The CUT 77.7

The CUT 112: I had zero business signing up for this race. None. 

The Connecticut Ultra Traverse is 112 miles across Connecticut via highly technical trails. It starts on the Massachusetts border and ends in the Long Island Sound. There is about 17,000 feet of elevation gain, with some stunning scenery and views along the way. The dreamchild of CULTRA host Art Byram, this race has been highly touted on, well, almost each and every CULTRA episode. I didn't really start to even think about it until last year's post CUT episode featuring "The Woman of the CUT" where Cherie Bilbie and Jillian Ellefson told their finish story. They had done some pretty stellar preparation and had fabulous crew, and theirs was a story of relentless, determined forward progress. They finished together. 

Fast forward a few months where I got a chance to meet all of the CULTRA host crew I'd not yet met in person (I already knew Fred Murolo) at the Badger 100 in Wisconsin. I started the race running with Art Byram, Jimmy McCaffrey and Becky Burke, 3 out of the 4 hosts of the podcast, and ended up running 85 of the hundred miles with Becky before we split up and she ran ahead. Whenever you spend 85 miles with someone, it is a pretty special thing, and Becky and I talked about running something else together in the future. I think it was probably January when I messaged Becky and said "I'll do the CUT if you'll do it". And just like that, I was signed up. 

Now... when I say I had no business signing up, I mean that I am no trail runner. Yes I run long races on road. Sometimes very long. But trail running is, plain and simple, a different sport. Early on in my running career after a few successful road ultras I tried my hand at some trail running. I did a lot of falling. There are some trail runners who just seem to skim over all of those pesky rocks and roots, hopping from pointy rock to pointy rock. I was not one of those. I did complete a few trail ultras - the Vegan Power 50K and the Born to Run trail marathon, but really didn't feel comfortable on the more technical trails, and stuck to roads for years after that, finding success in long short-looped courses that were pretty much always on pavement. 

I signed up for Javelina Jundred in 2021 and completed only my second trail hundred. Javelina is in the desert and I'd describe those trails as highly runnable. There is a short moderately rocky section, but nothing (NOTHING) like the rock fields of the Northeast, so after Javelina I tried my hand at some trail running in Marin County in the Headlands. Now those trails? Marin? Like butter. Also nothing (NOTHING!!) like the trails of New England. Although there is significant elevation gain, those trails are wide and mostly hard packed dirt. 

So, up until this race, the furthest I've gone on trails with significant elevation gain was 50 miles in the Headlands with 10K of gain. I was signed up for the 100, but we were all pulled off the course mid-way due to a coyote incident. Long story. So - it is safe to say that despite putting in 100 mile weeks on roads, I really was not remotely trained for the terrain. 

After my 6 day race in France in April, I realized I had a mere 2 months to start getting in any sort of preparation. I got in a 10 miler at Tiger Mountain in Washington State with my friend Jill, and then another run with her at Cougar Mountain a few weeks later. I did a bit of hiking on rocky trails with my daughter, and, well, that was about it. 

Hiking with Patty

Cramming for the CUT with Becky

After arriving in Connecticut last week, Becky took me out on 2 separate trail runs on the course itself. On our 10 miler day 2, I fell twice, bloodying my hand, and knew I was in for trouble at this race. I knew the chances of my finishing the race were slim. Becky and I were planning to run together, and my biggest fear after the couple of test runs we did was either slowing her race down, with my rookie trail running, or else hurting myself by running where I wasn't comfortable running, trying to keep up with her. I was terrified. 

But Becky had assembled a rock start crew from the Cultra patreons, and this thing was going to happen. Race day dawned with a weather forecast in the 90's for Friday.  This was some cause for concern.  My friend Ed Rudman, who signed up for crew for as long as I needed him, picked us up at 5:45 at Becky's house to bring us to the start. We stopped at Neil's donuts (OMG) for breakfast, and arrived at the start at about 7:15 - just long enough to get everything ready and head out. Art gave a nice pre-race briefing, we lined up, and off we went. 

DONUTS!

Ed and I pre-race

Art's pre-race briefing

Very quickly, (and according to plan), Becky and I were in the rear. Our plan was to go out conservatively, knowing there was rough terrain ahead. The early parts of the course were highly runnable on the flat and downhill sections, and we walked all of the ups. Our first couple miles were about a 16 minute mile pace, dipping into the 15's. 

Our pace sheet had us at 18's for the first few sections, so anything below that was gravy. I was starting to get comfortable with the terrain and into something like a groove when I hit a rock the wrong way and rolled my ankle pretty badly - just at mile 4. It hurt. A lot. Enough that I thought my race very well might be over before even getting to the first aid station. We tried some tentative walking and I could tell I hadn't broken anything, and so I eased back into jogging.  Although it was pretty angry, it started feeling a bit better. 

OK. Onward. 

I think it was right after the second crew point that Becky and I hit an impromptu trail angel gift. It was starting to get really hot and just as we entered the woods, we encountered a cooler full of ice along with a baggie full of peanut butter cup cookies. We were overjoyed. I filled my ice bandana with ice, which I ended up keeping on all throughout that hot day, where it hit 92 at its peak, and we ate one of the yummy treats. Feeling rejuvenated, we moved forward. 

