Not since Candlelight 12 hour have I felt this kind of joy in a race.
C&O Canal 100 – April 27, 1019. My goal for this race was 1) the female win,
and 2) a sub 20 hour 100 mile finish. The
former is all about who shows up… the
latter – well, that is all about the training.
My previous best trail 100 time was a 21:42 at Tunnel Hill (where I also
went in with a sub 20 goal), and my best track 100 mile split was 21:08 at D3
in 2017. So, in reality, anything lower
than 21:08 would be a PR. Still, there’s
something lyrical about “sub 20”…
I was first introduced to C&O 2 years ago, pacing my
friend Aubrey Blanda. I had met Aubrey
at about 9pm and paced her overnight.
The trail was dark, beautiful and haunting. We had met Peter Wai, running his first
hundred, with whom I became Facebook friends, and I went back last year to pace
Peter. My second time at C&O made me
want to run it even more, so this year I came back to race.
Speed has never been my forte. I got into ultra running because it is the
first time I’ve ever had any relative “success” as a moderately slow
runner. I’ve never qualified for Boston,
and the only time I’ve ever won a 5K my friend snorted and said “how big was
the 5 K”? It was a reasonable question. I’m not fast.
But… having qualified for
Spartathlon which has aggressive cut-offs, I’ve started working more on
speed. Probably the best thing for my speed
lately is my 1-3 runs per week with my fast friend Katie.
It was due to the recent speed work and some monster weekly
mileage that I thought I might have a shot at the win. And… possibly… a sub-20. Maybe.
Aubrey had booked a cabin for her family, Pete’s family, and
BJ and I. We all arrived shortly after 5
on Friday, checked in, and headed to the pre-race dinner. Dinner was great and I was pleased that I
didn’t overdo it (which has been known to happen). We all spent a bit of time after dinner
getting our gear ready, and were all in bed by 9.
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| The 3 Musketeers - Pete, Aubrey and I |
Sleep was light and restless – probably because I had to pee
for about half the night, but didn’t want to climb down from my bunk and walk
outside to do it. We saw the benefits of
staying on site on race morning when we didn’t have to get up until almost 6
for a 7am race. Breakfast was provided by Aubrey - real NJ bagels. Yum!!
As I geared up, I decided last minute to put my headphones
in my pack rather than in my ears.
Though I usually run with music, I didn’t want my battery to run out due
to data streaming, and I wanted to talk to other runners. I was a little concerned about the 25mph
predicted winds, but after the first little grassy loop before we got on the
trail, I knew I wouldn’t need my windbreaker and I tossed it to BJ as I ran
through Camp Manidoken and down through the cabins toward the single track.
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| Me, BJ and Laurie Matecki |
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| Pre race |
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| Me and Dave Blanchard |
One of the daunting features of this race is the single
track leading from Camp Manidoken down to the C&O. It is a short stretch – probably no more than
.3 of a mile, but it is utterly un-runnable.
Steep steps lead down through the woods, and there is a little path where
you have to step over branches and cross a stream before heading along another little
trail patch, over the road, up and down a gully and then on to the
towpath. The towpath itself, though, is
eminently runnable.
My first miles are smooth, easy, and in the tens. This makes me happy as up until recently, my slow easy has been 11 and change. The weather is in the 50’s, the breeze is
crisp and cool. I can tell pretty
early that this is going to be a good run.
And then… the trail begins to sing to me.
Early morning, there is just the sound of footfalls and the
rushing breeze. Some runner chatter if I
pass them or they pass me. A few
miles down, there is the lazy flow of the canal, water sparkling like diamonds
through the trees, almost finished with the early leafing out of spring in
Maryland. A few miles more, and then a crescendo… I’d reached the rapids, and the
sound is powerful… rushing, roaring,
mid spring, electric.
The trail dips under the bridge to Harper’s ferry, where a
train is clattering overhead. I run
under the bridge as the train rushed by above me. It is deafening and rumbling and I feel intensely
alive. I pass by a section of algae
covered water where loads of turtles are lounging and mating on logs.
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| Action shot - courtesy of Laurie Matecki |
The song changed genres to a soothing acoustic… background music to the musings of my
soul. There is, so far, nothing that isn’t
perfect about this run. Footfalls,
smooth and steady. Pace faster than my
wildest imagining. Sun on my face,
breeze whipping around me, this is where I am home. The first stop back up to Camp Manidoken at
40 miles is a super quick pitstop – that mile including the brutal up, stop,
and back down is only 16 minutes and change.
I am thrilled.
I hit 50 at 8 hours 41 minutes… a PR by almost a half
hour. I am astounded and humbly
grateful. At this point I’m on track for
a 20 hour race if I can keep the second half at 13 minute miles… which seems
more than doable. For another mile or
two. When the sound of my unhappy
stomach starts to add some troubling minor tones to the music. It is OK when I trot, but any time I slow
down to a walk or hit an aid station, I am woozy and nauseous. I am thirsty but
anything I take in makes me want to retch.
They offer me warm flat ginger ale and I have to spit it out and move
on. I feel badly – they all want to
help. One aid station volunteer says with concern “what
is your food plan for the next 25 miles?”
“Nothing.” I replied. “My plan is to eat nothing”. He does not like that plan so much.
I feel better moving again, and make it to the next aid
station where once again I stop, feel sick, and this time have to sit
down. I text BJ “nauseous”. He replies “what need?” “Selzer.”
My love goes out and gets me my bubbly water – the only thing that
sounds remotely appealing in my woozy overheatedness.
At the 70 mile Camp Manidoken stop, the climb is near unbearable. I have to stop multiple times – I feel faint
and nauseous and exhausted. I trudge up
to the hill shouting out my number, saying “Liquid… I need liquid”. This stop is not speedy. I need gear…
I change my shoes. I am sick and
they apply a cool cloth to my inner elbows, wrists and forehead. I need to get back out there if I’m going to
do this thing. I head down the hill,
feeling discouraged.
But… there are only 30 miles to go, and I’ve found a run
walk pattern that keeps me moving and keeps me from retching. The shoe change eases the pressure of my only
hot spot, and the seltzer is helping. At mile 80 BJ makes the treacherous trek down the dark single track to bring me more seltzer. He walks with me for a few minutes and I am calmed by his presence. At
my new slower pace, with my stomach churning on the decline, the trail once again
starts to sing – this time a Nocturne.
I have travelled this trail in the dark twice now – once with
Aubrey and once with Peter and Carter. I
have come to love the haunting solitude, the occasional CSX train whistle, the
rushing of the rapids, and sometimes just my lonely footfalls in the dark. On those trips I saw the sunrise and it was
magical. I will not see that sunrise
today. Even with the sub-20 out of
reach, I know I will finish in the dark.
The last 10 miles come blissfully easy. I probably could have pushed my pace beyond
the safe run walk ratio with which I had become comfortable, but I don’t want to risk
getting sick again and, at this point, have adjusted my goal to a sub 21. It would, no matter what, be a PR.
This time, the 3rd loop, I know all the
landmarks. The blinking light of the
cone to head back up to Manidoken no longer seems to take forever – I know
exactly where it’s going to be. I don’t
risk a single running step on the single track.
I am almost home and I don’t want to mess with that. This last climb up the stairs is stronger by
far than my last. I don’t run up the
hill, but still, I am strong. My love is
waiting for me at the top of the hill, where I walk in my PR at 20 hours 31 minutes. Female leader, and trail PR by 71
minutes. 
