Relentless Forward Progress_ A Guide to Running Ultramarathons - Bryon Powell [69]
That’s where I am when I’m confronted with demons of races past. The painful abdominal cramps that caused me to drop from a race for the first time. The cotton mouth that I’ve experienced many times in warm weather races. The deadly potential of low blood-sodium that I experienced twice before I knew what it was. Even considering the difficult course, and the summer heat and humidity, I should not have been struggling after only three hours.
I slept little the night before, and got up with intestinal distress. Some of that is typical race stress—but this was disproportionate for me. I drank some of my homemade energy shake, a concoction of yogurt and blueberries that was untested as a pre-race meal. For the run, I packed several packs of Clif Bloks in my waistpack, along with my water bottle and salt tablets. I methodically emptied my water bottle between aid stations, and took an S-cap each hour, but the Clif Bloks went untouched for 20 miles. It was time to take stock.
I had benefited from the work of other runners up to that point. Sean Andrish led up the big climb, taking some of the sting out of the nettles, and setting a strong steady effort that contoured to the terrain. Sean’s vast trail running experience was evident. Jeremy Ramsey has also paid some dues, and was able to take over pacing duties throughout the most technical sections of the run. He established himself as one of the three best rock runners I have run behind. Clark Zealand, who gapped me on through those same sections seven years ago, dances across rocks like a kind of forest spirit. Dave Mackey runs through rocks like a locomotive. Jeremy just picks the most economical line possible and scoots through it. To the extent I kept him in sight, my best strategy was to follow him. We all knew that a shake-up was likely. The Highland Sky course, perhaps more than any other, changes abruptly. We didn’t just go from technical singletrack trail to open dirt road. We went from forest canopy to exposed meadow. We went from hazy shade to glaring light. And an aid station where my wife waited. She could-n’t believe I hadn’t eaten. I traded Clif Blok flavors around—it didn’t matter though—I would only eat one pack the entire run.
I finally led the way down that first section of road. I choked down two Bloks. I backed off the intensity in response to the cramping and dry-mouth. At the next aid station I grabbed the short stack of Pringles. Small bites of savory snacks, interspersed with sips of water, help me keep it together. The race became a lesson in management. Small bites, small sips. Short strides uphill. Arms lightly swinging, hands loose. Recognize the despair; chalk it up to low blood sugar and dehydration. Manage it. Small bites, small sips. Flow across the ground.
I proceeded across and down the mountain in that way, resolutely clinging to the edge of what was possible. Technically, at every point of the race I could have tried harder. My sense, then and now, is that if I had tried harder, at any point of the race, things would have turned out worse. Had I resisted the truth of the situation, or imagined I had any special power to buoy myself above it, my flight would have melted like the wax of Icarus’ wings. What I did have, and use, was the experience of countless prior moments. I do mean the sort of technical expertise to manage fluid and fuel consumption. More importantly, I mean the management of my motivation, or will, to carry on with what is ultimately a recreational activity.
Eric Grossman is an elite runner and college professor in Southwestern Virginia. Over the past decade and a half, he’s run more than 50 ultras and won many of them, including the 2010 Highlands Sky 40 and 2009 Miwok 100k.
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