We picked up George, our first pacer, at about mile 18.  He ran with Becky and I for a number of miles, but pretty quickly it was clear that Becky needed to run faster than I was running.  I told Becky she needed to go at her own pace and I was pleased to see that she ran on ahead. I was, in all honesty, much more comfortable running on my own, knowing that I wasn't slowing anyone down if I chose to walk a particular section that might, for a seasoned trail runner, be very runnable. Anywhere I had to power hike, I did so, and I was feeling good. 

Until the next ankle roll. 

This one was worse, and I went down, crying out and holding my ankle and rubbing it. George was with me at the time, and he helped me up. I gingerly took a few steps, and was limping pretty badly. To say I was not optimistic is an understatement, but we started moving forward again and my gait once again become moderately normal. At this point, however, I became extremely conservative in my estimate of what was "runnable". 

At one aid station, Ross Bielak assured me that the crew had enough pacers to pace Becky and I separately if need be... he even offered to jump in right then if I needed him. I was profoundly grateful. Knowing I had the support to go at my own pace was a game changer for my outlook, and I thought that perhaps there was a chance I could finish. Ross actually did jump in with me at the next aid station and just like that, I had my own pacer. 

Ross focused on ensuring we stayed on course, and making sure cars saw us on road sections, allowing me to just focus on moving forward. He told some amazing stories - his Leadville finish story was as good as it gets. There were a few sections in there that had some runnable parts, and I was happy. When joined the Cultra crew on Wednesday to talk about the CUT, Art had said to embrace every milestone. And right from the beginning, that is what I did. This was not so much a race for me of looking to the finish, as just getting to the next point and being grateful that I had successfully done so. 

At about mile 30, I had a section on my own again - it was about a 6 mile section and the first 2 miles were easy enough, but then I encountered some rock formations that were daunting, to say the least. These were towering cliffs and boulders - one with something like a tunnel through it, and in the early evening light the entire section was both awe inspiring and a little bit spooky. It was otherworldly. There were some very steep technical ups and downs, and I made my way gingerly through this beautiful foreign terrain. 

Big Rock!

I was just coming down a hilly scramble when I saw someone familiar running toward me. Sen!!! He had a big smile on his face, and I was never as glad to see anyone as I was to see him, when I had expected to be alone for the next several miles. Sen had paced me during the last 25 miles of my first 100 miler, and is extremely special to me. We made our way through the rugged terrain, chatting happily and just power hiking forward. 

Sen and I on top of a cliff

I believe it was shortly before I picked up Jillian that the thunderstorms started. The rain quickly became a true downpour, and we were pretty wet coming into the aid station. At first I thought I'd use my rain jacket, but after putting it on I quickly realized it would be way too hot, so I removed it and continued on in my singlet and shorts. It was at this aid station that Sen left me, and I picked up Jillian.

Jillian Ellefson had been featured in last year's CULTRA episode with Cherie Bilbie, on their inspiring finish. It is fair to say that she was one of the reasons I was there. She immediately started what would become an amazing night of care taking, by holding my hiking poles while we were on the road section, and ensuring that I, as the tired runner, was furthest from the cars. We started talking, and talked all night. 

The first section with Jillian took us to Rogers Orchard, where we made the first cut-off by about 30 minutes. This meant we had time to take it a bit easier on the highly technical climbs to come. We picked up my buddy Ed at Rogers, who would be joining for 2 stints. Those were some difficult but merry miles. They were also... very wet. The rain, that had started hours earlier, ended up continuing for a good chunk of the night, and at one point included thunder and lightening. 

The terrain was some of the most challenging on the course - this was the "Ragged Mountain" section, where in addition to extremely steep rocky highly technical climbs, you actually had to scramble down through rock formations on your ass. For these sections, Jillian would go first. She intentionally had not brought poles, knowing she would have to hold ours while we scooted down the steep rocks. I'd hand my poles to Jillian and I'd scoot; then Ed would hand his to me, and he would come through. I'd never experienced anything like this section. These were 40 minute miles. 

There were stories. There were bad jokes. What's said on the trail stays on the trail. 'Nuff said. It was an amazing night. 

Ed stayed for 2 sections, then Jillian paced me through until dawn, when she had to leave to go get her daughter.  There was a section of the nighttime running that was extremely difficult due to low visibility - we were essentially running through clouds, and it was hard to even see across the road.  At one point we passed Becky, who was being paced by Cherie. It was clear that Becky was hurting. I found out later she was having a horrible issue of bladder pain that made it excruciating to walk. When we arrived after the Castle Craig section, another brutal one, we found out that Becky had dropped. We felt awful for Becky, and this also led to a bit of a logistical challenge in that, instead of pacing me, Ross was now going to be driving Jillian to her car, so I needed to get to the next section on my own. The sun was just coming up, and the early terrain looked smooth, so I did not think this would be a problem. I moved smoothly and happily through the early dawn hour, proud of myself every time I successfully kept myself on trail. I was very optimistic about a possible finish. 

Until... I lost the trail. 

I saw a blue blaze, then nothing. 

I walked forward. 

Nothing. 

I walked sideways. 

Nothing. 

Walked back to the blaze and went to the side. 

Nothing. 

I just could not figure out where I was supposed to go. I went out to the road and turned on my phone for the first time in the race, texting the crew group that I was lost. I sent a picture of where I was on the map, and Cherie told me that the trail continued on the other side of the road. 

