Grindstone 100

I realize now that I haven’t posted here since Burning River last year, and I am a very different runner now than I was in Akron. My original plan for this racing season was to use the Lake Martin 100 in Alabama as a ‘tune-up’ race for the Grindstone 100 in October, a race that would deliver two cherished Hardrock lottery tickets (and a Western States ticket as well!). While the course around Lake Martin was pretty and the race well organized (but minimal; only two aid stations serviced the entire 25 mile lap course), things just didn’t feel right. I had pain in my achilles tendon that started early and only worsened. After a chat with Jordan at mile 43, I decided to pull the plug, and to my chagrin, took credit for a 12 hour 27 mile run...

The achilles pain got me thinking about my running form and what I could do to be a more efficient and less injury prone runner. I started building mileage in Xero huarache sandals, which encouraged me to run on from the balls of my feet and stop heel striking. Soon I bought both road and trail Altras as my feet and lower legs began to feel stronger. I also made a 21-week plan based on the Jason Koop book Training Essentials for Ultrarunning as prep for Grindstone. Training went well except for my tune-up race, the Shawnee Hills 100k, where I got dangerously dehydrated and dropped before I could see any benefits from the new training regime. I had just enough time to recover and then pace Jordan 56 miles at the IMTUF 100 before my taper began.

Be right back after 101.85 miles

Everything about Grindstone was very familiar (Jordan ran it in 2016), and I felt only excitement as the day got nearer. I had a conservative plan; stay on top of eating and drinking, and finish within the 38 hour cutoff. Our travel was simplified as we’d spent a few days in Charlottesville the week of the race, so the rituals of packet pickup and the pre-race meeting were all stress free.

Jordan, Fuller and I got to the start about 15 minutes early, which was just enough time to shake hands with a few friends, take pictures, and line up deep in the pack. The course loops back near the start at 1.5 miles, and Jordan and Fuller were there, the later ecstatically giving out high fives to as many runners as he could. I settled into a group with Sean Humphrey, a Dayton runner, and we made short work of the first 5.5 mile section. There was some concern about how well we’d be able to follow the trail here as the Virginia Department of Game and Inland Fisheries had forbidden any race specific ribbons on their land, though the trails were still well marked with traditional painted blazes. And at a significant turn, just for good measure, was the one and only David Horton sitting on a rock, directing us where to go and wishing us well. I tried to memorize some landmarks, knowing that on the return trip it could be really easy to get lost when I was fatigued.

With Sean Humphrey (R) and James Lambert (L)

The first aid station came quickly, and I felt so bad for those poor volunteers. We arrived en masse, and I knew the next section was 9.5 miles, with the climb up Elliot’s Knob, so I wasn’t going to leave without all three of my water bottles filled. Everyone was polite, but it was a stressful few minutes, and I was glad to get back on the trail. Once the trail dumped out on a dirt road, I knew we had hit the climb proper, and I got excited; this is what I had been training for. With a little ‘Killian Jornet at UTMB’ imitation for good measure, I settled into a comfortably hard climbing rhythm. The fog increased as we went higher; the image of runners with headlights trudging uphill looked like something from a post-apocalyptic movie. I also began to notice the humidity; I was soaked with sweat, and would stay that way all night. The outbound climb goes all the way to the summit of Elliot Knob, where I’m told there are spectacular views, but all I could see was the orienteering punch hanging from the fence around the fire tower.

After a short decent off the summit, the trail turned back to single track and followed the ridge line. In the thick fog, I found it both comforting and helpful to be in a group of runners, as it was much easier to see the trail from other people’s headlamps. The section ended with a fun descent down to the aid station at Dry Branch Gap. On the way I chatted with a woman from Gainesville and we compared thoughts on the pros and cons of running and training in Florida. I only needed water at the aid station, so I exited quickly and went straight up; the trail quickly climbed up to the next ridge line. Somewhere in this section I got stuck in a large group, a ‘conga line,’ where the trail was too narrow to pass and whoever was in the lead had a different pace in mind than those behind. I decided to stay patient; I couldn’t imagine regretting going a little slow in the first half of the race. We were greeted with cheers of “that’s the biggest conga line we’ve seen all night!” at Dowell’s draft, the first crewed aid station where drop bags were available. I quickly restocked the food in my pack, got more water, and got out.

