Beach2Battleship 2013

On Saturday, October 26 I raced the Beach2Battleship iron distance triathlon in Wrightsville Beach/Wilmington, NC.  This was my third iron distance race in just over two years.  My brother, Steven, and his daughter, Taylor, flew in from the St. Louis area to accompany me to the race, cheer me on, and provide support.  We drove down from Durham on Thursday to enjoy the beach a little and be as relaxed as possible.


We headed to the race expo and packet pickup on Thursday, and we walked through in about 10 minutes.  The beauty of arriving a day early is that there is generally no line!


Steve, Taylor, and I spent Friday picking up a few last minute items, packing up my race gears bags, taking my bike to T1 at Wrightsville Beach, and then attending the evening race meeting and athlete dinner.  My good friends Eleanor and Stephanie were racing the half iron distance, so we all caught up at the race meeting to grab a bite and discuss any last minute jitters.  We are all endurance race veterans, so the evening ended up feeling relaxed and low key.  It was great to see and hang out with these ladies.


Steve and Taylor were at the meeting and dinner too and shared in the race festivities.




Friday evening was otherwise uneventful.  After the dinner, Steve, Taylor, and I went back to our hotel to settle down for the evening.  I gathered my morning race gear, got myself straight on wake up time and breakfast, and got into bed around 9p.  I pretty much fell right to sleep and slept nearly 7 solid hours, possibly the best I've ever slept prior to a big race.  I'd been fighting a bit of a cold for a couple days and could tell my body was looking for a little extra rest.  It got it.

On race morning I woke just after 4a and sprung into action.  I felt good: relaxed and ready to race.  The forecast, which I'd been watching like a hawk for several days, was calling for mid-30s at daybreak.  Cold.  It was going to be a chilly wait on the beach before the swim start, and a frigid start to a long bike ride.  I wasn't particularly looking forward to any of that, but cool temps during the day were promising for a comfortable marathon.  The water temperature was supposed to be around 70 degrees, which would feel much warmer than the air temperature.  I was looking forward to the swim, aside from Mary Lee...

We drove to T1 where I checked my bike one last time and dropped off my swim-to-bike gear bag.  A last minute decision was to include my cycling jacket in anticipation of cold temps and wind at least during the first hour or two of the bike, so I opted not to drop it off the night before when I dropped off all my other race gear bags so I could add the jacket.  Taylor and I walked together to get to the transition area.


After making sure my bike was ready to roll, I dropped trou to get my race number and age written all over my body. 








For entertainment purposes, I had the volunteer write 'oz' below '40' (my race age) on my leg.  I got a few laughs from that throughout the race.  As evidenced by the goosebumps covering my body, body marking was a cold process, even if it only lasted a couple minutes.

A couple days before the race I read a facebook post about Mary Lee...a tagged great white shark that had just made an appearance off the NC coast a couple days before and seemed to be just hanging around.  A. Great. White. Shark.  The thought of getting into the intracoastal waterway with a 16-foot, 3500 pound shark hovering anywhere nearby was terrifying.  I wasn't sure I would be able to do it.  I am terrified by the thought of swimming with sharks or anywhere near them.  It's generally a deal breaker for me.  There are races I won't do because of the possibility of sharks.  The fact that there are very likely sharks in and around the NC intracoastal waterway does not escape me.  But when you are talking about a tagged, known, GREAT WHITE that is in the generally vicinity, I begin to stress.

In the end, I somehow convinced myself that Mary Lee wouldn't come into the channel, despite the smorgasboard of triathletes that would be moving through the water there. A friend who also did the full distance race told me days later that dawn/daybreak is the most likely time to encounter a shark in the channel.  Ignorance was basically bliss, or at least made this swim tolerable for me.

On race day, I was all smiles as I waited in the line to board the trolley from T1 to the swim start.


Once I got to the swim start, I caught up with several friends.  My friend, Adam, was looking calm and relaxed as always.  This was his third iron distance race, and he didn't looked nervous at all.  My friend Mark, who was embarking on his first iron distance triathlon, looked a little more wound up.  He mentioned he was cold (we all were), and he honestly looked a little nervous.  He would later go on to have a fantastic first ironman race.  With the performance that he put forth, I doubt very much that it will be his last.

We listened to the national anthem, lined up to start, and then the gun went off.  This full distance race is a mass start from the beach.  I let some of the faster swimmers rush past me before I waded into the water.

As the swim started, I slowly began to warm up.  Since the water temperature was considerably higher than the air temperature, the water felt pretty good.  The full distance racers were a mass of bodies in the water.  As is typical in a mass swim start, I was kicked, swum over, and run into many times.  I’ve learned to mark my territory with an extra hard kick or wide stroke.  It does the trick.

