Orcas Island 50k

“You’re my new favorite person. Bitsy! She’s our new favorite person!”

Bosco Bailey

“Sounds good, Meaghan!” Bitsy piped in between breaths as we climbed into the third aid station.

I may have sounded, to those around me, a little obnoxious; too excited really for mile 20 of a 50 kilometer race.

Who is this girl being so upbeat? She’s faking it. There is no way she is excited. She’s been out there for way too long.

Had they seen me at aid station two, 14.6 miles into the race, they would have seen someone entirely different. Blue in the lips, tired, frustrated, and bleary eyed. Barely able to keep any kind of cadence whatsoever.

I guess this story requires the backstory as well. Some history for you:

I dropped out of a race last September. I had worked really hard, trained all summer, was ready to do something with my feet no one else thought was possible except me. I had people question me in my goals. They didn’t really think I could run the times that were predicted. I got in my head. I let other people get in my head.

And I got sick. I put a lot of stress on my body throughout the summer and it all just culminated in one weekend. The weekend I didn’t want it to. The weekend that I had worked for. I met a super cute EMT though. And the rest, beyond the race, was fantastic. I spent it with dear friends.

Less than two weeks later, I ran end-to-end on the Wildwood trail. I fell really hard with about 6 miles to go. Which was ok. I walked a lot. And had a fantastic meal afterwards with my girl, Aly. (Who started a blog! CHECK IT.)

Another two weeks and I was in another 50k. Goal was to finish. Finish smiling, safe and healthy.

Mission accomplished. And another beautiful weekend with friends.

Finish of the Elk Kings Traverse

Took some time off. But went on adventures in the Gorge. Got really sick for most of November and December. Tried to go for a run one day, and had sharp pains in my leg. Took myself to the doctor, which for those of you that know me pretty well know that that is REALLY hard for me. I don’t like going to the doctor. And I like to just brush most things off and push them aside.

I found out I had a torn labrum in my hip.

Poop.

Literally the word that came out of my mouth first.

How long would I have to be off? Could I run? Was it going to get worse? What could I do? What are my options?

Surgery, but the ortho that I talked to said it would probably tear again.

I could keep running, but it was going to be painful. Yoga, Pilates, strength training, you name it I’m probably doing it.

adventuring

It wasn’t about managing pain. It was about understanding it. It IS about understanding it.

This is the part of the story where things get a little bit tricky.

I’m stubborn. Oh, you didn’t know that? Well, there is a bit of insight.

That’s why I kept going on race day. The second aid station at Orcas Island was my longest run in nearly four months. And each step after that, was magic.

Honestly, I don’t know how I got myself into such a bummer mood those first miles. Actually, I know exactly how I did. But that is an entirely different blog post for another time.  

I ended up giving myself an ultimatum. But really I gave myself only one option: Get out of the gutter.

Get out of my head, get everyone else out of my head. Stop listening to the naysayers, the “realists”, the ones who don’t believe you can do it, anything. And just enjoy the beautiful day. God gave me strength. Especially in those final miles.

I met Bitsy at around 15.5 or 16 miles. We started talking, she had a daughter named Megan. I told her I wouldn’t fault her for spelling her daughter’s name incorrectly. She laughed.

This was to be Bitsy’s fourth attempt over the arduous hills of the Orcas Island 50k. FOURTH. Holy Moley.

Her goal? To finish.

I laughed to myself, because that was my only goal that day too. People scoffed when I told them that. Questioned me about my motives. That’s the only goal?

It wasn’t meant to be on that Saturday on Orcas Island, and the focus had to shift going into the race. And that was completely ok by me.

“You’re about 80 meters from the aid station!”

“You’re my new favorite person!”

We climbed into the aid station, and my smile never left. My shoulders were more relaxed, I was scared out of my mind to squat down to my bag, and I only had a little less than 11 miles to get to the finish line.

Anyone, though, who has looked at the course profile, knows that the last 11 miles are some of the toughest out there, climbing nearly 3200 feet in 5.2 miles. Welcome to quad-city.

One thing I knew I was going to be doing in this race (and future races) was climb. So when I was focused on cross training, I would bike or elliptical, even pool run/swim, I would get out and get on the stair climber for at least 20 minutes. Climb while tired. A couple times I was on there for an hour or more.

pre-coffee

“Bitsy! You ready lady!? We got this!”