The next two sections were defined by rocks. Jordan called them ‘encyclopedia sized’ when she ran it. At least this time they weren’t wet, but I swear they were looser. I even thought they’d broken my trekking poles a number of times. It was also frustrating not to be able to make the most of the smooth downhills as I was uncomfortable running too fast in the dark fog. Patience paid off and I gradually made it through Lookout Mountain. Leaving North River Gap I joined a small group with some knowledgeable folks who warned that the next climb was the hardest of the race, and they were right. It just seemed to go on and on, with so many false summits, and some steep sections that slowed us to a crawl. Turns out that in this group was another Cincinnati runner, Jennifer Russo, that I knew of but had never met. We discovered each other by each telling the story of a fellow runner who ran the Hellgate 100k when it was so cold, her bottles froze in her pack. It was nice to have some consistent company through this section; I was rarely far from people throughout the race, but due to different running/walking strategies, I didn’t talk to many people.

The sun was just starting to come up as I reached the Little Bald Knob aid station where they had coffee brewing and made me an egg burrito to order. It was so good, I hated to throw half of it away, but I hadn’t suffered any stomach issues and didn’t want to risk a lot of heavy food. I’ve always heard about but rarely experienced the energy surge that comes with sunrise; I felt like a new person as I headed down the jeep trail to Reddish Knob, the second highest point of the race. This was my planned communication point with Jordan so she could time her arrival at aid stations in the second half of the race. The jeep trail changed to asphalt that lead up and around to the summit, where I timed my arrival perfectly. Climbing through the night and in dense fog, I never had any sense of just how high we were in the mountains, and the view from Reddish was incredible. I texted Jordan my progress, requested blue Gatorade to help get my hydration under control, and descended back down the road to the Briery Branch turnaround. The downhill felt good, but I was already tired of running on asphalt. Once there I caught up again with Jennifer, and we chatted while we each traded out clothes and food from our drop bags (I’d been looking forward to a fresh shirt for hours).

Knowing I was on the return trip, and that each step I took was in the direction of the finish, was a big mental boost. I kept pace with Jennifer for a while, but then she pulled ahead on her way to a sub 30-hour finish. Returing to Little Bald Knob, there were a number of runners siting in chairs that just looked really out of it. I sat briefly to drink and eat, and immensely enjoyed one of the aid station workers yelling in our faces drill seargant style “get the f--- out of that chair and run!” Taking his advice, I headed out, knowing that at the next aid station, I’d get to see Jordan and Fuller.

I know that physics doesn’t permit the same trail to be uphill the whole way in both directions, but that’s what this section felt like. The climbs on the way out had been so difficult, I thought it would be all downhill on the return, but this was definitely not the case. I didn’t suffer any “why am I doing this?” dark moments, but there were times in this section where I was certainly not having fun anymore. About halfway through I passed another local running celebrity, Andy Jones-Wilkins, who seemed to be everywhere all race, running and crewing and cheering runners. He was on Elliot’s Bald, he was at Dry Branch, and later I’d sit next to him and chat at Dowell’s draft.

It was so great to see Jordan and Fuller! Fuller was having a blast amongst all the runners and crews, but was a little loathe to give up his camp chair to his tired dad. I made a point to sit and catch up, but was always tending to something (including chugging one of two 32-ounce blue Gatorades). Jordan had even brought ice for my bandanna which was awesome, as the temperature was rising into the 80s and the humidity seemed to stay at 100 percent all race.

Raising 'em right.

