Three days before the race, I began eating solids again and was feeling immensely better, thanks to a lot of rest and the meds. I was hopeful to race. On Thursday, my mom, stepdad (Peter), and sister (Stephanie) arrived to Durham to be my crew for the race and provide much needed moral support.
Friday evening we all went to the pre-race meeting. I'd decided I was going to attempt to run 100 miles after all, against the advice of my doctor (who told me, "I don't think it's a great idea"). If I felt really ill, I would stop racing. After the meeting Stephanie took this picture of me below the finish banner, where I hoped to reappear a day and a half later, after having gone 100 miles on foot.
At the race meeting, all of the first timers were asked to stand and repeat the following golden rules:
1. Eat before you're hungry.
2. Drink before you're thirsty.
3. Walk before you're tired.
I planned to follow those rules.
After the meeting my family and I went back to my house to eat dinner and get ready for the huge effort the next day. While I gathered all of my nutrition and gear, my sister made shirts and signs for my family to wear. My mom, Peter, and Stephanie became "Rebecca's Rednecks" for the race. Awesome.
The morning of the race, my alarm went off at 3am. You have to love family who are willing to wake up that early, don crazy pink 'Redneck' shirts, and wear smiles on their faces just to support your own effort.
Mom is looking a little shell shocked. I think that 4am might have had something to do with that.
Sisters and best buds. Considering my sister is not really a morning person, she was remarkably in great spirits this day.
We arrived to Umstead State Park, found our parking spot, and walked the short distance up to Race HQ, Camp Lapihio. The large cabin was packed with racers, crew, and volunteers. It was a chilly morning, and there was a roaring fire in the fireplace.
Pre-race my Rednecks and I were all smiles.
As the start cannon went off, those of us at the back of the pack made our way out of the cabin and onto the trail. I was wearing my signature neon tops and recognizable blue camelbak, ready for hydration.
My Rednecks were awesome crew and cheerleaders. They braved the chilly morning temps, the early morning wake up call, and a very *focused* and bossy Rebecca. They were all forewarned about my race mode attitude, and each of them laughed at my warning and reminded me that they know me well! They were prepared to handle me. They did so beautifully.
The Umstead 100 is 8 repeats of a 12.5 mile 'loop,' a route that runs across bike and bridle trails in this beautiful park. The trails are well maintained and easy to run. Each loop totals right around 1000 feet of elevation; it's a hilly course. My race plan was to walk all the uphills from the beginning and cruise the flats and downhills.
When the race began at 6am, it was still very dark. With a waning crescent moon, we all had on our headlamps to illuminate the way. One of my fondest memories of this race is the view of the racers in near pitch dark with bright white headlamps dancing through space at the beginning of the race. It felt ethereal. It was beautiful.
My first loop was good. I stuck to my strategy and walked every uphill and ran the rest. I kept my pace slow, between a 12 and 13 min/mile. I was eating around 150 calories faithfully in the form of Stinger Waffles every 30 minutes and sipped frequently on my water. I stopped to pee as necessary (and it was necessary frequently throughout the race) and made a point to relax and try to enjoy the experience. The two manned aid stations were situated at race HQ and then 6.85 miles into the loop. The volunteers throughout the race were phenomenal. They made a point to offer anything and everything they had, including food, liquids, blister care, chairs. Whatever a racer needed, the volunteers offered.
As I finished my first loop, my family was waiting with signs, cheers, and help. Peter gave my camelbak to a volunteer to refill (as he would throughout the entire race each time I finished a loop), and I took a moment to take my stomach meds. I was feeling good but didn't want to chance anything. I popped my pill, put my camelbak back on, grabbed some more Stinger Waffles and fig newtons, and I was off for loop 2.
Loop 2 was interesting. About an hour into the loop, I became really drowsy. I knew I'd only slept 5 hours the night before the race, but I suddenly felt like I could fall asleep on my feet. This wouldn't bode well for me in a race that would take me the better part of 30 hours if I was fortunate enough to make it that long. And then it donned on me: it was the stomach medication I'd taken. All week it had left me feeling loopy and a little spacey. Two things occurred to me in that moment: I needed to drink something with caffeine, and I wouldn't be able to take the remaining 3 doses of medicine during the race. I'd have to take my chances and hope my GI tract cooperated. I just couldn't risk feeling that sleepy the entire race. I'd never make it if I did.