Somehow, I found the blue blaze on the other side, and let the group know I was found again. I lost the blaze again shortly thereafter. I could see on the navigation on my watch that the trail was to my right, but I just couldn't find the blazes. I made my way up a hill that was steep and rocky and difficult, fighting bushes and obstacles, and finally found the trail again. At this point I was pretty exhausted - every climb made my legs feel like jelly and I had to just stop and catch my breath and rest my legs to finish the climbs. I think I probably lost a good 30 minutes in that section, and I knew I was already fighting the 9pm cutoff at Bluff Head. It was, to say the least, discouraging. 

I was thrilled to pick up Ross again at the next aid station. At this point, even though they were only 5-6 miles apart, it was hours between aid stations. Our pace sheet had us doing 23 minute miles through all these sections, and assuming I did that, I had a 40 minute buffer on the cut-off, but every mile longer than that took minutes off the buffer. 

We saw Fred who ran with us for about 1/2 mile as we approached the next crew point; there was a Dunkin Donuts there and I put in a request for a cream filled donut, coffee with lots of cream and an OJ. I downed that in about 2 minutes, and we started moving again. 

Catching up with Fred

The next section actually had some very runnable terrain, including a road section. Although the first 2 miles were both 30 minute miles (14 minutes off the buffer), the last couple were under 20 minutes. As we swept into the aid station I saw my cousin Rebecca - I'd had no idea she would be there, and I started sobbing. I asked Cherie if she thought I had any chance of making the cutoff and she said yes, if I just kept moving forward the way I was moving. I picked up Carina as a pacer, and off we went.

Unfortunately, the terrain got highly technical again, and it appeared that the 23 minute miles were a thing of the past. The optimism at the last aid station was pretty quickly replaced by the reality of the math. It became clear that the cut-off was almost certainly unattainable. I thought very hard about dropping at mile 73, and Carina said "this would be a really boring place to tap out. If you wait until the next one, you get a great number, and really good views". I decided to keep moving, and we left the aid station at 73 miles. 

The first mile of the next section wasn't too bad, although it was probably still a 30 minute miles. But then we hit the rock field again, and.... I was done. 

Even the flat sections were taking me almost 30 minutes, and what was in front of us was not flat. It was steep, with small jagged rocks just everywhere. Every step hurt. Worse, I'd started to trip and stumble. Bothersome and frustrating on the flat sections, but potentially extremely dangerous on the sections that were essentially next to a cliff. I told Carina I was out at the next aid station. Which was an agonizing 4 miles in front of us. We made our way slowly and painfully through that section, which was probably the longest 4 miles of my life. At the top of the worst climb, we were, as Carina had promised, rewarded by a staggering view.  And another challenging down.

As I trudged into Guidas, I heard cheering.  Cherie, Ross, George and Ed were all there to meet me.  Cheering, even though I was dropping.  Because every one of them knew just how hard won these miles were.

I had no business signing up for this race.  And yet... terrified, tripping, limping, hiking and scrambling, I'd made my way 77.7 miles across what some believe is the toughest trail race in New England.  

No - it wasn't 112 miles.  I didn't get to ride the elevator or dip my feet into the sound.

That... is for next year.  

After I've had a chance to do the training this race deserves.

For me, this is a DNF to celebrate.  I am celebrating starting this race, and getting to where I got, and seeing just what a beautiful, beautiful sport I've been missing out on by just sticking to roads.  There is a voice whispering in my ear that maybe... if I actually get out there and tell that timid voice to fuck off, maybe I too can spend a few miles skimming confidently over the rocks, eyeing a steep climb with something like anticipation by what I know will reward me at the top.  

I can't end this without saying that it would have been literally impossible to get where I got without the incredible outpouring of support from Team Evil Power.  Praying I don't miss anyone as I thank, in no particular order, Ed, Sen, Fred, Art, Becky and Brendan Burke, Becca Manion, Celeste Fong, Jillian, Cherie, Reagan, Ross, George, and Carina.  I am humbled by your generosity.  

6 Jours De France - 2023

 

6 Day Races are monsters.  You only do them for a few reasons:

1. You have never done one before and so you are blissfully ignorant of the pain you are about to endure
2. You have some notion that a 6 day race is just a 1 day race times 6
3. You HAVE done one before, but, like childbirth, you forgot what it was really like
4. You really really hate yourself.

I’m not sure what my motivation was – probably 3 or 4, but on April 15^th, I dove headfirst into my 4^th 6-day race.

I’ve come to believe that it is not remotely surprising that my debut 6-day was my best performance.  This is related to number 1 above – I went into that race with a goal, and had a solid crew who helped me reach my goals.  I battled the pain, the fatigue, the sleep dep, and like a robot did what my crew told me to do to get what, in retrospect, was a pretty big number (453).

Of course – having done it once, you figure… next time, I can do better.

Race number 2 was 3 Days at the Fair in New Jersey.  I went in looking for 500 and a women’s American Record.  I PR’d my 100 mile time, and my 72 hour result in that race, but blew up spectacularly on the end of the day 3, developing the dreaded “lean”.    I came home humbled, having painfully achieved 385.  Still got the women’s win – but the number was less than impressive.

Race number 3 was back at ATY.  Again, I went int it with a high goal – again aiming for 500.  Got 100+ on day 1, and had a solid early race – steady first couple of days, then battled plantar fasciitis for the last couple of days to the extent that I was changing footwear Every.  Single.  Lap. 

