I've been kind of a bitch the past month because everyone, including close friends, were like, "I didn't know you were going to race the 100K?" And I'm like, yeah duh, I didn't tell you. I acknowledge that the bitch in me is irrational. What surely aided was the relaying of a feeling I can only describe as, thatwascute, whatyoudidlastyear, but now the talentedbelovedsponsored - she'sgotitinthebag, thatpacewillbeeasyforher. This too, assumptive, and fueling, but also annoying. I'm sure I'm speaking from the Ego & a slackened sense of worth, but, here was the hope from the people, that this person would draw attention to it, make it sexier, break the record. This record that took 31 years to break. This is an annoying topic, because if you try talking about it, you're sure to be met with "records are borrowed not owned." Yeah duh. I know I possess nothing fully, wholly. Moreover, what I'm speaking to, is - I've got a chip on my shoulder I'm not cool enough to feign irrelevant. It's lame to me that instead of being excited to race against good competition, I felt slighted, like I wasn't in the same room with the talent. See the above (chip on shoulder, possess nothing fully, ego afraid of being irrelevant to self).
I think that it wasn't just assumed I'd do the 50, but that I was going for my own record. That didn't light me up. What did was Ann's 100K AR, with its solidly sexy round figure of 7:00. I was told once it wouldn't go down, or that I wouldn't be the one to get it the day I wanted to in Berlin a few years back. I do well with negation.
Trason ran 7:00:48 in 1995 (a world record at the time) at the IAU 100K World Championships in Winschoten. It would descend into an American record in 2000 when Tomoe Abe ran 6:33:11 at Lake Saroma; no one's been near the WR since. In '95, Trason won handedly, with 2nd place Joubert from RSA 33 mins behind. She seemed to have a good group of men about her, including one she outkicked by 1s. I can't pretend to know, but I want to think the setting encouraged the performance. These days it is incredibly difficult to find a fast road 100K (though there are numerous trail 100K's). Our national championships tend to be on more complicated courses or at times of the year where weather is a factor, and our world championships are unreliable, infrequent & seemingly no longer designed with the athlete in mind.
It took Durbin a lot of time & effort to get his 100K certified; it didn't come to fruit 'til the few weeks before and was only granted American Record eligible (not World). Somehow (and I consider myself lucky for it) they allowed me to double-dip in the 50-mile en route to the 100K. All of those things came together at the last minute.
It being Ann's, it being round, my being told I couldn't, the hard fucking work Durbin put in, having nothing to lose, no money to make, no sponsor to impress, no one caring (or knowing lol), just a hunt to break 7:00. With 2 weeks to go, my plan was: 100K AR & hopefully place in the top 3 in the US 50 Mile Champs en route (I mean ideally win both, but also, reserving the self & efforts for when it can work for me more).
In Vienna, M & I met Durbin et al at the park's Forman Depot, the matriarch overcome with our being from WA, how it would allow her to color in the state on her map tracking visitors for the year. Later, at the Perkins Inn, this 129-year-old thing with 14 quirky rooms, we unloaded the science of squeeze bottles, rubber bands, powders & gels in the Safari Room, with its porcelain sink by the animal print bed, the shower so narrow you can't bend. Caitriona & Martin who'd flown from Ireland were also at the Perkins, and I cherished my time with them. Irish, intelligent, attractive, funny, authentic, empathetic, caring, encouraging, motivating, thoughtful, competitive, likes to drink. I'm not into polygamy, but if I were. I also appreciated my time with Allison & Ben, also wonderful & supportive, but I knew we'd have a few weeks together traveling through Thailand & India within the month, so I metered my love for them. It was a big collection of favorites under the 129-yr-old roof (of which was collapsing in at the corner of the house). A group of us gathered in the dim-lit living room, on floral couches between fake plants, beneath the canted stained-glass window, talking, drinking wine, beer, whiskey, and I'm there, but I'm also not.
