I've still got a lot of medals to go through to finish off this series, so I figured why not start back in with the most recent medal acquired. This one will be more or less a race report. If you ask me, this is the medal I didn't earn...
I'm currently in the process of training for the Cactus Rose 100, so I signed up for the Capt'n Karl's 60K out at Mule Shoe Bend. I figured it would be great practice to get some time on trails in the dark in a race setting. I had no plans of really racing, I just wanted to get in a long training run. However, a nice time is always appreciated.
Katie and I made the drive out. When we left north Austin, the heat was still blazing. In our hurry to leave, I forgot to eat dinner. You'd think that would be important since I was set to run 37+ miles, but I got thrown off a little by the evening start. I didn't have my usual morning routine to remind me that I need to eat. Anyway, we ended up stopping along the way and I picked up some snacks as it was too close to race time to eat a proper meal.
We arrived and I checked in while Katie registered for the 10K (which she subsequently won). We set up and I took care of my last minute preparations. Before I knew it, I was lined up and the race began. I forgot there was and out-and-back before the loops started, so when I came back through the start/finish, I waved to Katie and gave her a quick kiss before heading off into the trails.
Initially, I was moving a little faster than I needed to, but I wasn't anywhere near a race pace. Eventually I settled in to a nice pace. I skipped the first water stop, as I still had plenty in my water bottle but vowed to drink more water between aid stations to keep from dehydrating. As I navigated the trails, I found that they were much more runnable than I had expected. Although there were a few sections of pretty gnarly rock, there were extended sections of nice, smooth trail that enabled me to pick the pace up and stretch the legs.
When I hit the section aid station, I downed a gel, refilled water, and took off again. Shortly after I left the aid station behind, I felt the washing machine in my abdomen. Based on how I felt prior to the race start, I knew it was going to hit me, so I had stashed some toilet paper in the pocket of my water bottle strap. Problem was, there was absolutely no cover on the course to seek. Additionally, I had elected to wear a neon yellow shirt, so I'd essentially turned myself into a beacon in the woods if I'd decided to answer the call of nature.
My pace slowed as I pleaded for my body to hold off. "Just hold off until I can get back to the start." I was in dire straits, yet there was still nowhere to duck off the course. The only positive was that it was starting to get dark outside, so that would eventually provide some extra cover. However, there was a negative too. I'd been told that I wouldn't need my headlamp until after the first loops, so it was hanging prettily from the handle of my cooler--at the start/finish. As darkness encroached, the urgency in my bowels came and went, eventually subsiding enough that I was able to run almost normal again. However, there was little light remaining, so I was essentially running blind on the course. I could make out the trail, but I had no clue what was underfoot. One wrong step and my day was over. I slowed my pace to be more careful until a pair of runners with lights passed. I tried to ride their coattails, but eventually they left me behind.
Finally I got back to the start/finish in just under 1:40. Not bad for taking it easy, slowing to keep from crapping myself, and not being able to see anything. It was just in time too, as my insides felt like they were going to explode. I ran to the bathroom, but of course there was no toilet paper. I ran back to my stuff, grabbed my stash and returned to the port-o-potties. After, I went back down, crossed the timing mat, and refilled water. I grabbed a few M&M's and learned of Katie's victory. I gave her a quick kiss and headed back out for loop 2. In the excitement, I forgot to grab nutrition for the second loop.
I made it through the first aid station with no issues, but shortly after I started feeling a slight pain on the right side of my foot. Nothing serious but noticeable. As I inched toward the second aid station, I could feel the lack of calories catching up to me. I didn't eat as much as I should have prior to the race, and I'd only had a single gel. It was over 2.5 hours into the race. At every turn, I hoped to see the aid station, but it eluded me. I was hoping, wishing for the aid station to come soon.
Once I finally made it to the full service aid station, I loaded up on a water/gatorade mix and ate a few cookies to get some quick calories. Almost immediately I started feeling the pick-me-up. My pace quickened and I flew through the last third of the loop. I came back in feeling pretty good.