The current from the incoming tide was noticeably less than during this race last year, when it felt like we were flying.  I wasn’t worried; with salt water and a wetsuit, I already had some help.  The swim is the weakest of the three legs of the race for me, so really I just wanted to get through it.  As soon as the swim began, I found my thoughts drifting to Mary Lee, the great white.  Surely she was nowhere near us…but what if she were?  I had to keep redirecting myself to the task at hand.  Stroke, stroke, breathe.  Stroke, stroke, breathe.  As the swim progressed, the swimmers became more and more spread out throughout the channel.  When it comes to sharks, I believe in safety in numbers.  A time or two I suddenly felt very alone but realized when I looked up to sight that that wasn’t, in fact, the case.  There were still swimmers all around me, a comforting thought.

Nearly always when swimming in any body of water other than a pool, I keep my eyes closed when my face is in the water and open them when I turn my head to breathe or lift my head up to sight.  On this day, however, my eyes were wide open in the water.  I didn’t even realize this until about midway through the swim, when I noticed a flash of white that seemed to move beneath me in the water.  My thoughts went like this: 1) Huh! My eyes are open in the water…cool.  2) It’s Mary Lee. 3) IT’S MARY LEE.  I jerked my head up to look around and saw that there was no dorsal fin that had broken the surface (yet), and there were other swimmers within her striking distance.  I was instantly terrified and quickly realized my options were very limited (stop swimming or keep swimming), so I just kept swimming.  After seeing this flash of white a few more times, I concluded that it was likely a more shallow part of the channel and what I was noticing was the just-risen sun breaking through the surface of the water and reflecting off the sand below me.  No other explanation made sense AND allowed me not to freak out, so I decided to stick with that one.

As the swim went on, I noticed my hands and feet were sort of numb, but I didn’t feel cold. For this I was grateful, because I knew that the moment I exited the swim I was going to freeze my butt off.  I passed the time thinking about Mary Lee and then finding ways to distract myself from thinking about Mary Lee.  I thought about Steven and Taylor and wondered what they were doing.  I thought about places I’d like to visit, and dishes I’d like to learn to cook.  I thought about my other friends in the race and wondered how their swim was going for them.  I thought about my dad and wondered what he would’ve thought of all my endurance racing had he lived long enough to have known about it.  I thought about my life: my marriage and recent divorce, new friends and new beginnings, places I want to go, things I want to do, the person I want to become.  An ironman race affords much time to ponder; that’s what I did while I swam.

As I approached the turn buoy, I knew the swim would be ending soon.  I’d decided to forego the energy gel I typically consume midway through the swim during an ironman race. I just kept swimming until I got to the marina and swim exit, where I kicked hard as I approached the exit ladders to help get blood flowing to my legs.  I pulled myself up the ladder into the frigid cold air.  With wetsuit still on, I quickly ran through the warm, fresh water showers that were set up and made my way through the marina parking lot, across the road, and into the transition area where I grabbed my bike gear bag and headed to the changing tent.  I saw Steve and Taylor as I ran across the road and yelled, “No sharks!” to them.  I was so happy to see them, even if just for a few seconds.

The changing tent was packed with women, all of whom were talking about the cold.  I peeled off my wetsuit and clothes underneath so I could put on all dry clothes.  Completely naked, I attempted to quickly dry myself.  As I pulled on my bike shorts, I realized I wasn’t fully dry and had to sort of shimmy my way into the spandex shorts.  My very tight-fitting sports bra was another story.  After four attempts at pulling this thing onto my sticky, damp body by myself, I asked a woman changing next to me to please help me pull it down.  She happily helped me, telling me that she’d wanted to ask someone to help her with hers, too.  After what seemed like an eternity, I was dressed and ready to roll.  I was wearing bike shorts, a short sleeve bike jersey, my cycling jacket, full-fingered gloves under my cycling gloves, and an ear warmer headband under my cycling helmet.  I was ready to battle the cold.

I saw Steve and Taylor again as I headed out on my bike from T1 and gave them a quick shout and wave good-bye.  The cold was painful.  It took my breath away as I tried to pedal harder to get warm.  I was so grateful I’d decided to wear my jacket on the bike portion.  I knew I would shed it and stuff it into one of my jersey pockets later in the afternoon but was really happy to have its warmth early on.

