2012 mt hood 50 mile race report

As Sarah and I run along the ridge, my eyes drift to the meadows and forest covered hills below. You can't help but dare to look when presented with a view like this, even though your mind is screaming to keep your eyes on the trail.

"Mt Hood is right there," she says to me. But of course we can't see it. Low clouds obscure the horizon, and I try to imagine the snowy peak rising above. It is beautiful in my mind, but there is running to do and a trail to scan.

I am nearly 12 miles in to my first 50 mile race. We have set a comfortable pace, moving along in an easy rhythm, discussing races and strategies and typical small talk runners make.

The race is going well for me so far. An alarm that failed to go off at 4:15 has been my biggest disaster. Breakfast was a bit light as a result, but my turkey sandwich had done the trick after the first hour. Catching the early start with Sarah, giving Jodi a 'welcome back to Portland' hug and watching my friend Megan take Todd's request to lead the runners out as an invitation to smoke us all has given me a light heart during the early miles.

The first little climb of the race - a spot loaded with memories from camping with family and friends.

My first surprise of the day is seeing my ultimate running buddy Julie popping out of the woods as I am about to leave the first aid station. I already felt so lucky to have my friend Gregg there to fill up water bottles and give me some encouragement. This is the kind of day I am having.

I have been feeling some needle like twinges in my knee, but my body seems to be settling down and loosening up. I focus on moving from aid station to aid station, resisting the temptation to think 'Holy crap, I have 38 miles to go.' 

Every once in awhile you get a nice view of the lake.

One of my favorite spots on the course, about 1/2 a mile from Little Crater Lake.

Soon we hear a whisper coming up the trail. Ian Sharman, running like a gazelle, cruising his way to a course record. He is friendly as he passes - 'great job ladies' I think he says, but all I can think about is the lovely accent.

We soon pull in to the Frog Lake aid station, our first turn around point. Yassine Diboun is all energy and smiles, infectious. Running chicks Lynn and Karen provide hugs and aid, and then we are heading back the way we came.

Yassine's fantastic video of the day includes Sarah and I heading back up the trail: 

We are back on the ridge above the meadows. I notice the sky is blue, so I glance over my shoulder and gasp. Sarah whips her head back; I think she believes I have twisted an ankle or something serious.

"What?" she asks me in a worried voice.

"The mountain! It's so beautiful!"

In that moment, I feel unstoppable. Humbled. Awe-struck. A perfect moment - the kind you go looking for but can only be given. The photo does not begin to do it justice.

But a race is meant to be run. Stopping and contemplating the view is really not an option if you want to finish before the cut-offs, so a couple of quick photos and I keep on my way.

Sarah and I were grooving now. We were back at the start/finish area (mile 28) by 11:23 - 5 hours, 37 minutes later. But soon, I would be heading in to unknown territory. Things were about to get tough.

Miles 28 - 34 start out flat but start moving uphill before long. It was a climb I had done before though, so I knew what to expect. Sarah was heading in to a low point as we slogged up to Red Wolf Pass, but I was still feeling pretty good. I even remember thinking that maybe running really far was going to be strength of mine - ha ha ha ha ha. I know better than to have these thoughts - they always come back to bite you in the ass with a vengeance.

Pulling in to the Red Wolf aid station was a delight. Marta, Mary & Jason were there with ice, oranges and coca-cola - they only things that sounded good at this point. I was forcing myself to eat vanilla gels on the hour, but nothing else appealed. As we left their friendly station, I felt a bit of dread for what lay ahead. I knew we had a long downhill - a preview for the last, deadly climb of the race. But I was also eager to motor for awhile, so I was moving pretty well - which is when Sarah let me go. And then I was alone.

I had been under the impression that immediately after the clear cut at Red Wolf Pass the trail went downhill, but this was not the case. I was climbing again, and it pissed me off a bit. I let the anger carry me for awhile. In this section I passed three hikers, one of which gave me the cold prickly feeling on the back of my neck. I decided that if I was assaulted at least I wouldn't have to run anymore, which wouldn't be all bad. And that opened the door for my catastrophe fantasies.

I imagined tripping and falling and breaking my wrist so that I would have to be pulled. (I did decide that it should be my left wrist so that I could still type.) I also imagined breaking a leg. Anything to be carried off the course and call it a day. It's funny what your mind will do when it is free to roam. Ultrarunning truly is 90% mental; a lesson which would be reinforced before the day was done.

Nearing the bottom of the hill, I ran in to Megan on her way back up. (She would eventually finish her first 50 mile in 9:24 - so beyond awesome!)

"You're almost to the creek," she said. "And then it's just literally two miles up, you hit the road, and the aid station is right there. I left the aid station 32 minutes ago."

I was stoked. It sounded so close.

It was not.

The hill just went up and up. And up. I had stopped briefly to dunk my visor in the water, which felt amazing. But not amazing enough to make the hill any easier.

I knew that Julie was up at the aid station. It was my motivation to get up the hill, but it was a tough climb. I still felt pretty good, but I was getting tired. When I finally hit the road, I remembered what Megan said.

Apparently her "right there" and my "right there" are two entirely different distances. But finally seeing Julie as well as Julz was worth it - and I had just 11.5 miles left to go. More oranges, more coke and a little Vaseline (which I had to go back for - it was one of the only things I thought about on the climb up and I forgot about it once I got there!) and I was ready to finish.

I put on some tunes at this point, using just one ear bud to make sure I could still be aware on the trail, and moved down the hill. My quads were feeling it, but it was bearable. I tried not to think of the climb back up the other side. Down at the creek, I took the time to splash water on my face and resoak my visor. Marvelous.

I was tempted to sit in the creek and relax for awhile.

And then the climb began. I called on every muscle fiber memory of Beacon Rock I had. At one point, I caught up to a few people, and we all marched silently up the trail, heads down. I wondered if this what what runners call the death march. I had to dig deep and just keep moving, and that is all I did. There is nothing special to it. It's just being too stubborn to stop.

By the time I reached the top, my mind was exhausted. I knew that it felt the same to run as it did to walk, but it was tough getting my body to go. This is where experience comes in, I am sure. Next time (god, did I just type 'next time'?) I will have more mental strength to put my body in to a run when it has reached this point. As some more regular starters passed me, I was able to break in to a run and follow them down the hill I had hated so desperately before - and finally, I pulled back in to Red Wolf and the comfort of friends.

Just 5.3 miles to go.

I ran most of those last miles, but at the flats, where Sarah had told me how she had not been able to run there the year before, I felt myself slip in to that same place. I refused to run. Mind kicks body's ass.

There is a beautiful sign on the PCT trail where it intersects with the Ray Miller trail. But you haven't really seen its beauty until you reach it near the end of this race.

As we neared the Clackamas Lake campground, I remembered what Susan had said during our training run. "You will start to cry when you get here because you are close and because you are a woman, and women are emotional."

Yes, I cried.

I had just run 50 miles.

I walked right before I hit the road, but as a fellow runner passed me, she said, "C'mon!" The energy of the finish line lifted me; Jodi and Seth's cheers powered me on. I was doing it, running under the finish line banner, huge grin, job done.

11:28:37.

I am not be the fastest runner out there. I am okay with that. There is much to achieve and much to learn no matter your pace. This ultrarunning journey is revealing so many truths about myself - what truly matters to me, what I struggle to let go of, how I see myself in comparison to others. You strip away so much when you get out there on the trail, when you hit the dark places and watch how your mind works for or against you. This is why I run. This is why I am not done.

Where we soaked our feet after the race. So cold. So good.

Hard earned.