A month or so ago, I joined the Arkansas Ultra Running Association page on Facebook to try to get some ideas of trail running routes that I could use in my training for Leadville. Since we moved to Little Rock in February, I've been running on asphalt and mountain bike trails - nothing like the rocky fire roads of the Leadville courses. The first thing I noticed was that a 50K race was coming up, five miles from my house! Even though I wasn't really quite up for the mileage of a 50K, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to do a trail race at Pinnacle Mountain State Park.
The event had a 50 mile and 50K option, and both races started at the entrance to Maumelle Park, about two miles from the Pinnacle Mountain visitor's center. I've been riding and running frequently on the road that makes up the first two and last two miles of the course. From there, the run goes onto the Ouachita Trail, up the east side of Pinnacle Mountain to the summit (about 700 feet straight up), down the other side, and back onto the Ouachita Trail for an out-and-back course that would eventually bring you back to Maumelle Park, bypassing the mountain climb segment on the way back.
I did a practice run on a section of the course a few weeks ago and it didn't go very well. I got lost on trails covered in roots, rocks, pine needles, and leaves. I don't know if runners around here would call the route technical, but compared to the fire roads, groomed trails, and gravel paths that I'm used to running, it was technical AF. Although the only real elevation gain was the part up Pinnacle Mountain, the rest of the course that I practiced on was basically an undulating up-and-down course that was never particularly flat or gentle. I thought I'd be fine for the race: I'd just run what was "runnable" and fast-walk the rest. There was no real time limit for the 50K, just a 13-hour time limit for the 50 mile run that you had to meet.
The race started at 6 am. About 150 runners were led up the road by an emergency vehicle, the blue lights flashing in the dark. Right away, a runner came up next to me and introduced herself. Like everyone else that I've met in Arkansas, she was so incredibly friendly and began giving me tips on how to pronounce the names of things around here (for example, Ouachita = Wash-it-ah). She also told me about a trail running group and encouraged me to join it.
The first two miles passed quickly, and we were at the top of the hill at the end of the road section, ready to turn onto the Ouachita Trail. We turned onto a downhill segment that led to the road below, and as soon as we took our first steps downhill, I stopped to wave others past. Noelle was gone in an instant. I was sad to lose the company but knew that I needed to take the steps (both natural and man-made) carefully. I had taken couple of tumbles on my mountain bike in the past week and my right knee was at about 75%. It really didn't like going downhill; it felt like it was going to hyperextend or buckle under me. So I took baby steps down the hill and wondered if it would be smart to tap out at mile 3. This was a training run after all, it was not the type of situation where I was in a "die before DNF" mindset. I kept going.
Some meandering through the woods with a little running and a little walking led me to the bottom of the big climb up Pinnacle Mountain. I could see the runners ahead of me climbing up the steep boulders, and I wondered how hard or scary it would be to climb up. I learned very soon that it would be pretty hard (like climbing the boulder field at the top of a fourteener for 700 feet) and pretty scary (but not quite as "I'm going to fall backwards and plummet to my death" as ascending the Manitou Incline). We were all in a line using hands and feet to climb up the boulders and it reminded me of the photos I've seen of the traffic jam at the summit of Mt. Everest. Except that I was holding up the line. I stepped aside a couple of times to let others go by. At one point I squealed, "I think I'm stuck," as I stood paralyzed not knowing where to place my foot next. A kind gentleman behind me offered to spot me, and I scrambled up, more out of embarrassment than confidence.
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| The climb was cool. I'm glad I got to do it. |
The way down on the other side was less technical than the way up and I baby stepped my way down, cognizant of the other runners nimbly skipping by. I cursed my unsteady right knee but continued on. Finally, about six miles into the race, I arrived at a section I'd call runnable: a straight stretch of flat trail covered with soft pine needles. Can you guess what happened next? I tripped over a root or a rock or whatever was lurking beneath the pine needles, went full superman and landed on my left knee and my face. My chin bounced off the ground and my hat and glasses went flying. I felt the squish of my water bottles as I landed hard on my chest. My immediate response was to roll over and curl into the fetal position, trying not to cry. I think I was less physically injured than I was scared and angry, but other runners were coming up behind me so I tried to get it together. I gingerly stood up and worried that my left knee was now the injured one - I took a few gentle steps and decided it would be okay. I brushed the dirt and leaves from my clothes and slowly started walking down the path.