As we made our way out of town, I saw my friend, Craig Gilbert along the bike route.  Just a few days before, Craig had helped me with an emergency repair for my wetsuit when I realized while packing that it was torn in a couple places.  I hollered hello as he waved and cheered me on.  During a long day of racing like this, it’s always so uplifting for me to see family and friends along the course.

Cyclists were in packs along the route.  I did what I could not to ride within the 3 bike length draft zone that will incur a time penalty if seen by a USAT official, but it wasn’t easy, especially early on.  So many triathletes were getting on the course at the same time; it was difficult to be sufficiently spread out.  In the early bike miles, I felt pretty good aside from the biting cold.  By this point the temperature had probably climbed to the upper 30’s or right around 40 degrees and was supposed to top out in the low 60’s at the warmest part of the afternoon.  I was cold but slowly beginning to get into my groove, settle into my pace, and warm up.  Eating was tricky, since the cold makes the power bars I eat basically hard as a rock.  I began by keeping them in a pocket of my jersey, but they were difficult to get to with the jacket on over the jersey, and they were staying hard all the same.  I’d hoped that being closer to my body might warm them some, but no luck.  So I moved them to the tank bag I keep on my bike where I typically keep my nutrition.

The first 30 miles or so of the bike route were mostly uneventful.  I was holding about a 17.5-18 mph pace, right on target for what I wanted to do.  My feet were completely numb from the cold (at one point I realized I couldn’t feel the toes on my right foot at all), but I otherwise felt okay.  I was eating, drinking, and pedaling.  Then the route had us make a turn onto 421, and it was like turning into a brick wall, thanks to the wind.  This would be the story for me for the next 50 miles.  I knew that this was coming, but you have an entirely new appreciation for it once it happens.  The wind was brutal.  It was punishing and demoralizing.  It wore me out.  I looked down at one point, and I was barely holding 15 mph, a crushing realization after having worked really hard all summer to improve my bike strength and knowing that I should be able to maintain a 17 mph average for 112 miles on a flat course.  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to stop.  I wanted to get off the bike and just take a nap, because I was starting to feel really tired.  I did none of these things.  I just kept pedaling and fighting.  As I came to mile 56 and the special needs part of the course, where athletes are offered a bag they packed pre-race (mine contained more power bars, snickers bars, goldfish crackers, and M&Ms), I happily stopped to grab my bag.  Looking back, I spent too much time at special needs, but I needed both the physical and mental break from the wind.  I ate two mini Snickers bars (a perfect food for me during an ironman race, I came to realize), crammed some goldfish crackers into my mouth, refilled water bottles, and unzipped the sleeves from my cycling jacket, put the sleeves back on (it’s one piece that goes across my shoulders, like a bolero), and stuffed the rolled-up jacket into a pocket.  Finally, I shoved the power bars into my tank bag and got on my way.

It took no more than ten minutes to realize that the wind was catching underneath my bolero-like jacket sleeves, which had become more like a kite attached to me.  I was fighting the wind in a whole new way and knew the sleeves had to go.  I pulled to the side of the road, removed the sleeves, shoved them into a jersey pocket (all of which were now bulging with my gear), and started up again.  I momentarily felt chilled but warmed up quickly.

Right about this time (around mile 60), it occurred to me that I was bored.  I still had 50+ miles to go on the bike, and I needed something to occupy my mind.  I began to play an alphabet game I use often on long bike rides.  I pick a topic - in this case adjectives to describe me right then as an athlete in an ironman race – and go through the alphabet from A to Z coming up with adjectives that will fit the bill: athletic, bad-ass (it’s an all-goes game), cute, determined, and so on.  I continued to play this game several times, changing the topic each time.  This carried me through another 20 miles or so.  Shortly after that, I started passing folks I caught up to on the course.  The pedaling felt easier, and I realized the wind seemed less.  I began to work harder and was again maintaining 17-18mph.  I carried this pace through the end of the bike course, another 30 miles.  As I neared the convention center in downtown Wilmington, I began to feel really excited to see Steven and Taylor and to get off the bike.  I was tired of eating the power bars and switched to a snack pack of M&Ms as my last nutrition on the bike.  They were too sweet and seemed unsubstantial. The Snickers bars earlier in the afternoon were great. I vowed to myself not to use M&Ms on the bike again.

I climbed the bridge into downtown with all I had left.  At mile 111, to climb feels insulting and hard, but I wanted to own that hill.  I hammered across it and began to see spectators sprinkled on both sides of the road.  As I wound my way through the route and closer to the convention center, I felt pure joy knowing I would soon dismount my bike and begin the third and last leg of the race: the marathon.

