"Faith is taking the first step, even when you don't see the whole staircase."
Martin Luther King Jr
Last Saturday, I found myself standing at the base of Cannonsburg Ski Mountain, about to take on a challenge I only signed up the week before. I blame Christina for this, and the fact that I am weak for a new race experience.
We found a campground just a few miles away, so the 17 minute drive at 6am wasn't too bad. Little did I know, by noon I would actually know what the true meaning of BAD was.
Armed with only a bag of gear, a couple chairs, and a table, Andy and I set up camp at the base of the mountain along with Joe.
The task ahead? Climbing the slope 76 times along with a 2-mile trail run that I could do any time in the race.
Each loop was only .6 miles, but the total elevation gain was meant to mimic half the height of Mount Everest for the 50-mile race. It didn't sound so terrible when I signed up...
Before the race started, Andy and I prayed together. Without that, I'm convinced my suffering-and maybe even the possibility of finishing-would have looked different.
The race kicked off at 7am., with only about 30 runners split between the 100-mile and 50-mile categories. That should have been my first clue. There was a reason, so few people signed up for this race-and somehow, I missed the memo!
UP Up Up
"It is God who arms me with strength and keeps my way secure. He makes my feet like the feet of deer; He causes me to stand on the heights." Psalm: 32-33
With the sun still hiding we started our initial journey up Cannonsburg Ski Hill. One of 76!
Joe and Christina, both seasoned ultra runners, made the hill seem effortless as they cracked jokes and chatted with the other runners. Meanwhile, I was fighting off every little tweak my body decided to throw at me. I kept coaching myself, trying to silence the whining in my head and telling myself to "suck it up." But my mind and body were having none of it.
For the first 10 to 15 miles, Joe, Christina and I stuck together, quietly grinding away with the hope of finishing in around 14-15 hours. As the clouds separated the sun came out a blazing. We were completely unprotected and left vulnerable to the elements.
It was in these loops my mind and body were having a conniption fit.
It was in these mile my mind was racing much faster than my legs.
It was in these tumultuous miles that I had one of my very few good ideas, to change my GOAL! The reality of my agony was humbling me quicker than I was getting up that hill.
Andy had left back to the camper as the three of us continued to move in the mayhem.
How do you eat an ELEPHANT? One bit at a time.
Joe and I decided to take coverage in the trails, we knocked out our first 2-mile trail run at 11:30am. We had almost 17 miles in at this point.
I thought we would do the second one
closer to dusk. This plan would turn out to be one of my bigger mistakes.
By this point, the sun had become a fierce adversary, and the heat sapped energy from many runners. The three of us began running separately.
At 1pm, I heard my name! Andy showed up on the side of the mountain running their 10K course for fun. He did not look like he was having fun!
I waited with weakness as he approached me. "ANITA! This is NO joke, how are you doing it?" Andy asked with sincerity.
I replied a little vulnerable, "Ha ha, yep, this is so HARD!"
I found myself alone back up the hill. Andy headed back to the camper to take a shower and come back in the evening.
One strategy that helped me push through was simply SMILING! I even wore a singlet to remind me to smile! Each time I finished a loop, there was a 10th-of-a mile stretch at the base where most of the runners had set up tents. I called it "Tent City," No matter how awful I felt, when I came through Tent City, I forced myself to SMILE. That brief moment of faking happiness tricked my little brain into pushing harder and finding joy.
The clock was ticking slower than my miles and I tried not to look too much. Because my brain does not math well I decided I could kill time and calculate the time it was taking me to run up the mountain. I realized it took me about 5 minutes to go up the mountain and about another 5 minutes to go down. To protect my quads, I did not pick up my pace too much on the downhill. If I could maintain a loop between 10-12 minutes, factoring in some rest stops and breaks, I knew that I could achieve the new plan of 15-16 hours on this God forsaken mountain. One hill at a time.
Now that I was running on my own, I had to trust myself to stay consistent, by now, I recognized nearly every runner on the course.
Thankfully, as I approached the 30-mile mark, the clouds rolled back in, offering a much-needed break from the scorching sun. A breeze picked up, and I found some relief, even a little chill.
