WTF: The Wildwood Trail Fatass

It has been said that you emerge from the other side of a long run a changed person.

Or at least a sore one.

Today, I am a different person than the one who woke up yesterday to finally run the entire Wildwood Trail.

All smiles before starting the adventure.

I slept poorly the night before. After 5 am, I was checking my watch every 10 minutes to make sure I had no overslept. I fretted and fussed; did I have everything I need? Which bottoms to wear? Could my legs carry me that far? How bad was it really going to hurt?

Breakfast was quiet, and I could tell I was nervous. I lost my coffee as I loaded up the car. I checked and rechecked my gear. My pack was heavy, but I could not decide what to leave behind.

The drive was too short; I tried not to think about how many miles I had to go.  I found a Steve Miller Band album playing on the radio and regressed to high school.

The parking lot was full of my fabulous friends. Seven others supporting me on at least part of this journey. I wanted to pinch myself. This was really happening.

After shuttling a few cars, we were off.

Our long line of runners. We greeted those
going the other way with the wave and cheers.

The beginning was rough. I was tight after not running all week. My hip was sore and the corresponding knee was cranky. I could feel my lower back acting like my period was on the way. I tried not to panic. One foot in front of the other. Just keep moving.

The miles ticked by. Every two miles, everyone stopped to sing "Happy Birthday". (Why yes, there is video!)

The intervals happily came closer as we moved on and I chatted with my friends. Things began to loosen up, but I didn't really feel good. Just okay.

15 miles in; most of the ladies are done.

Soon we were turning up Firelane 5 to drop the girls off at their cars. A steep climb, and suddenly I felt good. Strong. I could do this. I hoped.

Down to three.

We kept moving, walking the hills, adjusting. Happily my shorts weren't giving me any issues. Jodi's shoe was falling apart though, and it was starting to affect her foot. I thought my legs were going to maybe fall off. They just sort of burned, but when I thought about other things, it wasn't so bad.

Three miles from our support point, Jodi decided that she couldn't run anymore. The broken shoes were hurting her foot, so we had to leave her. Once again, I was reminded that you never know what might go wrong on long run day.

With 9 miles to go, we met up with my running buddy Ed.  "It feels like we're really flying," I told him, "but we probably aren't."  He laughed.  "Nope, you're not."

About two miles later, I hit my lowest point.  The wall.  I could feel the tears building; this hurt.  But I knew it wasn't in an injury kind of way. Just fatigue.  It can cover you like a blanket.  Debbie could tell I was low.  "Let's walk for a bit," she said, "and give your pack to Ed."  I decided to listen.  I ate some gummi bears.  Losing that weight felt great.  A few minutes later, and I could go again.

We still had the climb to Pittock left, but climbing felt good. I knew where I was, and I knew that I could finish.

I'd like to say we sailed across those last few miles, but who am I kidding.  We covered those miles. Painfully. Slowly. But with laughter. Smiles. Confidence.

Coming down that last quarter mile was sweet.  I looked for my family, waiting with cold beer and hugs. I had done this big thing; hell, I had MADE IT HAPPEN. I was an ultrarunner. I could hit that wall of fatigue and fight my way through it. I could keep my legs moving when they were begging me to stop. The doubts I have had since Seattle cracked a little.

When I met my husband in the parking lot, I asked him, "So how do I look compared to the last marathon?" He said, "This is the best you've ever looked."  Indeed.

31.6 miles later, Debbie and I are at milepost 0.