Cocodona 250

 Cocodona 250

Chapter 1. Just kidding. There are no chapters, just a lot of words.

Leading up to the race, I sent Jodi a text when my bib number was assigned and told her I was excited to have bib number 23. I had no real reason for this to be exciting, but it’s a good number. Probably a dozen people mentiod to me that I had the best bib number, or as Crystal said, 23 is her favorite number. Several people also noted to me that it was Michael Jordan’s (MJ) number. Later, you’ll understand why this matters.

On Monday morning, May 1st , I lined up at the start line of Cocodona 250. I remember telling Jodi I was nervous, and she asked “why are you nervous? You’ve got this.” I kept thinking “easy for you to say, you do these things in your sleep.” I think I might actually be right about that.

The first section of the race sends through the Bradshaw Mountains, where you get to climb 10k feet in the first 33 miles. There are minimum water requirements for this section of 4 liters, as it is fully exposed, over 90 degrees, with some hard climbs. I purposely placed myself at the back of the pack from the start, so I wouldn’t get caught up and take off. This was a good move, as around mile 18 I began seeing a lot of runners throwing up on the side of the trail. I handed out lots of salt chews to those who would take it.

When I got to Crown King at mile 37, I got see Jodi and Bob for the first time. I already had lots of blisters that had formed and popped during those rocky, treacherous, climbs. I knew I wouldn’t see my crew again until the next day, so I took the time to tape up, change socks, eat cheeseburgers, and get going. The next 26 miles seemed to just fly by. I rolled into Kamp Kippa (mile 63) with the plan of going to the bathroom, eating, putting on another layer, and heading back out. I did not plan on having my most embarrassing moment at an ultra, occur at this aid station. Because of the remoteness of the aid stations, bathroom accommodations consist of a 5-gallon bucket with a toilet seat and a shower tent for privacy. This one happened to be placed on the sidewalk, directly under a light, just down from the entrance to the building. I quickly ducked inside and got seated, just as the wind picked up and took the shower tent right off me while I sat on a bucket, with my pants down. As I scrambled to grab the tent before it hit the ground, the bucket wobbled and all I could think of was what could be worse? Being fully exposed to all runners coming in and out, or having other people’s waste spill on me? Once I finally got the tent back over my head and placed my foot on a corner to hold it down, I finished up and exited with my head down, hoping no one would recognize me for the rest of the race!

Between miles 63 and 71 I shared miles with Jared Buchanan from Connecticut. This was his 6th race of this distance, and something he began doing after his father committed suicide. He was also involved in a severe accident where he was literally hit by a truck. We had a lot of serious conversations and a lot of laughs. We even peed at the same time, where he would turn away from me and I would pop a squat facing his back and announce “all clear” once I had my pants pulled back up. It’s weird how normal these things become during a race of this distance! Jared took a nap when we arrived at mile 71, then went on to finish well in approximately 104 hours.

At mile 71, Jodi joined me. Jodi is my rock. I feel like I can accomplish anything if Jodi believes I can. After we made it through Whiskey Row, we had several miles in town. When we were waiting for a light to change, Mike McKnight joined us. When the light changed, we took off and I gave it my best effort to stay with him for about 30 seconds, just so I could say I ran with Mike McKnight. He went on to take the win, in an incredible come from behind performance. As we ran through the dells, I believe close to mile 85, we saw Scott Rokis taking photos. Scott recognized me the day before, around mile 35, and asked if I had paced Jodi there last year. I told him that I had, and that now Jodi was here to pace me. Scott took a couple great photos of Jodi and I together in the dells, which were posted on Instagram with the caption “Mindy Coolman paced Jodi Semonell in last year’s edition Cocodona 250 and now their roles have been reversed. Time for the friend to return the favor. Love it!” I may have been a little giddy when Jodi showed me the post.

This may have been the section where Jodi and I first started talking about next year’s Cocodona. Jodi mentioned that on the livestream, there was a conversation about team registrations. I told Jodi I thought it would be super fun to register and run together! We talked about our individual strengths and what how we could benefit each other. We decided then and there that we would be Team MJ for 2024.

Once we left the Dells, we spent a few miles on a Jeep road with a strong crosswind. True to form, Jodi and I began peeing at the same time (it’s totally a thing with us), so we both turned our butts to the wind and popped a squat. I basically pee at the speed of light, so I finished first and was about to head on and let Jodi catch me, when I saw what the wind was doing to her urine stream! It was across both lanes! The laughter seemed to boost us along to next aid station.

The sections between Iron King, Fain Ranch, and the start of the climb up Mingus Mountain were perhaps the worst of the entire course. I changed out of my Hoka Speedgoats and into my Nike Trail Pegasus at the Fain Ranch aid station, hoping that a shoe change would give current blisters a break. This was a very good move!! This section runs through cow fields, with lots of grass overlaying cow  poop, rocks, and uneven surfaces. Plus, with the heat of the day and the wind, it felt like a hairdryer was being blown directly in our faces. We still managed to entertain ourselves, naming the cows in the field after our crew members. Sorry, Brady, Bob, and Paul. I'm pretty sure the one we name Paul was actually a female. Once we reached the top of Mingus Mountain, I ate a large bowl of lasagna (thanks for the recommendation, Heather Gothard!) and then settled into one of the cabins for a 3-hour nap. I slept very sound for about an hour, then the sounds of people coming in and out, having conversations, plus my constant urge to pee made for some very broken up sleep after that.

Once Jodi and I left Mingus Mountain and headed to Jerome, I began to feel good again. The nap was refreshing to my body, I was excited to hit the halfway point, and I was excited to get to see Paul and Brady for the first time. As Jodi and I navigated our way down the rocky terrain of Mingus Mountain and dawn began to show, I pointed out some flowers I thought were pretty. I told Jodi not to ask what kind of flowers they were, because I never know. Shortly thereafter, we popped out on the gravel road. As we came around a corner, we randomly spotted some purple flowers and I quickly stated that was the same flower as the tattoo I have in memory of my dad on my arm. Jodi told me it was a sign, that my dad was with me on this journey. That led to me crying and running at the same time, only to have a drone, which was there for the start of the Sedona Canyons 125, swoop right down in front of my face. What a mess. We stopped quickly to grab a photo with the halfway sign, then continued just in time for the 125-mile race to begin. As this race took off, we had the privilege of running with Bronco Billy (Jeff Browning) for about 30 seconds as he breezed by us. This made the livestream which was pretty cool. Naturally, he went on to win that distance. This ended up being my fastest mile to that point in the race. While at the Jerome aid station we discussed my shoe situation. My Nike’s were treating me very well,  but the pair I brought with me already had a lot of miles on them. Jodi suggested checking with local running stores to see if they could grab me a new pair. I figured this was worth a shot, though I doubted they would carry the pair I needed. 

