I ran across this North Face Extreme Challenge 50 mile run in the beautiful Hudson Valley in New York on the Internet and I couldn't resist. Can you imagine running 50 miles on your 50th birthday - just like my pal Paul Collins did some 10 years ago (my inspiration). Sounds like a plan.
Well we got to Fishkill, NY on Friday, a 4 hour drive from Boston, and went to get the race bib number for the race on Saturday. The weather forecast showed storms moving in - the same storm that hit the Midwest with a lot of snow earlier in the week, but Friday was okay. We picked up the packet and headed back to the hotel for an early night. That night at about midnight I was awakened by the clouds letting go, thunder and lightning and dumping rain on us for a good hour.
When it comes to a 50 miler, you start in the morning, in the dark, otherwise you would run out of day.
We drove by 8 deer along the road and one car accident from some driver heading home at 3:30 AM to get to the starting line.
These 50 milers are a different breed. You can actually have a "crew" to help you at the Aid stations. I volunteered Kimberly for the job.
So we are standing around waiting for the start and it is dark as I have ever seen. The runners are required to have headlamps and I have mine. The weather forecast scared away 20% of the racers this dark morning and we start out with a smaller group than anticipated.
It is a real freaky thing to run in the dark, it is almost like running in a tunnel, like a lighted tunnel. After about 20 minutes the skies open up and start down pouring with a little hail, thunder and lightning too boot. The first section is also the most technical, we are basically running & climbing strait up covering 2,000 vertical feet in about a half mile. I am not comfortable with that at all. I do not look down but do look up to find some kind of tree to hold onto to stop from falling and maybe, just maybe advance a yard or two before looking for another sapling. This is very tough going, once we hit the summit we go down and back up for 2 more mountains before we hit the first aid station about 5.2 miles into this god forsaken odyssey. Running down is harder than up since all the leaves are very slippery and they cover rocks about the size of basketballs. It takes our group about 2 1/4 hours - they told us to expect it would take only 1 hour to get to Aid Station 1. This is a first time ever event - I should have known better.
Luckily I was better off than 2 others that quit at this point due to injuries from falls. At least it is light now, though the fog is heavy and it is hard to find the white plastic flags that mark the trail every 50-100 yards.
If you look down at your feet, there is not a clue you are on a trail, it is just rocks and more rocks and most move when stepped on now since the rain and the effect of 50+ runners ahead of me. It has stopped raining, but the vest I started with is wet and heavy - I thought it was water proof - my bad is adding five pounds to every step.
A young guy comes running by me like I am standing still - I am in awe as he runs so well on the rocks while I plan every foot fall. Suddenly he goes down 50 feet ahead of me. He lands on his elbow and it is bleeding and he looks pale.
Our group is down now to about 5 and we try our best secure his elbow, and he insists on going on, but he is moving much slower now. The thing is when you fall like that, you lose your confidence in your running/jumping from rock to rock abilities. He won't make it to the finish line today.
I finally get to Aid station 2 and the guys start singing happy birthday to me! How cool is that? I tear up as I stuff my mouth with as much food as I can find. Fuel is so important in this insanity and they have done a great job.
Three more people drop out of the race, mostly due to injuries, but some are just sick of it. I look over my right shoulder and say to the aid station dudes - "Do I go that way?" and they respond "No go this way!" I point to let them know that one guy is going wrong way and they ran after him and got him back on track. I had already lost my way 3 times, so we all expect it and nothing like adding more mileage.
I get back into the prickly bushes and rocky trail and relentless hills to keep going. I am starting to really wonder about what I am doing and whether I will make it. In these kind of races there are cut off times within the race and if you miss it, even by a minute, you are done. So I am worried on two fronts - scared if I fail to make the cut off and afraid I might make it.
Two miles into this third leg and I come around a corner on a steep decent and go to grab the tree and miss it. My shoes are useless since the treads are covered in mud and I hit the rock that is as big as a king size bed tilted at 45 degrees. First I hit my ribs on the rock and then I bounced my head off the trunk of the tree. As I slide down the rock, I wonder if the sound I heard was the sound of ribs cracking, but my mind is not working too clearly. By now I am all alone staring up at the clouds that are finally clearing a little. Maybe I'll just rest here a second and let my head clear.
A few minutes earlier, I had the chance to look over my shoulder and see a gorgeous blue lake 1500 feet below - it was awesome. Earlier still, we had summited the second mountain and everyone stopped to look as we had gotten above the clouds and you could see three mountain tops sticking out of the clouds - a memory I will cherish.
I finally did get up and start running again. I needed to keep going, but now I wasn't real sure of myself and paid more attention to every footfall. That tends to slow you down and it takes a toll on your mind - you need to be so focused for so long.
As I get close to the next Aid Station, I can see it ahead, but it is 100 feet straight down. I sit down and slide on my butt to get down, knowing afterwards I would have to climb back up. As I slide down I hear people clapping and yelling - they see me coming - and this is also the first time my "crew" can assist, so there is Kimberly waiting for me.
She gets me a chair to sit down and asks me what I want to eat, but there is something else going on here. There is a pained look on these volunteers as they applaud my arrival and soon enough I am notified that I missed the cutoff by 8 minutes.
While still sitting, they take my race bib and my timing chip and I am not allowed to continue. Am I happy or sad? After more than 5 hours of running and climbing and falling I was relieved, but I had a dream of running to the finish line with 50 miles behind me on my 50th birthday.
Today was not my day - this was the first race I have ever started that I couldn't finish. It is part of the deal - if you are going to challenge yourself, then you will fail once in awhile, right? Otherwise are you really challenging yourself if you always finish what you start? I don't think the race officials expected that this was so tough either. Out of 109 people that registered, only 19 finished and only 53 made it half way. No one wants a race where most people don't finish.
Onto the next chapter.
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