Still – ended up with almost 417, and the women’s win.

Given the results of my last 2 races, I went into this race, #4 with smaller goals.  I just wanted to PR – which meant anything over 453.  Since going over 100 miles each day on day 1 of races 2 and 3 had gotten me WORSE results rather than better, I decided to go back to my pacing strategy for race number 1, which had been sustainable and, I thought, reasonable – it left me in good enough shape for the last 3 days to be pretty solid.  My plan was 95, 76, and then 4 days of 72’s, for a PR of 459.

Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face.

The wildcard in this was my feet.  They’ve been my weak point for the past year or so.  It took months to move past the acute PF from the previous 6-day race, but the PF showed up again in an ugly way in September, knocking me out of Spartathlon at a mere 22 miles.  PF had improved since, then, but after my 48 hour at ATY this past New Year’s, I developed what I believe was a case of acute extensor tendonitis that made dorsiflexion extremely painful.  I had been able to successfully race at Jackpot 48 a month and a half earlier (though stopped at hour 34 due to high winds), but still – 6 days was a lot longer than 34 hours.

I brought 4 pairs of shoes, 2 pairs of inserts, cloth tape, and Voltaren in order to be prepared to deal with various foot issues. 

Bob Hearn was also signed up for this race.  Our friend Steve Troxel had originally been signed up as well, but withdrew when he got accepted to Western States.  Bob and I planned to meet a couple of days prior to the race and do a little sightseeing, then share a bungalow at the site.

I arrived on Wednesday April 12, mid-day, and met Bob at the airport where we picked up our car rental and headed to St. Tropez for a night.  We checked out the lovely beach, where I collected a handful of beach glass, had a nice French dinner, and then did some sightseeing the next morning before heading to Vallon Pont d’Arc.  This was the location of the race, and it was about a 3 -4 hour drive from where we were.   We had a nice lunch en route, and at the restaurant I saw that we were just ½ mile away from the historic ruins of a fort.  We decided to take a side trip to just check it out. 

Bob on the beach in St. Tropez

My sea glass collection

St. Tropez by the beach

Lesson #1.  Never trust Google Maps in a different country.  We followed the directions toward the site, and got more and more concerned as the road turned from road into off-road into something I’m not sure how to describe.  We wondered whether we should continue when we saw that there was no pavement, but bravely (stupidly) soldiered on.  Bob was driving, so he didn’t have the perspective that I had – of looking at essentially the cliff that dropped below us on my right.  The road was only wide enough for one vehicle, and at some point we saw that we had actually PASSED the site we were going to see.  Google was telling us to make a U-turn, but that was pretty impossible at that juncture.  We continued another 5 minutes or so to the top of someone’s driveway where there was just enough room to turn around.

Bob stopping to catch a photo as we drove back.  Note road width.

Driving back was somewhat less hair raising since we knew we could at least traverse the road back to the start.  As we got close to where the pavement had originally ended, we saw a sign to the right that was pointing to the ruins we were seeking, along with a charming little staircase.  It turned out there was even a little parking area there that we had missed on the way in.  We parked the car and started to climb, thinking it would be just ahead.

The climb was actually steep , strenuous and somewhat technical, and made all the more exciting by what I would guess were about 70 mph winds whipping us toward the edge of what was essentially a cliff.  We got up to the site of the ruins and braced ourselves against the winds.  We took some hard won pictures (and a video of the howling wind) before heading back to the car.  It was probably the most exciting part of the trip – but used up a good hour of our afternoon.  We got back in the car to head on to the race site, since we wanted to get there in time for dinner.  We made one more stop at Aix en Provence at a sports store to buy race belts and sleeping bags, and continued on.

Part of the climb

The ruins of the Fort Freinet

We arrived at the campsite at about dinnertime where we ran into Richard McChesney and his crew.  We chatted for a few moments before heading to check in, and were a bit dismayed to find that there had been a miscommunication regarding the bungalow Bob had reserved.  It was occupied for the night, and we wouldn’t be able to get into it until morning.  Rather than go through the hassle of getting settled into a different bungalow for just one night with a roommate that was nowhere to be found, we decided to just book a room nearby, and head there after dinner.  We dined at a restaurant Bob had gone to the previous year, and then headed to our hotel.

The hotel was beautiful, located about ½ mile walk away from the arches that the area was known for.  Our check-in was uneventful, and I slept well and long.  The next morning, I fumbled my way through an unfamiliar French continental breakfast routine, the highlight of which was soft boiling my own egg in this nifty little machine that had color coded egg holders for all the folks boiling eggs at one time.  Bob was not quite as charmed by this contraption as I was, as when he had asked the proprietor the night prior as to whether there would be eggs at the breakfast, he was envisioning a nice plate of scrambled.

After breakfast we headed over to spend time viewing the magnificent arch.  This was one of only 2 known natural bridges to cross a river, and it was truly impressive.  We took lots of pictures, then headed back over to the race site for preparations.

The Arch of Vallon-Pont-d'Arc

Bob had reserved Bungalow #32, which had the unique advantage of being the only bungalow that racers would pass by 2 times on every lap – both on an out and a back, and also the only one right on the course.  We had one other roommate – a Spaniard named Jose.  We quickly learned that our minimal grasp of American Spanish helped us not one iota in speaking with Jose.  Jose’s answer to our lack of understanding was to speak faster. 