The next two sections were with Paul, then Brady. The 9 miles spent with Paul included a section through Cottonwood where the woman who tracked and cheered for every runner by name last year, was once again out on her porch to cheer on participants. She told us she was not tracking every runner individually like she did last year, as she got so caught up, she barely slept for 2 days! At the end of this section, I made a quick transition and was out with Brady for the next 13.1 in under 10 minutes. This section was HOT!! Brady and I were both rationing water by the end. I ran out with about a mile to go. I took that as a good reason to stay at the mile 148 aid station to rehydrate, nap, and do some foot care.  We got lucky with the shoes; the local running store had a pair of the Pegasus in a 9.5. I wear a 9 but told my crew to go ahead and get the 9.5, knowing my feet were swelling. After a nap, getting me feet cleaned by Paul, and putting on a brand-new pair of shoes, Jodi and I headed out.

The first mile or so of this section was still hot and uncomfortable for me. Then we saw the sign for 100 miles to go! I was excited and felt my energy shift; this was perhaps one of the most amazing things to  out there, how often you can go from feeling beat up and done to happy and running again. As Jodi and I made one of the bigger climbs during this section we began talking about next year again. This team idea was more and more appealing as we went. About that time, we saw Howie Stern taking photos. He happened to get a great shot of us, which would later be used in the registration email sent to participants for next year. Jodi and I decided this was, yet again, another sign. As Jodi and I approached Sedona, we had a couple of miles in town. At one point, as we were crossing an intersection, I became convinced that the light was changing, and the oncoming traffic was going to plow us over. I took off at a dead sprint, startling both of us. I have no idea what went through my head, but I was suddenly superwoman for all of 5 seconds. Jodi says in all the years we’ve been running together, she has never seen me move so quickly.

Poor Paul. My elevation chart we were referencing had an error and what we thought was a fairly flat 17-mile section, ended up with 4200 feet of climb. Prior to reaching the climb, however, was the river crossing. We somehow ended up with a very needy woman who was in the 125, attaching to us and repeatedly saying “help me, don’t leave me!” as she wanted to cross the water with the light of my Kogalla. Once we reached the river, I headed right in. Said woman panicked, as she apparently was going to take off her shoes and socks first and plowed in right behind us. With the use of a rope to cross, the more people on it at a time, the more difficult it is to balance. About halfway across, I looked down to see a snake in the water (I swear I was not hallucinating!). Now it was my turn to panic! I freaked out and tried to jump onto rock, which resulted in me sliding down the rock and into another one. My poor toes. Their only saving grace was that the water was cold enough to make them feel numb. Once we made it out of the water, we began to climb. Our tag-a-long wanted to change clothes but we told her we were not stopping as we were about to get quite warm with the climb. She kept asking about the snake as we tried to focus on the climb. I think she finally realized we weren’t going to be chatty through this section. At the top of the hill we stopped to put on more clothes. This meant a full pant change for our friend, who while standing there pantless, kept saying "it's not like you haven't seen this before." Interesting. Eventually a guy who had been running with her, who I loaned out my extra headlamp to, caught back up to her and she stayed back with him. He found my crew at the next aid  station and returned my headlamp. This is the 3rd race where I have loaned out a headlamp and had it returned.

Once we were done with the climb, we popped out on a very rough road. This was where my sleep deprivation began to take over. It was more than 72 hours into the race, and I was delirious. As the hallucinations ran wild in my brain, I would occasionally glance over at Paul to find him looking very intently at something in the woods. I would tell him “It’s not real Paul. Whatever you think it is, it isn’t there.” Occasionally he would say “what is that? Look at that.” Or my personal favorite “someone is using a table saw.” I think he described what he saw a few more times, but I was too wrapped up in my own made-up images to know what he was saying. Eventually I made myself only look directly in front of me to stop all the distractions. A few times I had to refocus Paul to keep him with me.

Once we arrived at the next aid station, I knew I had to sleep. I climbed into a tent that Bob had ready and waiting for me and proceeded to get the best 3 hours of sleep I had during the entire race. For whatever reason, I do not remember leaving this aid station. This is a very strange feeling for me, as I tend to remember things very well, even deep into races. My memory seemed to come back into focus as Jodi and I passed by the parking lot where an aid station was located last year. I suddenly remembered sleeping on the ground in that parking lot last year and waking up around 2 am to Lee Addams bringing me a donut. He told me to share them, which I may or may not have done. This section with Jodi had a lot of downhill road running. Along the way we caught up with Andrew Glaze. Andrew ran Antelope Canyon 100 over the weekend, before toeing the line at Cocodona, dubbing his adventure CocoCanyon 350. Andrew said he was struggling to stay awake like he’s never struggled before. We spent the next 4 miles running with Andrew and another runner, Evan. We talked about Andrew being Instagram famous. I told him I’m not cool enough to be famous on social media, which is shocking, considering my last name is Coolman. I think I also randomly told Evan to stop talking so much a few times as he was very quiet.

Upon arrival to the next aid station, I happened to be wearing a singlet for the first time during the race. Prior to the start line, I got a new tattoo on my left shoulder. This tattoo has been in the works for months and requires a real quick explanation. Several months ago, during a morning run with Brady, he happened to mention how his wife Alicia had referred to me as his best friend. At that moment he tried- to move right past that comment, but I quickly stopped him saying “hold on, I’m your best friend????” This has turned into me reminding him of this fact every opportunity I get. He continues to deny it, though we all know the truth. Well, Brady has a tattoo on his hand that I think is cool, with mountains and the phrase “Do More”. So naturally, I decided what better surprise for him than to discover we have matching tattoos 192 miles into my race? Our intention was for Jodi to get his reaction on video but plans tend to leave your brains seconds after making them with so much sleep deprivation. Still, the moment Brady saw my tattoo is one I will never forget; mostly because he said verbatim what I predicted. As I bent over some of my things, I hear him say “what’s on your shoulder? Is that a tattoo? Wait, is that real? What the F#$%?!?!?” I responded with “yes, it’s real. We have matching tattoos!” He then told me the “Do More” part of this tattoo is his handwriting. Even better. If you know Brady, you understand why this moment was one of the best moments of the entire race.

I was so fired for the next section with Jodi. I knew it meant I was going to go over 200 miles! What neither of us anticipated were the downed trees. They looked freshly down, perhaps from the high winds we had at the beginning of the week. If I had to guess, I would say there were probably about 30 of them, but my recollection is a little skewed so perhaps there were only 15. Jodi managed to capture some video of me making my way over one tree, where I happened to get stuck halfway over. Don’t worry, I figured it out.

Once we made it past the point of all the trees, we spent a significant amount of time on a dirt road. I began to struggle to stay awake and move well so we decided I would try a trail nap. We found a box on the side of the road and broke it down so I could lay on it. I told Jodi to watch for me to fall asleep and then give me 5 minutes. She decided once I fell asleep to give me 10, but I woke up at 7 and said I was good. About 10 miles into this section, we came to a Y in the road, and I told Jodi I knew we stayed to the left because last year when we were at this section, we were discussing her bucket hat that she bought from REI that was slightly too small for her. I told her if she bought a bigger one that I would buy that one from her. There’s no apparent reason that I remembered that conversation so vividly, or the location in which we had it, but it served to keep on the right course. Shortly thereafter we were pointing out the spots where we hallucinated last year, right down to the mailbox that Jodi had believed was a lifeguard.

As we got closer to Fort Tuthill, I began getting cold. The kind of cold that doesn’t make sense for me, as I am always hot. It was apparent that my ability to regulate my body temperature was shot. I took my final 3-hour nap at Fort Tuthill, ate a very large bowl of pasta, and headed out for the next 17-mile section with Brady.

