This is me at the Pinhoti 100 on November third. It must be fairly early in the race because it is not dark and I'm not walking. I came into the race with a respiratory illness, and less than optimal training. However, I was cocky enough to think that a sub twenty four hour time was in order. I was cruising pretty well through about sixty miles, when things started to fall apart. Well, to be more accurate things first went wrong about mile thirteen when I kicked the crap out of a rock or root or something. No, I did not kick it on purpose, but thanks for asking. I just tripped on it, but kicked it pretty hard. I didn't even hit the ground, which all things considered might have been better, but ran out of it and kept on running. It hurt all the way up my leg, especially my hip, but that sort of thing happens a lot, so I wasn't too worried about it. As I ran the leg just kept getting tighter. At any aid station with crew access I would try to roll it out with a "rolling pin" style massage stick, but I had to admit my leg was pretty jacked up. After about mile sixty the out of whack muscle tension made my knee hurt like hell whenever I tried to go faster than a walk downhill. Uphill? Like a champ! I was praying for more uphill. None of the ups lasted long enough, and my pace slowed.
Around mile eighty five I came into an aid station, and here is where I thought it got more interesting. My parents were crewing for me, and here, as they had been all day and now well into the night, they were attentive and accommodating. I mentioned that I might drop out because of the pain in my knee, but that I would sit for a couple minutes and think on it. What struck me as interesting was why I was thinking of dropping. Part of it was the thought of a longer recovery time if I did more damage to the leg, but honestly, much of it was out of boredom. I've never really been bored in an ultra. I realize this sounds like a ridiculous statement, but I've never been truly bored. I've always wanted to finish so badly that walking and slogging was just what I had to do to reach my goal. My goal here was sub 24, and that was out the window.
I absolutely knew I could walk in the last fifteen miles and be way ahead of the time cutoff. I had plenty of energy, it was not a question of being tired. Walking fifteen miles of terrain I could normally run a pretty fast pace on seemed...lame. Many thoughts flashed through my head as I pondered weather to continue. I thought of my grueling finish at Leadville, and the frustratingly slow recovery from that injury. I thought of Hardrock and wondered how I managed to get through a much more brutal course while still running the downs until the very end. I was absolutely willing to hurt myself to finish Hardrock, but Pinhoti?
As I fought with my decision one of the aid station volunteers came over. He made some crack about only giving me a few more minutes before he kicked me out, and that I couldn't drop so close to the finish. I know he meant well, and he was only trying to encourage me, so I didn't take his head off, which was my first thought response. I wanted to tell him that I was a Hardrock finisher, among other tough mountain hundreds, and I didn't need to finish his puny little hill race. He was trying to help though, and I believe in being absolutely polite and respectful to aid station volunteers. So what I told him was that the last time my knee felt like this I had trouble walking for almost a month. This had the desired effect and he left me alone.
I sat a bit longer, and then decided to keep going. Why I kept going, I'm not totally sure. Probably pride. I've always been slow, I can handle that. I just don't like quitting when there really isn't anything stopping me. I would only hurt myself, and likely the damage was already done. Walking another few miles won't make it that much worse, and I know I'll feel better about the experience later.
Much of the last section was much as I imagined; frustrating and boring. There were some highlights though. I ran with a guy from Australia who worked on a boat. As we chatted, it hit me. "Wait a minute, you work on a boat?" I asked. "How the fuck do you train?!" He explained that he ran wherever the boat was in port, and on a treadmill in the gym on the boat. "It can be difficult!" he said, laughing. Then there was the sunrise. Just a pretty Autumn sunrise. Rays of light breaking through the trees, a bit of fog coming off the water. The type of scenery I sometimes miss about Alabama. The trail finally gave way to pavement, which went on for way too long, and then finally the Sylacauga high school track and the finish in 25 hours and 42 minutes. Thirty ninth out of 108 finishers .
The most anticlimactic finish in my life. There was a total of three or four people there. I'm pretty sure one could have heard the crickets in the football field. Every ultra I've attended or even heard about there are other runners and crews and families hanging out at the finish to cheer people on. Here there were a few volunteers recording times and handing out the belt buckles. At Leadville I missed the time cutoff by about seven minutes. I wasn't even an official finisher, yet there were hundreds of people cheering at the finish. Here, it was silence. It was a strange finish to what otherwise was a very well organized event. No tents with food, no post race socializing. Apparently everyone just finishes and goes to the hotel for a shower? Maybe it's a southern thing, because in the Rockies we hang out and cheer on all the finishers. I thought about hanging out and cheering, but there was no food there. The awards were another four hours away, and I needed breakfast! So my mom drove us to the Cracker Barrel where I thoroughly enjoyed my pancakes and eggs. I skipped out on the awards. I was looking forward to just getting back to my parents house and spending time with family.
A month has passed since the race. I'm still not running. I want to make sure I heal up right, and my IT band is nagging at me. I've done a lot of thinking as to why this race felt so different to my other hundreds. Part of it is that just finishing is not enough. I now know that I can do that, and some of the challenge and fear is gone. I'll continue to run ultras, but there just aren't that many courses I find attractive now. I suppose Hardrock ruined me. I put my name in the hat for 2013, and Hardrock is an event I see myself going back to again and again as either a runner, or a volunteer. Just covering 100 miles? Well, it just isn't a big deal anymore. Yeah, it's hard, but it is no longer intimidating.
So now I'm looking to some self supported routes in my home mountains. Multiple summits linked in big days. Ultra light backpack trips. Long spans of time moving through the wilderness. I don't know, maybe I can't focus on anything for more than a couple years before I have to move on.
In the end, I feel that the most important thing for me is to try and learn as much as possible about myself and how I relate to the world. In that regard Pinhoti was a success. I received further introspection into how goal oriented I am, no matter that these goals are often rather contrived. I once again marveled at my tendency towards arrogance and having to be repeatedly humbled.
Most of all I enjoyed the time with my parents and witnessing from somewhat outside myself what a bizarre mix of their two personalities makes up my own. Thanks Mom and Dad!
So what next? Well, I have heard about this thing in Italy called the Tor De Geants. About 200 miles and around 70,000 feet of vertical gain. Hmmm...that sounds hard...
