A year ago I began running seriously for the first time in my life and had never run beyond ten miles before embarking on this journey. But since then I have completed a half marathon, a full marathon and now an ultra-marathon, the latter two happening after turning fifty. The ultra turned out to be a learning experience, explaining my contentment at stopping after fifty kilometers (32.9 miles was the true length of the 50K route).
Being a total novice in the ultra-marathon realm, it seemed the Finger Lakes Fifties would be a great entrée. You run three 16.5 mile loops through the Finger Lakes National Forest, with the option of quitting after two to call it at fifty kilometers rather than completing the final loop for fifty miles. The course description was forest trails, cow pastures and some roads, so I didn’t envision terrible terrain challenges.
Lesson #1: this ain’t road running. Right from the start we bolted down narrow trails of roots and rocks that would have had me trudging slowly if hiking. As luck would have it, I wound up at the front of the pack when the race started and hearing other runners on my heels had me hustling much faster than my training (or simple prudence) dictated. I was running faster than I would have been on macadam, and you had to focus on each and every footfall to ensure firm placement and avoid injury.
The trail opened up after the first few miles and I could release the hounds behind me, but then we started running through muck. What I mean is long stretches of deep, sticky mud that forced everyone to slow down. Practically the only places where you weren’t hampered by roots and mud were trails that permitted horses, and these may have been worse! Horseshoes had utterly pitted the pathways and you risked busting an ankle every time your foot met the field.
My muddy legs and sneakers after the race…
Once the pack scattered I could enjoy some patches of solitude – five or ten minutes of heading down the forest tracks at my slow and steady pace which accommodated negotiation of obstacles. Around mile ten I teamed up with a guy from Corning, NY and we hung together for the remainder of loop one.
Most runners attempting fifty miles had “pacers” --- friends who would accompany them for the final 16.5 mile loop (the last loop is actually a bit longer). Extreme exhaustion can lead to mental breakdowns and serious injury, leading me to respect how pacers serve as vital safety valves. Chatting with my new buddy, we decided to serve as one another’s pacer should we both opt to push on for the final loop. Unfortunately I got ahead of him after the first loop and never saw him again. He was usually running a quicker pace than me, but intermittently walked for stretches, so we had these back-and-forth meet-ups. I noticed several other runners employed this running style.
It wasn’t long into the second loop before I accepted this would likely be my last. After running for about five hours I could appreciate the total focus required on every step on top of efforts to mentally monitor blood sugar levels was draining me. There was no rocket science involved in the forecast of likely outcomes for one more loop when physically and mentally tapped out. The decision would soon be confirmed with authority.
Thinking I had perhaps five miles remaining in the second loop, I was delighted when informed at an aid station (these watering holes, well stocked with food, drink and assistants, were roughly every three miles along the course) that I was 2.8 miles from the finish line back at the campground! I had successfully managed my blood sugar all day, but this news caused me to slack off and I didn’t consume the usual amount of calories at this last station. They had so many goodies at these stations that I had barely touched the stash of Clif Bars, etc. in my hydro belt.
Naturally this final stretch was more roots, rocks and mud, the latter causing the first foible. Having read the rules of the race, I had striven to obey the guideline to run straight through mud puddles since running on the drier fringes just makes it a bigger mess for others and yourself when you return. Despite noticing relatively few of my running mates were paying heed to this caution, I had plodded directly through the heart of most quagmires right up to a monster one after the aid station that literally sucked the sneaker right of my foot.
It was afternoon now and the heat had started drying up the swampland. I guess this exponentially boosted their suction power, but what a tremendous hassle. Had to wade back through the mire and pluck my footwear free and search for a place to sit and wrestle it back on. Stiff from running, bending over was a drag and with all the tree roots there wasn’t any good place to park my butt. Even worse, I had difficulty just untying the shoelaces because the mud had caked and made them too thick to slip out of the knot…
Two small packs of runners passed me during the five minutes invested to finish playing Cinderella and both made sure to ask if I needed assistance. I had earlier extended the same offer to two guys lying by the trail and one slowly hobbling along. Runners were dropping like flies but it was refreshing to feel the camaraderie: I had also seen two groups of “Search & Rescue” runners sprinting past me in the other direction as well, presumably off to reel in other casualties.
Do need to comment that they were meticulous in recording bib numbers whenever you came to an aid station, so it was clear they were making a serious effort to know where everyone was.
Back on feet, running soon became difficult because I couldn’t coordinate my legs properly. This had happened before and I was usually able to quickly diagnose low blood sugar. But being tired and aware of how folks get delusional in these races I initially worried that my blood was too high (had I taken enough long lasting insulin to accommodate the calories ingested during this long haul???). The good news is that I stopped running and began walking. The bad news is that I was still walking rapidly.
I was sooooo close to the finish and knew a hot dog was waiting, causing me to wish I could just get there without having to usurp my calorie quotient prematurely. Although I did pull out a Clif Bar, the better option would have been a Hammer Gel, which restores blood sugar much faster. The unsurprising outcome was that I stumbled over a tree root and went down HARD. Incredible good fortune had me plummet onto one of the very few spots that was largely just dirt and grass, so the damage was limited to a slightly twisted arm. After getting up, brushing myself off and assessing no serious damage had been inflicted, the journey continued at a more reasonable slow walk.
Of course it only took a couple minutes for my brain to come back, so I actually started running again and was soon back at the campground and the finish line. The first question they asked was how I was doing, followed by whether I wanted to continue. After the trauma of the last stretch I quickly replied NO and the race was over. Now I could now enjoy my hot dog…
Here’s the final tally. There were 200 entrants for the race, 100 for the 50 miles and 100 for the 50K. Only 46 made it fifty miles and despite all those abdicators (like me) to 50K, only 109 completed that course, so about 78% of those at the start persevered to the finish. My 50K time was 7 hours 24 minutes, which ranked 61st out of the 109 and I was 5th out of twelve in my age group. I am quite content to have endured and survived!
My poor tootsies after the race…
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