I decided to STOP obsessing over the number of loops and changed my focus to mileage.
At mile 40, I decided to tackle the 2-mile trail section before dusk. It was 6:30pm and I had no idea that I had made a HUGE mistake. As I neared the end of the trail, I began to realize something critical: Most of the runners had completed the trail section earlier in the race. Thier loops reflected their REAL TIME progress, while mine did not, due to my loops now being paused in the trail. I was neck and neck with another female runner, but my failure to run the trail earlier had put me at a disadvantage.
As I was coming out of the trail, it hit me. The other runners had run the trail while they still had fresh legs, saving themselves from the struggle I just faced with tired, sore muscles. It was a hard and late lesson to learn at that moment, but I couldn't dwell on it. I had to make up for my mistake.
Andy was waiting for me as I exited the trail, concern written all over his face. He knew I was in the trail too long. "You're on the same loop as the other female," he told me. I had 42 miles down, but my legs were destroyed. I looked at him and yelled, "I GOTTA GOOO!" I sprinted pass him towards the hill, trying to gain any advantage I could. My blood was pumping, and I knew I had to pick it up.
I heard Andys voice respond in my burst of adrenaline, "I FREAKING LOVE YOU.."
The wheels came back off as I approached mile 45. I realized I was racing those last couple miles and wondered if that was a good idea, I was suffering enough without racing. I was still fighting for 1st place female. The truth is, I wasn't sure if I should push hard for it because I had completely fallen in admiration for the woman I was competing against-a 62-year old powerhouse who trained on a ski hill in Chicago. She was an absolute force and a true inspiration.
The downhill started to feel like torture, with my muscles screaming, I began walking the descents, my body moving in slow motion as I crested the hill again and again. Darkness began to settle in, and I grabbed a headlamp reluctantly. While it helped me see, it also gave me a slight edge-no one could see me coming.
Andy updated me: I was now one loop ahead of "Katherine". I was paying the price for pushing it. My stomach was inside out; I could only manage sips of ginger ale and quesadillas, but even that was hard to keep down. I had some beef stew I had made that Andy heated up in the Jet Boil but I would just sip on it to keep Andy appeased and get moving as quick as I could.
I just needed a couple more miles and I didn't have time to waste eating to only be sick anyway.
When my watch hit 50 miles, I was crushed to know I still had 2 loops to go. I prayed for strength, asking the Lord to carry me a little longer as I dragged myself up that mountain YET AGAIN.
As I came down the hill that final time, trying not to just roll down, I saw Andy waiting for me, yelling, "This is it! You did it!" I smiled, joyfully pushing myself, mostly because I knew I was NEVER going to run this mountain again!
It was a victory in the dark.
The race directors were all there waiting for me. I hadn't looked at my time for hours and had to have them repeat what my time was. I had NO idea that I had come in at 14:32.03 my original goal.
I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude crossing that finish line.
FIRST, to the race directors who encouraged us by name every loop, cheering us on without pause, this picked me up when I was at my lowest. They truly made this grueling event feel possible.
Special thanks and photo credit to
Jamie Geysbeek, who did an amazing job at capturing the essence of this race.
To ANDY- your support throughout this entire journey was everything. From setting up camp to cheering me on to making sure I had what I needed when I was barely hanging on, I couldn't have done this without you by my side.
A huge congrats to Joe, Christina and Katherine.
Joe, we pushed though the heat and hills, you gave me more material to laugh at then I know what to do with, great job.
Christina, the courage it took to sign up for 100 miles out there is inspiring. You did amazing, showing what grace and perseverance looks like.
Catherine- what an absolute force you are. Running alongside of you, a true trailblazer at 62, was an honor I'll never forget.
This race was an experience of a lifetime, one I'll carry with me forever-though I think it's safe to say I won't be back on that mountain anytime soon!
In Peace not Pieces,
Anita
Extras:
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| Foods I ate: Bacon, quesadillas, granola bars, Noka smoothie pouches, Beef stew, watermelon, pickle sandwhiches. oranges, Gingerale, Gatorade 0, and flat coke. |