The next section was super fun. I was excited to be getting closer to my final day. I hadn’t been on a section with Brady since Wednesday afternoon and had lots to catch him up on. He says he’d already heard every story I told him, twice by me and once by Jodi, but that cannot be true. This section went by fast until about 2 miles to go. I felt like I was once again starting to sleepwalk. When we made to the final aid station where I would have crew, I took a one-hour nap in the vehicle. When Jodi woke me up, I felt like it as not possible that an hour had already passed. This was the aid station where the livestream shot footage of my organizers. I purchased waterproof shower bags to hold all my gels, cold gear, chargers, etc. I must brag a little, it’s the most organized I’ve ever been for anything! The setup worked very well as it allowed me to visualize everything I at every aid station. My crew was phenomenal at making sure it was all there, every time. As I sat eating a breakfast sandwich, Lee Addams stopped by to say hi. It’s like I forgot he was also participating in a race, Elden Crest 36, and kept talking to him. After chatting with us for a bit, he headed on out to get that finish.

As Jodi and were preparing to head out, I was uncontrollably shivering. We debated whether I should change out of my thermals and into shorts or regular tights. If I’m being honest, changing sounded like a lot of work, plus we were not sure what was going on with me that I could not get warm. It also meant carrying more clothes in my pack if I wore shorts. I finally decided to just continue in my thermals, knowing it was going to get cold on the climb up Elden. This was a big mistake on my part. As soon as we hit the direct sunlight of the next section, I felt uncomfortably hot. I slowed down, feeling miserable. I accepted that it was going to be very slow until it either started cooling down due to the time of day, or because of the climb. When it finally felt like too much to handle, I told Jodi I was going to try another trail nap. I told her to let me sleep for 15 minutes. I woke up at 9 minutes, feeling much cooler thanks to some shade, and shortly after began the climb up Elden. The climb was difficult, but honestly, I loved it. My climbing legs were much better than my descending legs. As we climbed, we passed a couple runners in the 36 and 125 distances. Their encouragement for how well I was moving gave me a little boost. Then someone asked where we were from and when we told them Omaha, NE, they asked how we trained for such a climb. I responded with “I started training for this on Monday.” They laughed, which naturally encouraged me to use the same line on everyone we saw. I’m sure Jodi was not as amused as I was. At the top of Elden, we encountered snow. My fear of slipping made my heartrate elevate more than the effort itself. I was so relieved when we reached the top!

At the aid station, with 8 miles to go, I sat and consumed all the ramen noodles my stomach could hold. volunteer took a picture of us, stating it was for Henry Bickerstaff. This was one of many times I felt appreciative of knowing so many people were following and showing their support. For the record, it really does matter and doesn’t go unnoticed! 

The final descent. Holy foot pain! Perhaps it was knowing this was it, that I finally allowed myself to fully acknowledge how bad it hurt. The grade was just steep enough to make running feel impossible. I reminded myself that I was here to enjoy the experience and accomplish a distance goal and nothing else. I settled into a slow trek to the finish, while Jodi played music for me.

Once we reached Flagstaff, I told Jodi I would not be running to finish like she did. She said “ok” in a way that told me she wasn’t buying it. I think I tried to convince her, but that conversation may have been in my head. I stuck to my word until I hit that final turn. The energy of the finish hit me all at once and next thing I knew I was “sprinting” to the finish. I’m sure my sprinting pace was about as slow as my fastest walking pace when fresh, but it felt fast! When I crossed that finish line, all the pain I felt seemed to melt away. I was so ecstatic to see my crew and be done! I was super bummed that Paul had already left, but so happy to have Bob, Brady, and Jodi there with me.

During many parts of this race, Jodi and I kept seeing my mile splits including the number 22. Whether that was 17:22 or 22 even, and we would say “it’s a 22, pew, pew, pew.” It’s a really dumb quote from a very specific TikTok video that we for some reason find hilarious. A few days after finishing, I was sitting in my office and happened to look up where I have a photo of Jodi and I at the start line last year. This is when I noticed her bib number last year was 22, in 2022. I was 23 in 2023. I immediately sent a text letting Paul, Brady, and Jodi know that this was yet another sign that Team MJ needs to happen
next year. We all agree.

The things that went well. Nutrition. I tend to throw up a lot at my longer races. I also gag terribly every time I take a gel after about 60 miles during my 100’s. Sometimes before. I know this has a lot to do with effort level and I managed my effort level very well. I was able to eat an exceptional amount of real food at every aid station. I was able to consume numerous gels and chews between aid stations. My hands never swelled from fluid imbalance, as usually happens. I consumed at least 3 liters of water between every aid station or water stop. In fact, I think this was a topic of conversation among my crew. Every time I felt like the frequency of peeing was too often, I took to salt chews and consumed a significant amount of water. My pee also stayed clear the entire race. Foot care. While I should’ve taped my feet from the start, doing this after Crown King was a game changer. It really saved me from having worse blisters. I do not think there is a way to cover that distance without significant foot pain simply due to pounding, but all things considered, my feet came out well. Attitude. I stayed positive the entire time. Every time I would see my crew again, I couldn’t help but smile. I focused on never considering the distance as a whole, but rather the distance until the next aid station. This is a bigger deal than anyone realizes. Keeping the mind in the game for that many days straight, with very little sleep, pain, and focus on the terrain, was something I’ve never done to this capacity. I also never fell! I took the right people. Bob was fully invested in making sure I had absolutely everything I asked for at every aid station. He drove his own vehicle from KC which was perfect for the task. I don't think Bob thought about anything other than getting me to the finish line the entire week. Paul, Brady, and Jodi are 3 of my favorite people. They all know what I need when I need it and genuinely make me laugh all the time. Lastly, I want to talk about the people who followed along. It is impossible to mention everyone, but when your messages reached me, they meant something. When I finished the race I had over 300 texts. About half of those were my crew communicating back and forth and the rest were a couple of groups and then individuals. I read every single text and tried to respond (between falling asleep) over the next few days. Some messages were relayed to me out on course, such as Ed Green, as he sent Jodi a message during the week to cheer me on. The icing on the cake was when Jodi pulled into my driveway at home and I saw my front lawn signs: Cocodona 250 Finisher! Then to see Karen and Laurie pop out from behind the signs in their sequins dresses made my homecoming all the better!

While this was the hardest thing I've ever done mentally, I've hurt worse during 100's. The recovery has also been worse after some of my hundreds. I cannot wait until next year, to do this again, with Jodi by my side?

Western States 100. Failing to finish while refusing to quit.

Wearing the WS necklace, from Kaci

They say your life can change with every breath you take. On December 3rd, 2016, that moment came for me. From across the room, I heard Kaci Lickteig scream “Mindy Coolman!” I was momentarily confused. Then I looked up to see my name appear on the screen in front of me; and just like that, I was going to Western States 100.

In the months leading up to Western States, I poured my heart, body, and mind into training. I put in many miles with Mighty Mike Christensen, Crystal Foust, Erich Barthel, Mike Soltys, and others here and there. These people were there for early mornings and long hours, for which my gratitude can’t be put into words.