When I got to Aid Station 2 (AS2) at mile 6.85, I gulped down some Pepsi. I also needed to address what felt like the beginning of a blister on my right pinky toe. A volunteer at the aid station helped me remove my shoe and sock and then wrapped my toe with tape in an attempt to prevent further friction and blistering of my toe. A couple minutes later I was on my way, and the toe already felt better. I was delighted to realize the Pepsi worked like a charm. Within half an hour I was alert and focused again. I continued to eat and drink water throughout the rest of the loop.
When I finished loop 2 and arrived back to Race HQ, my good friend Candy was cheering for me with my family. It was such a nice surprise to see her there. By this time, the sun was fully up, and the temperature was beginning its climb to the mid-60s we would have for most of the day. I was suddenly overdressed. With help from Mom and Stephanie, I took off both of my shirts (short sleeves layered on top of long sleeves) and then put the short sleeves back on. I also took off my ear warmer headband and threw on my favorite running hat and sunglasses. I was ready to roll.
Loop 3 was relatively uneventful, and I honestly don't remember much of it. At the end of loop 2 and again at the beginning of loop 3 I saw my friend, Dennis Geiser, and his wife Marion, out on the trail. The park was open to the public as always, so there were plenty of casual runners and cyclists utilizing the trails. It was such an uplifting moment to see the Geisers. Dennis gave me a big hug both times I saw him, and Marion wished me luck. It was an unexpected and perfectly timed surprise. The only other memory I have of loop 3 is glancing down at my watch at the beginning of the loop and seeing a distance covered of 26.2 miles - exactly marathon distance. I had run a marathon and barely felt it. I knew I had a long way still to go, but it was heartening to know that the marathon distance hadn't made a mark. This was a great sign for the day.
Loop 4 was a difficult loop for me to begin. I knew that it was my last solo loop (I had lots of pacers lined up to help me with the last 4 loops, as was allowed), and I didn't want to start it. I'd begun to feel weary of the solo running, and I was ready to run with my friends. So I cranked up my iPod and tried to blast my blues away. I was doing really well and keeping to my race strategy. My stomach had cramped up a couple of times, but I simply used the portajohn when I needed to and when I was ready continued on with my race. Everything was going according to plan, but I was feeling lonely and didn't want to go back out. Of course it didn't matter that I didn't want to go back out. The alternative -- quitting the race -- was not an option I would entertain. So for one last solo loop, I headed out.
With stubborn will in full force, I made it through loop 4. I was certainly motivated by the fact that I would see some friends once I made my way back to race HQ. I also knew that I would hit my distance PR - 44 miles - during loop 4. All of these thoughts kept me putting one foot in front of the other and making forward progress.
There is something very special about hitting a distance PR in the middle of a run or a race. Every step beyond that becomes a new personal best, and I'm hugely motivated by seeing how far beyond that I can go. I have a very vivid memory of my first distance beyond the marathon when I began my training for this race back in the fall. My first 27 mile run felt like a huge success, and I felt invincible that day. I was reminded of this during this race, and I wanted to see how far I could go. I wanted to see if I could reach 100 miles.
As I finished loop 4, I was greeted by my family and my friend, Christine, who was going to pace me through loop 5. Christine ran her first 100 miler in Vermont last summer, and she was an invaluable source of advice and recommendations during my training this winter. She is enthusiastic, energetic, and she knows what she's doing when it comes to ultra marathoning. I was happy to have her as my first pacer.
I had a few things I needed to do before starting loop 5 with Christine. I needed to put my long sleeve shirt back on - the temperature was dropping as the sun did the same. I also wanted to change my shoes and socks. Christine got me a slice of pizza - a refreshing change from the Stinger Waffles, PB&J, and Chips Ahoy cookies I'd been eating for most of the race. I'd dabbled with fig newtons, which are usually a favorite, but this day they were not appealing. Pepsi was still going down well, so I continued to drink it every chance I had. The sugar and caffeine were doing wonders for keeping me awake and alert. I also needed to grab my headlamp (thanks for the reminder, Christine) since the dark was fast approaching.
Christine was phenomenally attentive and helpful. She reminded me of my strength and ability to deal with pain and fatigue. There was much more to come.
Basically 12 hours after the race had begun, Christine and I headed out for loop 5. My friend Adam had been planning to pace me for loop 5 with Christine, but a week or so before my race, with much encouragement from me, he decided to register for and race the White Lake half ironman race in White Lake, NC. I would later find out he had a fantastic race and set a new half ironman record for himself. I was stoked that he had such an awesome race.
A mile or so into loop 5, Christine and I passed Jay Spadie, who was running the Umstead 100 for the second consecutive year. I had been introduced to Jay by Adam when Adam found out I wanted to try to run this race in April of last year. We chatted with Jay and his pacer for a few minutes and then realized he was on loop 6 while I was on loop 5. Wow! Jay would end up finishing many hours before me. He would later tell me that I seemed happy and to be running well when he saw me then. I think it's fair to say that at that moment, he was right. Naturally, that would change.