I think the section back to Lookout Mountain was the hardest part of my race. The heat had robbed me of my climbing legs; I would quickly overheat with any sustained hard efforts. I was reduced to hiking for a few minutes and then sitting while my heart slowed down and my body cooled. While this was frustrating, I knew I had plenty of time to finish. In the past, I’ve let the weather stress me out, but I was able to accept the fact that it was hotter than I expected and I knew how to deal with it. And as often happens in ultras, the next section from Lookout back to Dowell’s Draft turned out to be the best and most fun part of the race. The last few miles were a flowy mountain bike single track, and knowing I was in the last quarter of the race, I just bombed it, and it felt great. I charged into the aid station to see Jordan and Fuller having beaten my projected arrival by 30 minutes. More Gatorade and foot work followed (as gross as it sounds, a wart on the ball of my foot was causing a pretty good blister). I would find out after the race that at one of these aid stations, a waiting pacer had made a quick sketch of Fuller and I. He gave it to Jordan after I’d left, and it is such a special and unexpected memory of this race that I will treasure. Heading out, I assured Jordan that I would be fine to finish on my own and find somewhere to sleep at the Boy Scout camp before they picked me up in the morning; I knew it would be rough getting a 3 year old out in the middle of the night. Jordan had other plans…

Signed M. Ross, and will soon be framed.

At this point, I knew I had two big climbs and three aid stations between me and a buckle and those lottery tickets. The rocks had been tough on the way down in the dark, and they weren’t much easier fifty miles later in the dark. It was here I truly embraced that old ultra mantra of relentless forward progress. I wasn’t moving fast, but I didn’t stop. I even kept looking for a good place to sit and close my eyes, but the poison ivy was too dense (yes, poison ivy helped me keep going). Getting to Dry Branch Gap, I wanted to shut my eyes for ten minutes; I needed the mental break to help prepare for the last climb up Elliot’s Knob. All the chairs were taken, so I curled up on a cooler that was just smaller than my torso and relaxed. Many say ‘beware the chair,’ but I find a short break works as a mental reset. Refreshed, I climbed again, happy knowing that this was the last main climb. The most memorable moment pacing Jordan in 2016 was when we popped out onto the gravel road to descend Elliot’s Knob; it had been raining almost the entire race, and that was the first time the sky was clear without thick trees above us. As much as I was looking forward to being back to that section, it felt weird and a little sad that she wasn’t running it with me. The Falls Hollow aid station arrived sooner than I expected (about the only time I can say that), and I sat to rest again and reset for the last 5 miles. A runner’s crew that had played with Fuller at an earlier aid station adopted me, going through a checklist of things I might need. I told them I just needed to close my eyes for 2 minutes, and as soon as I did, I felt hands massaging my shoulders. I made a joke about how bad I must smell, but the small gesture has continued to affect me; ours is a fantastic sport made that way by the people who do it.

While shorter, the very last section had its fair share of climbing and a few technical stream crossings. I ran most of it with two guys who’d been encouraged to run together by the aid station workers; at this point, there was safety in numbers. We were joined by Gainesville pacing a runner; she had apparently dropped early, but had enough energy left for pacing duties. Together we navigated the ‘unmarked’ section, and soon we were back on Boy Scout property. I had forgotten how torturous this part was; to achieve the advertised 101.85 race distance, the course makes a long swing around the camp before leading back to the finish. 

Really raising 'em right.

Once back on the road, I was surprised how easy running felt, and I encouraged the two guys ahead of me to run it in with me for a three way finish. About 100 yards before the finish line, I saw a familiar looking green tent with a small bundle inside, and heard Jordan say “is that you, Nathan?” They had camped out until 2:30 AM waiting for me to finish!! Fuller was sound asleep in his tent, and Jordan had brought me a Hardee’s burger (long cold, but oh, so good!). I crossed the finish line with my companions, shook race director Clark Zealand’s hand, thanking him by saying “you are a bad man!”

While not as fast as I hoped, I am incredibly happy with this race. I’ve never felt so prepared for a race, and then been able to execute a race plan and even adapt to things I hadn’t expected. Grindstone is a first class race, well organized with fantastic volunteers and some impressive sponsors. Seeing Jordan and Fuller throughout the second half was so great; I always tell folks that he’ll either adopt this running way of life like his parents, or write a book about how we messed up his childhood. I jokingly promised myself that once I finished Grindstone, I wouldn’t have to run again in 2018; three weeks out, I’m running comfortably again, and anxiously waiting for lottery day like a kid at Christmas.

