I certainly went into this race knowing that failure was a
possibility. I am not a fast
runner. My strength lies in going out slow
and not slowing down as much as others. Almost
without exception, every race I’ve ever run, I’ve started out DFL. So it goes without saying that a 153 mile race
with aggressive early cut-offs every aid station (2-4 miles apart) with
marathon cut-off at 4:45 and 50 mile cut-off at 9:30 will not be a recipe for a
successful race for me.
I at least had the knowledge that I COULD do it… because I
previously had. I did this race 2 years
ago and was even more worried then than now about the early cutoffs. However, somewhere, that day, I found speed I
didn’t know I had, breezing through the marathon point at 4:11, and the 50 mile
point at about 8:42. I paid a cost,
however, getting very nauseated and faint between miles 50 and 62. I had been afraid at that point I wouldn’t be
able to finish. Because of that
experience, I came into this race with a more conservative strategy, aiming to
hit marathon with only 20 or so minutes to spare, and hoping to get to 50 at
around 9 hours 15 or 20 minutes.
I’d also like to add that I came into the race strong and
well rested, with weeks of solid hill practice behind me, good sleep, and a
fast marathon for speedwork about 4 weeks out.
I was, in short, cautious, but confident.
I had a great crew.
Dave Oakley, who had previously crewed me at 3DATF during the horrific
lean experience was my lead, and Rachel Belmont, a young fast 24 hour runner
fresh off of a volcano stage race adventure, was his partner. I trusted them implicitly and was happy to
have them there.
My biggest concern, really, going into the race, was how my
gut would behave. I’ve had some issues
over the past couple of years with Irritable Bowel Syndrome, resulting in
emergency trips to the bushes. As the
first 15 miles or so of the race was essentially through the city, I was
terrified of needing a bathroom and not having one available. I was also worried about losing the precious
minutes, should I need to duck off the course.
I gambled, and decided to take an Immodium 30 minutes prior to the start
of the race, with the thought that at least it might get me to 50 miles, and
after that, I’d have more leeway because the cut-offs got more generous.
The run started off uneventfully. I was far less nervous than the last time, so
was able to enjoy running from the Acropolis down to the streets of Athens. I was pretty thrilled with how bouncy my legs
felt and the ease of running. I hit the
first aid station without any issue with time thanks to the downhill
start.
I was far less thrilled with miles 3 through 5, which had
far more uphill than I remembered, forcing me out of my “easy” zone and into
some huffing and puffing to maintain pace.
To just clarify the degree of my concern about cut-offs, on
my normal “regular pace” 26 mile training run, generally my first mile is
probably an 11:30, the second might also be, and it is probably not until mile
6 or 7 that I start dipping into the 10’s.
Although I can finish with an average pace of 10:30-10:40 comfortably,
that is all after warming up for 15 miles and negative splitting. For this race, I had to pretty much aim for
an average 10 minute mile pace for the first 15 miles, and then keep it to 10:30
til marathon, and then to 11 for 50 miles.
Very outside my comfort zone.
Still – I hit 5 with no issues and the course seemed to
level off and even throw in some downhill.
At one point I caught up with Steve Troxel, who I believe had a similar
pace plan as me, and we talked about our happiness with our current pacing.
I hit 15 miles with a 10 minute mile pace average, which really
made me relieved. I was moderately alone
on the course with runners in sight in front of me and behind, but none right
in my zone. It was lonelier than my last
Spartathlon but allowed me to really run my own race without feeling
pulled.
I enjoyed the scenery immensely this time – the coast was
stunningly beautiful and blue off to the left, and there were occasional
ruins.
Somewhat prior to marathon, I started feeling uncomfortable
in a few ways. First, it was getting
hot. Despite the forecast of cooler than
usual ambient temperatures, it felt pretty warm and dry, as there was not a
cloud in the sky and the sun was brutal.
Secondly, I was getting concerned about my gut. I began to think that the Immodium had been a
bad idea. I was starting to experience a
dull ache in my belly as well as feeling uncomfortably bloated. I’d already pulled off into the bushes once,
despite the fact that the Immodium was supposed to prevent that. Instead of preventing, it was just making
things difficult.
With the full sun overhead, cooling became an issue. Any aid station that had ice, I grabbed some
and stuffed my hat and bra. I needed to
fill my ice bandana, which I had worn proactively around my neck, but didn’t
want to take the time, so I texted my crew to have it ready for me at the first
point they could meet me.
When my watch said 26.2, the marathon aid station was
nowhere to be found. 26.3. 26.4.
26.5. 26.6. 26.7.
It finally showed up and I clocked the distance at about 26.88. This was .68 miles later than I was
expecting. Which, at a 10:45 minute
pace, translates into over 7 minutes. So, instead of my goal time of 4:25-4:30, I
was looking at 4:36 with only 9 minutes of cut-off. This.
Was. Bad.
I bolted out of the station and caught up with Steve, who
confirmed my distance (he’d actually clocked it at 27 miles) but who reassured
me that based on his watch we were on pace.
And yes – according to the pace per mile I’d been running, we were… but
not according to the mileage. What neither
of us knew at that point was that a detour had been added to the race early on,
but that none of the cut-off times had been changed.