A little while later into loop 5, the sun began to set. I'd been dreading that, knowing that with sunset would come many hours and miles of dark running. I continually reminded myself that the only way to the other side of the dark -- sunrise Sunday morning -- was to plow right through the night. That's what we did. Throughout loop 5 Christine and I chatted about life, love, and the pursuit of happiness. I also talked about my pain and fatigue, and Christine reminded me again and again that I could do this. I would do this. I also started to have difficulty eating. I was feeling bloated and was starting to experience some moderate gas pain, which made eating wholly unappealing. But calories in are key to continuing movement, so I ate. I was eternally grateful to Christine, as I would later be to all my pacers, for reminding and strongly encouraging me to keep the calories going in.
By the end of loop 5, I could tell that the sore right pinky toe that the volunteer wrapped for me in loop 2 needed tending. It was rearing its ugly head. I had also acquired a couple of new hotspots that needed attention, too. As Christine and I came into race HQ at the end of loop 5, I saw my next two pacers, my friends Craig and Alyson, waiting for me. My friend Lisa was also there with her two young daughters, Ryan and Ava. By this time my mom and Stephanie had gone back to my house to try to get a few hours of sleep, but Peter remained (as he would throughout the entire night), waiting for me with my gear and food bags. I had a veritable cheering section awaiting me. Someone suggested heading into the HQ cabin to the 'blister care' area to have my feet tended to, so that's what we did after I ate a little more food and took some Gas-X. The bloating and gas had gotten even worse, and I was in a good deal of pain.
I would end up spending 45 minutes in blister care before I began loop 6. My right pinky toe was apparently wrapped a little too tightly by the very well intentioned volunteer who had helped me earlier in the race. When we removed my shoes and socks, we saw that the pinky toe was a sickening shade of grey, a shade that instantly had me silently praying that I wouldn't lose my toe. I'm not kidding. It didn't occur to me that the toe was probably just fine, since it hurt like hell when someone even looked at it, never mind touched it. I sent prayers out to the universe. Christine kept talking to me, keeping me focused on things other than my painful feet.
While Jonathan Savage, blister expert extraordinaire, cared for my feet, my crew fetched me hot soup, blankets, and more Pepsi. Thankfully there was still a roaring fire in the large fireplace that helped to provide some warmth. As I began to visibly shiver, I sat there thinking how nice it would be to just stay in that cabin. Part of me hoped I would be warned that to go on with the race would cause irreparable damage to my feet and, therefore, I would have to quit. No such warning ever came. After 62.5 miles, I was in a lot of pain, I was tired, and I wanted to go to sleep. I think it was somewhere in the 10 o'clock hour, but I'm not even sure. All I knew for certain was that I still had 37.5 miles to go. It was going to be a very, very long night.
Jonathan and Christine tended to my feet while some poor runner soul lay immobile on a cot. I hoped he had actually finished his race, but he looked more like he just wasn't able to go on.
Jonathan painstakingly removed the tape that seemed melted onto the skin of my pinky toe. He then decided to lance the huge blister on the tip of the toe to allow it to drain some while I ran. He warned me it would be very painful; he was correct. He wrapped the toe and took care of the other hot spots on both feet. Suffice it to say, every bit of touch on my feet and toes hurt like hell. I winced again and again and realized with nauseating clarity that I would be in a tremendous amount of pain once I put weight on my feet. Christine shook anti-blister powder through both of my socks, and we finally put my socks and shoes back on me. I was correct; just standing was unspeakably painful. Walking seemed impossible. I didn't know how I would run again. Somehow I did.