A volunteer took my bike from me as I jogged into the convention center.  I grabbed my run gear bag and headed into the women’s changing area.  I was changing with some of the very same women I’d seen in the changing tent after the swim.  Everyone was talking (read: complaining) about the wind on the bike.  We all felt battered and kind of pissed off by it.  A kind-hearted volunteer offered up Tylenol to anyone who might need it; I exuberantly accepted.  I’d asked volunteers on the bike course for some Tylenol, but no one had any.  Not bringing any with me with a huge oversight on my part; I was grateful to take some before the run. I’d been enduring a tremendous headache for the second half of the bike, and I was hoping for some relief.  I changed my clothes, took the Tylenol, stopped in the bathroom to pee, and got on my way.

Most people who know me and follow my progress on endurance events know that I always have GI upset when I run distance.  It is a rare and glorious day when I do not.  This day would end up being a nearly perfect rare and glorious day (save the last hour of the marathon).  I began my run and felt fantastic.  There is no other way to describe it.  I had no stomach or intestinal pain.  The weather was gorgeous – sunny and cool.  I was ecstatic to be off the bike and out of that wicked wind.

**Note: It is now 5 months after the race (end of March, 2014) as I finish this blog post.  What can I say?  Life happened, and I got busy.  My memories of the marathon are somewhat scattered, but the highlights remain vivid.

As I began to run, I felt fantastic.  Dismounting the bike after 112 miles and embarking on the marathon is always a relief.  As I made my way through the first mile of the marathon, I saw Steve, Taylor, and my good friend, Stephanie, who had completed the half ironman race earlier that afternoon.  They were all cheering and whistling for me, and it was AWESOME.


I could not believe how great my body felt – legs were good and stomach was calm.  I ran past them and into downtown Wilmington, all smiles. 

The course is set up so that you run past the finish line at the beginning of the race and again halfway through.  As I ran past the finish chute in the early miles, I passed my friend, Adam, who was at that point halfway through the marathon.  We said nothing to each other but high-fived as we passed.  He looked strong and would go on to earn a sub-12-hour finish time.  There were lots of spectators lining either side of the street, and everyone was cheering.  I felt great racing.

As I made my way through the marathon course, Taylor and Steve grabbed my bike from T1 and took it back to the hotel.  It is so great to have this kind of help!

 I continued on the marathon course toward and around Greenfield Lake.  Along the way I saw my Mark and Adam again.  The three of us had spent time together training for this race, and it was good to see them on the course, looking strong.  Mark was looking fantastic in his first full ironman race - strong and determined.  As I made my way around Greenfield Lake and back towards downtown, the sun was setting and it was starting to get a little bit cooler.  I’d anticipated this and had packed a long sleeve running top in my run special needs bag.  As I entered downtown, crowds were cheering like crazy for all the athletes who were filing into the finish chute.  I pretended they were all cheering for me.  I ran past the chute and on to where the special needs bags were being offered (I think this was around mile 14? 15?).  For the first time, my stomach turned a little.  I’d been running pretty much the entire time, stopping only to walk briskly through aid stations to allow volunteers to quickly refill my handheld water bottle.  When I actually stopped at special needs to take off my short sleeve top and put on my long sleeve one, however, the blood must have rushed to my gut, inspiring an acrobatic flip flop.  I ignored it.  I changed my shirts and kept on my way.

By this point, it was dark and cool.  I was still feeling good, especially knowing that I was on the second half of the marathon and that the end was in sight.  As I headed down towards Greenfield Lake for a second time, my stomach continued to ramp up its cramping in protest to the day’s effort.  I still felt okay, though, and just kept running.

The path around Greenfield Lake was very dark.  The race staff had put large, generator powered lights on the course, which helped but in between lights it was difficult to see much in front of me.  As the owner of two strong headlamps, I was regretting not having brought one with me.  I hadn’t remembered needing one the previous year, though, so it hadn’t seemed like a necessity.  As I trucked onward and my stomach continued to complain, I knew I would have to make a stop at the next portajohn.  Right around the time that thought was entering my mind, which was around mile 19, I fell on the lake path.  Between my tired, shuffling steps and what I presume was an elevated spot in the path thanks to tree roots that had grown under it, I tripped and landed sprawled on the path.  My water bottle and energy gels I’d been holding went flying as I hit the deck.  Hard.  A couple of kind athletes who were behind me stopped to help me get up and gather my stuff.  My right knee was instantly throbbing, and I had decent scrapes on the palms of both hands and my right elbow and hip.   We all said a few words in complaint about how dark it was right there and then began moving again.  I gingerly took a few steps to check all systems (soreness prevailed and I forgot about my stomach) and then started to run slowly.  For the next mile or so I was focused on my new achy spots; I didn’t seem to be injured, just banged up.  The legs were still moving in the right ways, and despite a little blood, I was otherwise okay.  I’d been on track for a new PR before I fell, and as long as I could keep jogging forward, that wouldn’t change.  AND THEN IT HAPPENED.

