The decision to run 100k, 62 miles, was made the same day I completed the Zumbro 50 mile race. Well, maybe not the exact same day as I had no idea what time it was when I crossed the finish line and was immediately stuffed into the back of the truck and driven straight back to Iowa through a blizzard. When I came to the next day in my bed and before I had really anything proper to eat, however, I reflected that I could have done another loop, another 17 miles. It wouldn’t have been easy or pretty as I was just starting to hit some weird lows and I had some aches and pains that would continue to develop had I gone on but I could have done it. The realization came to me right before another wave of sleep washed over me.
For the past several years, there has been a half marathon, 10k, and 5k, in the Mines of Spain area of Dubuque, Iowa. A lot of runners come to the race not fully prepared for what the race has in store for them. It’s always held in early August and the good people behind the race have managed to find nearly all the climbs and stairs available and put them in a nice 13 mile loop. They make sure some of the downhills are technical and leave the prairie sections open so that you visibly melt in the Iowa humidity which they’ve specifically cranked to hearty dose. Most people call the race brutal and try to erase all memory of with the post-race party. So instead of leaving it at that, the race directors found a way to tack on more miles, more climbing, more prairie and more everything. Altogether they made a 20 mile course and called it the Mines of Spain 100 mile and 100k. The only thing lacking is the guarantee of 100% humidity since it is held in mid-October. Sign me up!
I spent the next four and a half months preparing for the 100k. I found a coach, Matt Randle, to help get me there in one piece and in good preparation, which he did. I had a magical, adventure-filled summer of running which pushed and pulled me in new ways and truly proved how much I’ve gained since I started my ultra endeavors four years ago. I ran a new personal best time at the 25k distance (15-ish miles), had my first adventure run in Leadville, Colorado with friends and ran my first 50k in Fairplay, Colorado after not thinking I could ever do a mountain race (a story unto itself). I put in more time and more climbing than ever at Ledges and ran with so many friends. When it came to tapering back for the race, I really felt it was too soon. How could the race already be here?
At the same time I felt apathetic and tired. I expressed my concern to a friend saying all I thought I would have at the end was a medal and that it would be over. He said it sounded like I was ready. When I told my coach, he said I was more confident than I realized and that was a positive for me. It turns out I was nervous because this was what I wanted but had shoved it way down. I had forgotten that this was my A race, my goal. This was what I had been working for all summer long. My perspective changed.
The race started Friday morning at 8 am. The forecast was for light rain early then ending with overcast skies and temps in the high 40’s, low 50’s. Because of our unusual, or maybe usual unpredictable Iowa weather this Fall, I had a lot of practice trying out clothing combinations until I narrowed it down to shorts, t-shirt, gloves and a lightweight jacket. I ate my normal pre-run breakfast, forcing food down even though my stomach was in knots. We pulled into the race area and the nerves wouldn’t go away. I fumbled with pinning my race number to my vest and broke down crying about four safety pins.
On the way back from the bathroom I saw my new friend Jeff and blurted out my distress. He has done dozens of ultras and assured me I would be okay. Then I saw Crystal who also has done a lot of ultras. And my mom found me. Then I very briefly met Ann Trason as we made our way to the start. I was surrounded by ultra runners, all of us on the same conquest. My nerves dissipated into the morning rain as we took off.
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| Oh, you know, just casually walking to the start with Ann Trason |
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| No matter how old you are, your mom is always proud of you |
Justin and I never plan any running together. You recall him for last year’s McNaughton 50 mile. We live in the same town. We have similar goals. We end up doing the same races and running together during the race but never outside of the race. We tried once this fall and it fell through. But here we are at Mines together. We catch up on life, family, and our running adventures through the miles. Honestly, its nice to have company you don’t have to start from introductions to have conversations. Justin has been pushing his nephew in a running chariot in races and had just pushed him in a trail race. It’s a story and an effort he might not make a big deal of but I gladly will. I knew Justin was in strong shape for this race and when he pulled away from me during the second loop, I was only sad to lose his company.
