DESERT R.A.T.S. 148 MILE STAGE RACE 17-22 Jun 2013
Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
PRE-RACE -15 Jun 13 - 16 Jun 13
I flew into Moab, UT after a 12 hour day of flying, and being out late the night before at a concert. I was unbelievably tired, but fueled by excitement and anticipation of the week to come. The night stretched on however because I met a couple racers at the Denver airport and we decided to go out for margaritas and Mexican food! In retrospect, probably not the wisest decision, but hey it was fun and I was able to meet one of my soon-to-be tentmates :)
I had an awesome suite next to the pool at the Gonzo Inn in the heart of Moab. A much cooler location than the Archway Inn, which was the previous host hotel. All the restaurants, shops, and bars were within walking distance.
Much to my disappointment, I woke up super early on Sunday morning and couldn't fall back asleep. I think my nerves were getting the best of me. I decided I'd make the most of my day since I wouldn't have an extra day to hang out in Moab after the race. I met up with some other racers in the lobby and went out for some breakfast. It was great catching up with the Egli's and getting to know a few other racers. Afterwards, I went shopping with Teddi to find a ring for myself. I love having a ring on during a race...it acts as a great hydration monitor!
After napping by the pool, trying to stay on top of my hydration, and being a lazy bum, the racer meeting was at the Gonzo Inn. It was cool reuniting with RATS veterans, and meeting all the nervous rookies. I was so happy to be back in Moab for this race. We finished the meeting, went back to our rooms, and began packing and repacking all our gear. I can't remember how late we were up, but I was definitely tired out by bed time.
RACE MORNING - 17 Jun 2013
The nerves are really starting to set in. Although I think my mind is trying very hard to be in denial. I get up a half hour earlier than my alarm, but am thankful for that because it takes me forever to get ready in the morning. Taping my feet, packing my bag again, filling up my bladder, organizing my calories for the day, and getting my gear back to the lobby for pick up.
I meet up with Carol and we head over to The Peace Tree for brunch. I get a peanut butter, blueberry, apple, granola wrap on wheat along with a carrot juice smoothie. I'm stuffed and know these calories will sit in my stomach for the 3 hours until the race. But then I start getting nervous and can't eat anymore. I always want to barf on race morning.
As luck would have it, my tentmate is a Physical Therapist and knows how to tape injuries. She blesses me with her skills and tapes my IT Band with KT tape pre-race to help prevent it from flaring up and/or slipping out of place. I swear to God her taping skills contributed greatly to my healthy knees during the race.
Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
STAGE 1 - 20 miles - 17 Jun 2013
Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
around mile 9 or so and we shuffle
Both struggling with the heat as we both were coming from NY. I try to listen to music, but it's really not cheering me up or motivating me.
I keep turning it off.
I finally force myself to try and pee, and barely anything comes out. I know I'm in trouble because I should've peed at least once or twice more by now. We get to a hill and now Anand and I are just trying to make our way up it 2 minutes at a time with a 30 second rest. I can hardly breathe because of the altitude and heat.
I can feel my lungs straining to fill
up with air with every step. I'm now feeling pissed off and angry at the situation. I'm not doing as well as I did last time.
My buddy, Anand |
Stage 1 - Near aid station 2 Photo by Glen Delman Photograph |
I keep trying to seek refuge under a bush in the ditches that line the trail to get out of the sun and cool off. It seems like a good idea, but a bit pointless at the same time because the finish won't get any closer for me if I keep doing this. Eventually I come across another racer doing
the same thing. We become ditch buddies rather quickly except he doesn't even have the energy to make it to the shade under a bush. He just hangs out in the direct sun passing out on the side of the trail. He's from Toronto Canada so he's struggling with the heat as well. I offer to wait for him, but he insists I go on. I muster up the energy to get up and keep trudging along. It's after 6 pm and it's not getting any cooler.