There is a particular feeling I get in my gut when my body needs to unload.  Immediately.  And around mile 20, I had that feeling.  Falling on the trail had given brief respite from the stomach cramping, but after I got up and started moving again, the cramps came back with a vengeance.  There would be no waiting until the next portajohn (where IS that damn thing, anyway?).  I quickly surveyed my options.  I could duck into the bushes near the lake, but there is an alligator that lives in that lake, and I didn’t want to become a late night snack.  On the other side of the road there were houses, houses with large bushes in their front yards.  It was really dark that night, too…perhaps no one would notice.

I’m not particularly proud of what happened next, but I did what I had to do.  After all, I was chasing a PR!  I ran across the street, into someone’s front yard, and dropped my shorts behind a bush that sheltered me from the runners across the street.  Let’s just say, I made my move not a moment too soon.  When I saw the amount of what came out of me, I marveled at the body’s ability to carry that for so many miles.  As I was cleaning myself up with a couple leaves as best as I could, I heard what I thought to be a deadbolt being unlocked on the front door of the house.  I quickly covered up my mess with some leaves, yanked my shorts back up, and took off feeling a thousand times better.  My body was still aching from the fall, but I felt loads lighter.

I got to the final turnaround point of the marathon (where I thought/hoped I’d remembered seeing a portajohn and was WRONG) and headed back towards downtown.  Once again, around mile 21 or 22, my gut gave me THE signal.  Seriously?  Again??  There's more in there??? My options were again the same: poop near the lake and run the risk of becoming alligator snack, or duck behind a bush in someone’s front yard.  I’d like to take this opportunity right now to apologize to the two different homeowners in Wilmington, NC who awoke the next morning to find my processed breakfast and power bars in their front yards.  I’m sincerely sorry.  After taking care of business for a second time within a couple or so miles, I was ready to be done with this race.

I took it easy heading back into downtown, keeping one eye on my GI status and on the clock as I held a PR in mind.  Just before I hit downtown, I rounded a corner to see and hear Steven, Taylor, Stephanie, and a couple other crazies yelling their heads off for me.  I was within about a mile of the finish line, and their cheers really bolstered my spirits.  I picked up my pace and headed for home. My GI tract would remain calm until after I finished the race.

I have a very vivid memory of running across the cobblestones in downtown Wilmington at the end of the race.  Those of you who know this course or know Wilmington will know where I mean.  The footing is unsure at best, but my spirits were so high I flew over those cobblestones.  The cheers from spectators were immense and loud.  I was soaring, knowing my race was nearly over and I’d earned a new PR.  I crossed the finish line, and my family and friends made their way to me to hug and congratulate me.  Another full ironman race was in the books. 

Stephanie insisted on a celebratory swig from her tequila bottle.  I complied.


This little spectator gave me smiles and cheers throughout the day.  I'm so happy she was there with her daddy to cheer me on.


Eleanor, Stephanie, and I after finishing our races that day.  I love these ladies!


An ironman racer could not ask for a better support crew.  Taylor and Steve were AWESOME and kept me going throughout this long and tiring day.  I was so happy to see their smiling faces when I finished.


And finally, well deserved rest for the kiddo.


My finish time was 14:37:03, bettering last year's time by 26.5 minutes.  The breakdown of all parts of the race look like this:

swim: 1:19:13
T1: 18:57
bike: 7:09:04 (basically identical to last year...grrrr)
T2: 16:35
run: 5:33:50 (best marathon time in an ironman race)

I'm registered for Ironman Chattanooga on September 28, 2014; it is likely to be my last ironman race for the foreseeable future.  Here's to a safe and healthy training season.

Umstead 100 Mile Endurance Run

A week before the Umstead 100 Mile Endurance Run was to take place on April 6, 2013, I became really sick.  After feeling terrible for a few days, I saw my gastroenterologist.  The verdict: severe distention of my colon.  I left my doctor's office with a prescription of meds to get my non-functioning colon working again and orders to stay on a full liquid diet for a few days.  With only 5 days until the race, this didn't sound good.  I was beginning to mentally prepare myself for the fact that I might not be able to race.  With nearly 6 months of training for this race under my belt, the prospect of not being able to race was crushing.

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.

 

  


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.