This was my first 50-mile event – a training run on my way to 100.
Preparation
I had this race worked into a training plan that built up to the Umstead 100 at the end of March, 2010. Oddly enough, this plan did NOT include spraining my ankle during the HUFF 50K in mid-December.
With but two long-ish run/walks and a handful of single miles, I arrived in Huntsville woefully undertrained and totally unsure of my ankle's ability to carry me around the course.
My plan was to run the race if I could. Walk it if I couldn't run. And volunteer if I couldn't walk.
Loop 1
Gee, it feels great to run again! The ankle isn't 100% – it's not hurting, but I'm flat-footing. Look at me! Stepping lively over the rooty terrain. Expending more energy than I should at this stage; but, it's so much fun, I can't help it – this is why I run.
Loop 2
Ok, what happened? Now, every step hurts – it feels as if the soles of my feet have been paddled. I'm chafing in places I've never chafed before (but have lubed anyways). My little toe has been pinched into creating a nice blood blister (which I pull over to lance mid-loop). It's a long and ugly loop, but I refuse to give in to the darkness – I keep a smile on my face and push the pain to the corners of my mind.
Loop 3
Whoa! Now, I'm feeling inexplicably good. I'm grinning like an idiot and running most everything – or so it seems. Which is not to say that I "want" to run – I still have to command myself to. So, let's run!
Post-Race
Preparation
I had this race worked into a training plan that built up to the Umstead 100 at the end of March, 2010. Oddly enough, this plan did NOT include spraining my ankle during the HUFF 50K in mid-December.
With but two long-ish run/walks and a handful of single miles, I arrived in Huntsville woefully undertrained and totally unsure of my ankle's ability to carry me around the course.
My plan was to run the race if I could. Walk it if I couldn't run. And volunteer if I couldn't walk.
Loop 1
Gee, it feels great to run again! The ankle isn't 100% – it's not hurting, but I'm flat-footing. Look at me! Stepping lively over the rooty terrain. Expending more energy than I should at this stage; but, it's so much fun, I can't help it – this is why I run.
- I find myself running behind a pair of women clad in cotton-like long pants and longsleeve shirts – thinking, "They look like recreational runners..." Follow them onto a footbridge and suddenly hear a bunch of shouting behind me...Wrong Way! Wrong Way! Yep – infiltrators!
- As I’m cruising into the Park Road (final) aid station with nobody in sight ahead of me, a volunteer shouts, "You're in the lead!" So, I break into a funky little dance on my way across the road and get a few more cheers from the crowd.
- Approaching the turn, I dump my next two Clip2 packets into the bottle while on a walk break. (If you know Clip2, you know it doesn't dump.) Accidentally drop one of the packets into the bottle and have to fish it out... Now I have a hand and packet covered in pink, clumpy, sticky goo. Rinsing with the water bottle is of no help. I carry the sticky pink package out of the woods like a dead fish held out in front of me.
Loop 2
Ok, what happened? Now, every step hurts – it feels as if the soles of my feet have been paddled. I'm chafing in places I've never chafed before (but have lubed anyways). My little toe has been pinched into creating a nice blood blister (which I pull over to lance mid-loop). It's a long and ugly loop, but I refuse to give in to the darkness – I keep a smile on my face and push the pain to the corners of my mind.
- I hear a man's voice over my shoulder, "I love your hair! What style is it?" We discuss my fabulous hair for a bit, but he seems disappointed that the style doesn't have a name and so continues ahead.
- I feel like crap, but I'm approaching Park Road aid station again. So, I kick it into gear, round the bend, and come out of the woods into another funky dance as I cross the road. More cheers – thank you, thank you.
- At the turn I tend to my pre-maturely battered self. Lance the blood blister and squeeze the bejeebus out of it, then apply some lube. Re-lube the other trouble spots - I think I flashed someone (I hope they don't mind). Have the kind volunteer dump my Clip2 packets into the bottle for me – getting smarter!
Loop 3
Whoa! Now, I'm feeling inexplicably good. I'm grinning like an idiot and running most everything – or so it seems. Which is not to say that I "want" to run – I still have to command myself to. So, let's run!
- I stop at Dam Road aid station on the first pass to get some Coke. While there I'm talked into trying the freshly-made cheese quesadilla... OMG, so good! I trot out with a coke and a smile.
- I high-tail it round the sub-loop to get back to Dam Road for some more of that heavenly quesadilla. I run out with a stack of slices in my mouth.
- As I run into Park Road aid station one last time, I ham it up for the photographer then conjure my funkiest dance moves on my way across the road. Thank you, Park Road!
- I realize that I *could* break 11 hours if I absolutely fly through this last leg. I know it's not really possible for me at this point, but I forget that inconvenient reality and push ahead.
- Flying down a hill (at ultra speed), I hit a footbridge – oh yes, a chance to pick up some time with solid, level footing!
- Hmm... Did they re-do this bridge during the race? I don't remember these sections with new wood. And, what about that single blue board?
More trail and another bridge. Then, a voice – I've got some bad news for you; you're off course. - My heart is in my throat as I retrace my steps. All that effort for nothing. It's all slipping away... What's wrong with you? HTFU! The only thing to do is to run – and I do.
Post-Race
- At the finish-line a volunteer asks whether he can get me anything to eat or drink. No, thank you – I'm tired of eating and drinking.
- Sunday morning I laugh myself silly as I realize that, on Saturday morning, I'd slathered myself with conditioner (instead of lotion). Well, at least any stubble on my legs is shiny and healthy!
- Our plane arrives at the most-distant gate in the Detroit airport. Eschewing the tram, I walk the entire way with a guy who's just finished the 100. We elect to take the stairs down to the shuttle buses. Why? To see whether we can.
buzzie .. congrats on your first 50M ... sorry you got off-course ... glad you had FUN! 
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