I hobbled out of the warm cabin, and Alyson, Craig, and I took off on loop 6. We walked the half mile back up to the main part of the route. Then we began to run. As Jonathan had predicted, after about a mile or so of easy running, that pinky toe was much less painful. I was counting on that remaining the case. The three of us had easy conversation as we moved our bodies through the dark. Throughout this loop my gas pain persisted but finally began to pass. Literally! I apologized to Alyson and Craig and quite honestly just let it rip. By the time that loop ended, my GI tract was much happier and all remnants of the pain I'd experienced for about 6 hours were pretty much gone. They'd continued to gently remind me to drink and continue to eat (by this point I was taking in basically only PB&J and Chips Ahoy cookies). I'd attempted to first suck on and then munch on a pretzel rod, but it was too cakey and dry, so I'd spit it out. At the aid station at mile 6.85 of the loop, I found potato soup that was hot and deliciously palatable. I ate that several times during the night and continued to down the Pepsi. Because I was drinking so frequently, I was also peeing frequently. The strategically placed portajohns became landmarks for me to reach (every 3-4 miles or so), but I distinctly remember at least two times during this loop that I had to hobble into the woods to keep from wetting myself when I couldn't make it to a portajohn. I was at least hydrated! I quickly realized that squatting down to pee was no longer an option. My quads and hamstrings were screaming and suddenly began to seize as I squatted. Alyson suggested dropping my shorts, gently bending my knees, sticking my butt out, and letting it flow. It was a great suggestion and became my pee stance for the rest of the race. I was amazed I didn't pee all over myself. Okay, I *mostly* didn't pee on myself. As Alyson said, did it really matter at that point if I peed a little on my shoes?
Little by little, I made progress through my race. I was exhausted but stubborn enough to keep going. Good conversation with loving friends as we rounded the course made it all easier. We talked, laughed, and even ran a little when the mood inspired me. As we three finished loop 6, I began to believe I would finish the entire 100 miles. I said this to Craig and Alyson, and Alyson responded, "Of course you're going to finish. No doubt about it." I would later realize that my friends' utter and unwavering belief in my ability to complete this race helped to convince me of it, too.
My friends Crystal and Dave were waiting at race HQ to pace me for loop 7, which would ultimately be the toughest loop of my race. As we headed out, I could tell I was noticeably slower moving than I had been even in loop 6. I was deeply tired and wanted to stop. I half-heartedly attempted to bargain with Crystal and Dave to let me take a nap (I offered both of them dinner and a beer). In unison, they told me, "No." As I'd instructed all my pacers to do before the race, they denied my pleas and bribes. Good pacers! We continued to move our bodies through the dark. Dave and I spent time talking about triathlons we had done and were looking forward to doing (we're both registered for the Ironman Raleigh 70.3 half ironman race at the beginning of June). Crystal chimed in and offered other topics of conversation. The time passed, albeit slowly. We continued to run some of the flats and downhills and walked all of the uphills. The last hour of this loop felt more difficult than any other part of the race. I'd stopped running and was having a hard time keeping my focus. It was sometime very early on Sunday morning (probably around 5am), it was still completely dark, and it was cold. I was shivering and basically falling asleep on my feet. I would let my eyelids close first for one second, then for closer to five seconds, forcing myself to pop them open so I wouldn't fully drift into sleep as I walked. I wasn't walking any sort of a straight line; I was staggering as if drunk, and I couldn't imagine completing another entire loop after this. My only solace was that the sun would be rising on my 8th and last loop. It was one of the two things that kept me going; the other was that I really, really wanted to complete this race.
As Crystal and Dave led me back down the rough road to race HQ, I began to shiver uncontrollably. I needed to put on more clothes. I was already layered with a jacket and nylon exercise pants over my top layers and shorts. I needed to add more. After what felt like an eternity, the three of us made it back to race HQ. I had completed 7 loops; I had only 1 to go. It was the most important loop.
My friends Eleanor and Mark were waiting to pace me on my 8th loop. I took a quick seat, added layers (I was now wearing my shorts with pants on top, a long sleeve shirt on top of a short sleeve top on top of a long sleeve bottom layer, all covered by my jacket), ate, and we started out on the last loop sometime around 6am. I'd been awake for 27 hours, racing for about 24 hours. It was time to finish this monster.
I attempted a very slow jog only once, and that lasted for about 10 seconds. It was the only time I attempted to run on that last loop. As sore as my legs were, they wanted to keep running. My feet, however, absolutely would have none of it. By this point, my feet were in severe pain. Every step hurt. I knew I had some serious blisters I would have to contend with after the race, and the muscles in my feet were pissed off. At the end of the marathon during my first Ironman race, I experienced toe cramping and really sore feet. I thought I would never experience anything like that again. I was so wrong. This was way, way worse.
Eleanor and Mark kept my spirits up despite my pain and fatigue, and of course they kept me eating and drinking. I started to tell them no when they would offer me a cookie or PB&J square, and they gently persisted until I relented. We talked and joked and laughed. We shared personal stories, and they did their best to keep my mind off my pain and fatigue. It was such a slow loop, I felt bad that they had to deal with my snail's pace. They reassured me they didn't mind at all, and I believed them. About two thirds of the way through this loop, we came upon a large sign Adam had left at an unmanned water stop. We all busted out laughing at the message he left that would have been very cryptic to everyone else on the course. There was no mistaking that he had left it for me. I later found out that he came to the race course and waited for me and Christine at that point of the loop until he had to leave to go home so he could crash after his hard race. By the time Christine and I got to the point on the course where he left the sign, darkness had fallen. My first opportunity to see the sign in the light of day was right then, with Eleanor and Mark. It was perfect and gave me renewed hope to finish the race. Eleanor took a quick picture of me holding the sign, and we headed on our way, with sign in tow.