Jim and I making fun of our earlier pitifulness |
But, finally I make it to the finish. A pretty uneventful finish as everyone is collapsed in chairs or in their tents trying to recover from a rough first day. I'm just so happy to make it to camp and get out of my clothes and into comfy camp clothes.
Dinner can't come soon enough. I talk to Paul briefly and just bitch about how awful and sick I felt all day. Heat exhaustion, dehydration, fatigue, and rib pain plagued me all day. I notice that I have chaffing in my inner thighs, which I've never had before. I also discover that I have two heel blisters even though I pre-taped. They're small so I hope they don't get bigger, but the fact that they got there
with tape leaves me a bit pessimistic. The pinkie toe nails are also beginning to lift off the nail beds. I duct tape the inside of my shoes suspecting the orthotics are causing friction. I'm hoping for a better stage 2.
Stage 2 Camp Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
STAGE 2 - 39 miles - 18 Jun 2013
I feel somewhat recovered from the prior day. I pee twice before race start so I'm totally stoked that I'm caught up on my fluids. My ribs are still hurting and it hurts to breathe. I was cramping the night before, but really thought I'd feel better by the AM. I now realize this is not an electrolyte/hydration imbalance. Something else is causing my cramping and pain.
Me, Michael, Kurt, and Jim Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
The race starts at 7 am sharp and I running a comfortable pace. Ribs are firing up, but I ignore it the best I can. My overall spirit is much higher than the day before. I have about an hour before the sun gets really hot again.
I catch up with Kurt and Michael, but after a couple miles the pain in my lungs is too much for me and I can't keep up with them. I spend a couple hours by myself on the trail running all the downhills and feeling pretty good. I'm managing to find a rhythm that keeps the lung/rib pain in check. I catch up to Carol who isn't feeling well and we make our way up the big climb on stage 2.
I still feel pretty good and I'm optimistic about the day ahead. I get to the top of the climb and within minutes realize that my moon cycle has started. WTF!!! As luck would have it, Carol has feminine goods on her and I'm saved from possible humiliation.
Carol and I climbing up to the second water drop |
While Carol rests in the back of the photographer's car. Katie and I leave the water drop together and eventually catch up with Gary. We're in pretty good spirits. Talking and laughing about poop and pee. A popular topic amongst trail ultra runners. It's amazing how talking about urine and excrement can cheer you up. It's a long hot section, but keeping each other company keeps us going and smiling.
Climbing during Stage 2 Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
I borrow an MDs military knife that looks like something Arnold Schwarzenneger would use in the movie Predator. I slice the shoe laces at the bottom eyelets, and tie a knot in them two eyelets up in order to open up the toe box and save me time from having to take my shoes and gaiters off. It works!
What the hell happens to me after this, I don't know. Everything. It's HOT pavement for 4 miles, I'm loopy, ribs are hurting while trying to breathe, I'm tired, and I'm having a hard time keeping up with Gary's long legs. We do some pacing for a while to get down the hill, then tire out and slow down to conserve energy. I have another interesting moment on the side of the road as Gary pushes ahead. I have to poop so I find a shady spot under a large boulder on the side of the road. I can't squat because I don't want to ruin the tape on my knees and I'm afraid I'll have a hard time getting up. So I stick my butt out while standing and do my business. Then of course, out of no where comes a truck as I'm dropping shit holding onto a baby wipe. Not surprisingly, I find the situation quite hilarious and not embarrassing at all. I just don't care.
I get to the water drop and press on to the long sandy, hot uphill. I'm nauseous, want to throw up, feeling exhausted from the heat and so sick and tired of the sun. Gary's long legs move faster than mine and I'm just trying to keep up with him. I really don't want to be alone during this section because I know it's a long hot section. But I need to vomit, my ribs hurt, and I'm so f**king hot. I can't eat anything, and I'm so thirsty. After a couple miles, Gary leaves me behind and I just go from shrub to tree to shrub for shade. I'm angry and depressed that I'm by myself and no one is around to encourage me or give me that extra mental push I need to keep going. My morale is deteriorating rapidly.