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| Justin and me again at the start of another ultra |
During the first loop the rain drizzled on and off for about half of it. I kept my jacket on, took it off, zipped, unzipped, carried it balled up in my hand, or draped over my arms until I could finally take it off and put it away. I learned I can take my jacket off while not completely removing my vest. I’m sorry if this is utterly boring but these are the things you think about and obsess over when attempting long distances. You keep tuned in to everything that could make or break your body. You try to keep eating food and drinking water and balancing electrolytes. You manage heat and sweat. There is time to think about other things but these basic things are never far from your mind.
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| Crystal and me hopping creeks (Mile 90 Photography) |
An exceptionally rainy fall made all of Iowa was squishy. The week before the race things tried to dry out although there was still some rain. I prepared mentally for the inevitable mud, low spots in the prairie, or obvious runoff and for the little creeks to hold more than a little water. I slipped and fell a couple of times on muddy banks. The race directors had told us there would be some water on the course ahead of time by way of a fun little video. Cool. Cool. Cool. However, after we descended the Calcite Trail (the section with the steep stone steps), we were greeted to squawks and hollers from runners crossing a very, very flooded trail. Shock crossed all of our faces. Even though we were to turn left to head to the third aid station before coming back to cross it, runners were still drawn to the flooded trail like sirens luring sailors to their death.
Knowing that trail was not ours for the moment, we turned away and headed out to the third aid station. A ways in we were greeted with those already coming back giving us a heads up that there would be a stretch of trail under water about ankle deep. Onward we pressed, diverting around some watery sections and of course thinking, “Well, that wasn’t so bad.” Oh no! Just a bit further, around a corner was the section they had been talking about. Again, before we could see it, we could hear it coming from the shouts. It was about 30 yards long and more than ankle deep, and cold. At first the idea was to high step it as much as possible but that ended kicking up water either onto yourself or the runner ahead of you so we shuffled as fast as we could. My feet were numb by the time I was through it. And lucky for us, we got to go back through it in just a couple of miles. My feet were no less numb the second time through.
We hadn’t forgotten the flooded section but only temporarily pushed it from our memory. That is until we were face to face with it. Foot to flood with it? It came to my mind that this was like the “Going on a bear hunt” song. I can’t go around it. I can’t go over it. I can’t go under it. I’ll have to go through it. In we stepped. In we sank as the water rose higher and higher and I honestly wondered how high it would rise on me. Would it be waist high on me while only thigh deep to Justin? This time it only went to mid-thigh on me. We pressed through the water, guessing as to what was the trail beneath us, out of sight. Our yelps and cries dwindled to nothing as we traversed the three hundreds yards of cold, cold water. 300 yards later, we merged back onto dry land shocked, stunned and numb.
As we finished the first loop, the flooded trail consumed my thoughts. How could I manage to keep my feet dry for as long as possible? What shoes should I wear? How could I keep warm when each time I came out of the water my feet were nearly numb? What would it be like at night? I needed to assess my gear and what I would need for the next loop as I came into the start/finish area but I could not stop thinking about the water.
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| Finishing the first loop |
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| Getting the royal treatment from my crew |
Back on the second loop it occurred to me that I was letting one 300 yard section of the trail dictate my miles so I forced myself back to being present for the moment. I had miles to go before I came to that again. The stretch between aid station one and the far turn around seemed to stretch on longer than ever and we ran for endless miles before we were able to get to the heart shaped hole punch that was tied to a tree branch so we could prove on our race bibs we hadn’t skipped that section. At aid station two I ate a couple of pirogies and some Coke. The sun tried to break through the cloud cover but couldn’t get a hold so we stayed in mild, cool temps that were perfect.
