October 21, 2010

This past Saturday my fiancé, Brad, and I each completed our first 50 mile ultramarathon.  I’d been looking forward to running this event for years when I finally dashed across that glorious finish line.  (By then, I suspect I was waddling, but we can keep that between you and me!). 

My siblings and I used to participate in the TusseyMountainback with friends as part of a relay team.  This event, held every October for 11 years now, is a 50 mile loop through Rothrock State Forest located in State College, Pennsylvania.  Participants can run the event individually as an ultramarathon or as part of a relay team.  Teams can consist of 2-8 people.  There are 12 legs to the race ranging in distance from slightly shy of 3 miles to a 10K.  Participant #1 runs leg 1, then passes off a snap-bracelet to participant #2 at a transition zone where participant #2 begins the second leg of the course.  This handoff of the snap-bracelet between runners at transition zones continues until all legs of the course are run.  Depending upon the size of one’s team, some participants will run multiple legs whereas others might run just one.  But don’t be led astray, this is a difficult course no matter what distance one runs.  Still, some are drawn to run it alone.  I, for one, was always overly inspired, year after year, when witnessing the ultras each complete their own individual 50 mile feat. 

As a relay participate my team and I always had a great time at this event, running through Rothrock State Forest, passing off our snap-bracelet “baton” to the next person running at each transition zone, playing our music exceptionally loud, eating cookies, and sipping on Gatorade while cruising slowly in our support vehicle from transition zone to transition zone, dropping off runners intermittently along those windy, gravel roads.  We’d cheer our loudest for the ultras while waiting for our turn to run, and I’d act a little silly on the last leg of the course, congratulating the ultras as I past them by, telling them how inspirational they were to me, and how incredible it was that they would be finishing 50 miles through the woods, 50 miles that weren’t flat, that increased in elevation something like 6000 feet throughout the span of the race…50 miles of running!  “You’re going to make it!!!  Today you’re running an ultra!!! YOU are beyond awesome!!!”  I’d scream and smile trying to encourage these folks to continue on.  People need motivation.  People need support no matter how crazy you look when giving it out.    

On Saturday, finally, I was the one running the ultra.  I was the one listening to the relay teams say, “way to go, ultra”, “almost there, ultra”, “looking strong, ultra”.  It was the most incredible feeling in the world. 

At the start of the race around 7am the sun hadn’t yet completely made its way out of bed.  The air was cool ─ somewhere around 40 degrees Fahrenheit ─ and my nerves felt as if they might just jump right out of my skin.  It was a strange feeling when the starting gun went off and, I, along with the majority of the other ultra participants, jogged off into the woods.  In front of me stood a massive mountain I was about to climb, a mountain covered in the most beautiful leaves painted all sorts of colors.  Fall presented us with its best this year.  The scenery couldn’t have been any more spectacular. 

My emotions took over me for a second.  I was beginning my first ultramarathon.  Brad was running beside me and I was grateful for this, but I wished for my older brother to be by my side.  I always had plans for us that we’d run this race together.  First, we were to try it as a supra or maybe even a three person team.  Then, the following year we’d do the ultra.  I always made plans for Jeremy when it came to running.  I’d register the both of us for races and he’d just go along with whatever I’d planned.  He fed my addiction well.  But the truth is I suspect I fed his also.  He was a person who lived for the thrill of life.  Just how far can you push the limit?  How far can we push our bodies?  When will our minds give up on the physical challenge?  Or will they ever? 

As my emotions took the best of me, just for a second, I took a look up into the sky, at the trees in front of me, and at the road leading the way up the first leg of the race.  It was 3.1 miles uphill.  It was Jeremy’s leg.  Just like that, an orange, crinkled leaf slowly fell to the ground landing just ahead of my stride.  Jeremy always ran just slightly ahead of me.  In that moment, I remembered Jeremy racing to the top of his leg as fast as he could, doing his best to start his team off well.  His inspiration turned my sadness into momentum.  That day I was going to run 50 miles through the woods for my brother, for his classmates, for his fellow students, and for all those who have gone before us.  They’d been through much worse than me ─ they’d already faced death.  All I needed to do was face a little physical exhaustion.  I could do this, and I would, in honor of Jeremy.

That Saturday was a beautiful day for me, but for so many others it would mark the worst or saddest day of their lives.  A 50 year old Bellefonte man ─ a father of 3, husband, and high school lacrosse coach ─ unexpectedly died a few days back.  That Saturday marked his funeral.  I always remembered this man as friendly, good natured, full of life with a smile covering his face.  I remember him watching his girls swim at the Bellefonte Family YMCA.  He was a proud father ─ a man I’m sure will forever be missed.  That day those girls, their brother and their mother would have to do the hardest thing ever ─ they’d have to lay their loved one to rest.  It wasn’t right. 

