Le Grizz: October 13, 2007.

Alright. People have been asking for a race report; I keep telling myself I really ought to write one and the time when I’ll remember events semi-accurately without the superimposition of my own tall tales obscuring reality beyond recognition is fleeting. So let’s get ‘er done.

I’m not sure where the report starts. Last spring I got it in my head that I should try an ultramarathon. I am aware that this isn’t a thought that pops up randomly for most people, but I can’t for the life of me recall the train of thought that led me to it. It’s a mystery. But whatever it was that impelled me, I started reading a little. Somewhere some article made mention of Le Grizz as a good time. Looked up Le Grizz and it did indeed seem like a good time- right time of year, pretty place, right seeming atmosphere. So the idea was there. However, as a sensible and rational adult, I reminded myself that working full time and going to school full time really didn’t leave enough hours to train properly and that it would be a good goal to have an ultra done by the time I turned 30. But then I was me, and my head did this things it does where it wraps itself around these kind of ideas and just doesn’t let go…and I realized I was going to do it in October.

Training was good. More miles than I’d ever run. A couple really memorable runs, including my longest, a seven hour run through most of Manhattan and some of Brooklyn the morning after I flew in from Vietnam…jet lag + reflection on Vietnam + seven hours of running in Manhattan summer heat = surreal experience…everything so big and shiny and expensive…then lost in Chinatown… Running has this strange effect of intensely enhancing my sensory awareness and while that makes running outside in beautiful places really amazing, it also makes running in Manhattan…interesting.

Fast forward several months. Wednesday before the race: I am organized. Everything is checked and ready to go. I have all my favorite running clothes laid out, extra jackets and a rain poncho, hat, gloves, watch, blister care kit, tigerbalm patches, clif bars, coconut water, ginger candy, little containers of hemp protein…Montana, here I come. But my socks are all dirty. I have 10 pairs of Thorlo superlow socks with an ankle roll, and in six marathons (and now one 50!) I have never suffered a blister. I really like these socks. So, no problem, I’ll go to the laundromat Thursday night, pack the socks, good to go Friday morning. Thursday at 5:00, I leave work and enter a torrential rain storm. I am up to my calf in mucky water, my umbrella is blown inside out and broken…and more water is continuing to fall from the sky. I am NOT going back outside…but my socks are all dirty and I have to get on a plane the next morning, and for all of my blisterlessness, my feet have made it very clear to me with itchy disgustingness that socks need to be clean. So Thursday night I am handwashing socks in my bathroom sink. Surely if I wring them out and hang them up they’ll be dry by morning. My shower looks like the mantle of a home with many poor children at Christmastime. Poor because superlow socks are itty bitty, many because I like to be overprepared.

Friday morning comes, the socks are still there (empty!- the poor children…), and still wet. I stuff them all in a plastic bag in the front of my backpack and hope there will be a hairdryer at the hotel. At some point the night before I’d called my dad and he’d suggested maybe we could stop and buy some socks…but again, head wrapped around an idea…I needed my socks.

Fast forward to Friday afternoon. Landed in Billings, met my dad who flew in from Omaha to meet me. We’re on our way up to Hungry Horse by Glacier National Park. There is an airport in Montana just about a half hour from Glacier, but it cost upwards of $900 to fly there from New York. I have no idea why. But to fly into Billings costs $300. And how far of a drive can it be? I mean, they’re in the same state...hmm. Turns out Montana is a pretty big state. But a pretty pretty big state, and I’m hanging out with my Dad; I have carrots and an oatmeal raisin clif bar, we’re getting an awesome radio station…life is good. 7:30 or so, we’re within 50 miles of the hotel, averaging about 85 mph…and here comes Mr. State Trooper. He comes up, gets license and registration…I smile really big and tell him I’m on my way to my first ultramarathon with my dad and we’ve been driving all day, and it’s such a pretty state! We get a warning. My dad is impressed.

(I swear I did actually run a race. I’m getting there.)

At 9:00, we’ve checked into the hotel, which happens to have a dryer on the premises! Socks are in, quarters are in, we are on our way down the road for some dinner. There I meet Tim and Melissa and Mike. They’re finishing up their meal, getting ready to run the next day. It’s Mike’s first Le Grizz too, but Tim ran it last year, and I think it’s a good sign he’s back. Melissa had sprained her ankle so was relegated to cheering this year, but she seemed like a pretty put together girl- I expect her to take Montana by storm next year. : ) Good people. I have a sort of tricky stomach so I’m a little wary about what I eat the night before a race…but I see pasta with marinara on the kids menu. Sweet. Waitress comes, I order. They are out of noodles. Tim and Melissa got the last ones. Did I say they were good people?!?!?! I wanted noodles. But it turns out it’s good for me to have to adapt a little (imagine!) and since it looked like I was going to have my socks, I figured I’d be able to get to the starting line even if I had to have a baked potato instead of noodles.

