RACE REPORT: 9/16/2017

The North Face Endurance Challenge – Gortex 50 Mile – Wisconsin

A 2:45AM alarm clock for Saturday morning is only manageable when the trails are calling.  That’s a unanimously agreed upon fact. (Trust me, I fact checked it)

After a banana, bagel with peanut butter (creamy, not crunchy, duh), and TWO microwaveable oatmeal cups, I found myself driving.  Driving through Americas dairy land by moonlight to toe the line for the north face endurance challenge 50 mile race.

Forecast: 85 and humid, thanks for gracing us with your presence, “fall” (NOT).  Having never step foot on the course I was crossing my fingers for massive tree coverage as we would snaked through single track with an official elevation gain of over 6,000ft.  I had flash backs to the Vermont marathon last May that ended up being a record high temperature, resulting in a frustrated me, only after getting pummeled by the sun and the course.  Today, I needed to manage body heat, fluid intake, and pace if I wanted to make it out alive.

Having failed to break in my new Salomon racing shoes I strapped on my trusty asics that were 4oz heavier (guys, it matters) along with my head lamp, and I was ready to go into the “coal mine” and test my lungs.

Wave number one was off at 5:00am on the dot. It would be roughly 1.5 hours until daybreak and a race against the sun.  Tim Olsons doppelganger with golden locks was out of sight within the first mile. I settled in with the first pack of 7.  Feeling fresh, the first miles flew and it wasn’t long before the pack broke at mile 7, aid station number 2. Having snuck to the port-a-jon I exited to realize I had no idea who was in front or behind me as I continued down the trail.  “There’s a lot of race left”, and I settled into the comfortable pace of being slightly uncomfortable, keeping my eyes on the reflective band lining the competitors pack 50 yards ahead of me.

Dawn broke and I learned through the course volunteers I was sitting in 4th place.  My head lamp assumed its position in my race pack only be dead weight for the remainder of the 40 miles left.  At mile 10, 5th place was on my heals.  Dirk, hailing from Chicago, joined me.  In true trail running style a friendly conversation brewed.  We passed the time in a shoulder high maze, cut perfectly to the width of a truck, that was whisping in the wind and golden from the rising sun. This never gets old, ever.  The next 5 miles we picked up the pace and swapped stories, marveling the scenery and silence around us.  By the time I reeled back to drop the pace we had moved into 2nd and 3rd respectively.

At mile 22 I slipped into second. Executing my nutrition plan of #GU and #stroopewaffels and #scratch, I was poised for a solid back half of the course.

At the turn-around (mile 28) I was clocked 90 seconds behind Dirk in first place. We high five as we passed, Dirk heading for the finish and myself looking to catch up.  My target was in sight. Now it was time to go to work.

Taking advantage of my leftover mountain legs from August, I pushed the climbs and assumed “recklessness” on the decent.  Nothing like gravity pulling you down the hill.  At mile 35 it paid off, and I passed Dirk on the ascent.

Now, it was my race to lose.  Little did I know mile 40 – 45 were in full sun exposure. Having crested the five-hour mark in the race my body began to shut down its nutrition. Legs were feeling great, but they don’t run without fuel.  Consuming my last solid food at 5 hours and 15 minutes, it was now a game against the clock with an all liquid diet.  The pace slowed, the body sank, and I honestly needed a kick in the ass.  Promptly at mile 45 my legs made a decision without informing my stomach. I dropped the pace to the fastest I had been running all day and entered “gut check” time, as my dad calls it.

I hit the last aid station at mile 48.2, 15 yards upon approach I called for the only saving grace to an endurance athlete when their body is rejecting everything, “COCA-COLA” “COCA-COLA”.  I was met on the race course with two cups that I hijacked out of the volunteers hands as I pushed through without slowing pace.  30 seconds later, being so close to the finish I looked back to see if Dirk was in sight.  A small orange shirt and black shorts were revealed.  But, at this point on the course, with my eyes glazed over, we overlapped with the 50k racers and I had no way of knowing who it really was.  As I put my focus on the trail ahead I immediately vomited up the Cola and a blended version of today’s nutrition.  Then, 15 seconds later, another projectile vomit.  Dripping down my chin without missing a beat I knew I was in for a painful finish.  I put my head down and willed my legs forward without the option of slowing down, because, it was my race to lose.

At mile 49 I glanced back again, no orange shirt.  Was I hallucinating a mile ago?  Was it pre-vomit trickery?  None the less, there was no stopping the 135 pound freight train I had morphed my body into.

The finish line never looked so good.  I made the last turn off the gravel and into the grass, pushing through the line.  I immediately assumed a “hands on the knees” pose and waited for the inevitable muscle cramping to ensue.  But all that came was water, my eyes welled up as I was caught staring at the ground.  The past year of running flashed through my mind.  A 50 mile race in late spring with a parasite posted up at home in my body, compromising a 16 week winter training program in spite of my epic outdoor battle with Jack Frost doing his finest work.  A re-surfacing of my IT band injury never quite allowing the summer mileage I hoped.  And the P2P 100 mile race canceled because, fire, sending me into a frenzy that I would lose my transrockies legs (blessing in disguise as this race filled the slot).  I’d been waiting to have a race like this, I’d been waiting all year.  A race that was well executed with restraint and adaption.  A race that allowed revenge on a distance that kicked my ass (with the help of my parasite of course).  A race that requires me to rise to the occasion and push the limits of what I am capable of.

Thousands of miles and training hours are condensed into a few opportunities to see if your efforts paid off.  Getting back to this point, its never guaranteed.  Working the body into this type of shape, managing the mind to follow, it can be daunting and fleeting.  There are few opportunities to let the body actually recover and race.  And this time, I wasn’t going to let it slip by me.

Results