I did the work for UTMB. Prescribed workouts, long runs, recovery days, I did each focused on circumnavigating Mont Blanc. With that said, despite my efforts things did not go as planned. I toed the line on race day with a badly sprained ankle. It became clear very early in the race that the best thing for my health was to drop. As I worked to get my ankle strong again I did so without the mental and physical fatigue that comes with finishing a race of the magnitude of UTMB. I had dropped after twenty plus miles, besides my ankle, and my disappointment, I was ultimately fine.
Well I say I was “fine,” but reality is I was feeling the desire to get out and put my fitness to use. I wanted to test myself, I had the fire inside me still and it was burning hot. I proposed to both my coach and my physical therapist the idea of doing the Vermont 50 mile, which gave me roughly six weeks to rehab my ankle. I knew having a goal dangling in front of me would help motivate me to do the big and small things to get better. It was a gamble and there were no guarantees, but I was willing to take it day by day.
I worked my way from pavement and dirt roads to forest service roads and then to tame single track. As race day approached I tested myself on more technical sections on downhill and everything seemed to be coming along. Going into the race I knew I would not be 100 percent, but I was okay with being patient with myself and running smart. I know the Vermont 50 course. I know what the distance and terrain demands and felt like it was a calculated risk.
Race day came and it was brisk morning. I went into the event with no real splits, no structured plan beyond just running by feel. I would see my parents and Twig at crew stations whenever I got there. The sort of “time will tell” approach. From the start I felt great, but that is pretty easy to do given the first 2 miles are a gradual net loss. Then just as the conversation is flowing and everyone is commenting on how fast the pace is the course turns left up an honest hill. Some slow to a hiking pace, some to a walk and I continued to run. Now the men’s field was breaking up at the front, and I found myself running with a newfound acquaintance named Riley.
It was great to have company, to see her excitement and joy for the sport. It was contagious but I knew in my mind I needed to continue to simply listen to my body and run my own pace. I ran just hard enough to keep myself warm and had to remind myself to eat and drink despite not feeling like it. With thirteen miles behind me I arrived at the first crew station. I did a quick swap of packs with my mom and said hello to Twig, who was too preoccupied with all the excitement going on around her to even note my presence. I ran out of the aid station with my pack flopping on my back and struggled for the next two plus miles to get the straps hooked because my hands were so cold. The dexterity wasn’t there and became a source of frustration and humor.
Riley was back with me stride for stride so that gave me something else to focus on. The sun was slowing working its way towards its apex, but the fog slow to rise. Besides my hands being cold I was feeling good, but that shifted around 23 miles into the race. Just around this time my right knee, quad and hip started feeling wonky. It was like my muscles and ligaments forgot how to engage. I tried to mentally send them a message and then tried to get each of them to fire while I was running. “Hello quadricep, glute, hamstring…Wake up and get to work!” Downhill’s my issues were noticeable, uphill’s felt weak, and I could feel it on flats keep could still keep pace.
I then moved to channeling my inner Deena Kastor, by focusing on what felt good and what was going right, the power of positivity! That distracted my mind for a little bit until my pessimistic self-started finding flaws in even the positives. As I worked my way up the long switch backed climb up Blood Hill I was excited to grab some water, regrettably the only beverage being served was beer. I looked back at the switchbacks I had just completed and could see Riley powering up. I knew I did not have time to dilly-dally and worked my way down the long decent with motivated to see my crew in just a few miles.
I reminded myself to just think about form, keep my core engaged and to be mindful of the trail. My pace was still governed by my right side but then when I hit dirt road I just let the legs run and hoped that they would hold! It was finally warm enough that my gloves, arm warmers and buff were no longer needed so offloaded those at my crews feet. I once again swapped packs with my mom and tried to get a kiss from Twig who was extremely busy wrestling with another dog. I would see them again in ten miles and that felt manageable. My body seemed to be working again.
Over the next miles I spent time taking in the endless rows of beautiful stone walls, the pastural views and the nature that was revealed under every canopy covered trail that I entered. I thought about all that this course had taught me over the years, the people it had brought into my life and the impact that it has all had on me. It was a mixture of emotions, but this kept me running every step. Everything was feeling okay and I was happy that my biggest complaint was my hands were sticky and dirty.
The ten miles from one crew station to the next went fast and as I turned onto a small pavement section of road that leads to the final aid station I glanced back to check for competitors. At this point there wasn’t anyone, but that I knew that didn’t mean much. I found my mom and again tried to say hello to Twig who was hyper focused on everything, but me. I thought about how fun it would be to have her run the final miles with me, but knew it wasn’t an option. As I left the aid station and looked up hill I could see a stream of people working their way higher and higher as they snaked their way up the exposed field. This last section of the Vermont 50 is notorious for being more miles then it claims to be on paper. Either way I just kept repeating to myself “Just three miles to go. Just three miles to go.”
All said and done the field climb was just about a mile long and I felt great relief when I hit the top and the course shot back into the woods onto a downhill single track. I thought to myself “Don’t blow it! Don’t roll your ankle now!” Finally I hit the one-mile to go sign and I knew I wanted to finish strong. As the trail lost elevation with each switchback I got more and more eager to cross the line, to see George, my parents and get that kiss from Twig I had wanted all day.
I crossed the line and was happy. I knew it wasn’t my fastest time, nor my strongest performance, but it felt good to be back in the game even if I wasn’t a hundred percent.