So happy, with the 'bad man' RD (L)

IMTUF 100: Suffer in Splendor

I signed up for the IMTUF 100 as a special treat to myself, a first time “destination” race which looked spectacularly beautiful and would renew my Hard Rock qualification. I intended to be very well trained for this event, but work and travel left me with little time and I was only averaging 25-30 miles a week for the 2 months prior to the race. I knew this meant my likelihood of finishing would be diminished, but I still planned to have fun running in the mountains.

Nathan and I drove to Greenville so my parents could keep Fuller for the trip, then flew to Boise, and drove a beautiful 2 hours north to McCall where we would be staying. The race start/finish was another 50 minutes north at Burgdorf Hot Springs, which is remote enough that in the winter it is only accessible by snowmobile. The course is a 103ish mile mountainous loop between 6000-8000 feet high and with over 20,000 feet of elevation gain. It became clear at the pre-race meeting where many runners were wearing Hard Rock clothing: this race was in another league

The first 25 miles of the course were deceptively easy, with lots of smooth running and no significant climbs. I hit a stretch of flowing downhill single track with 360 degree mountain views at sunrise and couldn’t help giggling with delight. There is an out and back to a picturesque lake which runners gush over in clockwise years (my direction) and which irritates runners in counterclockwise years. I knew there were more challenging sections to come and when I came into the Chinook aid station at mile 16.7 and a volunteer remarked that there were only 23 runners left to come through, I was encouraged that I was being sufficiently conservative.

Runable beginning of race

Loon Lake

I did struggle with a headache starting about 2-3 hours into the race, which I guessed was related to altitude since I was well hydrated. This worsened on the first major climb up Diamond Ridge and I ran out of water shortly before coming to the unmanned water station, which was out of water. Everyone filled up from a stream which was hopefully free of diarrheal illnesses. Eventually, I reached my first drop bag at mile 33 and was able to knock back my now 7 hour headache with some Advil. The RD had warned that the next section could be hot, so I changed out of my long sleeves and ¾ tights in short sleeves and shorts. 

Sampling of more moderately technical trail offered

 

Views like this were throughout the course

Instead of heat, clouds rolled in and it started to rain as temperatures dropped. My windbreaker was enough to keep my body warm but soon my gloves were soaked through and I became worried that the rain wouldn't stop and my lack of waterproof gloves would make it unsafe to run through the night. But it did stop after 2 hours and I was soon cheerfully singing “Here Comes the Sun” while bringing my hands back to life at the 42 mile Duck Creek aid station fire.

I was euphoric as I left the aid station. The only 2 issues I had had so far (headache and cold) had been reversible, my legs felt relatively fresh, I was 30-45 minutes ahead of the 34:30 pace chart I had made for myself, and Nathan would join me as pacer at the next aid station, Snowslide, where pulled pork sliders also awaited. The section before Snowslide was the easiest in the race, a hike up a gentle grade on a dirt road for a couple miles and then a cruise back down. If I had realized there were no more good moods to come for the rest of the race, I would have savored the moment a bit more.

Feeling good at Snowslide Aid. Photo by Danielle Zemola

I ate my pulled pork slider as Nathan and I started up the Snowslide climb, the steepest, most technical ascent of the course. My good mood vanished and I developed what I am calling “bottomless pit syndrome.” I had been eating well throughout the day but was suddenly insatiable and essentially spent the next 4 hours bonking despite eating a TON, sometimes as much as 100 calories every 10 minutes. The unmanned water station here was also out of water, so Nathan’s first section with me was 13 miles unsupported with an irritable bonking runner. I spent 25 minutes at the mile 59 Lake Fork aid station eating pizza because I knew my troubles had to be sorted out before heading into the Crestline section, the most difficult section of the race.