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| Bluffs up, thumbs up (Mile 90 Photography) |
After aid station 3, my body started complaining and I couldn’t keep up the downhill pace I had been doing. I started walking 30 paces then running 30 paces. If anything the counting kept my mind occupied. I was by myself now and looking back on that time, bonking a bit. I hadn’t been diligent with eating and stubbornly didn’t take care of myself like I know I should. I didn’t want to be doing this so soon but eventually let myself hike almost completely. I was happier and was not fighting myself for what I should or shouldn’t be doing. I can hike very quickly even on the uphills. As Melinda remarked later, I just need an uphill race. Crossing the low water section again was neither warmer or easier. It was just as cold and maybe a little deeper although I found if I stayed to the edge is wasn’t quite as deep. On the way back from aid station 4, the evening sun cast its glow across the top of the autumn trees. It was such a stunning contrast to a grey day. I drew it in, knowing that the next time I was that way it would be dark.
At the high water crossing I appreciated the humor someone had placed out there for us. As I crossed, floating sticks and small branches banged against my legs under the surface. It occurred to me that there could be more than those things in the water but I quickly put it out of my mind. I couldn’t let those kinds of thoughts take hold. The water was no less cold and was slightly higher than the first pass. To keep warm I had to keep moving. I was driven to get back to the start/finish.
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| Here for the trail humor (that's not Justin) |
My crew was waiting for me. At the start of the race was Bill and my mom, who was so excited to finally be able to come to one of my races. Between loops 1 and 2 our friend Joe had stopped by and my pacer, Melinda, had just made it there with the best pb&j sandwiches. Then between loops 2 and 3, another friend, Kevin, came over to say hello as he was volunteering overnight. I had met Chuck during the course preview run a month before and even though he was volunteering at aid station 2, he was still all over the place and called me out every time he saw me. During my summer mountain race, I felt the loneliest I’ve ever felt during a race but at this race I never felt alone. All of them were bright spots in my race.
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| Possibly faking this smile finishing the second loop |
During the second loop I thought about what I would need for the third loop which would be almost completely in the dark. I had been wearing shorts and t-shirt and it wouldn’t be enough once the sun went down. I needed to change into capri tights but not wanting to walk out of the way over to the bathroom or try to balance on wobbly legs in a small porta-potty, I had Mom and Melinda hold up a beach towel around me while I backed myself against a brick wall of the shelter and changed. Listen, there’s just a lot of little things like this that happen on the trail. We end up sharing experiences that bond us into best friends with inside jokes which no one gets a chuckle over except us.
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| Mom figured out crewing duties quickly |
I changed my socks and shoes, threw on a light long-sleeve layer, grabbed my hiking poles, headlamp and Melinda and I set out for the last loop. I want to say I headed out to crush the last lap but it was still 20 miles long and I wasn’t in a crushing in type of mood. Although it was light out when we started, by the top of the first climb I had to stop to put on my headlamp and extend my poles. As the day faded, I wondered how long it would take for the darkness to fill in around me, the shadows grow to their fullest. The bluffs put on a beautiful play of grey. The sky remained clear and gradually the tiny lights of stars appeared as a not quite full moon found its mark on the night stage. New to me was experiencing the temperature changes along the trail. Most of the trail felt cool as I expected it to be in the evening but in some sections the temperature was colder and frost covered the ground while every once in a while a warm spot rose up. Even when you are limited to a circle of your own light, your other senses have not stopped working.
When we started out together I gave Melinda updates on how I was doing and so on. But the cheer and energy of the aid station soon faded and I was starting to dip back into a low level bonk. I’ve never really experienced this kind of energy swing before in a race and can only see what is was now with post-race perspective. I gave Melinda the unenviable task of trying to converse with me without talking about anything sad, gross, reminiscent, or really all that happy. I was on the verge of breaking down. I missed my boys terribly and thinking of them was too much. I could hear all about what was going on in Melinda’s life- what books she’d read, movies she’d seen, new hobbies she’d started and where she’d hidden her energy gels at in her house to keep her boys out of them but then couldn’t find them herself- but in my life nothing was going on other than I was trying to get through one mile after one mile. For me, life was whittled down to a very small circle, focused on what was required to do right in front of me.