We went to the local market where I bought a few bins for my clothes and got everything arranged for easy access during the race.  We headed into the nearby town one more time to take advantage of French restaurants before being held slave to the course for the next 6 days.

All the carbs.  The cereal had real chocolate in it.

This brioche bread was da bomb

Europe knows how to do chips.  Blue Cheese and Curry flavored.

I slept relatively late on Saturday morning, but even with a late wake-up, we still had a bit of time to kill as the race didn’t start until 2pm.  Unfortunately, the race briefing was at 11, so we couldn’t even take advantage of all of the morning time with any sort of an outing.  We were grateful that they held a separate English briefing for the 3 of us from the states, plus the Brits and the New Zealander.  In addition to Bob and I, there was Ivo Majetic (world record holder for modern time 6-day walking), Sandra and Richard Brown, Kathy Crilley, Adharanand Finn from the UK, and Richard McChesney from New Zealand.

Soon enough, it was time to start.  We lined up and shuffled around nervously, and just like that, it was “go” time.

Starting a 6 day race is daunting at best.  You really need to not think about the fact that you will be out there for an unfathomably long time.  I just tell myself I’m going to run for a couple of hours.  Day 1 was the most crowded, as in addition to the 6 day racers, the course included the 24 and 48 hour folks. 

I approached the first day with a new strategy – which was, I couldn’t POSSIBLY go too slow.  I picked a few walk spots early on, as I’ve learned that this typically leads to stronger running later.  It also helps to avoid the repetitive motion issues of constant running, and gives me a sense of control of my pacing.  My early laps were all in the mid 11’s and felt smooth and easy.

20 miles in, I was feeling strong and confident, and optimistic that maybe I could eek out my best 6 day yet.  Of course, this is never anything you should be thinking on day 1 – but it was a testament to how good my body felt at that point.

Day 1 got me to my planned mileage of 95, and included some sleep time after mile 80 or so.  I went into Day 2 feeling strong and cautiously optimistic.

My mileage goal for day 2 was 76 miles – but some time during the middle of day 2, my plantar fasciitis started to act up.  I was getting uncomfortable cramping in the arches of my foot, along with some stabbing pains that threatened to possibly derail my progress. 

Having been taken out of Spartathlon by an acute PF issue at mile 23, I had come prepared for this.  I ducked into the bungalow and used the PF taping technique that allows me to continue to run and actually do some rehabbing of the issue at the same time.

By the end of day 1 and into probably day 3 or so, I was 1^st woman, and occasionally hanging out at 2^nd overall, behind Bob.  The next woman behind me was a woman named Francoise Benet, who was running strong. 

Heading back out on to the course with the tape, the PF improved pretty quickly.  However, hours later, I started feeling pain out the outside of my right knee (the same side where the foot was taped).  My theory is that although the tape helps the PF, it also affects my gait in such a way that puts added stress on that knee.  At 182 miles, I had to take some significant time off course because running had become too painful.  I decided to just rest for a few hours to see if things improved.

I took some ibuprofen, elevated the feet and went to sleep for a couple of hours.  When I woke up, I put on a pair of shoes I hadn’t yet worn, higher drop Hokas, and to my amazement, my run was back and the knee was manageable. 

Days 1 and 2, the weather was close to perfect.  The daytime highs were about 65, and the sky was sunny with big puffy clouds.  I’d put the lows in the low 50’s to high 40’s.  The sun was intense, but on those first couple of days, it was balanced by some pretty strong and steady winds – sometimes up to about 20 mph.  Day 3, the daytime started to warm up a bit, and by mid-day it was distinctly uncomfortable.

Day 3 saw steady running and walking, but also steady erosion of the lead that I had on the second woman. Every time she passed me, her run looked incredibly strong, and based on the lap times I saw, she was clearly running faster than me when she was moving.  I started to get more and more stressed, seeing the lead slip steadily away from me.  At some point that day, I made a conscious decision to let my focus on maintaining the lead go, and just focus on having as much fun as it is possible to have when you are running for 6 days.  I asked myself “what would I do if I were running for fun instead of to win”?

Well.  Have a massage, for 1.  Get some ice cream.  Of course.  Take pictures.  Talk to people.

And this is what I did.

Ivo's wife Laura was a godsend.

I saw Laura – Ivo’s wife – and told her of my new approach, while I flopped down happily on the ground, inordinately pleased with myself.  She quickly agreed to help me with my plan and offered to check with the campground spa as to whether I could get in for a massage that day.  I did an easy couple of laps in an entirely different headspace until she got back to me and said that they didn’t have any room until the next day (which she booked on my behalf).  However, she offered to give me a massage herself AND make me a salad.

Bliss.

Laura got a cot set up in the shade, and it was heaven to just lie there face down as she worked some magic on my legs and feet.  Afterwards, I ran another couple of easy laps while she made me a gigantic salad with all of the good things – tuna, cheese, lettuce, nuts, apples…  the best thing about it was that it wasn’t the pure “carb” diet that tends to make up race food.

This physical and mental break gave me an enormous mood boost, and I headed back out on the course a new woman.  My run felt strong again, and I had the newfound knowledge that I just needed to focus on my OWN run – it was all I could control – and I needed to not be driven by what anyone else was doing.