Snowslide

We started the Crestline section a little before midnight, and I was hit with sleepiness like I have never experienced before. After a couple miles of dirt road, we started another steep technical climb, and I all I could think about was sleep. I was barely awake while hiking and sat on a rock intending to take a quick nap. It was at this point that Nathan and I had a heart to heart. The Crestline aid stations were all remote and packed in, so it was a 21 mile section where there is no mechanism to drop. There were several climbs, technical trails, and the most sustained higher altitude of the race, all through the middle of the night. It might be safer to turn around and go back to the previous aid station to drop.

Quitting at this point would have violated 3 of my rules: 1) Fatigue is not a valid reason, 2) No dropping because you expect to miss a cut-off; let them pull you from the course after you DO miss a cut-off, 3) No decisions about dropping may be made while going uphill. The safety concerns made it still a conversation worth having, but ultimately we pressed on with a possibility of a nap at the next aid station. Instead of a nap, I had some instant coffee which woke me up and saved my race. Perhaps the coffee was to blame for the bout of vomiting that hit me in the next section, but that was short lived and didn't slow me down much at all. We finished the Crestline section with an hour cushion on the cut-offs.

Obligatory pic with the goats who kindly packed in my aid

We then got to descend back to 6000 feet, though the “road” that achieved much of this was really a rock garden that was very uncomfortable to run on. My feet were in need of attention because the “moon dust” had infiltrated and was rubbing painfully on the balls of my feet, but I made a costly math error as we were coming in to the mile 88.8 aid station. Adding up my predicted paces for the remaining sections which didn't allow for time spent in aid stations, we would need to make up 20-30 minutes over the next 6 hours. There was no time to work on my feet; I just had to suffer through it.

I realized as we started on the next section that I had miscalculated and we had an hour more than I thought. I stopped a couple times to shake out shoes and change socks but it didn't help. The final climb was a steep 1000 feet leading to the mile 94.2 aid station, with 3.8 miles of slow ascent and another 1000 ft up to the final 98.1 mile aid station. We left 94.2 with a healthy cushion on the cut-off, which was fortunate because every step I took at this point was excruciating, especially when I ran. I thought my hiking pace was reasonable, but it was over 2 hours before we reached the final aid station. I was expecting 4.8 miles of easy descent to the finish, but the volunteers told us it was actually 5.5 miles and the first 4 miles were technical singletrack. We had 1 hour 40 minutes to get there.

As we left, I told Nathan, “I don’t know if I'm going to be able to make it, but I will try.” This was code for, “If you try to push me, I will snap at you,” and he got it. This poor man had an irritable runner for the majority of 55 miles and 23 hours. I insisted on stopping one more time to see if I could improve my foot situation; I wasn't sure if I could run on them at all. I wasted 5 minutes and couldn't help anything. I started running where I could (the rocks were too numerous in some places) and let loose foul language as a coping mechanism for the pain. Then, oh sweet moment, we reached the dirt road to the finish: 1.3 miles and 35 minutes to do it in. Nathan started whooping and I enjoyed the luxury of getting to take some walking breaks. I finished in 35:43:54 to add my hardest fought for belt buckle to my collection.

Finished! Photo by Danielle Zemola

The stress and intensity of racing cut-offs was new to me, and we were in that mode for 18 hours. I'm so grateful that Nathan knew me well enough to know what I needed when I was in danger of DNF (less is more). I have more pride in this belt buckle than any others.

The buckle has a bottle opener

IMTUF was an incredible race with RDs who marked the course expertly and a community who came together to pack in aid stations to remote locations. I was fairly miserable for the majority of the race, and I'd like to come back and do it again sometime when I am adequately trained so I can better enjoy and appreciate it. But first, I need to heal my feet so I can pace Nathan at Grindstone in 3 weeks!