Katie once again greeted me and handed me nutrition I requested. Since I wasn't racing, I took my time and made sure I took endurolytes, refilled on gatorate, and drank about half a Mt. Dew. Katie told me about her first place prize and then I grabbed some fruit snacks to eat once I reached the first aid station. I set out on my third loop knowing I was already halfway done.
I was starting to feel a little fatigued, but my foot was what was worrying me. The pain had increased and I also noticed both of my achilles were very tight. Walking became more common. When I ran, my gait was very awkward, almost like a limping shuffle. I'd been through worse in other races, so I knew I could finish. After the first aid station, things worsened. My achilles seemed to be seizing and the spot on my right foot was getting more intense. When I walked, things didn't hurt so much.
I made deals with myself. "Run to that tree, then you can walk for a few seconds." I started thinking about how I would kill for a couple ibuprofen. There were a few beers in the cooler that were for post-race. I even thought about drinking one of those after the lap to try to numb the pain. This was pain due to fatigue. No, I could and have fought through that many times. This was something wrong with my body.
Doubt started creeping in. Not in my ability to finish, but doubt in it being smart to continue. I started to contemplate dropping out. A DNF? No way. I argued with myself, both in my head and out loud. In the back of my mind I think I knew I needed to drop, but I couldn't convince myself. I finally hobbled into the second aid station and took care of my nutrition. I triumphantly ran out of the station only to find myself once again hobbling only mere yards from the station. Other runners passed by and offered words of encouragement, but it did little to ease the issue at hand.
I soon found myself alone on the trail once again arguing with myself. Finally, I pseudo-accepted dropping out and called out in the darkness, "REALLY? REALLY? Are you really going to do this? You're going to DNF?" I tried running again, but could only manage a hobble and a muffled gasp. As I tried to put the thought of a DNF out of my mind long enough to finish the lap, I heard the excruciating sound of someone retching violently somewhere in the distance. The sound echoed and the poor soul continue to heave over and over. I envied him. I really did. Vomiting is temporary; I had no clue what was going on with my foot and my achilles. I could be looking at the end of running for a long time.
Two hours had passed since I had last been at the start/finish. Then two and a quarter. I hobbled on. More runners passed offering encouragement. Each time I would try to run, only to end in defeat. Two and a half hours passed, and I still had not returned to see my girlfriend's smiling face. I knew if I were to continue, it would likely take me over three hours to complete the final 9 miles and I would risk potential injury, possibly something serious. I cast the thought out of my mind as I finally came in to the finish of the loop.
Katie immediately knew something was wrong when I came through. She could tell just by the way I was running. I went over the timing mat and walked straight to her. I told her what was going on. She could see the reluctance, both to continue and to stop. I sat down in the chair and debated as I watch the seconds, and then minutes, tick by on my watch.
I sat for 10 minutes and debated. I had come out for a long training run. I'd already put in six hours, so my goal had been accomplished. Continuing was only creating opportunity to do damage and possibly endanger my ultimate goal of running Cactus Rose. Even still, it was hard to actually pull the trigger and drop out. I placed my fingers on the velcro strap of my timing chip and paused. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and pulled. The tearing sound of the velcro releasing its grip from my leg signaled the end of my night.
Where the timing chip strap once was, there was left a clean line amid the dirt caked to my leg. I looked at it as a badge of defeat as I hobbled over to the finish area with Katie. I turned in my chip and admitted defeat. I was told that I'd be dropped down to the 30K, and I was asked if I wanted the finisher's medal for the shorter race. I said, "sure, I guess" and reluctantly took the medal.
In retrospect, I shouldn't have taken the medal. I didn't earn it. That wasn't my race. Sure, I ran farther than 30K, but I wasn't in that race. In the end, I accepted that my day was successful as a long training run. You don't get medals for training runs. I didn't and don't deserve the 30K medal. I didn't earn it.
Although I didn't earn the medal, what I did earn was the opportunity to continue preparing myself for the ultimate goal of Cactus Rose. I made a smart decision to call it a night and live to run another day. It's a decision that's not easy to make, and I'm proud of myself for making it.
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