There was a perfect opportunity to bail out at mile seven. I arrived at the next checkpoint and decided I was okay to move on. I would just be really careful. About a mile later I was overjoyed to find the trail popping up onto a section that would be paved, and I jogged gleefully towards it. I tripped again. As I pitched over onto my side and into a thorn bush (at least I didn't land on my face this time), I screamed out my patented phrase of "FUCKING FUCK," and just laid there for a second. Again, I could have turned back at this point, but I chose to keep going.
I continued on for a while, irritated that I was too scared to pick up any speed, angry that I apparently can't pick up my feet on the trail enough to not fall down every mile or so. Eventually, probably because of the falls or maybe because I'd been wandering in the woods for four hours, my right knee, the one that was not at 100% when I started the race, began to hurt, like actually hurt. I realized that with 20 miles left, I should probably go ahead and DNF the event.
I was out in the middle of the woods. I could turn back or I could continue on to the next aid station and drop out there. I wasn't fully committed to the idea of dropping out at that point, so I continued on. Runners started coming back the other way, first the winners, then the rest of the 50K participants, then the winners of the 50 mile run.
On Sunday morning when I woke up with the same terrible headache that I'd had the night before, feeling nauseated and sensitive to light, I realized that when I fell and whacked my chin, I probably gave myself a concussion. I think that's why when I decided to DNF, I chose to text the group chat and ask for any of my friends to call me. I wasn't thinking clearly and needed 1) reassurance about dropping out and 2) advice on whether to turn back or continue to the next aid station. My beautiful friends all called me and said 1) YES drop out and 2) TURN BACK. So I continued on to the next aid station. I called Trent and told him I'd be DNFing at the halfway point and that I'd probably get a ride from there back to my car. He said, "Are you sure you really need to quit?" This is why I love him. But I replied, "yes." He told me to be careful and I kept going. After six and a half hours on the course, I finally reached the aid station at mile 16. I told the volunteers there that I wanted to DNF and one of them asked, "are you sure? You still have plenty of time." Yes, I was sure.
This would be the point where I'd say, okay, I learned all these lessons, onward and upward, all those good things. The end. But I'm not done yet!
The volunteers at the aid station were so kind. They gave me a cup of soda and a cheese quesadilla and told me to sit in a camp chair. One of the volunteers pointed to a man in a Leadville 100 finisher's hoodie with his cute dog sitting on the other side of the aid station. "George will drive you back to the start," she said.
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| Holly runs with George and has completed marathons and 50Ks! |
After waiting a few minutes for the outbound time cutoff to pass at that station, George motioned that we should go. I gratefully hopped into his car with him and Holly the dog. I asked him about Leadville and he said that he'd run it about ten years ago. When I mentioned that I'll be racing there this summer, he asked me where I've been training. I explained that I'm new to the area: I've been running on the roads and on the trails we were just running on. Where should I be running? And then I just started taking notes on my phone as he listed the places I should go and the events I should look up online. George is the president of the Arkansas Ultra Running Association and he's an absolute wealth of knowledge.
We continued to the turnaround point of the 50 mile run and waited there for a few minutes for anyone to drop, then turned back and went to another checkpoint to do the same thing. A man named Jim dropped from the 50 mile run at that point - he was at mile 27 and had two hours to make it eight miles back to the next checkpoint, and he was over it. He joined us in the car and we headed back to the start. It turns out that between them, Jim and George have finished Leadville, Western States, Run Rabbit Run, and the Wasatch 100. I'm sure they've got more incredible ultra running accomplishments that they didn't even mention. I was in the car with ultra running royalty, and these two guys did all their training for these races in Central Arkansas. This was such inspiring and exciting news for me! They told me where to go to train and even mentioned a friend who did the Leadman Challenge last year and completed it, commenting that he'd likely be happy to give me advice about it if I reach out.
If I hadn't started the race, I wouldn't have met Noelle and learned about the trail running group that trains on Saturdays. If I'd turned back to DNF or decided to finished the race, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to meet Jim and George or to learn about all the wonderful places to run around here. As my very wise friend Linda told me, the DNF was absolutely a blessing in disguise and "the universe gives us what we need even though we often do not understand until later why things unfolded the way they did."
It's Monday as I type this and I feel so much better than I did yesterday. My head isn't hurting anymore and my thoughts are clearer. My chin and left knee are bruised and scraped, I have cuts from the thorns on my right side, and my right knee is still swollen and iffy. But I am full of inspiration and motivation to get out there and train for the races this summer that are approaching so quickly. I learned all these lessons! Onward and upward!
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