As a semi-serious interlude: I include these little anecdotes because my knee jerk reaction to things not going my way entertains and interests me. I don’t know where I get this rigidity in thinking, but I know sometimes it’s just a bit too much. Sometimes it serves me very well- it’s probably why I was in Montana running 50 miles at all, but it’s also something I am both figuratively and literally, running away from. I can’t count how many times I’ve told someone I love running for its simplicity- got space? Got legs? Do they work? Go for a run. I recognize the value of discipline, but god it’s important to know the difference between rules and structure that support you and rules and structure that hold you back. Running is a good way to learn about this. (Okay, I think running is a good way to learn about a lot of things. Everybody should run more!)

Okay, though, race report.

So Saturday morning. At the race. I get my number, I think I should socialize a little, meet some fellow runners, but it’s cold. I decide I’ll have 50 miles to meet them, and sitting in the warm car wins out. My dad tells me to rest and close my eyes and visualize. He is sleeping. I am putting my thumbs up and taking pictures of myself in the passenger seat, because I think I’m cool. Also used this little porta potty at the start, met and talked to Kendra Borgmann while we were both waiting. Didn’t know that would be the last time I saw her for eight hours and twelve minutes. Fast girl, she is. : )

And then we started. Now from here I have to say I don’t know how people write race reports where they talk about mile by mile. I have no idea which mile was which. Except that I thought there was an unmanned water stop at mile 12, and I kept thinking we had to be getting close…so I asked Tony “the Tiger” Pickering how much further he thought it would be to mile 12 and he told me we were at 15. That was cool. Highlights, or at least notable, or at least memorable-to-me moments are as follows, in no particular order, because that’s sort of the way I ran. Mentions of mileage are approximate…give or take ten or so:

I drank coffee before the start. I was really glad I decided to put that little pack of Kleenex in the pocket of my fleece. I had to stop not once, but twice. The first time I was modest and tried to melt off the path a ways into the trees. By the second time I just wanted to get it done and move on- I made it about 3 centimeters off the road. I apologize if anyone saw more of me than they cared to. But I seriously can’t run with a full bladder.

I talked to Tony a lot in the first half. I noticed a lot of people were pretty quiet, in their zone, not wasting a lot of energy talking…sometimes I’m there too, but I didn’t really feel it that day. Other people and their stories kind of energize me. Eventually Tony paused at an aid station to change his shirt and I went on, but I kept telling him I’d be sure to find him at the end to tell him he was grrrrrrrrreat. It wasn’t really very funny, but he humored me. Thanks Tony.

Also talked to Jenny for a while. She was living in Alaska (cold!) and moved to Montana last year. Her husband was there with her baby Sammie and she told me that every time she saw them the baby would cry and want her to stop and it was really hard not to. A couple miles later I saw Sammie and it was true. She was pretty cute, and definitely had the potential to make someone want to stop and hang out. It looked like her daddy was doing a pretty good job, however, and I spent a mile or so thinking that I would like to have my babies come cheer me on at races someday. : )

My dad parked a few miles ahead and ran back to meet me for a couple of miles around 20 or so. I killed about a mile debating the relative merits of a chocolate mint versus a banana nut clif bar with him, or maybe that was in my head. The difference between what was in my head and what was coming out of my mouth was already blurring at this point. Anyway, I was carrying the chocolate mint one. I ate a bite, and then, probably just because we were getting close to where it was parked and I could, I decided to trade it in for the banana one I had left in the car. Mmmm, and that was a good decision.

As far as food goes, it always amazes me how good something can taste when you’ve run a long, long way. At mile 27ish there was an aid station with pretzels with chocolate coating. I would not normally eat these, as I’m sure the chocolate coating was full of weird processed things I don’t understand. But: I ate a couple of those and damn they were good. And because I just couldn’t shut up, I saw Mike and ran up to tell him just how good they were. He was excited for me. Actually he looked at me like I was sort of crazy, but I know that was just his way of saying how excited he was.

And the banana at mile 36…was what I imagine a fix must be like for a really serious crack addict.

My dad came and ran a few more miles with me around mile 28…still feeling pretty good. In fact this was the point at which I couldn’t stop talking about how beautiful everything was and how beautiful the world was and how important I thought it was for us to be thankful for it, and also that I remembered some book I had when I was really little that was about Buddhism and cats, and did he remember what that book was, and since he didn’t, could he promise to remind me to ask my mom later, promise, promise, promise…oh, and I was thanking him for the genes that gave me strong legs, because, I explained to him, I’m made for hills, and blah, blah, blah. I don’t even know what else I was talking about. But I remember that I felt really, really happy.

It was around this time that my dad mentioned that there weren’t very many women ahead of me. Like one. Not that it mattered. And I reassured him that it didn’t matter. But that, even though it didn’t matter, I just wanted to know how far ahead she was and what she was wearing. After reiterating that I ought not to think about it, he told me he thought she was wearing a baby bluish adidas top. This had the effect of causing hallucinations of a blue adidas clad woman up ahead in the distance for the rest of the race.

