Run, Rabbit, Run 50 Mile Race Report

I have often remembered the whiteness of the snow flurries that filled the window the day that I pushed the button to sign up for the 50 mile Run, Rabbit, Run race. I also remember thinking that I was afraid to say, "Yes," but also a little bit curious too. Curious to see if I really could train for and run a 50 mile race. Sometimes that distance seemed so impossible, and at other times, it seemed completely possible.

When we arrived in Steamboat, I was dealing with the excitement and anticipation of the race as well as the questions that always seem to be present at the start of something big. "Am I ready? Can I do this? How will I respond when it seems impossible? Am I mentally tough enough to keep going?" I was able to put off thoughts of the race until Friday when it was time to check in and go to the pre-race briefing. The race director talked about how this wasn't a beginners race and asked for our word that we wouldn't quit. I didn't say anything. I guess that I had already determined on some level that I would finish and didn't feel like I needed to tell him that for it to be true. I say that knowing that I couldn't know what would happen the next day, but I did know that I intended to do everything possible to finish while admitting that any number of things could happen to change my plans. The other point of emphasis by the race director was that it is dangerous to blindly follow the runners ahead of you when trying to follow an ultra course. At the start of the race, that would come into play. . .

I got as much sleep as can be expected the night before attempting something doubtful. I didn't sleep well, but thankfully the morning came, and we made our way to the start where I said my goodbyes and in a rush joined the other runners who promptly missed the turn to cross the stream and like a herd of lemmings, scrambled to fix our mistake. I just happened to be the last runner across the bridge and up the ski hill. That start put me in a bit of a panic, so I pushed up the small upgrade in the dark past runners settling in for the climb and getting to know the runners around them. There was a fair amount of story swapping that gave me plenty to think about as the sun came up behind us while we made our way steadily up the service road. The lead 100 mile runners were coming in on the down hill. I caught sight of Nick Clark whom my husband and I had talked to at Fish Creek a few days before. He looked a bit dazed. I took off my gloves a few miles up; I was starting to warm up. It took us nearly two hours of hiking to make our way to the first aid station. I ate a bit and failed to take a salt tab. When I left the aid station at Mt. Werner, the trail dove sharply down. I was so excited to finally be able to run that I gave a war whoop and shot down the mountain. I soon had to stop and adjust my shoes and dig in my pack for a salt tab. Those stops meant that I was leap frogging with several runners and groups of runners. Two or three miles from the aid station, I tucked in behind two military men who were running together. The older of the two had finished multiple ultras and was running with the younger guy to pace and help him through his first 50 mile adventure. Their running pace was just what I was shooting for and the conversation helped to distract me from my slightly upset stomach and doubtful mind. I was struggling at this time with the idea of how far there still was to cover and how I was going to get back. That is always the difficulty of the out and back course. It is difficult to trick the brain when you know you just have to turn around and get back from where you run to. The terrain was not too difficult with rolling hills and challenging, but runable single track snaking through high mountain meadows and up and down ridges between the drainages. The view of Long Lake as we broke out of the forest was breathtaking. It was difficult to keep running, as the eyes were drawn to the glories of God's creation. I almost couldn't take my eyes off of the mountains around me. That aid station was busy as there were 50 mile and 100 mile runners. I ate, took salt, got rid of my trash, and headed out. I thought that I would separate from the guys I'd been tailing, but when the markers were missing blue flags for a ways, there were several of us who put our heads together to make sure we were on track and I again attached myself to their group. We ran that way to the next aid station about six miles away, and once again after moving through the aid station, I was able to tail them. My stomach was still not right, but I was able to put it out of my mind except for looking for opportunities and trees off the trail to try to settle it. I kept drinking and was well hydrated the entire race. Base camp aid station was only four miles from my crew, but I was already past the time that I'd hoped on an outside chance to be to them. During this section, we were fighting lots of mud in the low places in the meadows that looked like they were home to herds of elk on quieter days. Again, the views were picturesque. I should have stopped to relish them, but the purpose of the day was urging me forward. At the Dumont Campground, just a bit before the aid station, I left the group of runners that had grown by one and pushed ahead. I was beginning to panic that the pace that we'd been running was just under what made me comfortable about finishing. I caught sight of Joel in his blue shirt and carrying the crew box first. The crew helped me change out of my leggings and traded my pack for a hand held bottle as we'd planned. They also gave me some salt that I took on the road up the mountain. Taking off to touch the rabbit ears, I lost sight of the two men that I'd been running with, but without the opportunity to tuck in behind them for those miles, I don't think that I could have finished. I didn't have to think or mentally fight with myself to keep running for all of those 12 or 15 miles and that meant that I had enough mental strength to fight the battles that were still ahead. I did see them briefly at the turn around and after the race learned that Mark finished, but Michael who was attempting his first 50 didn't make it.

Just after leaving the crew, I turned my right ankle badly. I hobbled on and the pain shifted, but from that point on there was a constant sharp pain across the bottom of my foot with every step. Sometimes the pain also shot across the sides and top of my foot, but that pain came and went. I've never had a sprained ankle bruise before, but this one has bruised. The good news is that the hip that had been making my hamstring hurt painfully, was tight, but I was able to relax it even while running to the point that it never really ached. It just twinged now and then. Mostly when that happened, I was able to lengthen my stride and stretch out my hip. I found that it hurt mostly on the down hill sections, and if I ran faster it hurt less.

The hike up to the rabbit ears was on a rutted road that was very difficult to walk/run on. There were runners coming back from the rock constantly passing me in the opposite direction. Having to touch the rock was one of the most fun parts of the race. It made it seem like a race on the play ground when I was a kid. The hike up there was very difficult, but there were people other than the runners enjoying the hike. There were even some guys with their jeep parked on the side of the road, enjoying sandwiches as they sat looking over the valley. I headed back to my crew at Dumont where they gave me back my pack and fed me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and coke. I also reapplied some body glide and gave hugs all around. I asked Justin if I walked all the way back if I could make it. Of course, he told me that I could, but that I'd not be satisfied with that and urged me to run it in. Yeah! Run it in for 23 miles over how many mountains?! Just as he always does, he was in my head, and I couldn't not run after that. I worked hard to run anything that wasn't up hill. Despite running most of the way back by myself, I was able to run a negative split of about 17 minutes. I'd like to say that I had many deep thoughts and solved all the world problems in those six hours it took me to get down the mountain, but I didn't. I worked my way from aid station to aid station with the intention of getting down before it got dark and cold. When I got to Mt. Werner aid station, I was well ahead of the cut offs with only six or so miles to go. I had a very hard time running this steep downhill section. I ran some, but also walked parts of it. I'd been felling light headed off and on since mile 30. So on the way down, when my hand started to tingle and I got light headed again, I told the runner next to me, that I was having a hard time. He suggested that we walk down for awhile together. We did, and I began to feel better. When we got off the service road and onto the trail about a mile from the finish, he suggested that I go ahead. I was ready to run so took off. I saw my dad just a quarter of a mile from the finish, he ran with me for just a bit. I crossed the bridge with the kids all trailing behind and ran up the steps to hug the designated hugger.

That seems like such an anticlimactic ending to such a day, and yet, it was fitting. I was very thankful for those who waited around for me, but for me the day flew by. It already seems like a dream. A dream that I sometimes see very clearly when I remember that I really did cover 50 miles on my own two feet, but helped along by friends, family, and strangers. Mostly, I am very thankful for all the people who helped me in small and big ways. It was sure fun. Thanks.