Heartbreak at North Face
This is not what I had in mind for my next blog. The thought of DNF never even crossed my mind. That's not entirely correct; I mentally prepared myself to push through 50 miles so I would not DNF. I knew it would get ugly after 35+ miles but that's also what makes endurance sports enticing, isn't it? You know you'll hurt and regret your decision at least once during your race but the glory of completing the distance with that gratifying cross of the finish line makes the pain all worth it. And I was so ready to endure that cramping, blisters, fatigue and everything else that comes with ultra running.
The morning of the race was uneventful. We had arrived for packet pick-up the day before the race, packed up our race gear, I noted all thefood aid stations on my arm and unsuccessfully, tried to get some sleep.
I probably got about 4 solid hours of sleep before the alarm went off at 3:20am.
The temperature was perfect - mid 60s - though the humidity of 100% would prove to make the first few hours a challenge.
I wasn't nervous, just anxious to start. A minute after the first wave started, we were off. For those who've never experienced an ultra start, let me try to explain it the best that I can. It's usually a cowbell that indicates the start. We start shuffling forward, you hear the sound of everyone's watch being set as you cross the mat and then the jokes begin. We know we're going to be out there for a long time and the best way to "deal" with our situation (that we did put ourselves into), is to laugh about it. With just our headlamps on, we listen to each others' breathing, our shoes shuffling on the gravel, hydration packs josteling and the occasional last minute commitment to the race strategy.
I looked forward to this portion as I knew the time and miles would pass quickly. Once the sun rose, it would be around the 6-7 mile mark and in my mind, then the race would start. We kept a solid 12-13 min pace for several hours. Walked up the hills, took advantage of down hills, spent no more than few minutes at aid stations ... I tripped a few times but no major falls.
My stomach had been bugging me all morning. I was so bloated, it felt like I had a prego stomach with empy air. I felt nauseous a few times but nothing major or worrisome. I took some Tums, stuck to salted potatoes, Hammer gels, Anti-fatigue caps and water. I felt confident in making the first hard cut-off around 21 miles and felt pretty good. In fact, we came up to the cemetary that I had taken a photo by during my first year at North Face. I was running with @cbrock and I was struggling with ITB issues at the time. The photo showed me climbing the fence to join the dead (respectfully) as I was in a lot of pain. I laughed as I told Ben the story and then we continued.
Then around 19 miles, I felt some stabbing pain in my right knee. It can't be... I haven't had any ITB issues all year. I thought maybe it was just my legs being tired and rejecting the running a little bit "Too bad, we've got a lot more running to do!" I thought. The pain returned and I went into complete denial about it. I stretched my legs out, walked a bit and avoided running down the hills as that seemed to exasperate the pain.
We finally reached the cut off -- where I saw this guy!! @ultrafarring13. I'm awful when it comes to putting real faces to IG/FB faces and names (especially real names). But I saw the skirt and the donut shirt and knew who it was immediately. I finally admitted that my IT band was bothering me. I still didn't think it would cause me to stop. We refueled, stretched and continued on as we still had about 14 miles to the next hard cut-off. After the break, my leg started feeling better. For about .1 mi. The familiar stabbing pain came back and my heart broke a little. I've been through this before and it never ended well. I started praying God for a miracle. I know that in the scope of all things going on in the world, my problem is not anywhere near being a 'problem'. But at that time, in that moment, it was all that I cared about. I wanted to continue. I came prepared to finish this race. I did everything by the book (ok, 97% ... ) I can't not finish this race.
I kept stopping to stretch, run, stop and stretch, walk. Repeating the process. I started speaking of my possibility of not being able to make the cut-off and having to pull out of the race. That dreaded DNF ran through my brain and I could barely handle it. My guy was supportive though he did mention that he's probably the last person to be there if I were to need a push to keep going (he hates running. But yes, he was running the 50M with me). He wisely said, "I know you think this is a failure. But remember what you said, about 1% finish a marathon and you've gone further than that today. With an injury." He was right but I kept wavering back and forth.
When I say I was ready for this race, I mean more than physically training for the distance. I knew how hard this race was and after finishing last year, I felt I couldn't have done it without my group of friends there to help push me. I didn't want to be mentally weak for this race and think I won't be able to finish. I tried to remember all the difficult times in the race and how to get past them. How would I handle that situation again - if I were the one to support my friend in the race? How can I be the pacer in my own race? What's my strategy? And remembering what worked well, etc.
And relieving that sprint (shuffle) across the finish line. What it felt like to be a rock start after enduring 50 miles on a challenging terrain (or just 50 miles in general).
I wasn't ready to let go of all of that. But walking became more painful and downhills gave me mini heart attacks as my knee couldn't really bend so I was balancing on one side of the body. My 60K DNF came to mind. Video here
I knew what I had to do, I just needed to say the words and then start recovery.