Leaving Omaha!

Hiking the trail with my pacers

On Tuesday, June 20th, I headed to California with my best friend Sarah, her husband (my pacer) Aaron, and their beautiful daughter Marleigh. We drove and camped our way out west. Aaron and I discussed my race plan over and over. I told Aaron I was very worried about the heat. The weather was predicted to be one of the hottest years the race has seen. For those who know me, you know I don’t get along well with heat. For those who don’t, it started in 2014 when I pushed too hard for a race that didn’t even matter, finishing with heat stroke/heat exhaustion. I’ve never been the same since. My emotions were all over the place the entire trip.  

When we arrived in California on Thursday, I wanted to go to Olympic Valley to check out the start line and to say hi to Steve. Aaron, Steve, and I hiked part of the trail

Saturday, June 24th, 2017. Aaron and Steve took me to the start line, an hour before the race began. Many pep talks were given. Every now and then I would catch Steve watching my leg jitters. He would smile knowingly, and I would calm down. Next thing I knew, I was listening to the last 10 seconds of the countdown, and then the gun went off.

Checking in

Attaching the timing chip.

I was warned by many people to be careful with that first climb. It is 4 miles of up, up and up. I kept an effort that allowed for easy conversation. I fell in with Jimmy Brown, also from Nebraska. We talked, laughed, and thoroughly enjoyed the first 5 miles. These were hands down, the best miles of the race for me. Around mile 5 or 6, I stopped for a bathroom break, and fell behind Jimmy. We started running in the snow around mile 3. As the miles pushed on, the snow and mud proved to be more challenging than I had anticipated; the snow was on a sideways slant and wouldn’t pack, and the mud was mid-calf deep. I slipped and fell more times than I could count. I watched others fall and slide into trees, and others digging for their lost shoes in the mud. These conditions lasted for the first 16 miles, and completely wrecked me.

When I reached to first aid station with a cut-off time listed, I felt demoralized. The conditions for the first 16 miles had me already pushing cutoffs. I had started to feel my effort was too much by mile 8, and wondered how I was going to continue at this effort for another 92 miles. My plan going into the race was to slow down as the day warmed up. Unfortunately, I couldn’t afford to slow down if I wanted to continue to make cutoffs. I felt panic rising but tried to stay focused. Between miles 16-24.4, I fell in with a woman named Andrea. Our conversation helped pass the miles and put my mind at ease, though I still felt my effort was too high. Went I got to Duncan Canyon (24.4 miles), I had them add ice to my neck buff, head buff, in my arm sleeves, and down my bra – the biggest advantage to being a girl at an ultra!

When I left the Duncan Canyon aid station, I began walking. My heart rate was too high, and I wasn’t feeling well. I took salt caps and consumed water. While recent research shows sodium beverage sources are most ideal during hot races, they typically also include something sweet. Sweetened beverages make me sick, I’m assuming due to the osmolality. So, I stick to salt caps. I’ve started breaking them open for better effect. Around mile 27 I came across a deep stream with a rope to use for crossing. I made it halfway and sat down to my neck. It was ice cold and felt amazing. So I decided I might as well pee while sitting there. As I exclaimed “oh sweet relief!” I looked up to see a photographer slowly lower his camera and stare at me. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one to pee while there. After leaving the stream, I began the climb into Robinson Flat (30.3 miles). My climbing slowed. My heart pounded. Sweat poured. Half a mile before the aid station I came upon a couple guys cheering people in. I must’ve looked pretty confused as they asked if I was ok. I could only manage to say “water”. One guy handed me a water bottle and I drank it in one breath. I handed it back and he said “beautiful eyes, by the way”. I’m sure my response made him wonder if I had ever received a compliment in my entire life; I gave him my biggest smile and thanked him.

When I arrived at the Robinson Flat aid station, my hydration packs had been mixed up and my green pack was filled and ready to go, instead of my Nathan pack. This is where I made my biggest mistake. I should’ve taken the 5 minutes to allow my crew to make the switch, but I was too paranoid about those cutoffs. So I threw on my green hydration pack and headed out. All of my salt and nutrition supplements were in my Nathan pack, and my green pack just had water. Unfortunately, during 100’s I don’t always think things through. I just felt an urgency to keep going. I headed out and saw Jimmy Brown heading out at the same time. I quickly power walked up the hill till I caught him. Now we had 3 miles of downhill running in front of us, but in direct sunlight. We moved along at a blazing 10:40-11:30 ish min/mile. We discussed how worried we both were about how bad we already felt. The 3 miles with Jimmy passed all too quickly, and I needed to back off again. I watched him disappear and hoped I wouldn’t see him again as I knew my race was heading south quickly. I worked through this section as quickly as I could, running every time I found shade, even if it was brief.

I made it to Miller’s Defeat (34.4 miles) and had finally given myself a better cushion on the cutoff. Another runner, who I had been leap frogging all day, said to me “this is our best cushion so far, 1 hour and 5 minutes.” I grabbed 2 potatoes rolled in salt, iced down, and got out of there as fast as I could.

When I reached Dusty Corners (38 miles), David Reddel was there and told me Jimmy was only about 3 minutes ahead of me. I cringed. I knew how hard I was working when Jimmy pulled away, so I worried he was faltering as well, as I expected him to be putting more time on me than that. I ate 3 potatoes heavily rolled in salt, 2 cups of Mountain Dew, iced down, and headed out. At the exit of every aid station, there were volunteers holding sponges soaked in ice water, to apply to your body wherever you wanted. I never skipped these people, thanking them profusely every time.

The section between Dusty Corners and Last Chance, were in theory, very runnable. I tried. With everything I had, to run to the best of my ability. I ended up pushing a 13 min/mile power walk through most of it, just to manage my heart rate. I felt so incredibly hot. I drank as much ice water as I could take in, but could tell I was very low on salt as it made me very nauseated. I was constantly being passed by others who were moving so much better than I was. I knew everyone was miserable, as not many of us said a word to each other. My mind began to take me to a dark place, as I thought about how awful I felt and how slowly I was moving.