What does a pacer do? Mine made me eat the extra pirogies she had stashed away from the aid station. She made me a killer pb & j sandwich and kept asking me if I was eating it. She made sure I had some broth when I would have just left the aid station without any. She told me I was doing well and moving strongly. I hardly believed her because how could I be doing so well when I knew I was slowing down and everything was hurting? But she kept encouraging and cheering me. She was there for me and believed in me.
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| Seeing Ann during the race was always a bright spot no matter how dark the night was |
Every section of the course had become familiar to me. I knew where to turn, where to look for the next flag, when to cross the bridge and all the nuances of the trail. I called them out to Melinda to let her know where to step at each mud pit or how this was only a fake water hole, not the real one. Finally we came to the low water crossing and as much as I tried to suck it up and endure without much thought, it nearly broke me and I cried out a little. I did not want to go through that again! It had gotten longer and deeper as the day had progressed.
We made it to the last aid station and while I usually celebrate things such as last time through aid stations, I did not this time. Nothing was funny, nothing was amazing. My friend, Nate, surprised me by driving over and was there. He was live streaming on Facebook and my sister had joined in. I got to see her and hear her love although I was in dark spot and didn’t really respond to her. At this last aid station I wasted a bunch of time on figuring out how to carry a handful of gummy bears and Skittles along with my poles in my gloved hands. It was just the dumbest thing to spend time on when more importantly I needed my jacket on and something warm to drink. Melinda forced a cup of broth into my hands and we left. As it turned out, the Skittles were too hard for me to chew and I ended up getting rid of them. So fueled on a cup of chicken broth and a handful of gummy bears, we left for the last miles of the race.
The water was inevitable. We made it through the low section for the last time and I sighed only a bit. With the night fully dark now, I shuddered at the thought of the long stretch of water. Standing at the edge of it, I directed Melinda to move as quickly as possible and to not fall down. I gritted my teeth and stepped in. I wanted it over with. Floating in a kayak was a race volunteer, watching to see that we made safe passage. The water crept up higher and higher on my legs, falling just short of my waist but I just kept going. At the end of it, I gave a long shout. I should have felt like a conqueror but instead I was relieved to be done with it for good.
Melinda and I finished up the last sections, the last miles. Nothing had stopped me so far and nothing was going to stop me from finishing. Except for perhaps that skunk we saw in the middle of the road which thankfully scurried away before we got too close. Going up the final sidewalk, crossing the road for the last time- the last time- it felt surreal. I had gone further than I had ever gone and in almost the same time it took me to finish Zumbro. But I didn’t think about any of those things. I thought about the finish line and crossing it and being done.
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| Finishing with Melinda by my side |
When I finished, I felt a bit dazed. Everyone was cheering for me and I was enveloped in a hug from one of the race directors and given a finisher’s medal. I looked up for the first time in a long time and tried to recognize who was there. Bill and my mom came up to me for hugs. Not having to think about anything was strange. I was overwhelmed with not having to make any more decisions for any more miles. I had finished.
Kevin brought me over a couple slices of plain bread. It’s a weird food to want at the end but I find the plainness with no flavor, salt or sugar, is settling for me. I ate one piece and shoved the other one in my pocket to eat as we stood around a fire and recounted our day, exchanged battle stories and such. Slowly we dwindled away, everyone to their cars and hotels and such. Bill drove me out of the park. I could not get my head around what I had just done. It felt like he had just driven me there and now I was leaving the shelter of the ultra-world. The race was still going on for many runners in both the 100k and the 100 mile distances but I was done. I felt like I was deserting them even though my body raged and ached with every move.
