It's been 2 full weeks since the 20in24 Back On My Feet Ultramarathon. The weather was perfect. It was a beautiful, hot, sunny day in July. I ran 50.4 miles in a blissful state with absolutely no problems.
Haha just kidding. This was definitely a challenge. But I am happy to report that I pushed through and completed my goal of 50 miles!
I arrived on Friday and went to have my vitals checked. They do this just in case you run into any major problems during the 24 hour race (not that anyone ever has any problems in a situation like this). Oddly enough, the same man who checked my vitals this year was the one who did it last year. Even weirder, we remembered each other. Boy did we get a good laugh out of that. *awkward pause.*
Then my mom and I walked around Philly and got a burrito for dinner. Now before you all go nuts here, let me tell you something. I sincerely believe that a Chipotle burrito, when properly assembled, will give you far more and far superior energy than a plate of pasta. Yes. Correct. Burrito>pasta for a marathon, ultramarathon, or triathlon. Of course, I get a vegetarian one and I do not put sour cream on it. But I do include lots of beans, rice, and veggies. Combine the power of beans with the carbs of a HUGE tortilla and rice and it's a no brainer. Also, let's not be too graphic here, but it goes out easy the next morning...
I could NOT sleep the night before the race. I was going insane - I had two horrible dreams about the race. In one, I dreamed that part of the race was flooded and we had to swim it. In another, I dreamed that I had only gone 16 miles in the first 12 hours.
After finally waking up and convincing myself that the race hadn't started yet, I couldn't bring myself to eat very much. Nerves and lack of sleep put an achy rock in my stomach and no food wanted to enter. And no, this has nothing to do with my burrito. Stop it with the burrito-hating, guys. Burritos are our friends.
And then...we were off! I found my mom a shady spot to park and after she spent enough time worrying over me, I started the race in full force! I wore my spiffy camelback and a new outfit picked out just for me by my mommy. There was nothing more to want. A full day of running fun awaited me.
Except it sucked. The first lap left me hungry and tired but I knew that if I took a break already, I would want to give up. So I told the nice folks keeping time that I was heading out for another one. I waved to my mom and pressed on. And then promptly rolled my ankle. In mid stride. There was no catalyst. I just landed on my foot wrong and collapsed onto the lawn by the Rocky statue.
Overweight tourists looked at me with concern. What was this strange woman doing lying on the sidewalk with a number pinned to her chest? What was up with the backpack? Runners passed me with a quick, "are you ok?" Sure. I'm fine. I'm really having a great time here, SUCH a great time in fact, that I decided to just lie on the grass for a few minutes doubled over. I'm just PRETENDING to be in pain.
But I really wasn't interested in stopping or in a side of pity, so after the pain subsided, I kept going. Which was vaguely stupid because then my knee started to hurt, but there was nothing else to do. I could walk the half mile back to the start and take a break, but I knew that if I stopped, I'd want to go home.
After a grueling, limpy gimpy lap, I told the nice people keeping track of time that I was going to take a break. I went over to my mom and promptly, maturely started to bawl. It was a really grown up crying that consisted of, "blwarwhg washse sniffle Wanna go home!!!"
So guys, this is where it gets really deep. My mom had insisted on coming and so did my boyfriend (who smartly missed the cryfest by driving up on Saturday instead of Friday). They were both convinced that I would die if they did not come. And you know what? I would have given up if my mom hadn't been there to console me and get me to snap out of it. She told me to go get my foot wrapped (I did). She told me that I could do it (I did. Eventually). She told me I wanted it (I did). And I got back out there and I ran another two laps.
I only took two breaks - one initial break of 2 hours and then a second 1 hour break to eat. The entire race I was hungry but not hungry enough to eat. It was painful and kept my energy low. If (when) I do another one of these, I need to take MORE FOOD. Peanut butter sandwiches just won't cut it and Clif bars don't taste so great after you had 3. Or even just half of one...
But anyway back to my foot. I went to the medical tent and had them wrap my ankle (they were nice enough to tell me that 16 miles was impressive. I knew the truth. Nothing short of 50 is impressive). And then I bounded out onto the trail again, complete with ankle and knee brace. But...they wrapped it too tight. So after the first mile, I once again sat down on the grass (this time not doubled over). I yanked my shoe off and started to tear at the tape but man, they were good. After a few minutes two volunteers on bikes stopped by to assist me. However, being the good citizens that they were, they were not carrying a pocket knife. Nor did they have a pair of scissors. However, they both offered keys so there I sat, tearing away at my bandages with my entourage and their housekeys. But that didn't really do too much good and after another few minutes, the medic truck stopped by. Now these guys had some serious scissors. So by this point, I had 4 people standing over me, watching my undo my bandages. I felt a strange sense of importance and humiliation. There's really no feeling quite like it. But they didn't make me stop running and they even took my sweaty, gross bandages to throw away. This race has absolutely, hands down, THE BEST volunteers on the planet.
So I kept running/running walking and finally started pacing with an older guy. He had done 60+ ultramarathons. I was blown away. How does someone even make the time to do that many?? It definitely helped to have someone to chat with for a while and I finished my second 16 in pretty good time. At this point, boyfriend had arrived and was able to convince me to eat a little bit more.
The final lap was amazing. My mom and my boyfriend went out and paced with me, thank goodness. Philly was a dark place in the middle of the night and I was so happy not to be alone. Of course you wouldn't know that because I might have been whining most of the time (the first 40+ miles were awfully lonely without anyone to complain to). Eventually we met up with another lone ranger who was attempting 50 miles. I was one lap ahead of him and we were all shuffling together for the last few miles. I was happy that we were with him because he was all alone and it seemed unsafe. A lot of lights were out on the path and we were told that someone was mugged along the race course (yay urban running)! I felt bad that I had only to reach the finish line to finish while he would have to plow ahead...but not bad enough to go out for another jaunt with him.
When we got to the last few hundred meters, I was able to run to the finish line. I kept expecting to feel exhilirated or overjoyed or to cry from relief. But mostly I just wanted to sit down. Maybe I am not as an emotional runner as I thought. In any case, I was so happy to be done!!
Initially, I was disappointed in the medal. It's not a medal, but more of a plaque. I had really wanted something to hang around my neck, but it was not to be. However, now I'm really happy to have something unique for my 50 miles. It's sitting proudly in my apartment with a place of honor next to some cat toys. It's a nice reminder of the day, but the memories are much dearer to me. It was an insane, painful, and fun day that I never could have done without the support of my family and friends. I am excited to run 50 miles again and look forward to doing another ultra in the near futue :)
Who wants in?
