OSS 50 Mile Night Run - Reflections

Elevation Profile

Calories Burned: 4,652
Average HR: 147
Average Pace: 13:47
Elevation Gain: 5,807'
Course Time: 11:49:51
Overall Place: 9th
Age Place: 4th

MDS Tent-mate---Felicia Wilkerson

RD giving us a race briefing and overview of the night run. 

First wave: Extra hour and a half of day-light.

"If I quit now, I can be at the hotel in a half hour..."

The light from my headlamp is illuminating the ground about 6 feet in front me. My watch lights up and vibrates. I look down and see “Mile 16, 10:15”.

 “You’re 15 seconds off…you'll have to somehow make that up”.

I am 10 miles away from completing my first lap of the OSS 50 mile Night Run. I’m drenched in sweat that I can barely hold on to my water bottle due to the sweat dripping off my hands. My legs feel like they weigh 1,000 pounds.  My lungs are heavy and I feel the stress of every breath as I breathe in and out. I am feeling the real struggle of competition for the first time since I’ve returned to running.

“I am here to run out of my comfort zone. To discover how far I can hang on.”

To be honest…I believed that my night was finished. I kept focused and only worked on tasks that I knew would get me to the next water station. I’m dehydrated. The heat and humidity has zapped my energy and I’m running on empty.

“Don’t worry about this race. You’ve already proved how far you can hang on. You met your goal. Finish out these last couple miles and call it a night.”

I’m trying every performance psychology trick in the book to stay focused and I am beginning to believe that tonight is not my night. I begin the rationalize and morally displace the responsibility of my demise to other factors that can cause me to quit. I start talking to myself how other people dropped and it’s ok to drop because they run so much faster and the stakes are so much greater. By Mile 18, I have all of my reasons packaged nice and neat and I’m ready to finish this first lap and be done with this race.

“There is no way you should go out on the second loop. You are wasted and the conditions are only going to get worse. I wonder if everyone else is suffering as bad as I am. I hate Virginia and I hate humidity!”

I’m currently in 5^th place and I can see at least three other runners in front of me. We are heading toward mile 20 and we are supposed to be coming to a water station. We run uphill for about a ½ mile and pop out on the main service road. Somewhere there is supposed to be water. My brain and eyes are frantically scanning for a water station. At first, I am looking for an actual water station that is staffed like the others were. After a couple of seconds, I slow to a walk and begin looking for a Gott cooler or something. I’m striking out and so is the person behind me. I pull my map out and confirm that we are at the right location but there isn’t any water resource that I could find. I am parched and in serious need of water. I’ve been saving the last little bit of water to drink once I found the water station. Now, I begin to strategize what I should do in terms of hydration. As I continue hiking, I swallow the last of my water.

“Alright…not having water right now is the icing on the cake! You’re race is done! Start running and get to the damn finish line. Oh boy, here comes the cramps. Yep, you’re done.”

A few miles later, my legs begin to feel lighter and I’m actually running at a decent pace. I pass a sign that reads, “Pavilion - .9 miles”. I’ve got less than a mile to the start/finish. Even though I’m running well, I am still not in any condition to keep going. As in any finish, I begin to pick up the pace. I’m roughly a half-mile out and I see the lead runner heading towards me. A few seconds later, the second place runner is cruising past. Both of them look tired but keeping a good pace. Soon I see another two runners go by. As they pass me, I look out and see the lights of the 25-mile aid station.

“I’m only a few minutes off the lead runners. There is still a really good chance that I can finish well. Maybe not with a good time but you’ll gain some experience. What are you thinking?! You’re too tired and you have nothing left! Just get in and finish this lap looking good!”

The thoughts are ringing loud and clear in my head. I should quit. There is nothing left in this gas tank and I would be putting myself at risk if I continue on. On the other hand, this is why I am here running this race. I’m here to push out of my comfort zone and test the intrinsic side of my running. I pass under the start/finish line and I feel good with what I accomplished. I’m done! All I need to do is notify Alex, the race director, that I’m done and I am off to a hotel where I can shower and sleep.

I see Alex and he tells me to “smile, you finished the first lap”. I give him a smile and two thumbs up and for some reason just keep walking toward the aid station.

“That was your chance! Why didn’t you tell him your finished? Alright, just get some water and food and sit and think for a minute.”

I’m sitting at a table under a pavilion and awesome volunteers and a super solid aid station surround me. I’m pouring in sweat and I’ve downed my 5^th twenty-ounce bottle of Gatorade. I am so thirsty that I want to keep chugging more. In my mind, I’m finished and I’m just hanging out at the aid station and recovering. I’ll eventually get around to talking with Alex once I feel better.

The reality is I'm 1,000% scared! I’m not scared of the dark and I am very competent in my outdoor skills to navigate the tricky route at night. I fear the unknown. I’ve never been this tired and behind the power curve in nutrition and hydration. If I go back out, I could get myself into serious trouble. My brain is in a serious struggle with my thoughts. At that moment, I look at my watch and I see what I wrote on my forearm before I started the race. W-W-M-D. What Would Mackey Do?

Dave is an elite runner that I had the privilege of getting to know while running the Marathon Des Sables. His humbleness, skill, and mental drive is something that I really admire. I got to see him work through the mental struggle and then turn around and step his game up. I wrote WWMD on my wrist for this specific reason. Tonight, I knew I would be in a struggle and I needed something to keep me anchored. At that moment, I knew I needed to face the fear of the unknown and test what I’m made of on this course.