The wind is blowing fiercely in my face and the thought of having to go another 9-10 miles after aid station 2 is really starting to make me feel extremely depressed. I feel defeat creeping up on me. I want to vomit and cry. But before I have a chance to do either, my nose starts gushing blood. I react quickly by bending over so it doesn't get all over me, but now I'm trying to reach for a tissue with my pack on. I barely get a hold of some tissue before I see how much blood has spewed all over the ground. I stuff my nose with tissue, but it's soaking through so fast that I'm running out of tissue to plug my up my nose with. Now, I'm really not feeling well and I don't think I'll be able to make it to the finish that day within the cut-off time. It feels like an epic fail, and I feel like I've let myself down. I'm wondering if I'm just not as mentally tough as I used to be.
Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
I sit there knowing my body likely can't make the last 10 miles before the cut-off, and I'm not interested in trashing my body for an incomplete. I've lost a lot of blood, I haven't eaten, my ribs are hurting, I can't breathe, and my morale is piss poor. I've totally bonked.
I know I'm capable of finishing the day, but sometimes you have to go to a dark mental/emotional place to keep pushing to the finish. Today, I don't feel like visiting that dark place.
I reluctantly decide it's best I pull out at aid station 2, and save my body for the remaining 100 miles.
I'm driven to Fish Ford where our Stage 3 camp is set up. I'm a bit embarrassed to be showing up by car, and I think some racers are surprised to see me arrive by four wheel too. However, I'm super excited that I get to get into a bikini, cool off in the river, wash my hair, wash my clothes, hang out with friends, and eat a Milt's veggie burger. They have avocado and that just totally makes my day all better.
STAGE 3 - 9 miles - 19 Jun 2013
Carol, Elise, me, and Jenn before Stage 3 start |
Katie, me in the yellow, Anand in front Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
Anand joins us and now the three of us are just kicking out one mile at a time. Kurt is gushing about his hot and lovely wife (you're totally hot Shelley), we're sharing stories, I insist that Bigfoot exists, and Kurt tells me how the flowers are expressing their feelings. One is crying. We even see momma flower, daddy flower, and baby flower. Yes, the desert heat is making us stupid. I can't believe how much my feet are hurting, but at the same time I know why they're hurting. Whatever, just get this day done with. We see the finish line, and still we just don't feel like moving any faster. What's the point? We casually stroll into the finish as if we're rock stars.
Enjoying the Colorado River after we finished Stage 3 Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
The rest of the day is spent soaking sore muscles in the cold river, washing my hair, rinsing out my dirty running clothes, telling jokes, laughing with friends, resting on my sleeping pad under some trees, getting a rib and abdominal massage (thank you Sherry!), resting in a hammock by the river, and dealing with more nose bleeds. It's a great afternoon and I'm feeling recharged. My ribs ache less, and I feel more rested. Tomorrow is a new day. Bed time by 9 pm. With the help of melatonin, I'm out like a light.
STAGE 4 - 52 miles - 20/21 Jun 2013
Carol and Candy goofing off at the start of Stage 4 Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
I did a better one after this! Oh well. Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
The race starts and Carol, Katie, and I are moving along together. I feel great, my ribs aren't hurting as bad, I can breathe better, and my feet feel rested. After a few miles we somehow misread a trail sign and missed our turn. Carol is the one who notices that there are no foot prints ahead of us, and we find ourselves backtracking until we can find where we went off the trail. It's a minor set back, but one we gladly will take in the morning and early on in the race versus making the same mistake later in the day where there's a substantial amount of climbing.
My favorite view of the La Sal Mountains |
We make it to aid station 1 at mile 10 in pretty excellent time. I feel amazing, I'm ready to tackle the first mountain climb, and the heat isn't upsetting my stomach and mind as much. Also, my ribs are starting to feel much better.
