A small group, perhaps 200 strong, toed the line at the makeshift
start/finish area about a stones throw from 'race headquarters' - a
cabin in the woods of Yankee Springs state park, a short drive south
from Grand Rapids. The day was spectacular for the Yankee Springs
Winter Challenge, considering the actual temps were sub-zero just the
day before (with wind chills at -30°) and a storm promising to drop up
to 18" inches of snow forecast to arrive that evening. With a shout
from the race director we were off onto the 25k loop of the single track
trails through the park.
Most from this group were in
the 25k race, and a different smaller pack were already on the trail,
having started in the early morning darkness for the 50 mile event. My
fellow competitors and I started with the 25k crowd and would attempt
two laps of the course for the 50k event.
There was a
foot of snow on the ground, but the trail was fairly hard packed, making
running 'manageable'. The climbs got pretty chewed up, however, so
often it was akin to running in ankle deep sand on the way up the
hills. This day was a glorified training run for me, so I went off
without feeling the pressure to race and just sat at the back of the
pack and enjoyed the beginnings of this journey.
Each
ultra distance run (i.e. any run over the 26.2 mile mark of the
marathon) has shown to have hidden truths out there, and it is part of
the journey to find them and become a better person as a result of
embracing the lessons. Honestly, though, I wasn't expecting such a
discovery on what was a relatively short distance day, as ultra's go.
Especially since it was "just a training run".
Six
months removed from gallbladder surgery I continue to struggle to eat
without experiencing 'distress'. As a result, I've developed a bad
habit of not taking in calories on the run. Fast forward to mile 22 and
what had been a beautiful (and challenging) day of running snowy trails
in the woods quickly became a 'bonk fest'. In a flash I went from
feeling good to getting a bit stupid in the head, and just completely
ran out of gas. I slowed to a walk and found myself feeling negative
about the entire experience.
It is in those moments that the lessons lurk. It is from that experience that I desired to share this post.
The
five miles that followed 'bonking' were a slow walk/jog time of
introspection and decision making. Reminding myself that quitting was
not an option, that I would find a way out, and that this is just part
of ultra running. I tried to get back to appreciating the beauty of the
area and the blessing of just being out there competing. Over time, I
did regain some energy and started moving a bit better.
It
was about that time that I passed a couple of 50 milers struggling to
get ahead of the curve before they were swept from that race for failing
to make the prescribed cut-off times. While they were sober about
their chances to make the finish, they were very positive about the
experience in general (i.e. they were having fun!). They helped me to
look again for the joy in my experience.
That's when it started snowing...
It
was a beautiful snow. Big fluffy flakes. There was no wind to speak
of, so they just slowly and gently fell to the earth. That simple turn
of events gave me pause and refreshed my spirit. Race time and place on
this day was meaningless. The simple satisfaction of completing the
event would be my 'nugget' for that day, my way of tasting life that so
few will ever know. Knowing my wife would be waiting at the finish line
and would tell me she was proud of me hastened my steps (that is always
enough for me to fight through about anything).
The
finish line was indeed sweet. Even though I arrived forty minutes after
my estimated time Pam was there to welcome me home, all the while
turning white from the quickening rate of snowfall. She walked me over
to the cabin where the fire was roaring, the chili was hot and fellow
'explorers' were gathered. She told me she was proud of me and even the
dorky finish prize couldn't take away from the contentment of the
moment.
Press on friends.
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