When I hit Last Chance (43.3 miles), I was warned about the difficulty of the next section. I went through my usual routine of ice and food option, with the addition of watermelon and orange slices. I forced myself to push some running miles right away, knowing the climb ahead was going to be rough. I was fearful of how steep some of the downhill running had become, as my quads were taking a beating. I felt like I was running scared. I wanted someone to talk to, but no one was in sync with my choppy pace. When I hit the bridge prior to the climb to Devil’s Thumb, I walked briefly as I looked at the climb before me. I felt my legs cramp painfully. I pushed on, willing my mind to focus on the climb, not the pain. Shortly after I started the climb, I knew I was in trouble. I would take a few slow steps and have to stop due to accelerated heart rate. I felt dizzy and way too out of breath. As I came around the second switch back, I saw a guy leaning on a tree, just off the trail. I asked if he was ok, but couldn’t really understand his response. I asked if there was anything I could do to help him. He mumbled a barely audible “no, I’m ok.” I moved on for about 5 minutes, when I heard screaming behind me. I stopped, but couldn’t see anything. Then I figured there were enough voices from below, it was probably just an animal that startled someone. A few seconds later another runner came charging up the trail, obviously worried. Apparently the guy I passed fainted and fell backwards down the mountain. He was unresponsive with many abrasions and wounds. A few minutes later medics came flying down the mountain towards me, yelling to get out of the way. I took a moment to stop thinking about myself and prayed for him. Shortly after I started going again, my legs convulsed uncontrollably. I dug as deep as I could and pushed on, while watching deep cramps ripple through my quads. It was the most painful thing to happen thus far in the race. A few seconds later they cramped so hard I fell on the trail. I rolled off the trail to be out of the way of others coming by and watch as my left leg, from the knee down, cramped so hard it pulled my foot sideways, twisting my knee. The pain was unbelievable. I couldn’t get it to stop. I yelled, cried, and prayed. Within what felt like hours, but was probably only minutes, another runner came along and asked what she could do to help me. I asked if she had salt. She asked how many I needed. I took 6. Initially I broke them open and poured them in my mouth, but my hands weren’t working well. So I chewed them and swished with water, spitting out the empty capsules. In a short time, the cramping stopped. I was able to get up and move on. About 30 minutes later, I took a gel and chased with water, only to throw it up like a fire hydrant. There was a medic standing there as I was closer than I realized to the aid station at Devil’s Thumb (47.8 miles). He got on his radio and told the aid station there was “puker” on her way up. When I got to the aid station, they sat me down and covered me in ice sponges until I shivered. I ate more of the usual, and added a full cup of ramen, which I drank down in one breathe. I looked at my watch and realized I had been there for several minutes, and had lost my cushion, with now only 10 minutes to spare on the cutoff. The medic asked what I was going to do. I told him it was time for me to go. He smiled and stepped aside as I got to my feet.

After leaving Devil’s Thumb, I knew I was going to be cutting it really close with the climb coming to get me to Michigan Bluff. But first up, the aid station at El Dorado Creek (52.9 miles), just 5.1 miles away. I took off. I pushed through all the pain and ran the full distance to El Dorado Creek. I was out of the aid station in less than 1 minute.

As I began the climb to Michigan Bluff (55.7 miles), I felt my heart rate elevate all too quickly. I slowed down. My legs began to cramp again. I just knew it was over for me. I kept thinking “there’s no way I can come back from the dead twice; I’m never going to make the cut off moving at 1 mile per hour.” I completely gave up and accepted failure. I thought about how I’d heard 30 people didn’t make the very first cutoff at Red Star. I patted myself on the back for making it at least to mile 55. I told myself it was fine that I wasn’t going to make it; I gave it my absolute best effort. I settled in for a long slow climb accompanied by my very own pity party. Then I thought about my crew and pacers. I thought their sacrifice to be there for me. I thought about having their company for the rest of the trail. I thought about my conversation with Jimmy after Robinson Flat, when we both said the only way we would quit is if someone forced us. I thought about how long I had put my name in the lottery for Western States, just to quit. I couldn’t give up. I had to find it in me to fight and get up that mountain. I began running when I could on the switchbacks and power walking. I felt pain in every part of my body but refused to let it stop me again. As I came close to the top I heard Steve and Aaron. Steve was cheering for every runner as they appeared. It brought a smile to my face and I charged up the remaining part of the hill, with a 23 minute cushion. I exchanged my green pack for my Nathan and tore into my salt. I ate more of the usual, plus pickle juice. I felt revived and excited as Steve set out with me for the next section.

A mutual friend, Adam Rood, once referred to Steve as the “happiest A**hole this side of the nuthouse”, in reference to pacing in the late miles of a race. I found this to be a true statement. I soaked up his energy and forgot about the pain. We power walked some hills on the road, and then began to cruise when we hit the trail again. As we approached Forest Hill (62 miles), Steve told me we were putting down 10 minute miles. It felt good. The sun was gone and I finally had legs to run on. My stomach wasn’t thrilled with me, but it hung in there for the time being. At Forest Hill I ate pickles, drank pickle juice, grabbed a packet of Ritz crackers with cheese, ate my usual aid station foods plus broth, and headed out. We were in and out in no time.

Upon leaving Forest Hill, we moved pretty well through Dardanelles aid station (65.7 miles), though I threw up shortly after leaving the aid station. Steve pointed out that everything I had eaten at the last two aid stations all came out, right down to the watermelon. I pushed on, though my energy level began to crash. Steve told me I needed to consume enough calories at the next aid station to be able to keep going. When we got to Peachstone (70.7 miles), I had chicken noodle soup, watermelon, and Tums. We headed out, and Steve realized he forgot something and headed back to the aid station. I power walked till he rejoined me, then off we went. I ran solid for a couple miles. I believe I threw up again before the next aid station, but from here on out my memory is a little foggy. We were leap frogging a couple guys who were better on the up hills than I was, but then we would pass them on the downs. Every time we saw them I forgot who they were, but they always remembered us. As we were getting close to the next aid station, we were running down a pretty steep hill when a runner fell down the hill behind us. I heard he cracked his skull open pretty good. Medics were on their way when we got to Ford’s Bar (73 miles). I refueled quickly and felt my energy surge once again. This was probably my best running of the night, between miles 73 and 78. Or at least that’s how I remember it. Steve and I laughed and told stories. We talked about Superior 100, where I paced Steve. The memories from that race are nothing short of awesome. Superior was where I knew I would be asking Steve to pace me at some point in the future.  

When we arrived at Rucky Chucky (78 miles), Aaron was ready to take over. I heard Steve briefing him on my status “she’s been throwing up, but as long as she eats at aid stations, she can reenergize. She’s struggling with the climbs, but she’s moving well everywhere else. Broth is treating her well, make sure she continues this. Her spirits are high and she ran really well during that last section.” I think I heard Steve also tell him I wasn’t eating enough, but I’m not sure. Aaron and I got on our life jackets and climbed into the boat to cross the river. On the other side was a 1.8 mile climb. Fortunately, it wasn’t very steep, but I still slowed down too much. I told Aaron I felt like it was too hot as we climbed; that I didn’t understand why it was so hot at this time during the night. Aaron told me everyone was complaining about the humidity and that it was hotter than they expected. Aaron told me Jim Walmsley had taken a DNF. Then he said “hey, you’re beating Jim Walmsley!” I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever heard! Then he told me he wasn’t sure about Kaci. That she was having a bad day out there, with the heat and humidity also getting to her. That’s when I knew I wasn’t making it up about the heat! I prayed for her quickly as we talked.

Upon leaving Green Gate (79.8 miles), I saw Jacob Brown, Jimmy’s son. I asked him what he was doing there. He said Jimmy had just left with David Reddel now pacing him. I was worried about Jimmy. I knew he wouldn’t quit, so I prayed for him to have renewed strength. I shuffled along at a running pace that was not much faster than my walking pace. Every time I broke into a run, Aaron would say “good” or “nice”. It gave me a lot of encouragement and made me feel like I was going faster than I probably was. I’m not sure when I threw up the first time while with Aaron, but it was still a ways from the next aid station. My energy level bottomed out. We had a few climbs where I moved very slowly. I kept telling Aaron it was ok, because I would make up for it when I could run again. My ability to make up for lost time was only getting worse. When we finally reached Auburn Lake Trails (85.2 miles), I had lost my desire for food. I was tired of throwing up. Aaron told me I had to eat. He kept asking what I thought I could eat. I took watermelon and orange slices and drank 2 cups of Mountain Dew. I had the aid station volunteers put broth and ice in my water bottle. I knew if I drank something sweet, I would throw it up immediately.

