What a satisfying feeling. I’m sitting here, finished with my race, beer in my hand, watching what’s left of the field come in. For once, I did better than I thought I could. For once, there was beer left when I finished. For once, I had a dream race.
Zero Achilles issues. Zero plantar issues. Zero nausea issues. Zero dark places in my head. Zero of the predicted thunderstorms. Just perfect weather and amazing company around me.
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| Pre-Race Obligatory Selfie |
I wrote those two paragraphs sitting on a curb in Leadville following this year’s marathon. The last time I attempted that race, I was unceremoniously ATV’ed off the mountain after puking my guts out for miles on the way up the hill.
That year, it ruined everything. I was signed up for the Leadwoman competition, a crazy series of races that included the coveted Leadville Trail 100s – both the mountain bike AND the run. And my god I wanted that run. That was the whole reason I signed up for the series. Besides, I also wanted to do the Silver Rush 50, so I was actually saving myself some cash by doing the whole thing. And the bike ride wouldn’t be all that bad, I ride a bike every now and then….
I figured out I was allowed to continue each event, and I didn’t ACTUALLY have to finish any of them at long as I started them all. The Silver Rush was a finish, including a great prize for being female DFL, but that’s another story for another post. The infamous bike ride was fun, but I quite willingly quit at mile 28 and decided to just go drink beer and watch my friends finish. After all, I had a 10K to run the next day, and a 100 miler the following week……
Long story short, I got to that run I wanted so badly, and I felt amazing on race day… Until mile 23 or so. Until the lovely plantar fasciitis reared its ugly head. I’d made it the first two crew points on schedule, unheard of for me. Then came the lightning bolts through my arches.
I walked the last eight or so miles into the party that is the Twin Lakes aid station. I made the cut off, which I wasn’t expecting to, with about 15 seconds to spare. My crew was there, asking what I needed and how I was doing….
I had to pee. The port-o-potties were about 35 feet from where I had sat down, and I could barely walk to them, my feet hurt so bad.
What a most horrible feeling. Here I was, in the race of my dreams, and I couldn’t walk 35 fucking feet to go pee. I felt amazing from the tops of my feet up, my belly had zero issues, my legs felt strong, my head was all there for once… But I couldn’t walk the 35 fucking feet to go pee.
I got a stern talking to from my crew and decided to drop. I was probably one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made in my life. To this day I question whether or not I should’ve continued, whether or not I could have made that next climb. Years later, and it still bothers me.
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| Best. Crew. EVER. |
The next day, I told my husband that all I wanted for my 40th birthday was the Leadville Trail 100. And I was willing to do anything to get in again.
But, I digress.
It’s been two years, and the decision to drop still weighs heavily on my mind. I still wonder what if. What if it was all in my head? What if I had tried just a little bit harder previous to that aid station? What is I’d just kept going against my better judgment? Would I have that damned buckle I’ve wanted for so many years now?
I turn 40 next summer, and I still wanted my birthday present. Matt and I had talked about how to get me in again. Sign up for Leadwoman again. Then I’d have to do that mountain bike race I care nothing about. Sign up for the running camp… Yeah! The first so many to sign up get in! Great idea!
…Or. If I finished the marathon I could always put in my number for a coin and a spot in the run. This year, or I could defer to next. Which would give me my birthday present.
I had zero expectations when I started this race. Never in my life had I had so little of an idea of how a day was going to go for me. Enter the above…
I put my number in the drawing. Lo and behold. I NEVER win shit like that. But I did. I screamed when I realized it was MY number that they’d called. I hugged the person nearest me. Not even sure who they were, didn’t care.
I got in line to get my letter, tears welling up in my eyes as I stood there. I got my 40th birthday present. I texted Matt. I cried. I started telling stories with the guys that were called just behind me in line, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged in that group of people.
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| I GOT IN!!!!! |
I feel like I’ve arrived. I feel like I’m ready. I was able to tell stories of my own about puking, about injuries, about DNFs, about all those seemingly rites of passage that ultrarunners seem to have to endure.
So here I am. It’s been a few months, and the sheer excitement has worn off a little bit, and I’m starting to figure out how this journey of a lifetime is going to play out. Research, training plans, do I find a coach…?
I have a year and a week from today to figure it out. And I just can’t wait to start the process….
luhnylife 
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