-Jordan

Cry Me a River 100k: Summer Runnin'

The last 3 races I have done have all been in the snow, so I expected heat to bring an additional challenge to yesterday's Cry Me a River 100k. Despite the string of 90+ degree humid days the midwest has been seeing, the forecast indicated a high of only 80 for the race. What luck! It wasn't until the race finished that I realized that the last time I had run this far in the summer was in 2011 at the Burning River 100 miler. The heat and I didn't get along well then, but success at shorter distances over the last couple of summers had led me to believe I had things figured out.

While I had been well prepared for OPSF 50k this March, I had prioritized other things above running over the last 2-3 months, and my fitness had declined:

Still, I managed (thank to impressive efforts by Nathan to rally me during a 90+ degree humid run) a 30 mile training run 3 weeks out, and I trusted my experience to carry me through.

The Cry Me a River race website claims 23,500+ feet of elevation gain over 100 miles, and while I intially expressed my skepticism of this to a local runner (Paul), I became a believer as the triple out and back course allowed me to see every hill six times. The trails weren't technical at all and were impressively dry and hard; my shoes were cleaner when I finished than they had been when I started.

I had my typical plan to walk 1 of out every 10 minutes, but the hills demanded walking more than this. In retrospect, this means that my planned "recovery" while going was consistently replaced by tough uphill hikes. I settled in with a runner named Paul after the few miles, perhaps going a touch faster than I would have alone, but overall comfortable. When we reached the first turn around point at 11 miles, the lead female (last year's winner) greeted us as she ran back out with, "Oh my gosh! There's 5 females within 5 minutes!" I noted this but realized that this early in to the race, the most important thing was to stay steady and be careful not to speed up.

For the next 30-45 minutes, I was able to see the woman ahead of me, Sarka, and I finally caught up to her, thinking we should run together since we had the same pace. I quickly realized this would not work: she was a very strong downhill runner and I ran the gentle inclines while she hiked them. On such an incline, I suddenly found I had passed her and the two women ahead of her. As I came into the 20 mile aid station, I moved in to first place.

The temperatures were rising for the second out and back, and I slowed some as a result. I came to learn that the 4-7.5 mile section of each lap was the toughest, and the return to the start/finish direction was easier than the way out. At the turnaround, I saw Sarka was only 8 minutes behind me (I was not surprised). The other women were further back. I moved a little better on the quicker return trip, but the cumulative hours in the heat, even though it wasn't terribly hot, were adding up. Around mile 38-39, my stomach was sloshing and I hearkened back to Burning River. I needed to get my gut to absorb this water or I was going to end up vomiting and unable to eat. I walked a few minutes without improvement. I was looking forward to taking a wet wipe to the thick layer of salt caked all over my body. That was it--salt! I grabbed a handful of very salty potato chips from the aid station and walked while I let the salt do its trick.

After a few minutes, the stomach slosh was gone, but now I was bonking. I forced down some food, but it was making me nauseous. My breathing was much heavier on the climbs than it should have been. I knew I was dehydrated, so I grabbed a bottle of rocktane to guzzle down as I left at mile 42.

Sarka caught up to me a few miles later, as I had been expecting. She cheered me on and encouraged me: "If you want to race me, just run. I walk all the hills." She said this while setting a blistering pace hiking a steep climb. She was so strong and so friendly about it all. I was genuinely happy for her and felt she deserved the win. At the same time, I had to adjust my goals since now trying to win wasn't realistic. My stomach was acting up again (a poorly guided bite of quesadilla really set me off) and it took my a good 45 minutes to get out of my funk and decide on breaking 17 hours as my new goal. This would still be faster than the previous course record (though this year was admittedly under better conditions). Eating was a real struggle for the rest of the race, but I choked down the calories and made it to the finish line at 16:41. I was 2nd female and 4th overall. Sarka had finished a whole hour before me, and was showered and enjoying a post-race snack when I finished.


As tough as yesterday was, I do feel that I did about as well as I could have given the amount of training I put in. I met some friendly Illinois runners and enjoyed the one patch of hills in a state of fields. All in all, a good (if tough!) experience.