We got going again, but the next section had a lot of ups and downs. Even the small climbs were very slow for me. I threw up again. Aaron convinced me to take a gel so I could have some energy. I knew he was right. He listened to me gag, heave, choke, and gag some more as I chased it down with water. It gave me a small burst. I kept asking Aaron to pray for me, which he did. Aaron kept encouraging me, saying “just keep moving. One foot in front of the other, you’re doing great.” People started passing me more and more. They kept telling me I looked great. I didn’t understand how that could be possible, and knew they were just trying to give me a boost.

We finally made it to Quarry Road (90.7 miles). I think Aaron told me there were male volunteers dressed as nuns here, but I don’t remember that. All I remember was really loud music that grated on my nerves. I made sure to thank the volunteers, but I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Once again, it wasn’t long before I threw up again. By this time I didn’t even stop to throw up, just turned my head to the side and kept walking. I was going downhill fast. I kept telling Aaron this was the worst day of my life. Aaron kept telling me I had to dig deep and keep pushing. Over and over I said to him “Aaron I’m so scared. What do I do? I can’t go any faster.” Aaron continued to encourage me “just keep going. One foot in front of the other. You can do this. You have to do this.” At one point Aaron said he knew he sounded like a broken record, but he didn’t know what else to say. I thought about that and concluded I couldn’t think of anything else either. We began the climb to Pointed Rocks, and it was long. I felt time slipping away. The daylight had once again brought scorching temps. I started yelling at myself to “move! Just move!”

By the time I reached Pointed Rocks (94.3 miles), I was wrecked, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I was really happy to see Sarah and Marleigh, but I did not have time to really say anything to them. Sarah later told me she cried for me at this aid station. She said she was really worried before I arrived, and then to see the shape I was in didn’t help. I refueled as best I could, and received a quick pep talk from Steve. He told me I had to run the rest. I asked about the final climb. He told me it was no big deal, nothing more than what I do every day at Calvin Crest. Later, I heard he told Sarah he felt bad for lying to me about that, but he didn’t know what else to do. He did the right thing. Had I known what was coming, I probably wouldn’t have even tried. Aaron and I left the aid station and Aaron said “you have to run. You no longer have a choice. You can yell at me, punch me, or whatever, but you have to run. Now go.” I did. I ran all the way to the aid station at No Hands Bridge (96.8 miles). I didn’t stop, just continued onto the bridge. As soon as the direct sunlight hit me, I felt like a wave of bricks rested on my shoulders. My legs wouldn’t run. I tried over and over with lots of yelling. Aaron told me I had to move. I told him I was trying, but it wasn’t working anymore. He told me I was running out of time and he knew how badly I wanted that buckle. I said “you’re right; I didn’t come here to fail.” I tried again to run. I would make it 5-10 steps before my shaking legs wouldn’t work.

We reached the climb. As I began to ascend, I threw up. I drank water and kept going. My legs slowed more as I fought with everything inside me to keep them moving. I started to panic, becoming borderline hysterical. I kept telling Aaron “my legs aren’t working! They won’t go!” He kept saying “you have to make them. Keep moving!” I began crying and yelling at my legs to “just move!”  I finally reached a point where they stopped. I was looking at a rock in front of me, and could not get them on it. I tried turning sideways. I tried to go backwards. I tried grabbing weeds and branches and pulling them. I was scrambling while barely moving. Aaron turned and looked at me and I shook my head. Tears burned as I said “it’s over.” I could see on his face that he knew it was too. I felt like my every emotion from pushing so hard and coming so close boil to the surface. I was completely devastated. I knew I was so close to Robie Point, and with 1.3 miles to go, and my legs had failed me. Aaron left me to go get help. While he was gone, the equestrian sweep team came upon me. They offered their water, which I took. They offered food and I threw up all the water they gave me. Minutes later Aaron returned with Steve. I was out of time, the race was already over. They swung their arms around me and half carried me up the rest of the way to Robie Point. Once at Robie Point, they set me on a large rock. People were putting ice on me, trying to cool me down. They were giving me water. Then a volunteer, by the name of Sam Hayashi, said to me “you’re still going to cross that finish line, right?” I looked up at him and said “I’m allowed to do that? But my pacers helped me up the mountain.” He told me it didn’t matter anymore; I needed to go cross that finish line. I stood up and started walking, with my equestrian sweep team behind me. Within a few steps I threw up again. We weren’t sure what it was that I threw up, as it was black/purple chunks that looked like grape jelly. Steve took the liberty of inspecting the chunks, but came to no conclusion. Someone suggested it was from my stomach. A google search later lead me to believe it was likely tears in my esophagus and stomach lining due to excessive vomiting, which lead to bleeding, and this coagulated in my stomach. I guess I’ll never really know.

Once on the pavement, the Robie Point aid station seemed to move with me. I had my very own cheering section. Sam drove a van and stopped periodically to cheer and bring me water. He said he was my mobile aid station. The sound of the horse hooves on pavement behind me gave me comfort, as most people who know me, know I have owned horses my whole life. I tried to do most of the pavement walking unassisted, but there were times I had no choice but to hold Aaron and Steve’s forearms. Sarah joined us shortly before we reached the track. She had been extremely worried about me and had told race officials I was still out there. They kept up the finish line arch and race clock to wait for me.

When I reached the track, everyone began to cheer. I started to cry. People took pictures and video to commemorate my bittersweet finish. I crossed in 30:50:29. 50 minutes and 29 seconds past the cutoff. Mo Livermore, board member for WS since 1977, placed my medal around my neck and said “thank you for coming to Western States.” Between coughing, crying, and laughing, I managed to say “thank you letting me!” Mo was the person Sarah cried to when she couldn’t figure out where I was. Mo has finished Western States herself, and understood why it mattered that I was allowed to cross that finish line.

I made it to a chair and visited with my crew, Jason Koop, Kaci and Miguel for the next hour. I learned Jimmy had finished with a decent cushion. I was so happy for him. At the awards ceremony they mentioned me as an unofficial finisher, for which I was very grateful.

The aftermath: I don’t remember much about the hours that followed. We were supposed to stay at some campgrounds, but the decision was made to get a hotel so they could get me cooled down. Sarah helped me change clothes and bandaged my many chafing wounds. I tried to eat some food a few hours later, but my mouth was too raw from throwing up. When I finally peed after the race, it was the color of coke. I know what this means: Rhabdo, which is the breakdown of muscle which deposits myoglobin in the urine and can be damaging to the kidneys. I know IV fluids are recommended if you cannot take in enough fluids orally. I drank chocolate milk, a Naked juice, a half-gallon of strawberry lemonade, lots of water, and several gatorades, until my pee turned clear. I was up every 1.5 hours during the night to pee and made myself drink 32 ounces of something before I lay back down.