This immediately changed my mental game from confidence to
something close to panic. I had really
been counting on a 15-20 minute buffer, so to only have it down to 9 was
terrifying and disheartening. I texted
my crew to have my ice bandana ready, as well as some Gas-x and a popsicle. They were a well oiled machine as I rolled in
and out, and the cooling immediately helped.
Until the ice bandana ice was melted and the fabric dried,
and I started to get hot. And my miles
slowed down. Although I felt like I was
keeping the same pace, my watch was showing me miles in the 11’s, and one uphill
mile in the 12’s.
More panic.
Shortly past one aid station I saw Will Thomas who said “What
the hell was up at that aid station? I
just got through with 30 seconds to spare!”
He sprinted ahead of me and started making up time, and got far enough ahead
that I no longer saw him.
At aid station 17, I made the cut-off with 2 minutes to
spare.
2 minutes. I still
had over 12 miles to go to get to 50, where things would ease up.
There was a little wall right past the aid station, where I
sat down in despair. I wasn’t going to
make it.
I got up again. If I
wasn’t going to make it, I was at least damn well going to try to get to the
next aid station. I started moving again
and called Dave. “I’m not going to make
the cutoff”.
He reassured me that I had plenty of time to make it to 50.
I told him it wasn’t 50 I was worried about – it was the
next aid station. He hadn’t been aware
that EVERY aid station had a cut-off. He
reassured me, and I started moving. But,
with despair in my heart, I was not sprinting.
I didn’t have sprint in me. Besides
of which, the gut acted up and I needed another stop. It was over and I knew it was over and I was
just mad and sad with just a little bit of relief (I hate that) that I could
stop being uncomfortable soon because that bus was waiting for me.
On our way to CP 18, I saw Steve, walking. I said “we’re not going to make it”, and I
walked with him a little bit. He was
cursing and horribly sad. He had started
cramping up and it blew that section for him.
I started jogging again, but there was zero power and zero spirit in
it. I hit aid station 18 just 3 minutes
past cut-off, where they told me “you can’t go on.”
Yeah. I know.
They asked for my bib, my chip, my GPS locater. I handed them all over. There was a little cadre of us – 5 of us
missed the cutoff at CP18. We were listless
and angry and a couple of the runners were shocked. They appeared to not have the foreknowledge I
had.
We headed for the bus and took our seats.
The bus. Let me tell
you what is NOT on the Bus Of Shame.
There is no water or food for sad and hurting runners who have been
running for 41 miles. There are no
babywipes or towels or anything to make you feel better about the shitty
situation in which you find yourself.
There are just other sad runners, staring out the window with dazed looks
on their faces.
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| A view from the bus |
We drove on to the next aid station to wait for the next crew
of DNFs, where some of us got off the bus to scrounge for food and water. I am profoundly grateful that I had crew, so
I could text them to meet us at 50 miles so we could get off the fucking bus
and at least get some sympathy, love, and dry clothing.
Steve and I met Dave and Rachel at 50 and had a sad reunion
of sorts. We decided to hang out there
and wait for the American runners who still hadn’t passed through yet…. Nathan, Tom and Will, I believe. We knew Will was chasing cut-offs and we knew
how hot it was, so we had ice ready for him and some cheery words. And we decided then and there that we would
stay on the course to support our team, despite our personal defeat.
We did a Ragnar Relay shower, with baby wipes and dry clothes,
and got ourselves some food. We stopped
at a couple more crew points, and then made a side trip to Sparta to check into
our hotel and shower. Coming back from
Sparta it was early morning and we had the privilege of seeing the runners in
the lead, and took a side trek to say hi to Bob Hearn before meeting up with
Will at mountain base.
I have to say, having not finished my own race, it was
pretty cool to see the race from the point of crew. We got to spend time with other crew members - Phil McCarthy, Jessica Marti, and M’lee, as
well as Otto’s crew Jurgen and Elaine, and also see the course by car. As crew, I found myself just in awe of the
runners who were still out there, thinking to myself “how can they be moving
like that in this heat?”.
Will and Tom came into the last aid station with 20 minutes
to spare. From this point they only had 10K
to the end, and plenty of time to do it as long as they kept moving. We headed to the finish line.
Driving into Sparta hurt like hell. I recognized all of the places I had been
running 2 years prior. I cried. We parked and headed to the finish to wait
for our guys. I cried some more. Being at that finish line, with the runners’
names being shouted as they ran in, and the majestic music playing, and not running
it in…. that was hard.
We checked the tracker and saw that Will and Tom were
getting close. We had flags ready for
them, and were ready to video their finish.
They were running together and I met Will to give him his flag. I asked if he’d like company running in to
the finish, as at this one point runners are allowed to have their support run
with them. I am so incredibly and humbly
grateful that he said yes.
So, I got to run in with this fabulous runner who ran the
race with grit and determination, getting stronger along the way after a 30
second brush with possible DNF. Will
finished his race with 36 minutes to spare – an enormous amount of time to gain
back considering how close he’d been at the early cutoffs.
What a gift, for me to be there to watch that.
I love this sport. As
much as it can fucking hurt, I love this sport.
I love the people. I love that
people put themselves out there to accomplish the impossible.
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| Will Thomas at the finish |
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| Me, and my crew Rachel and Dave |
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