The pain was so bad that I said I don't even care if I make it to the 50K mark, which was my consolation distance. I'd said I'd be ok with DNF if I can make it to 31 miles. But as we headed to the 28.3 aid station, I said I'm done. Ben was more than ok with it and had planned on stopping with me but I encouraged him to keep going. Why should we both stop when it's my body that's forcing me to stop? He insisted he wouldn't be able to finish and then he started wavering on continuing or not. My advice was to just go as long as he could. Even he doesn't finish, anything about 35 miles would be a PR distance for him. So he went.
I told the volunteer I wouldn't be continuing. "You won't be or you can't?" Thanks, lady. You made this a lot easier. I explained what had been going on for about 10 miles and as I sat down with the other 2 waiting for the van back to the village, I saw a younger guy in his 20s (if that) say he was done. "Running out of steam" was what he said. My head exploded. He's quitting because he's tired?!?! You should be tired. You're at 28 miles!! ... I know, I know. I don't know what he was thinking up to this point but he was physically able to do it while we were sitting here being forced to stop because we physically couldn't continue.
Our DNF van was filled up and I hate to admit it, but it made me feel a little better. I'm not the only one... there were a few more that were just too tired... one guy said he hadn't peed since 2 am and at which point we all gasped and suggested, maybe, he should see a medic.
I spent several hours wandering around the North Face village. I tried to suck it up and cheer on the runners crossing the finish line but I couldn't keep my tears in check. I went to get my complimentary (consolation) beer but ended up knocking it over. I continued to wander around, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. Handful of people congratulated me. Oh my god, they think I finished. I gave a quick smile and asked them about their race. I wasn't trying to take credit for finishing - they were on their runners high. They wanted to share the joy, I got that. I didn't want to be Debbie Downer. Besides, there was nobody at the finish line last year when we were done so I just did a mental transfer.
Ben didn't have his phone on him so I had to kind of stick around the village but tried to get to the car to escape. It wasn't that I wasn't happy for the finishers. But I was in pain both physically and in my heart. Seeing that finish line and hearing the names being called out as they crossed it was torture.
I posted what happened on my Facebook page and the support was amazing. I appreciated the kind and loving words.
24 hours later, I'm still coming to terms with it. I know I couldn't physically finish the race - that's just a fact. But why? Was it one of the times I tripped and landed wrong? That one time where I felt my lower back tweak? Was the the start of this? Did I do something wrong in the training? Maybe I took too may rest days? Not enough?
I have to wait another year for this race - I want a revenge run right now. (No, I can't run. I'm still working on the walking).
It's not my first DNF and I'm sure it won't be my last. I'm ok with my decision and then I'm not. I'm devastated, angry and then content. Repeat that every 5 minutes. What I can control is what I do this week in preparation for the upcoming Ragnar. Rest, yoga, eat well (after today's feast) and be kind to myself.
Thank you to all those that posted caring words. I couldn't possibly explain how much you lifted me when I needed support the most. I love our running/tri community ~ you restore my faith in humanity. Every. Time.
I plan on recovering and coming back for a comeback ultra to end the season.
~ Dye
The morning of the race was uneventful. We had arrived for packet pick-up the day before the race, packed up our race gear, I noted all the
I probably got about 4 solid hours of sleep before the alarm went off at 3:20am.
The temperature was perfect - mid 60s - though the humidity of 100% would prove to make the first few hours a challenge.
I wasn't nervous, just anxious to start. A minute after the first wave started, we were off. For those who've never experienced an ultra start, let me try to explain it the best that I can. It's usually a cowbell that indicates the start. We start shuffling forward, you hear the sound of everyone's watch being set as you cross the mat and then the jokes begin. We know we're going to be out there for a long time and the best way to "deal" with our situation (that we did put ourselves into), is to laugh about it. With just our headlamps on, we listen to each others' breathing, our shoes shuffling on the gravel, hydration packs josteling and the occasional last minute commitment to the race strategy.
I looked forward to this portion as I knew the time and miles would pass quickly. Once the sun rose, it would be around the 6-7 mile mark and in my mind, then the race would start. We kept a solid 12-13 min pace for several hours. Walked up the hills, took advantage of down hills, spent no more than few minutes at aid stations ... I tripped a few times but no major falls.
My stomach had been bugging me all morning. I was so bloated, it felt like I had a prego stomach with empy air. I felt nauseous a few times but nothing major or worrisome. I took some Tums, stuck to salted potatoes, Hammer gels, Anti-fatigue caps and water. I felt confident in making the first hard cut-off around 21 miles and felt pretty good. In fact, we came up to the cemetary that I had taken a photo by during my first year at North Face. I was running with @cbrock and I was struggling with ITB issues at the time. The photo showed me climbing the fence to join the dead (respectfully) as I was in a lot of pain. I laughed as I told Ben the story and then we continued.
Then around 19 miles, I felt some stabbing pain in my right knee. It can't be... I haven't had any ITB issues all year. I thought maybe it was just my legs being tired and rejecting the running a little bit "Too bad, we've got a lot more running to do!" I thought. The pain returned and I went into complete denial about it. I stretched my legs out, walked a bit and avoided running down the hills as that seemed to exasperate the pain.