I had to use a wheelchair to get through the airport, as I was unable to walk unassisted. They allowed Sarah to have a pass and go through security to get me to my gate where we said our goodbyes. When I tried to wheel myself to the bathroom, a lady took over, pushing me all the way into the handicap stall. She waited for me and then took me back to my gate. I cried when I thanked her, because everything made me cry at this point. I also wore my hair on top of my head for the race, and for the 4 days after the race, because I couldn’t stand long enough to shower. I’m sure it was quite ripe by the time I showered.

When I returned to Nebraska, I had an employee health check at work. Mike Soltys kindly drove me to this, as I wasn’t sure of my ability to move my feet properly to drive in traffic. My labs revealed elevated liver enzymes. My ALT was 598 (normal 5-35) and my AST was 1472 (normal 10-40). AST is the lab which represents muscle breakdown. ALT represents insult to the liver itself, as a result of processing said muscle breakdown. My sodium was low, at 133 (normal 135-148). The two I zeroed in on: BUN and creatinine. They were normal, meaning my kidneys are ok! I reviewed my liver labs with our liver specialist at work, who then refilled my water for me all day, insisting I keep drinking. By Friday when I had a redraw, my sodium was normal, and my AST was nearly normal. My ALT was still elevated in the 200’s, but I expected that given the longer half-life.

All in all, I’m so grateful my crew didn’t let me quit. I’m still heart broken, but still glad I never gave up. Will I try to redeem this run? I don’t know. I don’t do well in heat and no single race is worth my health. Do I think there were things leading up to the race that would’ve made it better? Yes. I did not do enough hill work. In the end, I can’t change the outcome. But I can be grateful to have had the experience.

Woodstock 100 (100k)

Learning to Accept Failure

Woodstock 100 (100k)

I guess I have to start with a week before this race. The Friday before, I was looking into Woodstock as I was intending to pace my amazing friend Kristina Myint, when the thought crossed my mind, "Hey, if I do this race myself, not only will I earn myself some points for the Trail Runner Magazine Trophy Series, but I will land my Western States qualifier as well.” In my mind I thought, “Well that’s a really silly idea”; knowing I have over raced this year and my body was feeling far from 100%. It all started when I got too hot at Prairie Spirit 50 miler on March 29^th. I threw up for the final 11 miles there, and then stopped sweating all together in spite of feeling completely cooked from the inside out. My skin was bright red – even what was covered with clothing. I completed that race and 6 days later ran 31 miles in California, most of which was in 85+ degree temps and largely on black top. That started a series of races that were too hot and too close together, which wore on me throughout the summer. By the time Psycho Psummer came around, one of my yearly faves, I was really struggling to feel good running any distance over 5 miles. By mid August my resting heart rate was 70+ bpm, which is excessively high compared to my usual 44-50 bpm. Still, did I listen? No. So, one week before Woodstock I registered for the 100 miler.

The day after I registered, I was giving horseback riding lessons when I saw my lesson horse was going to launch over a tiny ditch with her rider, and knew disaster was about to happen if I didn’t step in. So I swung my horse in front of her, only to have my lesson horse slam into my quad with all her weight. The pain was excruciating, but I kept silent about it, grateful no one else was hurt. After the ride I discovered I couldn’t climb stairs leading with my right leg and I couldn’t get off a chair with any weight on my right leg.

Rick and I, finishing Heart of America Marathon.

Come Monday morning, I toed the line at the Heart of America Marathon. I knew a marathon and a 100 miler in the same week probably wasn’t my best idea, especially with a bum leg, but it’s a tradition! It’s the only marathon I do every year with my friends, Aaron Norman and Rick Troeh. By 12 miles in, I felt my quad gaining some tiny tears. I backed off – perhaps the only thing I did right! Rick caught me by mile 14 and I explained to him I was worried about my quad and felt the smart choice was to power walk the rest of the marathon. He graciously offered to stay with me to the end. The company was greatly appreciated as mentally I was beating myself up through and through. The days following the marathon, my quad was incredibly sore. Every day I woke up hoping for less pain, and every day I grew slightly more anxious as it wasn’t getting any better. I was also very aware of my resting heart rate holding steady at 70+ bpm.

On Thursday I met Chris Hall and Paul Crisman to start our long drive to Michigan. We met Rick in Des Moines where he joined us for the adventure. Chris and Rick were my pacers/crew, and Paul was running the 100 as well. Paul sent me a text on Wednesday asking if I was running Woodstock, and if so, could he catch a ride. I thought I was a last minute commit! We made it to Michigan around 6:30 am. I checked us into our hotel and requested a late checkout. We all slept till a little before noon, as the race start was at 4:00 pm. 

Arriving at the race.

On the way to the race I took out a roll of duck tape and wrote the phrase “Mind over matter. 100 miles is not that far” on it and stuck it to Paul’s drop bag. When we arrived at the start line, I started worrying about the heat. It was over 100 with the heat index. Knowing my struggles with heat, I had a bad feeling about the outcome. 

Paul and I signing our waivers before the race.

Once the gun went off and we started running, I almost immediately felt too hot. I started walking early on. Paul stuck with me the entire first loop, (it was 16.67 mile loop course you repeated 6 times). By mile 13 I threw up the first time. It was at the top of the steepest climb on the course and nausea from the heat took over. After throwing up I felt immediately better, so Paul and I cruised the next 3.7 miles. During those miles, the wind picked up to 70 mph straight winds, the temperature dropped rapidly, and the rain came. I was ecstatic to have the rain. I heard there was hail also involved, but with the flying debris, I couldn’t tell the difference. We came through the first loop right on schedule at under 4 hours. I made the smart choice of changing into my long CWX compression shorts as my quad was hurting really bad at this point.  It made a huge difference. Looking back, I should’ve started in them, but at the time I thought I would be too hot.

At the start of the race.

During the second loop Paul and I began to separate. My power walk was very strong, but it forced him into either a slow shuffling run, or walking a pace that required him to jog every few steps to keep pace. He finally started pulling away after me telling him over and over to go. I was only running the downs and parts of the flats, and had no intentions of changing this until it cooled down more. I caught Paul at every aid station, and exited before him, as I tend to be the fastest runner I know in and out of aid stations. He commented more than once that he didn’t know how I got through them so fast. When we were leaving the aid station at the halfway point I threw up for the second time. Again, we put down some fast miles for a good period of time after my puking episode. This was the best I felt all night. My power walk was strong. My quad hurt, but it was bearable. It was cooler. I was in good company and running in the dark, which I love. We chatted it up and the miles seemed to just pass by without realizing. We finished the second loop right on schedule again, under 8 hours total.

