The time had come. I woke up in the morning hungry, and refreshed. I stayed at the Hampton Suites with a few friends who recommended the place with what I thought was more than enough time. I went downstairs, sampled their continental breakfast and hit the road. By the time I parked my car and got to the starting line, I met up with a few guys from my morning work-out group and we hit the trail with 600 other crazy runners. The race typically had closer to 1,000, but numbers were lower this year because of the pandemic
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The first 5-6 miles started out like any race, everyone started out faster than the pace they would settle into, trying not to get left behind from the front of the pack. There were a few F-3 guys I stayed with and a few strangers too, but after about 7 miles, the crowd thinned out, mostly because people were passing me. I tried to remind myself to take it slow, and my foot was still bothering me from that training run at Kennesaw 10 days ago.
Around mile 8 there was a line of us running under a fence post. I was at the front of the line, apparently slowing all the people behind me down. I couldn't tell where the trail was supposed to go, so I slowed down to a walk, and asked "where's the trail" sort of rhetorically. Then I quickly ducked under the fence post and kept running, not sure if that was the actual trail or if I would need to backtrack. Without a heads-up, a buddy of mine behind me hit his head right on the bridge of his nose, splitting the skin and knocking him almost to the ground.
He insisted he was fine, and ran to the aid station where the course aid team patched him up. He was much more well trained than I was, and eventually passed me. The picture above shows him after being patched up maybe 3-4 miles down the course. This also shows how steep the terrain was at certain parts.
By mile 14, my foot was hurting pretty bad. The next aid station was at mile 18 and I was wondering if I should call it and stop running when I get there. I was limping, and "running" at a slow jog by that point. The 2 miles leading up to the aid station were pretty steep, and I was walking sections of it, wondering if I could continue. By the time I got there, a group of people were cheering and there was plenty of food and goo. With the momentum of some water and a good break, I decided to try to get to the aid station at mile 25. I thought to myself, if I was going to stop, I would do it then.
That aid station at mile 25 came and went, and I got more water and food and kept going. I slowed down a lot after that, probably to a 13 minute mile pace, and was getting passed left and right by other runners. Around mile 35, there was a 5 mile loop through rolling hills around a lake. The race staff told me I had about an hour to get back to that aid station, or I would be timed out because my pace was too slow to finish before the cut off time (13:30). I was pretty nervous at that point, so I stepped it up and kept pushing.
The warning put some wind in my sails, so I picked up the pace for the back half of the race. I started to pass some of the people who passed me. My feet were hurting pretty badly by then, and each time I stepped on a small rock or a twig it sent a jolt up my leg. My feet were blistered pretty bad, but I didn't know it then. This was where the mental toughness training came in. I was tired and drained, the hills were coming fast and furious, but I had to keep pushing.
It was getting dark, so I turned on my headlamp and jogged in the dark with a few other runners toward the last aid station at mile 42. By that point, I was still trying to keep moving to avoid missing the cutoff time. my pace was awful and i was dead tired, but kept going. When I got to the aid station, they had grilled cheese sandwiches, and I took my time and ate probably 4 of them.
I looked at my watch, I had about an hour and 18 minutes to run 6 miles. Under normal circumstances, this was no big deal. But this was after 44 miles and 12 hours of running. Then the Lord sent me an angel. Jon Lacy. One of the F-3 guys I saw earlier in the race walked up, drained and hungry. He took down some food and we agreed to try to finish before the cut off together.
We charged the hills, tired and worn out, and by the time we got to the last mile, we only had about 9 minutes to get it done. We both went through waves of starting to sprint, getting tired, slowing down, and then catching our breath and picking up the pace again. He took off out in front of me and I tried to keep up. His wife had come down the trail and was calling his name to hurry up. He ran faster, and I tried to keep up with him. When we finally had the finish line in sight, we were about a quarter mile away with 2 minutes to spare, sweating and swollen (feet).
We crossed the finish line together, him 2 paces in front of me, at 12:28, with two minutes to spare. By now most of the runners had either finished or given up, but there was a small crowd who cheered us on, mostly Jons wife and her friends. They insisted I get in the car with them and come back to the cabin they had rented for food/refreshments. I was too tired to think and way too tired to drive. So I got in the car and we all went and had pizza.
When I walked into the house, I laid down and fell on the floor, My legs were shaking. My whole body was shivering. I was so dehydrated. Many of the guys who were also staying with Jon at the cabin had been done for hours. They were enjoying pizza and joking around. I was on the floor ready to pass out. A dog came up and licked the sweat off my skin. I chugged as much water as I could and laid on the floor for about an hour. Eventually I got up and drove back to the hotel, took an ice bath, and went to bed. When I woke up my legs were extremely sore, and I could barely walk. I was limping hard, and that went on, gradually getting better each day, for about 10 days. And thats the story of the first 50 mile ultra I ran.
I felt proud. It was weird though. It wasn't the hardest run I had ever done. Not by a long shot. That marathon when I set a personal record and qualified for Boston was much harder. Its one thing to run farther than your body is comfortable with, but to do it at a crazy fast pace is a different story. The ultra accomplished two things. It helped me understand how far my body can run before falling over, and it was the first serious step in my Everest training, but definitely wouldn't be the last.
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