Race morning: I wore a thrifted mesh pinnie, shorts gifted by soar, an ice bandana from 1980, shoes my friend picked up from the adidas outlet in OR sans tax after the pair I got off ebay turned out to be fakes and the guy fought me on it until I told him they were going to get tested because "I was going after a record." Lmao. I didn't feel nervous or daunted, which is always a fortunate state of mind. If anything, I felt more interested in how this was going to go for Caitriona. I had a feeling - well & world record. But I (strangely, as I speak without thinking often), did not say this to her. I saved it for Martin. It's aggressive to tell someone you believe they can get a WR on their first attempt at a distance. I like being right.
TH 100K: As clear as I felt Caitriona's outcome, I also felt one for Anne. Though not great for my mental health, I appreciate being off antidepressants because my intuition is reactivated. I prophecy a lot, and the ability to went away on antidepressants. I think this would be fascinating to analyze. Anyhow, the vibe I got from Anne was that she was confident and mischievous and that she'd get the 50 mile record. It's funny that I spent a good half year visualizing racing Des, just for her to drop it and Anne to come in. All that time the mourning of was a prophecy itself.
The hard part about my racing the 50 Mile in tandem with the 100K was that I'd have to straddle both of those efforts. In doing so, I kinda spent some load in the 50 that made the final 12 feel pretty shit. If Anne hadn't of been there, I'd have slowed it down in the first half, but I wanted to position myself to capture her if she faded, and/or secure 2nd in the 50 Mile US Champs.
It being the US Championships, there are specifics you must understandably adhere to. One being: no pacing is allowed by others outside your race distance. Fortunately, I was in (2) races, and I got to legitimately spend some miles with Wardian. It was our first time meeting/racing together. He was going after his age group record, and he was wearing tevas, and he was a chatty soul-counselor. I lost him to a pee stop after admonishing him for not being able to pee himself, which is something I've only been able to do for about a year, but I guess I judge people for not being able to now, up on my bladder control flexibility throne. It has been my experience to relish early mile company, because the majority of the race is spent alone & it gets tiresome (esp as a depressive). What can be hard is navigating that energy differential, wherein we'll be talking about being assertive, and lifelong sponsorships, and taco bell, and then there's pee, and then silence for 45 miles. However, one thing about TH that adds to its spirit, is that because you're going back and forth, and because there's several races happening at once, you get to cross against others, and these others are soulful others. They look you in the eye, smile, cheer. It is a sad quiet lonely introspection dotted with miles of engagement from people who care just as much about what you're seeking as in what they seek.
I had testing done with Precision Hydration prior to Comrades this year & developed a plan to put to practice at Com & TH with hopes that I'd manage the balance of intake vs. need to pee better, but despite the info/advances/evolutions, I'm still out here needing to pee 10+ times in an ultra. It's positive for saving time that I went from stopping to pee 10+ times to peeing myself 10+ times, but it is not positive for my creases. I'm currently ok with this exchange, but like, wtf.
The first 1/4 = Mike Wardian & an ever-growing gap from Anne.
The last 3/4 = a study on aloneness, on staying the course solely dependent on self-motivation. Knowing there is nothing to win but satiating a curiosity on whether or not I can accomplish something I decided one day I wanted and have been working towards for years. That's how I access what little pride I allow myself - not that I did it, but that I did it hard. It would have been way more fun to have had to compete, to practice tactics, to talk. Alas, let me burrow further into a self-belief that I need nothing from no one & pride myself as hyper-independent...
Around mile 42, a man in the opposite direction said, "She's walking up ahead! You can get her." That reignited focus, but he was either lying, wrong, or possibly right, but the right wasn't enough to catch. In looking at numbers after, it's funny. "She's walking" wouldn't have saved me 14 minutes those final miles, but I think a part of me believed it could be possible, because I couldn't imagine how she was running so fast without fading. Anne Flower went on to severely lower the WR in 5:18:57, smiling start to finish. She has had an incredible year. It would have been fun to see her & Des compete.
I came in 2nd in the 50 Mile US Championships, in 5:33:59, and as I passed through Micki said I had a look of mischief about me. At that point I didn't feel too bad, but I remember looking for Anne to congratulate & was mourning all at once. The angst felt physical at the center of me. Eyes welled. That there was a mischievous look is a lot cooler than the myriad feelings, but I can suss I was probably feigning and trying to reign in a sense of power.