So I could run 50 miles.  It would be a piece of cake. 

This outlook kept me moving strong.  Brad and I ran the entire first 26 miles breaking only at the relay transition zones for water, Gatorade, snacks, and bathroom breaks.  We finished our first “marathon” in 4:03 despite breaking for about 15 minutes. 

After miles 26 we faced a huge hill which we both agreed to walk briskly. 

We stayed together throughout the course of the race. I’d begged Brad to run the race with me when a good friend of mine became injured, and wasn’t able to participate.  Although towards the end Brad faced some cramping and chafing issues, we stayed together and pushed each other along.  And while I slowly jogged up our first few hills he didn’t leave me behind in the dust.  That day, we were a team ─ the eternal optimist and the realist.  I’ll leave you guessing who is who!   

Around mile 32 Brad started to look a bit pale, and his eyes started to sink back into his head, but he pushed through, and by mile 40 he was looking much better.  We’d trained for this race so I knew we both could finish.  We’d put our time in.  It was just a matter of pushing our bodies past what our minds wanted to do, ignoring the pain, ignoring the repetition, and just trucking on. 

Around mile 35, I found myself pretty confident we were going to finish the race.  And by mile 41, I knew we had this challenge under our belts.  My excitement escalated, my adrenaline increased, and I felt as if I were on top of the world.  A sense of euphoria disguised my physical pain.   

The second to last leg of the race, leg #11, consists of an out and back section with the first mile being uphill, the second downhill, the third back up, and the fourth right back down.  Once we hit that final downhill grade on leg #11, I knew we were on the homestretch as the twelfth and final leg of the race literally is just about all downhill. 

Leg #12 consists of 3.5 miles downhill and a short half mile flat stretch into the finish.  That was it. That was all we had left.  I remember seeing so many Nittany Valley Running Club members as I crossed through the final transition zone leading to the beginning of leg #12.  One of my prior coworkers was a member of the “Avocados” relay team.  Her hair was dyed green, and she was cheering loudly while ringing a cow bell.  Following Theresa, I passed by my swimming instructor from back when I was a child participating in lessons at the Bellefonte Family YMCA.  The support of friends and family fed my desire to finish what I’d begun. 

Brad was slowing down, but I tried my best to pull him along.  I’ll be honest here ─ I wasn’t the best of motivational speakers by that point in time.  “Oh Brad, come on, you can do this, just suck it up, it’s going to hurt!” 

And so we ran, and we ran, and we ran, and eventually we crossed that finish line I’d been waiting years for.  Brad couldn’t have been any more thrilled to have crossed the finish line and been offered a beer.  The recovery phase of our training had officially commenced. 

In the moment I saw the finish line less than a half mile in front of me I looked back up at those trees I’d witnessed earlier in the day as the sun was trying to rise.  The colors were spectacular ─ shades of yellows, orange, reds, greens, with hints of pink and purple tones showered my visual field.  Jeremy wasn’t just watching; he was with me, running that race, pushing me along, heck, maybe even pulling me along.  Without him I couldn’t have made it.  Without his inspiration and his legacy it wouldn’t have been possible. 

And so a sense of sadness came about me.  I was so lucky to be the person I was that day.  As Joe called Brad and me, that day we were “ultra beasts”.  That day we had pushed our bodies to the limit.  We had tested the waters.  Still, it was sad. I had a cheering section in the heavens larger than I would have liked. Jeremy was there with our 4-H leaders, Shirley and Kathy, my YMCA swim team coach, Sharon, our Grandpa Meier, Great Aunt Delores, Mrs. Dolan (an elderly neighbor whom we used to play cards with), so many members of our Bellefonte and State College communities, of Virginia Tech, Penn State and so many others, with our cousin Nicole’s good friend and father-in-law, with his good friend’s Dad, and with so many more.  His world is so much larger than mine.  His world knows much more meaning than mine. 

With that, I took a deep breath, pressed my right hand into my chest and took in what I had. 

Death hurts.  It’s the most difficult fight I’ve ever fought.  It’s unbearable torture.  And I’d be so bold to call it a bitch. 

But that day ─ that Saturday in October ─ I was stronger than I gave myself credit for.  I was strong enough to take death to the track, and give her a good run for her money. 

And you are too.  We are stronger than we know. 

That run: it was the best run of my life.  I wouldn’t change a thing ─ not my place, not my time, not the fact that we walked up that very huge hill, or the other, or that we rested for nearly 5 minutes in between each of the 12 legs.  8 hours, 41 minutes and 20 seconds spent in the forest on a beautiful fall day pushing my body towards exhaustion changed my entire perspective on running, racing, and on life.

You have the strength to face anything in this life.  We’re not always going to like our life circumstances but we are strong enough to face them on our own terms, with dignity, honor, and power.

Step out of your comfort zone this week.  You might be surprised what you’re capable of.