The rest of the race, largely, was happy, based on that mindset turnaround – although there was still plenty of drama and pain to come.

This was the first race I’ve ever been to where most of the racers did not speak my language.  The first few days were actually pretty lonely, as Bob was flying and didn’t have time for conversation.  Our times in the bungalow at that point were not intersecting, and he was dialed in to his pace plan.  However, there were a few runners on the course who would reach out and say a few words… “comment ca va?”  And I learned to answer “Bien.  Et toi?”.  Bernard was consistently supportive, encouraging “allez Amy” every time I saw him.  Valerie and I would exchange nods and stilted conversation.  I’d always say hi to Jose, our Spanish roommate.  Also, the timer, Sebastien, was extremely supportive - he actually spoke English very well, and and provided a lot of clarity on what was going on.  Sebastien reminded me of Mike Melton with the exception that I never saw him sleeping.

My new friend Sebastien

 At one point in time I put out a plea on Facebook to ask anyone who spoke English to call me.  I got calls from a few folks, including Ed Rudman, Diana Obermeyer and Ray K.  These were wonderful, giving me a respite from being in my own head.  The race also had a cool feature whereby spectators could send written messages.  These were delivered to the racers by volunteers, like mail, as you passed through the timing tent.  I heard from Deb Sexton first, then Marie Boyd and Chris Bellevie.  All of those messages and calls put a smile on my face.

Later in the race, I got to spend a bit of time talking to Adharanand Finn.  I recognized Finn because a few years ago my father had gotten me a book Finn had authored, called “The Rise of the Ultra Runners” (a great read, if you haven’t read it!)  This was Finn’s first multi-day and he killed it with close to 500K.  He was great fun to chat with, and his wife Etta was lovely.  She was on course taking pictures to record Finn’s journey. 

Read this if you get a chance!

I also want to say a quick note about the race food.  Which is, this race actually had designated meal times, where racers gathered in one spot to eat together.  Although I had initially been shocked at the idea of taking time off the course, very quickly these meals became something to look forward to.  The food was plentiful and tasty (unless you were vegan or vegetarian, which I am not).  Casseroles loaded with meat and cheese, lasagna, cheesy meaty potatoes, and sausages are some of the examples of the meals.  Despite the dense calorie load (or likely because of it), my pace always improved shortly after a meal. 

The aid station food was also fabulous.  I’d highly recommend to all US race directors that brie and baguettes be served, along with various charcuterie meats.  These salty fat and proteins shots were great at providing energy boosts.  There was also real orange juice, along with sparkling water (a favorite of mine, but rarely found at US venues).

I finished day 3 with close to 60 miles.  Unfortunately, day 4 saw another resurgence of my knee issues, and I found myself doing mostly walking. .  Day 4 did mark the start of what was a wonderful 2 day tradition – which was, homemade cheese omelets in chez Bob and Amy with Finn and Etta as breakfast guests.  In my newfound mental state where joy was more important that running every last minute, on the morning of day 4 I told Bob I would make him a wonderful breakfast, and as soon as the camp store opened, Laura went and got us cheese, eggs, and an onion.  I fried up the onion and made an enormous cheese omelet and we invited Adharanand, Etta, and Laura over to join us.  We had brioche bread and jam with the omelets, and for 15 minutes we enjoyed every comfort of civilization.

Now, for some bizarre reason, when I lost 1^st place, I had thought that it would be pretty easy to maintain 2^nd place.  It didn’t really occur to me that there were still THREE DAYS left in the race – and that anything could happen.  Ultra brain.  

With my low mileage day on day 4 (42.88 – the lowest of the race) due to the walking and knee pain, I woke up from one of my naps to see not 1, but 2 women who were close on my tail. 

Fuck.

It quickly became clear to me that walking was not going to cut it.  (Or, in the memorable words of Bill Shultz in my 72 hour debut at ATY, “25 minute miles are NOT GOING TO CUT IT!”). 

Clearly, I had to pick up my game if I wanted any chance at the podium.

So it was that I found myself truly “racing” the last 48 hours of this race.  Which is to say, giving it my all out effort, being on the course whenever I could be out there, and running it as fast as I was able to maintain without blowing up.

Now, you might say, it’s a race – and aren’t you supposed to be doing that the WHOLE TIME?  But in all honesty, there are so many ups and downs in a 6 day, and motivation comes and goes so much that, well, no.  You absolutely aren’t racing the whole time.  Sometimes you are doing other important things, like…  learning French, by doing Duolingo lessons on your phone.  Or whateverthefuck you have to do to keep your mind off of the fact that you have been out here for DAYS already, and you still have DAYS to go.

But – now it is only 48 hours to go and I’m running my little heart out, and employing every tool in my toolbox.  One of which is to head to the med tent and have them apply KT tape to my knee.  Why it had not occurred to me earlier to get some type of physical intervention for this issue is beyond me – but these are the things that slip your mind when you have been running for days.  The first time I went to the med tent, the med guy tried to put on the tape, but it didn’t stick due to lotion on my legs.  He looked at me with a look that just said  “Really?”   Probably 6 hours later, I had gotten myself to the ladies room and scrubbed my legs so the tape would adhere, and he applied it then.

Suddenly, my knee was manageable again.  This was critical to my racing in the last 48 hours.

Sleep, speed and motivation were the other issues I needed to handle during the last 48 hours, and the tools at my disposal were a careful blending of sleep, caffeine intake, and really loud music. 