-Jordan

OPSF 50k: Mud Slushies and STUDs ladies sweep

I chose the OPSF 50k largely because of the timing; it fit well in my training plan for IMTUF 100. Though it was a "B" race, I still decided to race it and I set an audacious goal: to win the women's race. I even made it official by telling people (okay, only Nathan and my mom) that this was my goal. Ultimately, this was a huge factor in maintaining consistency in my training over the past 2 months.

This was the first time in several years that I had managed such consistent training prior to a race, with several 50 mile weeks in a row before a short taper.

 

Still, the training was focused on IMTUF as the ultimate goal, and so my hard workouts were uphill intervals 1-3 times a week, with less emphasis on long runs and no running at intensity for longer than 3 minutes at a time.

The race is held at Owen Putnam State Forest near Poland, Indiana and offers 14 mile, 50k, and 50 mile distances on a lollipop course. The trails were rolling with some steep hills (I got 4900 feet of elevation gain over the 50k) and not technical, or wouldn't have been if it weren't for the mud. Apparently there is always some mud on the course, but it started raining and snowing a few hours before the race and we were expecting a day of 33 degrees and precipitation.

I started off at the front of the pack, though I didn't feel like I was going out too hard. My first mile was a little fast at 9:51 (my goal was to average 11:30ish miles and break 6 hours) but it had some road and more downhill than up. By 2 minutes in my feet were wet (and would remain so all day) and by 4 minutes in I was totally alone (and would remain so the majority of the day).

The first time around the "pop" of the lollipop course was mildly unpleasant with about 5% of the course made up of ankle deep slush (water and snow mix) in thick mud that sometimes sank down to cover your leg to mid-calf.  Another 10-15% was more "regular" thick mud that was still slow and exhausting to run in. I was on pace, but when I started the second loop around I realized what an advantage it had been to be at the front of the pack before. Now that 50 plus runners had come through, the majority of the trail was thick mud with even more standing water as it rained. I threw out my pace plans and decided to ignore my watch from there on and just go by effort. I then fell several times in a row, each time in the ankle deep mud water. I took a tree branch to the shin with one fall, ripping my favorite tights and giving myself a several inch long area of bruise/scrape that forced me to walk for a few minutes. My gloves were totally soaked now so I took them off since it was actually colder to have them on.

The run back to the start/finish before headed out for a shorter lollipop was definitely the low point of the race. It was now raining ice (I'm not really sure if it was hail or freezing rain) and also snowing. I couldn't feel my feet to have a sense of the trail beneath me. I had a bit of a mental breakdown with lots of swearing at the start/finish turnaround largely centered on confusion about where the trail was (the markings looked like they were blocking the trail) and inability to find my dry pair of gloves. All of this took about 10 minutes, but on the bright side, I gained about 3 minutes of being able to feel my feet, which was enough to lift my mood.

On the way back, I could see the runners coming in and I knew that I had a comfortable lead on second place. Since there was little point in a time goal now, I decided to just focus on keeping moving without pushing myself too hard so I could jump back into training soon after the race. For the last 3 miles of the race, I teamed up with a runner named Jared, who helped make the last part of the race much more enjoyable. We tied for our finish at 6:37 (7th place overall).

Fuller is modeling the finisher's award here:

And I won a beautiful ceramic plate for winning first female:

Aneta, tough as nails, would stick it out for another 29 miles and was the only female to finish the 50 mile race: only 4 people did total! The conditions were truly a special kind of miserable. It was a STUDs ladies sweep of the ultra events of the day!

The challenge wasn't over after the race, unfortunately, as my drive back through Indianapolis required several hours of 15-30 mph on poorly plowed highways as it actively snowed. I passed ~ 30 wrecks in and around Indianapolis. After waking up at 3 AM to get to the race (and driving through snow on the way there, too), I was totally exhausted by the time I got home. Nathan made a lovely meal of salmon, salad, and twice baked potatoes which was the perfect celebration.

Congratulations to everyone who toughed it out yesterday and thanks so much to all the dedicated volunteers who spent their Saturday in such nasty weather to make the event possible!

Thanks for reading!

-Jordan