Adventures of a Non-Runner in Running

By Jeffrey E. Gardner  2/15/05

            I am a rock climber, not a runner.  Oh sure, I tried my hand at track and cross country in high school but, to the dismay of my father who is an addicted runner, I decided that the sport was not my cup of tea.  It’s not that I have anything against running or runners, I just didn’t enjoy running and never once experienced that “runners high” that every runner chases.  In fact, all I ever got from running was sore knees.  But after acting as support crew for my roommate Michael Stratton during the Hellgate 100k last December I found myself strangely excited about trying an ultra.  I guess that something in ultrarunning struck a chord with the alpine climber in me.  Early starts, long days of continuous physical motion and most of all (and something I saw in no short supply at the Hellgate race) pain and suffering.  I’m not actually sure where the idea came from, but I will give credit to Michael Stratton for getting so many of us irreversibly committed to the race.  Holiday Lake 50k++, the course sounded pretty flat and pretty knee friendly and Mike assured me that it was a piece of cake, I’d have no problem finishing…this coming from a guy who finished Hellgate with no training to speak of.  When Mike and I started talking about Holiday Lake I think some wheels in his brain began spinning and he started to think about everyone else that we knew that might run the race.  Soon a flurry of emails began flying around our group of friends and one by one, whether coerced, persuaded, or outright bribed, everyone began signing up for the race.  And while fifty dollars isn’t that much money, to a bunch of college kids it was an amount that committed each and every one of us.  No one was going to just throw away fifty bucks and back out of the race.  Not to mention the loss of pride and subsequent harassment by the group that would result from backing out.  As the semester began and everyone laughed at the lack of training over the holiday break we all made training schedules and did a few laps on the steep, rocky and generally snowy mountain bike trails close to campus.  Most of us had never run further that 10 or 15 miles at any one time and some of us (me) had never gotten past 8 on a run.  When one of us would bring up this fact while out on one of these short runs, the response would be curt and somehow mildly unsettling.

            “Unimportant details”, Mike assured us. 

            “This race is all about will power.  If you want to finish you will.”

            And my personal favorite:  “Just remember, when you are feeling bad be happy because you know things can only go up and you’re going to start feeling better,” unfortunately this was followed by the slightly distressing statement, “and likewise, when you feel good, be ready because you are invariably going to start feeling bad soon.”  

            After 4 or 5 runs on the steep trails, not a single run over 6 miles, Mike decided that we needed to run some longer distances.

            “Great, there is a trail between Blacksburg and Christiansburg that is a little over 11 miles,” Mike offered.

            “Ok, when you wanna go?”

            “How about right now?”

            “Michael, its one a.m.” 

            “…so what’s your point?” I swear the clock has no meaning in Mike’s life.

            “…and it’s snowing outside…” Now I’ve got him, he won’t be able to get around that one.

            “Better wear a hat then, huh?”

            “…Uhh, ok, I’ll call Claire and we’ll meet her at two on campus?”  It’s easy to concede defeat when you know you can’t win.

At two a.m. on the dot Michael, Claire and I began the longest run of my life up to that point.  Over the hill, through the woods and out to the Christiansburg mall we go. It snowed the whole way, not little flurries either, big fat flakes driven hard to the left by the wind that somehow doesn’t leave Blacksburg until April.  That run made me sore.  The whole next day was spent limping around and wondering what my body was going to have to endure to make it through 50k of similar terrain.  This is the part where runners will wince in pain and the rest of the population will just shake their heads and wonder why I’m such an idiot.  That was all the training I did.  Yup, 5 or 6 trail runs on steep terrain that were all under 6 miles and one relatively flat 11 mile jog in the middle of the night.  Before the head wincing and head shaking begins let me defend myself.  Actually, no, there isn’t anything I have to say.  I’ve never been much for training, I know it is one of my character flaws and I’m alright with that.  Let’s go ahead and fast forward to the race then shall we?