I couldn’t rely on coffee alone to keep me up – but jolt of caffeine in combination a 20 minute power nap was a powerful thing, and generally got me a solid couple of hours of running before I crashed.  The middle of the night was hard for the sleepies, so I went to my loudest, grungiest playlist, cranked to 11, to keep me moving.

There was a special couple of hours on night 5 where I was completely in the zone.  It felt like it was just me, running a singular perfect run.  The music was pulsing and, at my steady 15 minute miles, I felt like I was flying… run the flats and downs, walk the ups, run, walk, and when a song with a great beat came on (there were lots), the walks were strong, with purpose, arms swinging.  Sometimes I’d sing.  Loudly.  I was very happy.

Thus it was that day 5 handed me 60.45 miles versus the almost 43 of day 4, and I was feeling strong and steady. 

And at 2pm on Thursday, race day 6 dawned.  It was that magic time of the race where the end is in sight, and you are almost (ALMOST) not wanting it to end.

I kept on keeping on, all afternoon of Day 6.  We had some exciting entertainment promised that evening – Karaoke!  All of the runners were asked if they wanted to participate, and if so, which song they were going to sing.  Laura Majetic proposed that she and I do a duet, and I was looking forward to it.  (Another magical aspect of this race – most nights, during and after the dinner meal there was live music playing on a stage by where we dined.  Even if you  didn’t hang out and watch the bands, which, of course, you couldn’t do if you were racing, you could hear the music all the way across the course).

After what seemed like too many hours to wait, it was finally dinner and karaoke time.  Bob was queued up first, and his song was (perfection), Cake’s “The Distance”.   He started with a jaunty swagger and it only got better – he was dancing and chanting the words and the crowd was going wild.  I videoed the entire thing for him to send to Liz. 

Laura and I were up next, and we did a harmonized version of the Indigo Girls’ “Closer to Fine”.  Going back and listening to the recording, I can hear that I’m a bit off key – my voice took a bit of a beating from 5 days of mouth breathing – but all and all, considering we hadn’t ever practiced singing together, thanks to Laura’s gift of harmonizing, we pulled it off and it wasn’t half bad.  And it was LOADS of fun.

I may have lost a mile or 2 to the karaoke, but it was worth every lost minute by the joy it brought me in anticipation, during, and after.

The end of karaoke brought us to sunset and the beginning of the last night – always a special time.  At this point in the race, Francoise was probably less than 10K ahead of me and Edith was about 20K behind.  I felt relatively confident in my ability to hold steady in 2^nd place to the end.  Darkness fell, and I dug in.  The hours from 8-11 were often highly productive in that runners weren’t completely exhausted yet from a sleep perspective, and the daytime temperature had cooled down so that it was comfortable but not too cold.  In previous nights, both Francoise and Edith had gone to bed not long after 11.  Edith, I’d observed, had longer periods of sleep, while Francoise seemed to get by on 4 hours or less. 

At this point, my biggest focus was on not losing second place.  I had already resigned myself that winning was not likely, but Edith, in 3^rd place, still had a stronger run pace than mine, so I just needed to stay strong enough to not let her overtake me.

By 11:00, neither one of them was sleeping yet, although the course was getting more deserted.  I was dismayed to find that although it felt strong, my run was abysmally slow.  I felt my best bet was to get off the course and take a 20 minute power nap, have some caffeine, and get back out there and power through.  I knew I’d lose a couple of laps to the other women with the nap, but I felt that I needed the respite to regain strength to run again.

The nap did wonders – I had taken ibuprofen and had some caffeine before I went to sleep, so the 20 minute rest with my feet up paid off in spades.  I got out there and cranked my music as high as it would go and I rode the wave.

I noticed on my first post-nap lap that Francoise had gone to bed, although Edith had not.  I just stuck to my forever pace, making sure not to go so fast that I’d burn out.  One lap, two laps, three laps, and then… somehow, I was back up to first woman on the leaderboard. 

I was still worried about Edith – she hadn’t gone to sleep yet and there was every chance she could be planning on staying up for as much of the night as she was able.  Certainly I would have had I been in her position.  But, there was nothing I could do about her choices – all I could do was keep moving forward, which is what I did.  And, at some point in the wee hours of the morning, Edith went to bed as well, and I was just banking miles.

All too early, I saw that Francoise was back out on the course and running fast.  She was clocking laps at a steady 10:30 pace, while I was bringing them in closer to 12 or 13 minutes.  Despite my 10K lead, you didn’t have to be a math major to know that I either needed to speed up, or else at some point in the next 13 hours she was going to pass me…  it was just a question of when.

I tried one last desperate measure of another shot of caffeine to see if it would get me moving any faster.  It did, marginally, but at a cost.  Whether it was the caffeine, or the all out effort I’d been exerting for the past 36 hours or so, all of a sudden I needed the restroom pretty much every lap.  Additionally, every time I stopped moving, I felt that awful heart pounding dizziness you get when you realize you’ve had one too many cups of coffee (or, say, a Monster energy drink on top of 4 cups of coffee).  I was feeling physically pretty strung out.