There followed physical, emotional & mental degradation. Sensible, as I'd passed through the finish twice now, and I'd shot a lot of load trying to cinch 2nd, and shot a bigger load emotionally on being bested. For a lot of what was left, I wanted to lay down. I tried for math, to know what I was working with, and after a cycle of equations, I believed I did not have it. The turnaround for the 100K felt so far. I saw M ahead waiting to hand my last bottle & in seeing him, the panic I'd been feeling rose. There's something about seeing someone you love when you're feeling vulnerable & exhausted that can break you. You'd hope it could strengthen, but perhaps, as a hyper-independent, for someone to see you breaking is too much to bear. I was experiencing this small cycle of an oncoming panic attack, lack of oxygen, panic, being severe with myself as in I'd tell myself, suckitup, I'd get my breath back, and then the small panic attack, cyclically. Thankfully, the further I got away from M, the more it was just what it was with no witness. Save for, I started moaning. I'd be coming up behind racers, and they'd look behind them to see what the moaning was about. And then at mile 61 I looked down and was surprised to see that if I "sprinted," I might just get the record. That made me mad. Mad at the math earlier that could have aided in this last mile feeling more appropriate, mad that this is what I choose to do with my life, my body, my mind, mad at the state of the world and lack of support and how I only held that record for 1 year, and now, I'm just realizing that all of this fueled me to my own personal goal. I can do well mad & slighted. I think I'm just realizing I reverse-pyschologied myself. I curated the fuel to make it possible. I had to get mad enough.
Some feet from the finish line, you have to cross a major road. I barreled through that, feeling, that if I was stopped by a car, or hit by one, none of it mattered. All I could see was red digitals climbing to a 7:00. I was going to be pissed with a time that started with 7. I finished in 6:59:55, laid down & cried.
This Tunnel Hill did not feel as good as the last did. I had to run it in a balance of conflictions. I was distracted and self-involved & both help in their ways. It was hard to go back to TH because I knew what to expect, and because it's rare you're given the same feelgood twice. But it was easy to go back because it has a soul that's rare to find. It was a reunion. Of Durbin & his jovial crew. Of world teammates turned friends. It's special because it means we continue on together. We're not just once's and then digital, we are re-engaging at events through the years. I know their wants better, their skillsets. I know what it means intimately if I see one pulled to the side, or walking, or having their day. I see their people on the side supporting them, and I know them better and well now too, and it's this collection, this slow earned learning through like-paths that makes me feel like the sport as I love it still exists. Here we've all found ourselves in the middle of the woods with little to no fanfare. Allison got the Marathon CR then stayed to cheer for us all those hours later. Caitriona & Martin. A story itself. Success in debut. The love & recognition she received thereafter. The gift of meeting, of racing against, of supporting, and in the shared experience of being dismissed.
I wanted to see Caitriona finish, but we had an early flight out of Nashville. Did drug testing with my partner in piss, Geoff Burns. Ate a burger & took a shot of double-oaked Woodford with M & Durbin. Was afforded the chance to see Fleet Feet Phil & Caitriona pass through a last time. M & I headed for Nashville & I sat with an anxious discomfort, upset that I hadn't planned better to see Caitriona finish this first for herself. It was slightly assuaged by updates from Durbin & Martin. She's going to do it, they said. And she did.
M & I got to our hotel in Nashville, drove past the animated downtown grid, to Jack Cawthon's BBQ per recommendation, for: brisket, pork ribs, smoked chicken, baked beans, mashed potatoes, mac & cheese, collard greens; grabbed a bottle of wine and hardly enjoyed it. He splurged for first class on the way home, an endless stream of weak mimosas. Landed just in time to drop into Lincoln Park to watch BDP race PNTF's. Within the next 24hrs I was in the ED with a second bout of kidney stones in 8 months. I knew what to expect this time, and I still couldn't manage it at home. Perhaps I was working from a deficit having raced the 100K. It really fucked me up. I can't think about it too much. It's in a box in my brain.