As the three of us completed the last loop, I took some pictures of a couple of the signs that the race organizers had planted along the course. These were two of my favorites:
The first of these felt poignant and beautiful (love Robert Frost). The second one felt like a load of crap. Ha! At least after dozens of miles it did.
Moments before we turned onto the last rough road that would take us the last half mile to the finish line, Eleanor took this picture of a very tired but happy me.
Moments before we turned onto the last rough road that would take us the last half mile to the finish line, Eleanor took this picture of a very tired but happy me.
In case I haven't mentioned it, I had the best Redneck cheering section out there.
As I trudged up the last little bit of the course to the finish line, I focused all of my energy on finishing the race. I could hear my family screaming their heads off for me as I came into their view. I'm mean, these people are maniac fans. I was bolstered by their enthusiasm. It would have been awesome to run up the last bit of the course, which is a steep hill, to cross the finish line. It wasn't happening. It was all I could do to gingerly walk the final steps. It was enough.
With tears streaming down my face from pride as well as exhaustion, I crossed the finish line of the Umstead 100 Endurance Run 28 hours and 42 minutes after I began the race. With arms raised to the heavens, I felt triumphant and invincible.
One of my only regrets in this race is that I didn't get a picture with each set of pacers who helped me reach my goal. I don't believe I could've done it without them. Here, with Eleanor and Mark, I'm deliriously happy. I was a 100 miler! Nothing ever would change that.
After several hugs and more tears, I finally sat down with smiles to spare.
I ate a little more after the race and loved a little on Eleanor.
Rebecca with her Rednecks, the best crew a woman could have.
After I rested for about half an hour or so, my family carted me home. I came very close to falling asleep in the car; it amazes me that I didn't. I hobbled (and I do mean hobbled) up the stairs, peeled my shoes, socks, and clothes off my exhausted, blistered, and sore body, and took a shower. To say the least, my feet were a hot mess. I had no idea how much of a hot mess until later.
I crawled into some comfy clothes, and my sister brought me some soup and crackers to eat before I drifted into 5 hours of blissful, unconscious sleep. I later woke to hang out with my family (they all came upstairs to my bedroom, considering I really could barely walk let alone descend stairs) and then finally went to sleep for the night.
Directly after the race before I went to sleep, I took the following photos of my feet. All of my toes were red and angry. I had several small blisters and two huge ones. My feet would later swell to the point that you couldn't really see the veins in them, just puffiness, and the top of my left foot sustained significant bruising. I wouldn't be able to walk normally for about 4 days and would feel tightness in my quadriceps and hamstrings for a solid week. It was such a small price to pay.
My right pinky toe, which gave me so much trouble during the race and had a big blister on the tip as well as below the nail on the front, hurt like hell after the race. Everything seemed to hurt like hell.
And as Stephanie informed me (gotta love little sisters), I looked like hell. It was a hard earned hell, though, and I was so very proud to own it.
Since the race, I've been asked two questions repeatedly: would I do another 100 miler, and why did I want to do one in the first place. Immediately after the race, when my sister asked me if I would do it again, my response was an emphatic, "No way in hell." I was in a tremendous amount of physical pain, perhaps the most of my life, and all I wanted was to rest and be pain free. Repeating the effort seemed counter-intuitive. As time passes, though, I think I may find that it would be worthwhile for me to do it again. There are many lessons to be learned in pushing yourself to the limit like I had done. I certainly could not rule it out.
As for why I wanted to do it in the first place, this is simultaneously more difficult and much easier to answer. There are so many reasons to take on a challenge like this. I'd run a handful of marathons when I registered for this race, so the challenge of 100 miles (more than 3 times the marathon distance) was real and fairly staggering. When I began training for it at the end of October, I suspected (and was correct) that I would learn much about what I am made of both emotionally as well as physically. There were so many lessons I learned during my six months of training. But the bottom line was that the real reason I wanted so badly to attempt to complete this race was simply to see if I could. I wanted to know if I could do it. In the end, against what seemed to be real odds, I did it. I DID IT. Nothing would ever change that. On April 7, 2013, 28 hours and 42 minutes after I began my attempt, I became a 100 miler.
