Thursday June 22, 2017, 42 miles
today is "4" -- lot of uphill
Today’s the big “expedition” stage, 42 miles and a shit ton of climbing. (7573 feet according to my Garmin.) Here, check out the race profile. The x-axis is not exactly to scale as stage 2 was only a few miles shorter than stage 4... but it gives you a good idea of just how much of today is uphill, into considerably thinner air.
This one has longer-than-usual stretches between aid stations and we’re advised to load up on water. I have my 3 liter pack as well as three soft bottles totaling 1.75 liters. We also have to carry some extra stuff for this stage since historically half the people arrive after dark: headlamps and "luminous signal sticks" to attach to our packs as the sun is setting. As we head to the start this time it’s Candice who's a bit disorganized and has forgotten her poles, giving me the extra time to stop at the rest room, i.e. nasty pit toilet, no running water. Since the official start is 1/4 mile up the road from the camp we have time to catch up and for once they don’t have to hold the stage start for me. Soon I am walking all alone again, with lots of time to contemplate distracting competitive thoughts.
early morning contemplation as Jean-Michel disappears from view and I wonder how long until I overtake him
It’s kind of ruining the experience for me. All I had wanted was to enjoy a week of running/hiking camp in Utah, with Bill along on his bike, hopefully without too much pain or heat stroke. Now I can’t stop thinking about possible outcomes, and none of them feel great. Then at some point a couple hours in I have an AHA! moment when I remember I totally know how to do this. I simply apply the same thinking I’ve used when I’ve felt inadequately prepared, or simply nervous, while performing concerts: are these thoughts going to help you, or alter in any way the choices you make? If not, it’s cool to acknowledge them (never try to get rid of them, just say HELLO FRIENDS) and then choose to focus on something else. Do you want to spend this entire day thinking about the race standings? Are you missing out on this present moment, that rock over there, that cute little shrub, the physical pleasure of feeling healthy and alive, breathing just a bit heavily, springing off legs that miraculously still don't hurt after all these miles?
Self-help 101. I feel much better. Thanks Dr. Sue. It’s so awesome here and I don’t want to miss it. Today is wall to wall fantastic scenery… and I do mean walls. Huge walls of rocks… canyon walls… we descend and ascend canyons. I’m so happy. I love canyons in all their forms. Grand, Zion, Bryce, slot... especially slot. (I'm also a big fan of the movie 127 Hours. Bill and I took our niece canyoneering with the guide who consulted on that film.)
smile and say "thank you" to the rocks and cute little shrubs. Just a lovely morning walk in the desert.
I gain on a group of four runners — Jeff and Theresa, K-Ray and Amanda.
[the following is a reconstructed composite conversation]
Great big walls of rock. I look like I'm leading a revival of The Music Man. (Photo by Glen)
Them: Hey we’ve been expecting you, and we're glad it’s happening now and not at mile 41. Better to just get it out of the way early, less demoralizing.
Me: You guys must hate me.
Them: No, we admire you! Now go catch Candice.
Me: NOOOO…. This is so wrong and weird. I guess it's possible you don’t actually hate me, because when Candice was kicking my butt I admired her. When she started struggling I felt nothing but compassion. So, either way good feelings. I feel really bad that she’s sick.
Them: actually she’s feeling pretty good today.
Me: WHAT?? That BITCH!!!!
Joke. It was a joke. They laughed. Theresa asks me how I trained for this. Me?? So funny after how unprepared I felt a couple days ago. I guess I *did* make some good choices. Mostly the part where I consulted a physical therapist before any pains got out of hand. As long as I'm not sick or injured, the endurance part seems to come naturally.
This is actually a pic someone took later when he was having a great time. The scene I saw was similar but with much less happy Bill.
I see Bill…off his bike resting in the shade… and he’s on the struggle bus. I sit down with him for a few minutes while those four go on ahead.
This is a really tough bike ride. It's steep and rocky and his bike is designed for touring, not single track, i.e. not especially nimble. He's been pushing the bike more than riding it. He knew this going in, and Reid had said the first part was going to be the hardest but also the most beautiful and that he should give it a shot. Now he's wishing he could go back to the last aid station and get in the car, but it's too late. They're probably packed and gone. Yesterday he’d even contemplated finding a road route to the next camp, but again too late. Each aid station keeps careful track of the runners — and Bills — and if he doesn’t show up they’ll consider him missing. Even if I pass the message on, it might be stressful to them. They're charged with keeping us all safe so if he's on an alternate route they won't be able to track him.
He insists he's fine, has enough water and food, and says I should just go on ahead. He thinks he’ll probably bail out at the next aid station.
