Baker Trail
Ultra. 50 Miles. August 24, 2013. We left later than we should have on Friday
afternoon. It was partly my fault, partly Tara’s. I called her house when I left work, it was
an hour after I planned, but she was out picking up her son. She didn’t come
back for another 45 minutes, and so we first headed out at 3:30 in the
afternoon to head to the race, a barn located somewhere north of Pittsburgh,
PA.
The GPS said it
was a 6-hour drive, but it was close to midnight by the time we arrived. She
drove the last leg, as I was falling asleep. When we pulled into the farm, it
was quiet. Cars were parked in a line, and people were sleeping in their tents,
so we couldn’t set up our own like we had planned. We decided we might as well
sleep in my car, since we had to be up in 4 hours. After a restless few hours
of tossing and turning, I woke up to go to the bathroom, and the phone alarm
went off. 4 am.
We ate our cold
oatmeal while we walked down the road to the barn to pick up our bibs and
shirts. The bus was leaving at 5:10 to shuttle the runners to the start, so we
quickly got dressed and began tossing together our drop bags. As we rushed
around, deciding what should go into each bag, a man walked by to tell us the
bus was leaving in five minutes, so in our haste, we both neglected to fill our
Camelbaks, figuring we could fill them at the start. Bad idea.
It was an hour
bus-ride to the start, and I started to get nervous. My thoughts filtered back
to the 50k I ran earlier this year, remembering how difficult it was for me.
Emotionally and physically. I knew I was better prepared for this, and not
injured- but still, I was getting upset. I dozed off as we drove, which helped.
When we arrived at the starting area, we realized there was no water, a problem
for me since I knew I needed to hydrate well, and the first aid station was 6
miles away. Already my mouth was dry. I asked around until I found one of the
organizers who had a couple of extra bottles. Thank goodness.
The race began.
The weather was nice in the morning. Overcast and cool. The first quarter of
the run was trail. Some technical. A 40-foot rope climb. And mud. A lot of mud.
It had rained during the night. It was slippery. There was one steep ravine
which we needed to scale up, it was hard to grip the rocks and gather my
footing. But it was fun, really. I barely noticed the first few hours go
by.
I changed my
socks. Twice. I wrapped my toes with duct tape to prevent blisters from
forming. I ate potatoes with salt, M&M’s, peanut butter and honey
sandwiches. As the day progressed, it warmed up, probably to about 80. I was
hydrating well, taking in salt, Honey Stinger’s and Gu’s, and feeling okay.
Tara, on the other hand, was not. She always has a harder time in the heat than
I do, and we were in full sunlight for most of the time at this point, out of
the trail and on the road. We stayed together, longer than we should have, and
I started getting frustrated: she couldn’t run when I wanted to, and she was
pushing herself when I was running. On a downhill, she stopped to vomit on the
side of the road. After that, we decided it was time to go our separate ways,
so she could gather herself and I could run at my own pace. I felt bad leaving
her at first, but it was better to run alone. I pushed ahead, but I wasn't moving
as fast as I thought I was, because we met up once again at the next aid
station.
It was closing
in on the evening, and I debated if I should take my headlamp from my dropbag
at the aid station. I still had plenty of time before dark, and the rest of the
race was on the road. I figured I’d be fine. Tara and I headed out from the aid
station together, this time with another ultrarunner whom Tara had been talking
to earlier. Since she had run this race 5 times before, neither of us were
paying close attention to the trail-blazes, until the woman noticed we hadn’t
seen one in at least 5 minutes. We turned around, and the detour probably took
15 minutes extra, but it was already getting towards evening, and I started to
worry I wouldn’t be back before dark. I pushed on a bit faster, leaving Tara
behind, this time for good.
Fast is a
relative term during the last 10 miles of a 50 miler, but at the very least I
ran the majority of those 10 miles. Which was amazing. I felt good. I just
moved . I thought. I was happy to be alone. I never crashed. I’m sure it helped
that I had several slow walking miles earlier in the day, but I just plodded
on, passing several people in the later miles. A few Amish children waved to
me. At the very last aid station they put a reflector on me. Two miles left.
Those last two miles seemed to drag on. Every barn I saw I thought was the end.
And then finally, it was. 13 hours and 11 minutes later. The sun was setting. I
bounded down the hill to the finish line. I was done.