I found myself full of energy. Bottles refilled, and a Picky Bar in my pocket.

Positive mind, positive heart.

I’m right behind you!” her North Van drawl smiled at me.

“You’d better catch me on the trail. Ok? Promise me you’ll catch me on the trail.”

Thanking the volunteers with a whoop and a holler, I was off to climb.

As I caught a couple women on the ascent, and wished them well, I was feeling almost refreshed. How could I feel so great when only two hours before I was barely standing upright coming into that second aid station?

I repeated some choice words to myself, a few from some men and women I admire dearly.

“I’m made for this shit.”

“Willing and able.”

“Super day.”

My hands grasped the refreshed Ultimate Direction Body Bottles, one with water, the other filled with a splash of ginger ale, Skratch Labs green matcha tea and lemon.

I am not going to say that it was not hard. I’d be lying to myself, to you, to James Varner… No, it was trucking HARD. My legs burned. I thought my calves would explode. But I wasn’t dying like I thought I would. Credit walking most of the first half I would imagine.

To climb from aid three to the fourth and final aid station, a mere 5.2 miles away, and nearly 3500 feet of climbing, it took me  about 70 minutes. That was a faster per mile split than my overall pace.

I am not saying this in a braggart tone whatsoever. I am saying that if you can get yourself in the right mindset, work your ass off, and push your body past the point of discomfort and into a deep dark pain cave and be ok with being there, smiling regardless, you can do seemingly impossible things.

In that 70 minutes, I climbed the feared and dreaded Powerline trail, descending into the forest from a beautiful view and climbing once more to the top of Mt. Constitution, the highest point in the islands. I was told by volunteers I looked like Quasimodo climbing those hills, but I looked good!

“Bullshit.”

Whatever works for you, I guess.

I found myself on those trails. My actual self. She was there, under years of hurt and pain, and fear and dread. She was there when I most needed her to be. I started praying. The prayers we had said the night before, the ones we said the morning of, and all the ones I could think of. Thank you God for bringing me here!

Thank the good Lord. Because He missed her too I am sure.

Finally I realized, God had me, there would be no worse pain than this. So just keep pushing. 

Reaching the top of Mt. Constitution I almost cried. Almost. Drawing in a breath, I smiled bigger still. Although I have no idea how, but my cheeks hurt for days after.

I did cry on the course though. As I was probably less than half a mile away, I could hear the finish line, I could hear the party. And I heard a whistle. It was the same whistle that I had heard many races before in my life. Same pitch, same tone, same cadence. It sounded like Grandpa. I choked on a sob, as I bounded past a man I had been racing for the final four miles. We yo-yoed down the switchbacks when he stepped aside and let me pass. I told him to just come with, stay with me and we’d run it in together.

Winding up for a high five with Brandon, and a sweet picture shot from both Katy and Aly, I was able to propel to the finish. A day that I thought might not happen. A day that I had everything to gain from and nothing to lose.

A weekend trip I will cherish for my lifetime. And a race I hope to actually be trained and healthy for.

I’m really excited for the adventures to come. I am excited by the endless possibilities running has given me, and for the friends: new, old and all the ones in between. I’m excited to be out of my head, and have the intention of pushing beyond the imagination.

Thank you to James Varner, Rainshadow Running and the entire cast and crew of Orcas Island 50k. The Portlander Puffins are rockstars, Five of Seven (James for his amazing documentation work) crew for conversation, hugs, laughter and love. The Hunts for feeding us, and giving us coolant for the drive home. My mom. St. Catherine of Siena. And everyone in between that I have forgotten in this decaffeinated moment.

Big things for 2016.

In the words of my friend,

“It’s going to be a good year.”

GEAR

Shoes: Saucony Peregrine 6

Socks: Stance Quarter length Bandit

Saucony Bullet Capri, Brooks Essential V-neck (duh with the V-neck!), Outdoor Research Helium II jacket.