I really hope he doesn't lose control riding over this
I re-overtake K-Ray (twice because I have to stop under a tree and attend to a new blister and then I catch her again) — and then I see Jeff and Theresa in the “Rose Garden” which is a spectacular and spectacularly rocky descent into a canyon. How the hell is Bill going to get through *this* on his bike? As I ascend the other side of the canyon I see one of the medical staff on his bike (fat bike tires PLUS full suspension on a mountain bike frame) and tell him I’m concerned that Bill won’t be able to get through this. I’m really wishing one of us would have thought to ditch the bike and he could have just hiked this stage. Why didn’t we think of that?
Down into the canyon (aiming for that path on the other side)....
...and now at the other side, looking back
I can’t remember if I’ve passed Amanda again… I’m sort of surprised if I haven’t because on the other stages I passed her a lot earlier in the day.
There are 12.3 miles between Aid Stations 1 and 2. I'm out of water as I approach #2 but I feel good, refill my water, make some of Mary’s electrolyte drink, pour a cup of ice water down my dress while yelling "SPRING BREAK WOOHOO," eat a pickle or two, and move on. Jeff and Theresa approach as I am leaving and at least one of them has run out of water. No emergency but definitely in need of a longer break to replenish bodies as well as well as packs. It’s going to be another 11.3 until the next aid station. At the speed I’m moving this means 3-4 hours, and I know my sweat rate is more than a liter an hour so I can expect to drain my 3 liter pack of Tailwind. Then the 1.75 liters of fresh water go either into my mouth or over my body for external cooling. Tara later posted that she carried 210 ounces out of that second aid station. (I’ll do the math for you. I was carrying 10.5 pounds of water and Tara was carrying over 13. Considering our relative speeds I don’t think she was overdoing it at all.)
Those 11.3 miles are basically a long hot climb. After a certain point (Lot’s wife be damned, I was definitely turning around) I determined that Jeff and Theresa were unlikely to come back into my visual field and vice versa, so I went a step beyond commando. I tucked my little dress into my waist straps and let my bare ass smile at the rocks and cute little shrubs. I apologize to my much younger colleagues and former students who are reading this and horrified about the middle-aged TMI. This is not always a pretty, or delicate sport. Blisters are popped while others are eating. People puke at close range. Wendy saves all the toenails she's lost in a box. We're coated in dirt and sweat pretty much dawn to dusk. (No showers anywhere on the route, hence the jumping into rivers fully clothed.)
A couple miles before the aid station I see Catra’s boyfriend Phil slumping under a tree. He says he took a wrong turn and added some extra mileage and is almost out of water. At first he won’t accept any of mine but when I offer to squirt some down his shirt he accepts, and then he does let me partially fill a bottle. I’m pretty low myself but he looks worse than I feel. I see the medical vehicle another mile down the road and tell him to keep an eye out for Phil, that he was absolutely coherent but very hot and low on water. (He turned out to be completely fine, no lasting problems and finished the stage just a couple minutes behind me.)
When I reach the aid station, again out of water but not yet dehydrated, I see Amanda just hanging around, chilling. Woah. Where did she come from? I joke that she’s been hustling us because she looks absolutely fresh and fit and amazing. I don’t linger, just long enough for some coke, electrolytes, and refilling my water pack. Amanda leaves shortly after and I only notice that she’s gaining on me because I have to pee and am looking for a semi-private spot. (p.s. Mooning has ceased; I unfolded my dress long before I saw Phil and haven’t knowingly flashed anybody.) I call back to Amanda that I’m looking for a discreet place to pee. She says doesn’t care and is so impressed that I can pee in front of her that she’s immediately in love with me.
The feeling is mutual; I really hadn’t spent any time with her all week, frequently getting her mixed up with K-Ray with only K-Ray’s tattoos and Amanda’s squeaky voice to help me differentiate. But she’s like me in terms of exuberant childlike un-self-conscious energy. We marvel at the scenery, at how amazing it is that our bodies can do this… talk about relationships and careers and travel and mountains. All in very loud voices.
Then we see Candice. She’s sitting on the side of the road alone. No, she says, she doesn’t need help. Has enough water and food. Is fine, well, actually feels terrible… she lowers her head, crying. It’s completely heartbreaking. Amanda says without hesitation “we’ll walk with you” — not even a question of whether Candice would like us to, let alone whether *I* want to. (I'm gonna win, I'm gonna win... I hate myself so much...) I’m stupefied by her selflessness. It’s absolutely sincere and genuine. I couldn’t have pulled that off. Offer her everything on my back, yes, send the next volunteer or medic I saw to check on her, absolutely. But to just announce that I’m staying with her? Probably not, given the availability of actual medical care. Amanda is a professional caregiver. Good career choice. Pause a moment and read this article about her solo through-hike of the Appalachian Trail.