At the hotel, I somehow managed a shower and came back out to Bill sound asleep. It was, after all, 2:30 in the morning. I propped my uncovered feet up on a pile of pillows and draped my campfire smelling coat over my upper body but barely slept as my legs were on fire and my mind refused to turn out the lights. I decided to get up at 6:00 since I really wasn’t sleeping and shuffled to breakfast. Mercifully, we were on the first floor. Once they were open, I put a few things on my plate then forced the food down while propping my head up with my hand. I looked like I just had the best worst night of my life.
Later that morning, we started for home and talked about my race and how it went. And with a breakfast sandwich in my lap, the tears rolled. I couldn’t grasp the enormity of what I had just done. Bill broke down my performance lap by lap a little bit and I was overcome with how I had met most of my goals. I was a little disappointed with the breakdown of my body sooner than I felt it should have happened. I couldn’t believe it was literally just yesterday, really less than 24 hours ago. I wished to be back at an aid station just to see some runners, just to be there. I muttered about how dumb it is that McDonald’s refuses to sell lunch items at 10:25 a.m. but will magically have a cheeseburger available at 10:30. I cried because it hurt to stand and walk or sit and be still or have socks and shoes on. I cried because I already missed running.
The reality of me completing 100k continues to slightly overwhelm and undo me. I know I did it but it’s such a big thing that I can’t quite get my arms around all the time. Every once in a while a surge of “Heck, yeah!” rises up in me when I think of what I accomplished. I remember this same feeling after finishing my first 50k 4 years ago. I remember feeling empowered and strong, capable of more than I gave myself credit for. In pushing myself further, I have found cheerleaders and encouragers who may shake their head at my crazy but also tell me they believe in me. I am grateful for all of them. I continue to be grateful and amazed that I can do these things. It's all grace, all gift.
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| All hearts for the Mines of Spain |
People always ask me similar questions. Here are some answers.
Do I eat? What do I eat? How do I eat while running?
I’ve practiced eating and running at the same time during my training. It is harder to eat the faster I run, so I mostly try not to run that fast. (Mostly kidding.)
The aid stations have a normal assortment of foods and drinks to choose from: fruits like bananas and orange slices, candies like gummy bears, Skittles, M&M’s, other sweet items; chips, pretzels, pickles, other salty items; hot foods they make such as quesadillas, grilled cheese, burgers, and whatever else they want to provide; hot broths and soups and mashed potatoes.
Along with aid station foods, I bring my own kinds of food and calories- pb&j in a ziplock bag, Clif Bars- the peanut butter or hazelnut butter filled ones are my favorite, and all kinds of energy gels and chews. I eat all the brands: GU, Clif, Spring Energy, Huma, Honey Stinger
Do I drink anything? How do I carry it?
I drink water and usually carry it in a hydration bladder in the back of my running vest. I also drink an electrolyte drink, which is currently Tailwind Nutrition, similar to iocane powder, minus the deadly consequences.
Aid stations also have water and some kind of electrolyte drink plus Coke, Ginger Ale, etc.
These are specific products I love, love, love and are the things I would recommend if someone asked me.
Jacket: Patagonia Houdini Jacket- This thing is super lightweight, protects well from moderate wind and rain, rolls up super fast and zips into its own pocket. It’s like the hedgehog of jackets.
Shorts: Oiselle Rogas- I have so many pairs of these shorts. They lay flat against my backside (not poofy), has a liner that has yet to cause me chafing, and fits so well. There’s not a Roga I don’t love.
Socks: Injinji toe socks- These look weird but work great. I can’t explain it.
Foot Protection: Trail Toes- This anti-friction cream is my go to foot protection and has protected my feet in all kinds of weather and terrain. I don’t use anything else.
Hiking Poles: Black Diamond Distance Z trekking poles- The carbon fiber makes these half the weight of normal poles. They fold up or unfold and lock into place easily. And they are magic.
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| The beauty of the bluffs and a peek at the Mississippi river |