At the end of the second loop I learned that Kristina had broken her toe and had to drop. I also learned that Josh Ruckman had a tree fall on him during the storm and had to drop. I felt really bad for both of them, but glad they made smart decisions. Rick joined me at this aid station and we set out power walking up the hill to the start of the trail. I gave Rick a quick rundown of my status. I told him I wasn’t able to run much without getting sick and he was likely in for a lot of power walking. He was very positive and upbeat and took the news in stride. He told me how proud he was to call me his friend and how impressed he was with the speed of my power walk. I greatly appreciated him building me up as I was mentally tearing myself down. Within a couple miles into the third loop I began puking again. This time it wasn’t followed with a renewed energy, but instead I began feeling the effects of dehydration. Around three miles into the loop I fell on what appeared to be absolutely nothing. My calf cramped excruciatingly bad and I began yelling to Rick to help me. He dropped beside me and worked the cramp out of my calf, then helped me up. I knew my electrolytes were out of whack for me to cramp that badly. I told Rick I was walking until the next aid station and focus on taking in fluids and electrolytes, which I did. When we left the mile 4 aid station, I began running again and almost immediately threw up. From this point on I have no idea how many times I threw up. I was so exhausted from heaving so hard – my eyes hurt, my stomach and back muscles hurt, and I was running out of energy. We ran into Paul around mile 42 and he was moving at an extremely slow pace. He had rolled his ankle pretty badly and told us he was dropping at the next aid station. I felt so bad for him, as I knew he had to be devastated. When we came out of the mile 12 aid station, I was in a really good power walk rhythm. A guy behind us stayed there for about a mile before saying “I’ve wanted to pass you for about the last mile, but I’ve been too mesmerized by your power walk! I’ve never seen anything like it!” Rick took the compliment for me, as I was not in the mood to talk, and told the guy he doesn’t know anyone who power walks that fast either. Even though I wasn’t talking, I really appreciated the compliment, as it gave me a boost of confidence. Rick got me to the end of the third loop shortly after 12 hours. It was behind what I’d hoped for, but I was quickly abandoning any hopes for continuing at any decent pace as my energy level was plummeting fast.

I picked up Chris for my 4^th loop. He tried offering me a saltine cracker as we exited the aid station; I took one look at it and heaved hard. Nothing came out as I hadn’t had any food or beverage in about 3 hours at this point. I explained to him I was throwing up every time I ran and he was in for a lot of power walking. He didn’t complain, just said he was there to help me any way he could. I was keeping steady with power walking ‘til around mile 57. All at once, something changed. We were climbing a hill when I felt dizzy, nauseated, and utterly exhausted. I stopped briefly and tried to continue at my power walk, but was overwhelmed with vertigo. I told Chris there was a bench coming up and I intended to sit on it. He reminded me that I don’t sit during races. I told him I didn’t care; I didn’t know what else to do. It seemed like forever until we found that bench. I sat down and began processing what was happening to me. I hadn’t peed in 15 hours, I hadn’t been able to eat or drink for 5 hours now, I was unable to climb hills without feeling like I was going to faint, and was feeling downright miserable. Then it hit me: I run because it’s fun to me. I run because I genuinely love it. I wasn’t having fun. I wasn’t loving it. I started to accept it wasn’t going to happen for me. I started to accept that my body had been telling me for months it needed a break and I wasn’t listening. I accepted the fact that I was only going to land myself in a hospital with kidney failure if I continued. I accepted that I’m human. Once this reality hit me, I felt a weight was lifted. I took a long gulp of Nuun water from my bottle and stood up to get to the end of the loop. Of course I threw up said water almost immediately after drinking it, but I didn’t care. I just needed to finish the loop. I discussed my plan with Chris, but I don’t really remember what he had to say about it. Maybe he told me I was making the right choice. Maybe he told me he wasn’t going to let me quit. I have no idea. At this point I checked out. As daylight was breaking, we began to see other runners who appeared very fresh. I was rather annoyed with them, until I realized they were running different events. There was a 50 miler, a 50k, a marathon, half marathon, 10k and 5k also going on at this time. I was happy to see Coleen, who stopped in the middle of her race to give me a hug, her face full of sympathy as she could see I wasn’t good. This was the only point I almost cried. I was very frustrated with all the runners flying by saying “on your left”, expecting me to move over for them. My legs didn’t even want to go one in front of the other, let alone sideways. Every time I moved my right leg, pain shot through my quad. I believe this is the point I started making remarks to other runners. I threatened to trip them, push them over, and junk punch them. While I thought I was funny, I also really thought I was being quiet about it, till Chris informed me otherwise.

As I exited the trees on the fourth loop, Rick, Kristina, Coleen, and a few others were cheering for me. Rick and Kristina began telling me I wasn’t going to quit. I told them in no uncertain terms I was done. I was dropping to the 100k. When they realized I was serious, they supported my decision. I told them my leg was not carrying me any further, and I hadn’t been able to eat for over 8 hours. They were wonderfully supportive. Then Rick informed me Paul was still out there. I couldn’t believe it!! I thought there was no way; he was barely even walking when we saw him! I sat on a chair in the aid tent and within minutes Paul came in and sat beside me. I encouraged Rick and Chris to get Paul to the finish. They agreed and Paul was grateful to take on some pacers. Chris doctored Paul’s foot, while Paul explained to me what happened. He said he made it to the aid station where he intended to drop, and contemplated what to do next. He said no one there had anything to help him with his ankle, so he just stood there. He said then he thought of the piece of duct tape I put on his drop bag. He said he thought to himself, “Mind over matter. 100 miles is not that far”. So he took off running. He said he mentally blocked the pain and worked to catch up with Rick and I, as he knew we were not far ahead. Turns out he missed a turn and added an additional 7 miles. I was in complete disbelief that he was going to finish. I admired his strength of mind and knew he would gut it out. He headed out of the aid station with Rick in tow, and I continued to sit and feel sorry for myself for about the next hour. When I finally went to shower, I discovered I had chafed on my back, underarms, and other choice places until they bled. I knew it was going to be a long road to recovery.

Paul and Daisy Lou after he finished.

Several hours later, Paul came running, yes, running out of the woods with Chris to cross the finish line and claim his buckle. He did it, and it made the trip worth it. 

Ultra runner feet. 

On our way home we stopped for gas where Paul fainted outside the vehicle. I sat in the back of the jeep laughing hysterically at the confused look on his face when Chris woke him up. I remember saying to him “I’m so glad that’s never happened to me!” At the next gas station I went in to pay for gas and as I walked in the door, everything went dark. I began sweating profusely, even though it was 50 degrees and I was wearing shorts. I realized I was about to faint. I backed up against the counter and slid to the floor. I couldn’t see anything in front of me, it was a black slate. I heard Rick say the attendant “She’s not drunk, she ran 62 miles today.” I immediately corrected him with “68 miles! I ran 68 miles!” (Technically per my watch said 67.5). Then I opened my wallet and pulled out money and reached backwards over the counter and said “Can I get $50 on pump 3 please?” When Chris saw me sitting on the floor he came running in and propped the doors open to cool me down. I ripped off my hoodie and asked for water. I drank nearly a liter without taking a breath. Then Chris helped me up so I could stumble my way to the restroom. We made it back to Iowa around 9:30 in the morning after driving all night. Well, Rick and Chris drove while Paul Daisy Lou, and I slept in the back.

Paul and Daisy Lou on the way home.

In the days following Woodstock, I had some time to think about what my body has been telling me. I settled on the plan to take a minimum of 3 weeks off running completely. I don’t know if I will ever be able to run in the heat again, or if this is now my life with running. If so, I will make the most of the cold months, and enjoy other things during the hot months. It will all be ok. While this event did not go as planned, I am so grateful to those who went out there and supported me. I truly have ultra amazing friends!