I sort through my gear bag and find my water bottles and snacks. I take about 3 salt tablets and eat some jerky. I take my drenched shirt off and I decide to run the second lap without one. Hopefully, my skin can breathe a little better and that will help with the humidity. I walk over to the aid station and eat some chicken noodle soup. I chug a small cup of coke and make my way to the start/finish line. Alex is there and I let him know that I am heading out on lap 2.

“What are you doing? You are an idiot! There is no way you are going to finish the second lap.”

I run through a small section of trees and come to a meadow. I’m roughly ¾ of a mile from the start-finish line and I am regretting my decision to start to the second lap. Everything hurts and I am basically doing this run-walk-jog-walk-run pattern that doesn’t seem to be any kind of progress. I sit there in complete darkness thinking about quitting again.

“If I quit now, I can just walk the service road back. I’ll be back at the aid station in 5 minutes. I’ll just need to grab my gear bag and I’m out of here.”

Two runners run by as I’m sitting there having a pity party. I think it was a husband and wife. They were basically running a “double-time” pace and I knew that I could at least keep up with them. They ran almost the perfect pace. I was hurting but I could at least keep up with them but it’s not easy.

I am fading into a staggered slow walk. I’m two miles from the 31 mile aid station and I am getting ready to break the record for the “World’s Slowest Mile”. I am basically walking a few steps and stopping and then walking a few steps and stopping. I have no more legs and my mind is finished. There’s nothing left.

“Alright, you tried and you found your limit. The 31-mile water station isn’t that far away. Get to the water station and throw in the towel. You won’t make the time cut-off at mile 38 with how slow you are moving.”

Finally, my conscious and body has reached a consensus. I know that I am no longer in the top 10 and I’ve given everything I thought I had on this course. I’ve run a decent time for 25 miles in the dark and I’ve learned a lot about running. All I have left is a ½ mile hike up this hill and I’ll be at the water station. I haven’t seen anyone in miles. No lights in front and no lights behind me.

I approach the aid station and it’s dark. There are only two coolers and a bag of chips. I feel up my bottle with Gatorade and chug it down. I’m pretty happy at this point. I am going to quit and I actually feel good about it. It’s going to be a relief. All I need to do is find someone and we’ll make this happen. About a minute later, someone comes from the woods and asks me how I’m doing.

“I’m hurting. There’s a chance that I’m done. I don’t think I can go on anymore. I won’t make the cut-off time. Do you know the cut-off time at the next aid station?”

He tells me that he didn’t know the cut-off time and that he would find out. I tell him that I’m not planning on going anywhere so I’ll wait to hear from him. He walks away for a few minutes and I’m left there in the dark. I eat a couple of chips and I chug another 20 ounces of diluted mix of Gatorade and water.

“Quit farting around with this and tell the man you quit!  

The water station volunteer and I are standing in the dark under a very dim headlamp. He's not saying much to me and I'm not much for conversation either. He knows what I'm contemplating and can most likely see it in my eyes. For some reason, I can't bring myself to drop from the course. I'm literally at a psychological fork in the road. I have no clue what to do but sit there and stretch. 

"If you don't quit now, then you need to suck it up and commit to running well and efficient for the next 19 miles. Yes, you are tired. Yes, you still feel MdS tightness. Yes, you can still run. Quit being a baby and start running. Let's face it, you're not quitting. The struggle you feel is real and it's exactly what you wanted. It's time to start running like you own it."

At this point, I am filling up my water bottle and focusing on what it takes to get to the next aid station almost 7 miles away. The water station volunteer tells me that I should keep going because I'm still in the top 15. I concur and take off back down the hill and into the night. 

For some reason I can't explain, I go from a slow walk to a jog and eventually work my way back into a full-on run. By mile 35 I'm back to power hiking the hills and really pushing the flats and downhills. My focus is only on running each mile as quickly as possible. I'm keeping my mind active with thoughts that positively reinforce why I am out here running. I don't feel good but at least I'm running again. By the time I reach that aid station at mile 36, I feel as if I'm on a full-on rally. 

Getting the aid station was a huge accomplishment for me. The volunteers are awesome and very helpful. They refilled my water bottle and kept me motivated. I told them about my slump and rally and they suggested I keep the nutrition high. They gave me some broth and got me back out on the trail in no time. I have a 2.5 mile loop to run and I'll soon be back to this aid station and repeating the same tasks. This time around, I access my drop bag and eat some snacks and change my batteries out. I have 12 miles left and I'm starting to catch and pass people. Every time I pass someone I make it a goal that I won't be passed by them again.

Before I know it, I am running the creek and only about a 1/2 mile from the finish line. There were so many thoughts going through my head at this moment. The struggle was real and I have never pushed myself out of my comfort zone. I've usually been able to excel with the skill-sets that I've had. The last part of this run was a series of small roller coaster bumps along the creek, a small uphill run to the trailhead, and a parking lot sprint to the finish.

Reflections

I've never been happier to finish a run of this nature. This is my 1st 50 mile race and a night race. I've learned so much about internal motivations and why I want to run endurance events. This race tested my capabilities in so many ways. Despite, bonking pretty hard, I've learned ways to support myself and what I need to do to get out of the mental bonk. Bonking on this race was primarily due to the fact that I pushed too hard in the beginning. I should've taken into account the humidity and heat and adjusted my pace until the I could safely pick up the pace under darkness. Most of the top 5 runners were behind me during the first 20 miles. On the first lap only two people were in front of me were able maintain a top 5 position. This meant that most of the runners ran a slower pace during the hotter times of this race and continued to increase the pace the night progressed and the temperatures decreased. The race had a high attrition rate. I believe there were a little over 100 runners and less than 30 actually finished the race under the allotted time limit.