View of camp from Stage 3 on our way to aid station 1 |
Running to Aid Station 1 Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
And then I break up the monotony by getting another gushing nose bleed. This time I'm equipped with OB Tampons! BUT, I can't find them! Meanwhile, I'm bleeding all over myself, all over my bag, and Katie is laughing hysterically at me, taking pictures, which then sends me into laughing hysteria. The whole situation is absolutely comical because I'm trying to find a tampon to plug up my nose, but I'm so distracted with the laughing that I'm no longer functioning.
Finally, Katie grabs my bloody zippy holding my camera and digs into my bag and finds a tampon. Now I can't get the plastic off the tampon and I continue bleeding all over myself. After several minutes I manage to get the tampon in my nose, and now I'm assessing the bloody damage. There is blood every where. My arms, my shirt, my legs, my shoes, my gaiters, my water bottle, my bag, my face, my teeth...every where. Can I wash off? No, because I need my extra water for cooling me off until the next water drop about 10k away.
The heat is continuing to get worse and every hour or so one of us needs some shade to escape the sun. At one point we find a nice shady spot under some large bushes. A few of us find a rock to sit on, but I decide to sit on some pine needles instead so I can stay in the shade. I go to scratch my butt when I feel all this stickiness.
We make it to the water drop and I feel pretty good because I know we've made it through the first long climbing haul. Just need to get to the "Rose Garden" and then I'll only be about 10k from the 2nd aid station (mile 27ish). I've lost track of time and mileage, but at some point both Carol and Katie aren't feeling well, and decide they're going to drop at the next aid station. I decide to go ahead and try to catch up with someone else. I start running the downhills to try and make up for some lost time. I missed running all the downhill sections earlier so now I get to have my thrill! I catch up with Anand and we continue to kick out the miles one by one. I'm motivated to get to the next water drop, which feels like an eternity away.
After about an hour we come across the Rose Garden. It's a gnarly steep descent into a canyon requiring absolute concentration and skill to navigate down. Lots of slippy rocks and sand, and endless opportunities to twist an ankle or go tumbling downhill. We traverse our way down and now I'm running out of water and the water drop is no where in sight. We're getting frustrated.
I'm officially aware of a throbbing pain in my ankles, especially the right one. I'm eager to have some Tylenol when I get to the 2nd aid station.
Agitated and tired Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
I ask the medical team for Tylenol for the pain in my ankles and right foot. I'm told they don't have any. I'm feeling myself become agitated. I exchange words with one of the MDs only to feel more frustrated that there's no plan for pain management in place for the racers. Shortly thereafter, an MD with a look of how-do-I-tell-her-this-without-making-her-cry, tells me there's no Afrin to help stop my nose bleed, at the same time another MD is asking me how long my nose has been bleeding. At this point, I don't have the ability to answer one MDs question and take in the bad news the other MD just gave me. I can't take any more. I take a deep breath, still squeezing my nose to stop it bleeding after removing the tampon, my eyes are welting up in tears, and I'm trying my best not to have a total meltdown. I'm officially livid. I go off on the medical team, frustrated that there are six MDs at the race, no pain medication available, nothing to help nose bleeds, and I'm being asked to help the medical director with his research study. Stop asking me for my borg number!!!
I've decided that I'm no longer willing to participate in the study. I'm mad because at the pre-race meeting the medical director voiced that they wanted to see us succeed. I no longer believed that was true.
Fortunately, Anand mentions he has a few Tylenol in his pocket that he can give me. He's my saving grace because I need pain meds ASAP. Poor Carol and Katie come into the aid station (where I thankfully get my trekking poles back from Katie) and think I'm mad at them for dropping (no girls, I was just having a meltdown).
Cooling off in a puddle |
No longer wanting to cry over my frustrations, but wanting to cry because now I'm thinking of my dad. He recently became paralyzed in late April, so now I'm thinking of the challenges he's been facing losing his ability to hike like he used to do every weekend. He used his legs all the time. Can I really be complaining about my ankles hurting? I start to dig deep in me telling myself that I can do this, that I can climb this mountain, that I can trek through all the sand that keeps making my feet slip back with every stride, that the heat of the day will eventually go away and I'll be able to continue in the coolness of the dark. All of my issues are temporary.
Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
We keep pushing up the mountain wondering when the climbing will stop. It just goes on and on and on. Now we're cussing about the endless climbing, feeling anxious to get to the next water drop. Not because we need water, but because it's a landmark along the course meaning we're that much closer to aid station 3. We know we're golden if we can reach the third aid station. With my headlamp on, I'm now more thankful than ever for my trekking poles because I'm stumbling a bit on the trail. Several times my poles stopped me from tripping over into the ditch nearby.
Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
And then out of no where, a truck starts coming up the trail! I'm thinking "WTF! I haven't seen a vehicle in HOURS. And now, when I have to take a shit, a truck is coming???" I sigh, and think to myself whatever...do I really care? Not really. It turns out, it's two of the MDs driving up in a Jeep.
They turned their headlights off, either trying not to flash their lights in our eyes, or giving me privacy because they could see that I was taking a dump. Either way, I do my business and walk over to their Jeep. I'm teased by an MD who says he might have some Tylenol for me. I respond, "I'll give you my borg score if you give me two Tylenol." He says he thinks he may have two, digs in his pockets, and pulls out two pills. I'm happy, and tell the MDs that I will participate in the study again.
The medical team. Dr. Dave on far right. Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
Aid station food/race nutrition |
Poor Dr. Dave is my next MD victim I verbally attack. He asks me for my journal and my spare batteries. "Spare batteries?! Spare batteries??? What spare batteries?! Why would I be carrying spare batteries?!! That's so stupid! Spare batteries??? NO! I'm not doing this anymore!" Angry and shaking my head, I pout in the chair munching on a bowl of Doritos because I'm so hungry and there's nothing else to eat. I don't give a shit about spare batteries. Feed me. Dr. Dave gives me a cup of iced gingerale, which seemed like a good idea when it was offered, but now I'm even more cold. He gets me a blanket to cover up, and I totally bury myself in it not wanting to ever come out of it. I give him my journal, but I'm unwilling to deal with anymore of this gear check BS. Just hand over the bag of Doritos. He's smart. He gives me the bag of Doritos, and does not probe any further about those spare batteries.
Reluctantly, Anand and I decide to head out. It's about midnight. I take the blanket off, and instantly feel frozen to the bone. My legs are so stiff from the cold that they can barely move. I'm whining to Anand how cold and miserable I feel. His hands are frozen, but tells me to just keep moving. After about 15 minutes, I finally started to warm up again. We have about a 2.3 mile climb further up the mountain before we make the 7 mile descent down pavement. I'm looking forward to hitting the pavement, but know all too well how awful it's going to feel on the body.
Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
Meanwhile, I'm reflecting a little bit about how I was feeling during this section the last time I did this race in 2011. I had been anticipating this 7 mile stretch for several months now. It was the section of race when I made some pretty profound discoveries about myself, and my life. The last time I was on this section, my mind and heart were filled with so much turmoil, confusion, depression, pain, and anger. It was agonizing to say the least trying to finish this 7 mile stretch back in 2011.
This time around, I feel more peaceful. Other than what you'd expect to feel after having done 115 miles, I was feeling much more calm. I was not experiencing a chaotic mind or soul. It was a relief for me. Possibly even a bit uneventful, anti-climatic, and boring. Nevertheless, I was less distracted.
Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
Mt. Everest blister on the inside of my heel |
REST DAY - 0 miles! - 21 Jun 2013
I slept for a few hours, but as usual after running so many miles, I can't sleep very well. I wake up to find that I have slid down the tent into Teddi who has slid down into Candy. We're on an incline...nice!
Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
One of several spectacular views at camp after stage 4 |
River Rest Day! Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
Dr. Rob |
STAGE 5 - Marathon Day 26.2 miles - 22 Jun 2013
Sleepy and puffy |
Breakfast consists of the usual fruit, coconut milk yogurt, a tiny amount of oatmeal, soy milk, and oranges. John the cook even offers to bring me coffee as I like it. I feel spoiled, but I like it. Thanks John! Everyone looks a bit sleepy. It's obvious who are morning people and who are not. Who was up until 3 am, and who wasn't.
I'm looking around at the scenery. It's so beautiful here. And now I'm thinking, "does it really have to end already???" "I can hardly wait to do another one of these!" So much for retiring from multi-stage races. I'm giddy with excitement, I don't care about my foot even though it's hurting, and I'm totally looking forward to celebrating after the race (Stage 6 anyone???). Really though, it's only 26 miles. I'll be done by early afternoon and will have the rest of the day to hang out!
The race starts and up we go again making another 10k climb up the La Sal Mountains. I feel pretty good. I'm in my own space, and for the first time, am actually interested to listen to music on my iPod. It pumps me up and I power walk my way up the mountain. Once again, the scenery on this day is exceptional. I can't stop oooing and ahhhing at the landscape.
As I make my way up, I'm realizing that it's the last day so I can push harder than the previous days. I can trash my body because it no longer matters! I'm in a zone focusing on moving quickly when I see a butterfly, "oooh a butterfly!" This makes me giggle.
I get to the top of the mountain at the first aid station, fill up my water, and bust out. I start running because now it's my kind of terrain again. Technical downhills, and lots of rocks. I roll my right ankle within 15 minutes and I can feel the tingling and numbness go up the side of my calf. Ouch. Now my right ankle is really jacked. It's hurting more and more and I'm hoping the pain meds will start to help. If anything, I hope my adrenalin kicks in soon so the pain numbs out.
Right about to hit the 10% down hill grade |
Some have bigger rocks than others :) Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
Running Porcupine Rim Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
I get my water at the aid station, get my rock aka "cock" (you can ask me about this) checked by staff, and take off. Only 10k ish left to go and I'm done. I'm feeling pretty good, but remember it being a very hot 10k the last time I did this section.
I'm doing my best to cool myself down by pouring water on my head and shirt. After about 15 minutes, my adrenalin is wearing off and I'm feeling the intense pain in my right foot and ankle. Shit. I'm still moving along making a 10 min pace mile. I'm slowing down, but at this pace, I'll still be done in just over an hour. I can handle that. I keep trying to run because every time I slow down to a walk, my foot hurts worse and it gets more difficult to get going again. I remind myself that this is the last day so just deal with it and push through it. I keep running.
I run out of water, my mouth is so dry, but I know I'm less than 2 miles away. I finally see the bend in the road that leads to the finish. I start running again. I have mixed feelings about it all. I want to finish, but I'm sad that it's ending at the same time. I run down the hill and keep pushing until I cross the finish line. I'm greeted by Candy and Carol. I sit down and start crying. It's been a brutal week, but I made it.
As always watching the remaining competitors come in is an inspiring time. I'll never forget Kurt Egli coming in as the song "Wonderful Tonight" by Eric Clapton was playing. Talk about the most depressing and terrible song to finish a 148 mile race LOL!
POST RACE REFLECTIONS
Welcoming Anand into the finish Photo by Glen Delman Photography |
It's okay to stop, and it's good to know when to stop. I used to think it had to be all or nothing. But I got to do 93% of the course, still feel like I succeeded in the race, and enjoy myself in the process. It was after all, my vacation. There's nothing wrong with slowing down, protecting your body, and your sanity. It doesn't always have to be a suffer fest every minute of the way.
Ditch Buddies |
My awesome tent mates (minus Nick!) Teddi, Candy, Jenn, Carol, and me |
It doesn't always have to be about you surviving. Sometimes sportsmanship is more important. Helping a racer who is struggling more than you not only gets your mind off your own problems, but builds a friendship you would've otherwise missed out on.
Eat. Drink. Run. Repeat!