We finally reached the cut off -- where I saw this guy!! @ultrafarring13. I'm awful when it comes to putting real faces to IG/FB faces and names (especially real names). But I saw the skirt and the donut shirt and knew who it was immediately. I finally admitted that my IT band was bothering me. I still didn't think it would cause me to stop. We refueled, stretched and continued on as we still had about 14 miles to the next hard cut-off. After the break, my leg started feeling better. For about .1 mi. The familiar stabbing pain came back and my heart broke a little. I've been through this before and it never ended well. I started praying God for a miracle. I know that in the scope of all things going on in the world, my problem is not anywhere near being a 'problem'. But at that time, in that moment, it was all that I cared about. I wanted to continue. I came prepared to finish this race. I did everything by the book (ok, 97% ... ) I can't not finish this race.
I kept stopping to stretch, run, stop and stretch, walk. Repeating the process. I started speaking of my possibility of not being able to make the cut-off and having to pull out of the race. That dreaded DNF ran through my brain and I could barely handle it. My guy was supportive though he did mention that he's probably the last person to be there if I were to need a push to keep going (he hates running. But yes, he was running the 50M with me). He wisely said, "I know you think this is a failure. But remember what you said, about 1% finish a marathon and you've gone further than that today. With an injury." He was right but I kept wavering back and forth.
When I say I was ready for this race, I mean more than physically training for the distance. I knew how hard this race was and after finishing last year, I felt I couldn't have done it without my group of friends there to help push me. I didn't want to be mentally weak for this race and think I won't be able to finish. I tried to remember all the difficult times in the race and how to get past them. How would I handle that situation again - if I were the one to support my friend in the race? How can I be the pacer in my own race? What's my strategy? And remembering what worked well, etc.
And relieving that sprint (shuffle) across the finish line. What it felt like to be a rock start after enduring 50 miles on a challenging terrain (or just 50 miles in general).
I wasn't ready to let go of all of that. But walking became more painful and downhills gave me mini heart attacks as my knee couldn't really bend so I was balancing on one side of the body. My 60K DNF came to mind. Video here
I knew what I had to do, I just needed to say the words and then start recovery.
The pain was so bad that I said I don't even care if I make it to the 50K mark, which was my consolation distance. I'd said I'd be ok with DNF if I can make it to 31 miles. But as we headed to the 28.3 aid station, I said I'm done. Ben was more than ok with it and had planned on stopping with me but I encouraged him to keep going. Why should we both stop when it's my body that's forcing me to stop? He insisted he wouldn't be able to finish and then he started wavering on continuing or not. My advice was to just go as long as he could. Even he doesn't finish, anything about 35 miles would be a PR distance for him. So he went.
I told the volunteer I wouldn't be continuing. "You won't be or you can't?" Thanks, lady. You made this a lot easier. I explained what had been going on for about 10 miles and as I sat down with the other 2 waiting for the van back to the village, I saw a younger guy in his 20s (if that) say he was done. "Running out of steam" was what he said. My head exploded. He's quitting because he's tired?!?! You should be tired. You're at 28 miles!! ... I know, I know. I don't know what he was thinking up to this point but he was physically able to do it while we were sitting here being forced to stop because we physically couldn't continue.
Our DNF van was filled up and I hate to admit it, but it made me feel a little better. I'm not the only one... there were a few more that were just too tired... one guy said he hadn't peed since 2 am and at which point we all gasped and suggested, maybe, he should see a medic.
I spent several hours wandering around the North Face village. I tried to suck it up and cheer on the runners crossing the finish line but I couldn't keep my tears in check. I went to get my complimentary (consolation) beer but ended up knocking it over. I continued to wander around, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. Handful of people congratulated me. Oh my god, they think I finished. I gave a quick smile and asked them about their race. I wasn't trying to take credit for finishing - they were on their runners high. They wanted to share the joy, I got that. I didn't want to be Debbie Downer. Besides, there was nobody at the finish line last year when we were done so I just did a mental transfer.
Ben didn't have his phone on him so I had to kind of stick around the village but tried to get to the car to escape. It wasn't that I wasn't happy for the finishers. But I was in pain both physically and in my heart. Seeing that finish line and hearing the names being called out as they crossed it was torture.
I posted what happened on my Facebook page and the support was amazing. I appreciated the kind and loving words.
24 hours later, I'm still coming to terms with it. I know I couldn't physically finish the race - that's just a fact. But why? Was it one of the times I tripped and landed wrong? That one time where I felt my lower back tweak? Was the the start of this? Did I do something wrong in the training? Maybe I took too may rest days? Not enough?
I have to wait another year for this race - I want a revenge run right now. (No, I can't run. I'm still working on the walking).
It's not my first DNF and I'm sure it won't be my last. I'm ok with my decision and then I'm not. I'm devastated, angry and then content. Repeat that every 5 minutes. What I can control is what I do this week in preparation for the upcoming Ragnar. Rest, yoga, eat well (after today's feast) and be kind to myself.
I plan on recovering and coming back for a comeback ultra to end the season.
~ Dye
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