Monday June 19, 2017
19 miles, 1972 vertical feet
We still have this memento from our first date. Dude.
Thirteen years ago, two months after Bill and I had met on an Adventure Cycling tour, we came to Moab and rented some mountain bikes. A lot of the mountain biking here is waaaaay beyond our technical ability but we had a book which rated rides according to grunt factor, techno factor, and fear factor. Grunt was fine -- we had endurance for ages. We definitely stayed at the easier end of techno and fear and completely avoided the "dude rides." This trip has always felt kind of like our first date.
On that trip we'd had breakfast at the Moab Diner and we decided to do a repeat (the menu doesn't seem to have changed much) before joining the group at their hotel.
As we were all gathering I approached Tattooed Catra and asked "can I meet you please?" I name-dropped fellow bassoonist ultrarunner Wendy and she said "oh yes, from Wasatch!" -- Wasatch being an ultra in Utah that Wendy has run many times. Funny to be in a world where one principal bassoonist is using another principal bassoonist's *running* credentials to network.
One of the drivers noted my "stout legs" and said they would be good for running. Told you I wasn't making this up! Also, uh, look at the other runners; look at elite runners of all distances. They don't have cankles. But I didn't argue with him. I'm pretty sure he meant it as a compliment.
I was still seriously in sleep deficit so I attempted to nap on the 90 minute ride to the race start. It was hard because I also wanted to hear every conversation everyone was having. At one point I pulled out my sunscreen and someone asked to borrow it. WTF? I carefully packed a small travel portion for my pack and someone's already asking to borrow it? Somebody mentioned that there will be sunscreen available at the start as well as all of the aid stations. That would have been super helpful to know; I made a huge mess on my reed-making desk trying to get this thick 50 spf into tiny bottles.
There was some hanging-around time at the start as we waited for all the various vehicles to arrive, including the one with Bill's bike. I took the opportunity to stalk Catra.... as well as get my cankle taped by Dr. Blister.
Stalking Pink Catra like a creeper. I'm obsessed. She's beautiful.
Since there were medics right there... might as well have my Achilles taped at the last freaking minute. By the way that pink thing is a gaiter, not undies... though you'll be reading about my undies soon enough.
Finally it was time to go and we gathered around for a group photo right before the start. Here's a little video they posted to Instagram. Guess who is still futzing around with her pack, completely not ready to leave. https://www.instagram.com/p/BVhy7_6nkXa/
The start was uphill and I immediately fell to the back of the pack as people took off running. Fuck this, no way am I running until it's flat. After ten minutes or so I couldn't even see the people in front of me and knew there were only 4-5 behind who were walking slower than I was. I didn't dare push. I didn't want to get sick, or headachey. (I'd gone off caffeine a week earlier to keep that in reserve should I get a headache and need the boost.) I definitely wanted to give my Achilles time to warm up. Looking at my Garmin I saw I had plenty of room to move at this pace or slower and still make the cutoff so I just chilled, deliriously happy to be here, that same feeling I get at the beginning of every bike tour once all the prep is done and we can finally relax into the landscape.
Bill and I had discussed meeting at all the aid stations to check up on each other, but it was soon obvious that we were going to do our own thing. He was much faster on the flats and downhills but much slower on the uphills where he had to carry his bike, plus we were now comfortable that the staff would look after us. Amazing how all those pre-trip jitters fade when you're finally moving.
There goes my Bill!
A couple hours in I saw some people ahead of me. Was I actually *gaining* on someone? As I got closer I saw the telltale neon colors of Catra, alongside her boyfriend Phil. I knew she was training for Badwater so probably taking it super easy, but again I felt reassured that my pace was going to be ok for this day.
I see pink.
At the first aid station I'd seen that I was the 16th to arrive out of 20 runners (plus Bill). Having passed Catra and Phil I was now 14 and suddenly started to feel hungry. Reid had said that after the first day we'd do "wave starts," meaning the fastest eleven people would start a half hour after the slower people. This would make the days slightly shorter for all the aid station volunteers, as well as give us all an opportunity to see each other at least once on the route. I started doing the math... five more people to pass to get into that second wave... four ... three...
God I love being out here. You can see a tiny runner right near the bend in the trail... and I'm catching up.