Ultimate Direction Body bottle and Body Bottle Plus with Skratch Labs rehydrate potions, Picky Bars All-in Almond (Dudes, seriously, EAT THESE!), Trail Butter Ozark Original and DATES. SO FREAKING GOOD.

ecentdent-my new favorite photo

PUFFINS

Strider

A Weekend in The Woods

Who knows who will ever read this. There is a part of me that hopes it is many. And there is a larger part of me that is scared to death because I have no idea where this is going.

Listen to your body. Listen to your heart. And make sure you listen to your voice as it says words you’ve buried deep within yourself for far too long. 

Sometimes the training, while faltering at times, comes together. The nutrition is right, the time has been put in. But on race morning, the ends don’t all quite match up or meet, and you’re left on the side of the trail hoping your legs stay under you, and you’ve got enough left to get to the next aid station. 

I wanted to hope I was tough enough. I wanted to hope that the hills I climbed when I only had 4 hours of sleep and about 60 miles on my legs from the week prior had calloused me in a way I could only dream.  I wanted to hope those mornings, when I would have rather hit my snooze button, but instead slipped on my dirty shoes, and created blisters on my heels because I went just a mile more, would have all kept me going past a point of pain and hurt. 

There is a pain runners really don’t talk about though. We can all discuss the agony that is climbing a two-mile long ascent that never ceases and causes everything to burn and ache, even still for days after. We can talk about pushing past the point of exhaustion and fatigue to hit that second, third, maybe even fourth wind.

But no one talks about the heartache.

I tried to push. And I kept trying. I was lucky enough to sing in the woods with one of my best friends, she kept me going. I was lucky enough to hear the words of encouragement from those I admire for their strength and courage. I was lucky enough to stay standing through 16.7 miles before my legs just wouldn’t stand up anymore. And I was lucky enough to hold on until I got home to really let my emotions crumble and break and let it all come out.

This summer was one of my most difficult summers. I struggled. More than I thought I would be able to handle. And I had a break down or two. But I had running. I went into the woods and I ran deliberately, purposefully, and I left my heart on so many trails and roads. I ran myself into the ground. 

This summer was hard. I worked. A lot. I slept a little. I was in the car after miles run to get to work on time through three hours of traffic from home to my new home. I missed a lot of time in that car; way too much time thinking and creating in my head scenarios to worry. But I had to be tough. If I made it to the finish line, it would all be ok.

Struggle is a word I don’t want to throw around lightly. And I don’t even want to say it, as it tastes like vinegar on my lips when I even write it out on the page. I feel weak just admitting that I have problems. That I don’t have my life handled the way I would like to. But I am making strides. Literally and figuratively.

Unfortunately for me, it caught me on the day that I wanted most to go right. The day I had hoped would be. 

I tried to do everything the same. It had worked before. Same meals, same socks, same hair-do. If I had a constant, I wouldn’t be as worried about the variables: Was my training enough? Should I have gone another mile that one day in the rain? Or should I have stopped earlier?

Through four miles, I felt off and was having a hard time getting a rhythm. But I was with a group of strong women whom I one day hope to run a little farther with. Through four miles I was hanging on and making plans in my head on what course of action to take, and still positive I could keep going, but would have to adjust the race plan. And then I found myself hands on my knees, gasping for air between awful feelings of nausea, pain, and my whole plan out the window. 

I saw a friend, and I tried to be positive, but it was obvious on my face that I was not doing well.

“Just have a great day in the woods, Meegs.”

Positive. Get your mind positive, I thought as I rounded onto the bridge and hoping for relief.

The cheers from the volunteers gave me a boost, and I tried to sink the feeling of my stomach churning deeper down and out of my body. If only you could do that. 

My legs gave me a little more as I gulped down some electrolytes and tried to keep myself from burping. But just another mile or so I saw myself turning and spitting most of that back up and out. It was like I was floating back and forth, in body to out of body. Quickly, and all at once, my legs lost everything. I felt weak in the knees, and not the exciting kind when you see your crush ahead and smile your way. No, this was going to be a long run. Luckily I had some food with me, and I had gotten electrolyte drink at the aid station. There was still enough. As long as I could keep getting it into my system I would be able to keep going. Probably not my smartest thought ever. I got my legs moving forward. I tried to keep the momentum, tried to think positively. I started praying. And I just kept praying; every prayer I ever learned in grade school, every prayer said at Friday mass, every worship song that came to mind. 

Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me. 

I asked my Grandpa for help. I remembered the pictures that line my walls of his smiling face; I remembered the time he taught me how to swing a golf club, pitch a baseball, and cast a fishing pole. I remembered the time I held his hand as he struggled for breath. And all I wanted was his hand to hold as I was struggling with mine. 

I passed through Aid 2 feeling less than adequate, but with all intentions to finish. My heart was hurting, my eyes were blurry, and I still was having a hard time keeping nutrients. I got to a really low point. A point I honestly don’t remember. Things became fuzzy. Life was hazy and blurry. All I was trying to do was enjoy a day in the woods. I just wanted to get to the next aid station. I wanted to see my friends. I wanted to stop hurting. 

“Buck up Buttercup!!”

It came from behind me, and I smiled, choking back tears.

“What do you need?”

I didn’t want to ask for help. I didn’t want to admit I needed it. But more importantly I didn’t even know what I needed.

“I don’t know. I can’t… I don’t know.”

“You’re tough as nails girl.”

We sang. We yelled cheerful thoughts, and I choked back everything I had until she rounded a corner. I was so happy to see her, striving and thriving through a quick-footed section of the course. I would see her at the finish. Somehow.

I was asked by others if I was ok, and told that if I were going to fall I was to yell really loudly.

I promised as much.

An eternity went by and I saw no one I recognized at the next aid station as I stumbled in. 

“Are you ok?”

That is an awful question to ask anyone, especially at the halfway mark of an ultra-marathon.

How did I even answer this? I filled my water bottle with more electrolytes, and stepped off the trail and sat down on the ground. And I just cried. I let it all fall onto that dirt road in the middle of the woods. And they let me do it. 

Volunteers came and checked on me, got me into a chair, wrapped me into a sweatshirt. A really cute paramedic came and checked on me. He offered to give me a ride to the finish. But I wouldn’t be able to leave for a while. Then someone I had only met the night before offered to give me a ride. He held my hand as we walked to the car, and told me he understood everything I was feeling. And I could say whatever I wanted. 

So I helped him crew for his wife for the rest of the race. I stood on shaky legs, holding it all together just for a little longer. I watched an inspiration come through the aid stations and race herself, and fight through the tough times. She looked at me and I could see the sadness in her face as she realized for me that I would not be finishing. She walked over and hugged me.

“You’ve got this lady.”

Her husband ran with her across the bridge, I followed behind, wrapping the sweatshirt closer to me. Even on a ninety degree day I was chilled and tired. As I got to the end of the bridge I saw a man in a color I recognized. I had seen it for many runs over the summer, and it was a most welcome sight.

He raised his arms above his head and waved.

“I found you!”

He reached his arms around me, one underneath my arm, picking me up as I just fell into him. I started crying again, and I said I was sorry.

“I know the feeling.”

I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me. And that was ok. He helped me back to the car, and I just kept trying to stay strong. I told him what I remembered and what was happening. He got me back to the finish and we found our friends.

The woman I admire most grabbed me and squeezed so tight. I was so happy for her, and I wish I had been able to see her finish. I wish I could have been there for her, just as she was for me.

Let it flow. 

We tried to talk it all out. And I tried not to cry in front of everyone. They checked on me as I was trying to eat. Finally the only thing that sat somewhat all right was Cherry Garcia ice cream. Luckily, ice cream is my love language. 

We swam, we ate. I was quiet. And just tried to think and get myself back.

I sat through all the texts the next day, asking how it all went. I had to answer back and tell them I had to drop out. I got back much love. Much affection. And I have plans to come back stronger.

It is hard to sift through the pieces and figure out things that went wrong. Maybe it didn’t go wrong, but it just didn’t come together. It is hard to work so hard, put in so many hours, and see it slip right out of your hands and into the woods. The woods you wanted to have fun in. Life hits, goals get pushed, and sometimes you just have to realize you’re tougher than that.

I wouldn’t have come out of the woods had it not been for friends; had it not been for their hands on mine, their jokes with dinner, and the knowledge of finding the best avocado in store.

I’m trying to sleep. I am trying to write. I am trying.