At any rate Candice declines “our” offer so we continue on our way, temporarily a little less cheery. The next aid station is only 3.5 miles past the last one so we don’t have need for anything, but we're standing around talking to the volunteers long enough to see Candice arrive and immediately lie down, attended by the doctor. She says she feels like she’s having an asthma attack. Catra shows up; she hasn’t been running the stage, only portions of it with Phil. At this point she dedicates herself to helping Candice, and Phil continues on his own. I don’t know how far back they go but they definitely knew each other before this race, both being basically career ultra runners.
Profile pic at Catra's FB fan page
shadow fun with Amanda on the final descent in the late afternoon sun
Amanda and I continue on, now discussing Candice and what all of this means. Amanda has way more experience than I do with athletic competition, having run in high school when I was actively avoiding gym class and practicing the bassoon. (Actually when I was in high school practicing bassoon, her *parents* were in high school. But you know what I mean.) She’s running stronger than I am; she mentions that she has the advantage elevation-wise since she lives in Colorado and spends every weekend in the mountains. (Today’s high point was around 8500 feet and I definitely felt the thinner air.) She also says that she wonders if people thought she was an asshole for going out too fast on the first day, because she eventually blew up in the heat. I am always SO HAPPY to hear that other people are processing their shit on this level too. She absolutely refuses to drop me, even when I stop twice to deal with a rock in my shoe and then a blister. I start scheming to give her the stage win, like maybe I'll deliberately stop short at the finish line. But even that seems silly because she clearly doesn’t give one shit about this.
Since I can’t force her to take the stage I grab her hand to make sure she doesn't try to pull any stopping-just-short crap on me. This is one of my favorite moments of the race; so many emotions and the beautiful sweet early evening light. All that anxiety about which headlamp I need.. for naught since I never used it.
And now a still of the amazing moment
I was not even tired, but completely hyped up. I started doing jumping jacks because I could and because people were so amused by my energy level. More than one staff member said they'd never met a more energetic runner.
Only Brian had finished the stage in front of us, 92 minutes earlier. Almost exactly two hours later Candice arrives at camp, with Catra by her side. It is beautiful and touching, yet… she looks terrible and I’m just not sure this is such a good idea. She goes straight to a cot and the medical staff hover around her. I hear the words "kidney injury" and immediately start googling.
Candice, like Hans and Catra, was open on social media and I prefer to let her tell her own story. Here’s what she wrote on FB:
"Thanks for the encouragement all week! I was pulled from the @geminiadventures #desertrats stage race before the last day for medical reasons. I wanted to use the following day (it was a rest day) to see how I recovered after a super rough day 4, but the medical team at 2am decided I needed to go to the hospital (I declined) and made the decision that I wouldn't run the last day. I'm honored to have carried the "Race Leader Bib" for all but the final day 🏆.
"I've been thinking about how to explain what happened medically but since neither I nor the medical team really knows what was going on in my body, it's only speculation at this point, but was likely moderate GI bleeding and the possibility of renal failure and/or intestinal ischemia... all of which are pretty bad. I'm doing ok now and seem to have recovered well in the past few days. And although it was very disappointing to not be able to run the last day and complete the race, it gave me the opportunity to help at an aid station and see all the inspiring runners push hard that last day.
"I'll post a blog post about the race with lots of juicy details about what went down when I return home this week! Love ❤️ you all 😘 "
So far she hasn’t written that blog post but I guess she’s feeling better because she just registered for a 100 miler ten days from now. I’ll be excitedly following this as well as Catra and Lisa S-B running Badwater next week. As Wendy likes to say, I’ve got the ultra bug now. No turning back.
Today there were 6 DNS (including people like Shane and Catra who determined in advance that they would only do portions) plus 5 DNF (incl Bill who had a terrific time hanging out with the crew in their trucks for the second half of the day). So, ten people including Candice got official times for today's stage but with Candice pulled, there are going to be maximum nine overall finishers. My lead over the next woman, Theresa, is like 2.5 hours so unless things go horribly wrong for me on the final marathon this seems like a lock. It's a relief in a way, much better than some damn "rabbit start." Now I can let go of competitive thoughts and obsess instead about whether ultra running is just totally fucked up and sick, and if I need to find a new hobby. Tomorrow is our one full day off and since we are at higher elevation this campsite feels more like Colorado... green and cool with a stream and a waterfall.
I’ll close this entry with another of Candice’s posts…
"I like the moment when things begin to fall apart when I'm racing. That's when I know what demons I will be facing. How deep I'm have to go to come out the other end.That's when I really get to test myself, my training, my mental resolve. That's what endurance sports are all about. The challenges are what give color and depth to our racing and running."
… as well as this excerpt from the blog of a woman who was a top finisher at this year’s Western States 100.
" A fact of running 100’s is carnage. As long as you’re not the carnage, you’ll do great."
This is why I came here. Not for carnage.