I didn't particularly like that my mind was going here. This is a big pattern with me. I either 1) feel like an asshole if I'm bad at something (e.g. if I play out of tune I worry my colleagues hate me) or 2) feel like an asshole if it turns out I'm good at something (e.g. if I can play something with ease that someone else is struggling with, I worry that they hate me). I seem to spend very little time in the comfortable middle ground. It's handy that I married a natural zen master, plus I have a great shrink.
I still wasn't feeling hugely competitive, mostly relieved to have room to spare in my comfort/fitness level. I could feel the balance shifting though. There was a point where we ran down to a river and had been encouraged to take the time to get in and cool off. I didn't want to give up the time so I just dunked my head in and started uphill with renewed intensity. The climb was difficult -- I thought about poor Bill pushing his bike; there were sections I couldn't imagine anybody but a trick rider being able to negotiate. Steep, large rocks, some steps quite challenging for short stout legs. But I knew I was good at this and was probably gaining on the people ahead.
Not long after that climb I came to the last aid station and the volunteers told me I looked great. They told me it was mostly downhill to camp, which turned out to be a total lie. The uphill gave me the chance to pass another runner and then catch up with yet one more. I knew I was well into tomorrow's second wave by now. This final runner, Theresa, fell behind on the climbs but as soon as it was flat or downhill she took off much faster than was comfortable for me. My pack was sloshing so I took the time to stop and adjust it (though I didn't want to give up the time! I hate myself for being so competitive!) and I noticed as we ran the final mile or so she kept looking back to see where I was. OK maybe I'm not the worst person in the world. I asked her about this later and she said "yes, of course I was checking where you were. It's motivating."
I arrived at camp just a few minutes after Theresa and a volunteer told me to sit down, brought me water, asked what I needed. As I drank the first of probably a dozen cups of water, the guy next to me started to puke. This was Shane from Australia, one of the two fastest men. I asked him if he needed anything, if he wanted to be left alone... and he was super cool, gladly accepted some more water from me. He admitted he had been racing Brian at the end and had felt fine but probably just drank too much too quickly. He really looked ghastly, but within about fifteen minutes came back to life. I felt pretty good so as the runners came in I jumped up to give them a seat, ask what I could bring them etc.
Other than Theresa, the only woman to arrive before me was a tall beauty named Candice whom I hadn't even noticed before though she's standing right next to me in the putzing video. She had finished over a half an hour earlier. I learned she is a race director by profession and specializes in 200 milers. Good grief, I am in another world here! Catra arrived and they started talking shop. I suppose it's no different than when a bunch of musicians get together. I tried to jump in a couple times to the conversation (tell me about your fascinating race fuel! really... I was sincerely interested in Catra's race fuel and am going to order some. It looks delicious. www.muirenergy.com) but wasn't particularly successful so I returned to greeting the incoming runners.
Bill arrived 50 minutes after I did and had worked much harder. Tomorrrow he should have the big advantage. Reid says tomorrow is traditionally the day with the most attrition because of long relatively boring sections with no shade.
Bill arrived significantly later than I did and also didn't look so fresh so I served him up some coke and ice, water, salty snacks.
"Look at you, jumping up to help everyone out," he said
"Yeah, I have to say, I feel great. I think maybe I'm a freak."
"You're like a Martian. Like you just dropped here from another planet and can immediately do something people here work really hard to achieve."
He told me of at least two more pukers, one of which had barely missed his backpack at an aid station. Evidently she had been feeling fine until that climb up from the river. I heard one of the staff on the phone discussing someone named "Mikey" who was apparently female and really struggling on the course, but still moving... they said she'd be a long time coming if she even made it by the cutoff. There was no hiding here, no shame in bodily breakdowns or basic function. At one point Brian (the race leader) announced with glee that he had peed clear! I was very happy for him, and envious because though I had drunk several liters during the run and at least a liter since returning, I didn't feel the slightest urge.
Each day we got a dog tag if we finished the stage. I'm obviously holding this backwards, because the name of the stage is printed on it.
The staff put out a computer where we could blog about our experience. As I was typing, Bill's vomiter and her husband arrived, walking gingerly, hand in hand. The camp exploded with cheers as they crossed the finished line and embraced. It seriously gave me tears. Much later, when Mikey arrived, I got goosebumps. This was truly an incredible experience. I'm so glad I came, no matter what the rest of the week brings.