There were four or five or six miles in the late thirties/early forties that were unbelievable. I was absolutely drunk on my own endorphins. I had my Ipod on and sang. Loudly. Burning Down the House, the Talking Heads song, and, oh that other classic, Dignity, the Hilary Duff song. Again, I was feeling cool. Perhaps I should stop doing that. It is interesting to note that I don’t generally sing in front of people. It’s sort of a courtesy- if you heard me, you’d understand. Fortunately people were pretty spread out by this point, so I did attempt to maintain this standard, especially as I belted out Where’s your, where’s your, where’s your digniteeeeeeeeee?. Unfortunately, I failed not once, but twice. The first time I came around this bend and there was this woman patiently waiting outside her car to hand water or gels to somebody she hoped was approaching. Sweet woman though- I shut up really fast, and she smiled and told me to keep it up. And, despite my momentary sheepish feelings, as soon as I was past her, I did keep it up, right until I came up behind this guy. I actually feel badly about this part- I ran past him, then turned around and told him I was sorry for the singing, that I didn’t normally do it, but I felt good, blah, blah, blah. He looked like he wanted to punch me. I don’t blame him- sorry.

A few miles later, I understood that guy’s expression a lot better. This was the low point. My dad was there again for a little stretch, and I told him to stop talking. Sorry for that too. He took a picture- if you look at the album, there’s one where I’m looking up and kind of holding the water bottle up toward the camera. The expression manifested there captures those miles perfectly: “I’m still f**king running, endorphins are fading, and I don’t feel pretty and why the hell are you taking my picture????

But I’m glad I have that picture now.

And to be honest, that low point wasn’t so low. I don’t want to minimize the distance at all, but I have to say, it was a pretty fantastic experience the whole way through. I didn’t ever think I wouldn’t finish, and I didn’t for one moment regret having started. At various points throughout the whole endeavor, I reflected on the tone of my self-talk. It was interesting. When I was younger I pounded out a lot of anger and confusion and negativity in miles. And sometimes when I’m angry, I still run some pretty smoking fury fueled 5 or 10 Ks. But it’s nice that running no longer has much to do with those feelings. I was deeply and immensely grateful, alive, in love with the world for pretty much the duration of the experience in Montana. That’s cool, and I’m grateful now that I had the opportunity to be grateful then.

That said, and I hope I can explain this without sounding too masochistic, I had kind of been looking forward to some good mental battles with myself. Some people will get what I mean by this and some won’t, but I just felt ready to find some limits and challenge them, and it didn’t really happen.

HOWEVER: I can’t really justify complaining that the day was too perfect, or that it was too fun. I sometimes forget that while a meaningful time isn’t always a good time, a good time can most certainly be a meaningful one. It seems like a pretty silly thing to forget when I actually write it out that way, and I almost want to delete it, because it’s a little shameful to admit. But I won’t, because I think I should remember it.

Besides, I imagine life will afford me plentiful opportunity to battle self-imposed limitations in the future without my stalking them.

Anyway- back to the last few miles. Dad was there again to run up to the dam with me to Mile 47. I don’t remember that much except thinking how beautiful it was and him telling me I was like “a running machine.” That was a good thought to hold onto for those last few miles.

At mile 48 or so, Ben and Pete from Arizona came up behind me. I thought I was going to let them go, but Pete had this incredible black ponytail. It had to be the shiniest hair I’d ever seen, and I somehow talked myself into catching it. We ran together for a ways, and Ben said something about the top 15 of us getting Hungry Horse malt liquor...running turns me into a real lightweight and given that the thought of liquor at that moment was enough to start me humming Hilary Duff songs again, I kind of grimaced at the thought of what a shot might have had me doing…fortunately for us all, there was no such malt liquor at the finish line.

At mile 49, I couldn’t do the shuffle anymore. I ran. It felt good. Right before the end there was a little section of trail climbing, and I wish someone had been there to see my face while I charged (plodded? With a lot of heart?) up that little hill. I know I looked cool. : )

And then it was the end. Made it. Took a picture with Kendra- she was done a good hour and a half before me…I definitely never saw the baby blue. Ate some potatoes, got my neck and quads rubbed. Went home. Showered, nice. Put on pretty clothes, felt clean and satisfied. Awards Ceremony. Pizza with my dad, Tony, Michael and Tim.

It was at the pizza place that Michael mentioned Rocky Raccoon in February. 50 miles (or 100?) on a nice easy trail in Texas. I explained to him that I didn’t really have the time, that it was going to be too cold to train in Manhattan pretty soon, etc., etc. Then I came home and wrote long run dates for the next three months in my calendar and checked out airfares to Texas.

[Pictures: kellebelleruns.shutterfly.com]