At some point in the wee hours of the morning, the gas just ran out.  I stumbled into the bungalow and posted something on Facebook about not being able to sustain the pace, and crashed for another 20 minutes in an anesthesia-like stupor.  I knew, at that point, the lead was gone – and I was OK with it.  I really felt I had thrown everything I had at it, and at the end of the day, Francoise had more in the tank than I did. 

And that’s all you can do.

When I got back out there after that second power nap, I dialed back the pace to something that was once again sustainable, and just focused on maintaining.  I was tired, happy, and content.  Although there were probably still 10 hours left in the race, effectively the places had been determined, assuming we all kept moving. 

Edith woke up in the early hours of the morning, and hit the course like a bat out of hell.  Her laps looked astoundingly strong – 9:30 – 10 minute pace.  However, she was 30 laps behind me, and although I had an uncomfortable couple of laps thinking 2^nd place was in jeopardy, I did the math and it didn’t add up.  As long as I just kept moving, it was incredibly unlikely she’d pass me. 

Morning dawned, and for the first time in the race, it was foggy and misty.  Every day prior had been bright sun.  The fog lent a somber air of mystery and solemnity to the course but kept it blissfully cool. 

In all of the other 6 day races I’ve been in, the start and end time was 9am, so sunrise meant there were only a few hours left.  This one didn’t end until 2pm, which seemed impossibly far away.

Sometime around 10, I happened upon Francoise.  We were both, by this point, walking.  She came up to me and we hugged, and then she put her arm around me and we walked together.  With 4 hours left, the race was, effectively, done.  Despite the language barrier, and largely thanks to Francoise’s limited English with the help of Google translate, we were able to learn an amazing amount about each other on those very special laps.  I knew she was close to my age, and a grandmother.  We talked about work, and the race, and running, and some other nonconsequential things.  At some point I realized we were really lollygagging, and I suggested we run.  As I ran with her, I saw that one of the reasons she had been such a natural in this format is because her run was super slow and easy.  She had a short, light cadence, with a moving speed of probably a 13 minute mile, which, at that point, was lightning fast – however, it was slower than my run speed when I ran – which was probably why it had been more sustainable.  She is a multi-day natural, for sure.

Amy & Francoise - last day - photo courtesy of Edith Doyen

Running!  Photo courtesy of Edith Doyen

Francoise and her husband

I met her husband during those laps, and he took a picture of us.  At one point, we also saw Edith, and she took a picture of the 3 of us. 

Top 3 - photo courtesy of Edith Doyen

After a few laps with Francoise, I broke off and hopped into my bungalow for a snack, and headed back out walking again.  My knee was really nagging me – it was taped, but angry – and both running and walking were pretty uncomfortable.  At that point, I was still in 4^th place overall – Patrick Ruiz (who had run in solid 2^nd place for days, but had fallen back to 5^th) was behind me by 1-2 laps – however, his walk was faster than mine.  At one point, he stopped to talk to me and told me that he wasn’t going to pass me – that he wanted me to keep 4^th place.  Which was super sweet of him – but I told him he should run his own race.

2 hours prior to finish, he and I were pretty even, and he came up with a plan to stay together, and finish exactly together.  He wanted to finish with another runner, Christian, who had ALSO been second place male for a while, but was now 2 laps behind us – so at some point not too far from the end, Patrick and I just went and hung out on the porch of his bungalow, waiting for Christian to catch up. 

Some costumed runners

These last couple of hours on the course were really nothing about racing, and all about bonding.  There was an air of celebration and camaraderie as we approached the finish.  A few runners were still running strong – but most of us were done, and just doing celebration laps.  As Christian finished his catch-up laps, Patrick and I joined him, and we headed out for the last full lap.  Herve and a few other runners were running in costume, and we did some selfies with them as we ambled around.  We passed the timing mat, and then continued on to finish our partial lap.  A few hundred meters into the lap, we stopped and lined up our ankle chips exactly together, so when you look at the clock finish, you will see me, Patrick and Christian – overall 4,5 and 6, with the exact same mileage.  We’d officially clocked 632.55 km – or about 393 miles.

Amy, Patrick and Christian at finish

And the race was over.

There were tears.

There were hugs.

There was palpable joy and shared celebration.

It really didn’t matter how many laps anyone had done individually because we had all been out there pushing ourselves to do our best. 

Bob running his victory lap

And so it was that my 4^th 6-day race – second to last in terms of overall miles – was probably both the most exciting, as well as the most well executed (barring my first).  The fact that I was (significantly) stronger on days 5 and 6 than day 4 spoke to me about how much these events rely on dealing with whatever is thrown at you, with the best strategy you can come up with, and moving forward.

My splits were as follows:

Day 1 – 95.6 miles (plan on target)

Day 2 – 72.4 (plan close to target)

Day 3 – 58.34 miles (falling off cliff)

Day 4 – 42.88 miles – pretty much all walking (walking on the floor of the chasm into which I’d fallen)

Day 5 – 60.45 miles (Better!)

Day 6 – 63.41 miles (Whoa!  Not too shabby for a day 6).

OK – so – a ways off plan – but not a bad comeback. 

I am… quietly happy.  For a while, those little voices are held at bay… the ones that say “you are not enough.”  Like the fiery bird tattooed on my right shoulder blade, I have passed again through the flames and have come through a raw, new thing. 

Rebirth is a gift.  It is up to me to figure out what to do with it.

Amy & Bob - he with his 1st place and I with my second.

Amy & Bob with Sandra and Richard Brown