I’ll be there. And I’ll come back stronger. 

“Chin up, girl. You’ll be back.”

Thank you. Everyone. From Race Directors, to friends, to volunteers, and to my friends who became a family this weekend.

On to more adventures.

Listen to your body. Believe in yourself and all you are capable of. Trust that you are going to be all right. 

Life lessons I learned during a rough race.

But it was a weekend in the woods, so it turned out just fine.

Fifteen minutes

Fifteen minutes can be a life-changing experience.

I said it in my last post, which is funny because it wasn’t too long after that I wasn’t able to run anymore, but I was training for an ultra-marathon. This wasn’t going to be my first-rodeo. And I am hoping it won’t be my attempt at a last either.

I woke up one morning after a long run with a severe pain in my butt. Yes, it was a literal pain, not a figure that I made up in my mind and let get to me over time. I say that with out any sentiment of brevity or lightness because right now I am writing something with the intention of posting and I am more emotional than I have been in most posts. No, I do not mean emotional like I am sitting her hovering over my keyboard with tears streaming down my face. There is not a pool filling the gaps between the keys. No, I am mad.  I could be downright livid if I let myself get to that point, but there isn’t really need for that. All I really need to focus on is putting that anger to good use: putting into my rehab exercises, my change of diet, my sleep. Making sure I have all the little things down, and then everything will come into alignment when I am able to start running.

This is not my first time on the dance floor with injury. Especially over the last three years. I even had a dear friend tell me I should tell everyone it’s been a six-year nagging injury.

Guess what? We all go through slumps. Some of us happen upon them more than others. I am not going to tell you every single one but over the last three years, I think I may have run 12 full months. I have taken extended periods of time off for everything from toe pain, to hip misalignment, to depression, to just flat out not caring anymore.

I am frustrated more this go around. Which I feel like I shouldn’t be.

I am being treated like a child by people I respect.

Reading an article on Competitor magazine’s online publication I came across an article featuring Anton Krupicka. He is pretty well known in the Ultra-marathoning world, and very well respected. Some have even said that he has “fallen off the map” a bit. But I would definitely say he is a hero of mine. Someone I look up to and respect.

Competitor asked him if his fans really knew him. Krupicka’s response struck a chord:

“People like to categorize and project so they think they understand something. It often comes down to me being tied to minimalism or not wearing a shirt, the long hair and the beard or stuff that I don’t identify with at all. Those are all superficial things. Everybody is way more nuanced and layered than some label you can stick on them. I wear real shoes when I run. You get all of this attention and adulation and flattery, but it’s not that fulfilling because these people don’t really know you. It’s an artificial connection between a fan and a follower.”

I am nowhere near the level of Krupicka. Nor am I trying to at this point in my life.

All I am saying is that if you don’t know the person, you don’t know their history don’t tell them what to do. Don’t tell them how to react, or how to be. Just let them be.

It is a lesson I must learn myself, I know. Stop projecting. Don’t tell them you understand how they feel because that one time you… STOP. Tell them, “Hey, that sucks. Your feelings are valid.”

Don’t question their dedication. They’re doing everything they can. Don’t question their willingness to succeed. Because they have dreamed about moments you may never even imagine. Don’t question their goals. They’ve had to rewrite them on new scraps of paper because the others have become threadbare from watching them for so long. Don’t question, just be there. Don’t tell them it is in their head, they’re already worried that it is. And once they hear that, they could lose it all. Don’t tell them they are making a poor choice. Don’t tell them what they are doing is wrong, when they know they’ve tried everything else and it isn’t right. And if you can’t, tell them that. They would rather have you walk away than fake it. They don’t need negativity in their life. They don’t need you to push them away from something they want so badly it hurts.
They lean on you for support. So be strong in your stance. Don’t let them falter because you’re wavering. 

I want to thank everyone who has been there for me. Who has sat with me, cried with me, taken me on runs, taken me out, fed me food, and gave me beer (of the gluten free variety!). I am eternally grateful. 

Let them fight the good fight. Let them go down the road. And if you want to be by their side, then shut up about it, hold their hand and say, “I got your back, player.”

UPDATE: I’ve run fifteen minutes each day the last two days. Comeback train!!