An Attempt at Redemption

Within a week of DNF'ing at Bear 100, I decided to look for another 100 in the Fall.  The thought process was to not waste the best ever training cycle I'd ever been through and validate myself, as vain as that sounds.  In essence, I was looking for a redemption race.  I found one, eventually, in the Ozark 100, located in south-central Missouri.  The thing that lured me to the race, besides being in the Fall, was the claim of being a point-to-point, 100% single-track race.

After spending about two weeks letting my body recuperate from Bear, I was ready to ramp my running back up temporarily before a quick taper before Ozark.  The thing I wasn't planning for was getting very sick exactly two weeks after Bear. It lasted for an entire week including missing work for four and a half days, which was a first in my life.  I was wiped out physically.  When I returned to running, I had absolutely no energy and my heart rate was much higher that I expected during easy efforts than I would have liked.  This resulted in little motivation to train, since a 7 mile run turned into a monumental effort both mentally and physically.  I definitely wanted to run, but I just plainly struggled while out on the trail.  I did manage a tempo road run, where I was surprised to be running the pace (6:20'ish) I would have used for the marathon a few years ago, but that would end up being the best run between Bear and Ozark.

After experiencing lethargic running for 21 days, I had a week before Ozark, which I was truly excited about.  I studied the detailed topo maps, which Olga made fun of me as she always does.  I'm a planner and like to dive into the details of a course, whereas, Olga prefers not to know. Each has it's own merits, but I can't stand not to know.  Based on the weather forecasts, it was expected to be in the mid-20's at the start with highs in the 50's. This is exactly what happened on race day, and while it was very cold at the start, once we began running it wasn't that bad.  We were warned that the course was treacherous for the first 30 to 40 miles, due to heavy leaf cover hiding the rocks and the many holes created by uprooted full-grown trees.  While it was challenging, it wasn't extraordinary, in my opinion.  It is a trail race and that's just part of it.  The course was beautiful and the trails were awesome single track. Now on to the heavy stuff...

I started out very conservatively, but, even with that, the effort seemed to be too much.  After I reached the first aid station, I felt wiped out.  My legs felt fresh, but my energy levels were very low.  Hydration was great and I was consuming calories on schedule.  It was the plan that had always produced my best races. Nevertheless, I struggled, both mentally and physically.  I told myself to "just hang in there" and wait for it to get better.  By the time I reached the mile 17 aid station, I was very tired. I had spent the previous 10 miles waiting for it to get better, but it didn't.  But, I pushed on...

Three aid stations and 17 miles later, still, no improvement.  I had, for the most part, maintained my position, but I was beginning to get passed by runners. Easily, I stepped to the side as soon as anyone would approach, yielding the trail without a second thought.  This bothered me.  It is rare for me to get passed in a race. Typically, I'm the one doing all the passing. But, it didn't take many miles for me to accept that this was the way it was going to be.  I was telling myself that I'd pass them later in the race after I find my energy.

I pulled into the mile 43.5 aid station with a stone-cold stare on my face.  A man took my picture, who looked like he may have been doing it for the race. I hope so because I'd like to see what that picture looks like as I stared dead into the lens as I passed by. The aid station support was exceptional, as well as, the crew and I wish that could have lifted my spirits, but it didn't.  I had every intention of dropping at this aid station and even refused to let anyone fill my empty bottles. A doctor checked me out as I told him my sob story about how I felt totally drained.  He took my pulse, then, took a look at me and said "you look really strong".  Bastard!  I didn't feel strong, I felt weak, drained.  Eventually, I left the aid station with bottles filled and continued.  The trail slowly climbed to a ridge for about a mile and on my way out, I began to cry while making my way up the trail.  This was my hell and I wasn't enjoying any of it.  No amount of calories or fluids was making any difference physically or mentally.  I had been telling myself frequently from the start that "it's a good day to run...", "I get to run, I don't have to run, but I get to run...".  And, while I believed this, everything stayed the same. I would have my best running for the next few miles after this episode, but, quickly, sunk back into the spot where I had become so accustomed.  More runners would pass as I automatically stepped to the side.

I found a very sunny, warm spot on a nice leave covered slope and decided to take a nap, which is something I've never considered during a race.  But, it would be short lived.  Every runner that passed would stop to make sure I was ok. That idea, while a good one, didn't work.  I pondered many things going to the next aid station at 51 miles.  I told myself to just finish this race and I can put this year behind me and, possibly, never sign up for another 100 miler.  This includes, what I consider the ultimate race for me, Western States.  Anyone that knows me well would realize how over the top it is for me to make that statement.  Western States is my dream race, which I've been trying to get into for several years.  I'm a two-time loser (TTL) with a race cancellation thrown in the middle and another year where no new applications were accepted. That make four years and counting.  And, the TTL rule is no longer in effect for next year, but, instead, based on a lottery system, which starts the whole entry system over, again.  But, I digress...

I kept digging for motivation while on the trail, and for 43 miles could find little.  I would reach the mile 51 aid station at dusk without the need for a headlamp and ready to end the race.  It had taken me the exact time to run this distance at Bear, which, by the way, had 15,000 feet of vertical climb in the first 51+ miles.  The Ozark course was no Bear course, for certain.  The first question I asked was if anyone would be coming by this remote crewless, aid station to take me to the finish line if I dropped. And, that's exactly what I did.  I sat down and was happy at this point, confusing, probably to most at the aid station, though.  But, I felt a huge release that I didn't have to run anymore.  It wasn't that I would "get to run", but that I didn't want to run.  Not for myself, not for anyone who couldn't, not for my dear wife, Olga, not for anyone.  I came to the stark realization that the only person I can run for is myself, as selfish as that may sound.  My motivation has to come from within and it has, apparently taken me several years to finally come to that realization. I've also learned that redemption races, while may work for some, don't work for me.  But, I had to go through that process on my own because having someone else try to explain that to you and truly understanding it are not the same.  And, Olga knew this when I spoke with her on the phone on Sunday morning.  I was trying to validate myself with Ozark, which was futile. I didn't need validation.  Bear was my goal race since June, Ozark was not.  My mind and body peaked for Bear, and after an illness and never feeling fully recovered afterwards, I posted another DNF.  Yes, I am sad, but that is a natural feeling.  And, in the end, I can shake my head and laugh at myself for spending the money to fly to St. Louis, rent a car and hotel room to figure that out on my own.  It's just part of life, growing, and gaining wisdom. Wisdom cannot be taught, it is learned through personal experience.

At this point, I'm not certain where I'm going with my running, but I think it's a process and each person is different in how and when they get there.  Shorter distances have a very strong appeal to me, since the 100 mile distance seems to beat up my 180+ pound body too much.  The shine has certainly been tarnished for that distance and I think the realization occurred before Ozark, since I signed up for a local 50 miler a few weeks beforehand.  On the flight home last night, I even began creating my training schedule for the upcoming 50 miler in February.  And, now, it's time to do the first workout on that schedule today and go out for a few easy miles on the trail and clear the cobwebs out of my mind.  Because, regardless, I still need running for my sanity, maybe just a smaller dose of it.