:” beautiful trails, different competitive outlook, amazing accomplishment, bla bla bla….. Thanks, Tom. And for all of you selling stuff out there, I’m apparently a super target for that elixir, magic bean, or property atop the London Bridge you have been saving just for me.
So, I find myself at my 50K. Typical to trail races, as I learn, the distance is merely a suggestion. The actual race courses of ultras vary despite the advertised milage. Mine clocked in at 32.5 miles. Had I been forced to run an extra 1.5 miles the day after a marathon, or the day after this recent 50K, I would have had to do some major soul searching about continuing my run streak. In the back of my mind I knew this trend, and I was also aware of the trail racing community’s laissez-faire attitude around the mile marker discrepancies. In March I ran a 30K trail race that was .4 miles off. Everyone was talking about it at the end of the race, but no one was upset or surprised, including me. However, in this case, I was completely blindsided, naïve to the reality that the disparity could rear it’s ugly head to the tune of 1.5 long miles.
The night before the race I had a dream that crocodiles were in the waters surrounding the trail, threatening to come up for a meal at any time. But come race morning, I only found friendly trails, both with the wildlife and the people. The course of the Mendocino Coast 50K began with a sandy beach crossing, skirted the picturesque little town of Mendocino along the cliffs above the Pacific Ocean, and then tucked into the beautiful redwood forests of the state parks. Had I paid more attention to the race summary, I would have known that the race would also be an adventure. We had to climb a rope up a cliff (with medical personnel on hand), trudge through mud, and cross rivers knee deep and log bridges too. With 5,700 feet of vertical assent, I often felt I needed a tow line, as the trail was so steep at times that I could drag my fingers on the ground. I was rewarded with views beyond my imagination for our little neck of the woods, and the climbing didn’t seem as labored with the super oxygenated air of the redwoods and fern-blanketed forest floor. There were only a couple roads to cross, and otherwise trails of beautiful, sometimes super technical, single track. The final miles were undulating, on a fire road winding through the grasslands along Mendocino’s Big River. The almost flat finish was a very welcome respite from the hilly course.
I didn’t go into the race with a real time goal. Like so many people, I just wanted to finish. There was a nice gestalt to the race that is more common in trail running than any other event. While there are plenty of competitive runners, there is much less of the puffing of the chests and checking out of the competition in the starting corral. Nothing was corporate, nothing was about marketing, and communication was done through personal connections. The “hey, how ya doin’?” kind of chumminess even had me caught off guard when the gun went off and I realized I should probably stop yakking and get to running. I hope I didn’t offend the guy I was chatting with when I suggested to him that we start the race. But my competitive nature did kick in too. As the race went on, I knew I could do it in about 6 hours. I knew that I could be competitive in my age group standings, and I would certainly be dishonest if I said that didn’t matter to me, at least a touch. Other runners were very polite on the single track to let me pass when I needed. There was a balance of striking conversation and requesting the space to pass. But when I was able to move on, I felt a surge of joy that found displacement in my pace. I had to be careful to conserve energy when I got excited.
In the marathons I run, I clip along at just a tick below threshold pace. When done correctly, a threshold run is at, or very near, anaerobic threshold intensity. This is where the body is producing lactic acid slightly faster than it can be cleared from the blood stream. It’s a really fast run that brings my body to the edge, and sometimes over the edge, of distress. Running just at or just below threshold puts me in a dangerous balance that can either yield a fabulous result on the clock, or blow up my whole race. In the 50K I was often unsure of the footing, wary of the elevation gain, and of course, new to the distance. I pushed when I needed to, yet my pace was slower, and as a result, I experienced no body distress beyond the burn in my legs and laboring of my lungs. I was able to eat the food I packed and fuel at the aid stations with all sorts of things I usually don’t eat while running. There were bananas, oranges, potato chips, beef jerky, M&Ms, cola, and a few other odd things that my stomach would otherwise enthusiastically reject with gruesome results while running at faster paces. As a payoff for taking my time, I remained comfortable replenishing my energy for each upcoming mile. Although the food was kinda weird, I really like that part where my stomach feels fine!
While I felt pretty good the whole run, by the time my Garmin told me I had gone 31 miles I was done. Mentally and physically. I had really pushed hard from the last aid station, excited to have a good time and ready to take a rest. The gentle undulations along the river on a relatively smooth path played perfectly to my strengths and I was working hard. 31 miles came and went and the end was not near. I had a moment of panic that I had gone off course until I saw a trail marker a few meters ahead. Then it was all heart that got me in to the finish.
The finish was much like the start. A modest banner over the trail, a few volunteers with flags, and a small number of family members with a random assortment of cow bells, cameras, and last-minute cardboard signs. Now there were also bunch of tired and muddy runners, a table full of beer, and camping stove cranking out chili. I got a medal and a high five from the race director. My friend Holly, who came with her daughter to see me finish, handed me a beer and gave me a hug. My friend Tom, and his dog, gave me pats on the back, sloppy kisses (the dog), and replenished my beer when it got warm (because I could hardly drink it). I passed on the chili, found out I took second in my division, and hung out for Deb, the birthday girl. There wasn’t a great deal of hub-bub. Just a chill and happy “we did it” kind of atmosphere that relied on the camaraderie of the runners sharing their experiences. It was difficult to eat a lot of food that night, but by morning I was happy to down two Superhero Muffins (see my earlier blog post here) at about 6am, and drive my husband’s fun convertible back down the coast and along the winding roads home to my family. It was, I guess, a pretty great experience.
My favorite run is 7.5 mile course up a little less than 1000 feet to a lake in the nearby park with my friend, Holly. I love to dash along the track, and feel like I can kinda keep up, with my friends Jess and Rose, who ran for University. When I have the time on a weekend, I really like to take a longer run, up to a beautiful 15 miler in the same park I run with my girlfriends. I don’t like to mess with this comfort zone. While it was more rewarding than I imagined finishing the 50K, my weekly runs were certainly compromised. I didn’t get to run the way I wanted, when I wanted. Such is the sacrifice of a training schedule. I also felt that, after a certain number of long runs over 20 miles, I was sick of leaving my family for that long, and also spending more time recovering and not enjoying other workouts and activities I like. Make no doubt about it, ultra running is a huge commitment. The sacrifices and hardships, the food or drink you might pass on during training, the time you dedicate to planning out your nutrition and gear, are all elements that set apart any big race goal. The sometimes grueling adaptations are a fine learning experience and metaphor for meeting the various challenges we face in life. It was great to show myself again, and in a new messy way, that I can meet a challenge and push through it with joy.