            By the time that race weekend had come around there was a rather large contingent of Virginia Tech students that were going to run.  It is interesting the power the peer pressure can exert, people that I would never have imagined had signed up and even more impressive was that when it was actually time to get in the car to drive to Appomattox everyone that signed up and a few that hadn’t even signed up yet were all still eager and excited to go.  As a famous man once said, “Lots of people talk about doing things, but only a few of those actually do them.”  Well all of us had talked about doing this race and all of us were about to do it.  Signing in and eating the pre-race dinner was nerve wracking enough but that feeling was only intensified when ninety percent of our table rose in response to David Horton’s query as to who had never done an ultra.  As I sat back down and looked across the table, Michael spun in his chair and looking across the nervous faces said what I can only hope was his way of being encouraging,

            “You will all finish this race.  You have to now, no question.”

The rest of the evening was spent preparing food, preparing sleeping bags and preparing our minds.  Laughter filled our cabin as we joked about having to stop mid-race for bathroom breaks and broken knees.  I lay there in my sleeping bag listening to music and thinking about what the next morning was going to mean.  I felt my stomach turn over and over and then it hit me, I know this feeling!  As a rock climber, managing fear and calmly forcing your mind and body to do what you know it can do is something I’m very familiar with.  The feeling that I was feeling is the exact feeling I feel the night before going up on a really big climb.  Last summer, nestled under the trees in Camp 4 in Yosemite, knowing that four a.m. and the base of El Capitan was coming very soon.  I clung to this small piece of familiarity as I drifted off into a peaceful dreamless sleep. 

            I awoke to the sound of my watch beeping noisily in my ear followed immediately by the voice of David Horton screaming noisily across the loudspeaker.  What a glorious way to wake up!  I immediately got up and started eating and getting my things for the race together.  I would be running with a small backpack so that I could carry my camera and document all the pain and suffering…uhh, I mean fun.  Gathering at the starting line was both exciting and terrifying at the same time.  People milling about, stretching, talking quietly and David Horton yelling over everything in the dark was quite the sight to see.  I searched out Michael, although I knew that from the minute the race began I wouldn’t see him until the turnaround, at least he was some small calm before the storm. 

            “This is awesome, huh?” Mike seemed in his element.

            “Yeah, this is awesome, I can’t wait to get moving,” It’s freezing out here, just let us start.

            “Hey, good-luck, have fun and don’t stop!”

            “Thanks Mike, I’ll see you at the turn.”  I hope.

            “Yup.”

And then running.  The darkness of the trail around the lake was lovely; my legs working easily to dodge branches, roots and other ankle deforming obstacles -- the line of headlamps in front and behind me carrying me forward towards dawn.  Passing the first aid station, my legs felt good, my spirits were high and I was having fun running with friends and meeting new people along the trail.  “This ultra stuff isn’t that bad,” I thought as the sun broke the horizon and bathed the calm sea of grass stretched out in front of me in warm orange light.  Nearing the third station at around 9 miles my knees began to question my motives.  With small twangs of pain and tightness I found that if I just ran a little faster the pain let up, a slightly deranged plan I admit but one that worked…for a while at least.

            Leaving the fourth aid station heading for the turnaround my legs almost buckled.  “That is rather strange,” I mused as I slowed to a walk to see if the pain would ease.  Not a chance, the pain wouldn’t go away whether I was running or walking and as the number of people passing me grew along with my concern I had to decide what I was going to do.  I had signed up for this race to see what an ultra was like and also to suffer.  I am not a masochist but part of me wanted to know exactly what my body could deal with.  “And anyways,” I thought, “better here in a nice controlled environment than on the side of a mountain, in a storm, with no chance of rescue.”  As the next group of runners passed me I cranked up Strike Anywhere on my mp3 player and tucked in behind them, determined to match their pace no matter what.  The pain stuck with me the rest of the way to the turnaround.  One by one, my friends passed me on their way back from the turn.  They looked happy and still running pretty fast.  I wondered what I looked like to them, could they see the fire that was shooting from my knees up my quads and into my hips?  I hoped not, smiled and cheered them forward.  At the turnaround I poured calories and ibuprofen into my body with reckless abandon.  Leaving the turn I again experienced the pain of resuming motion this deep into fifty kilometers.  My knees didn’t want to work and because of it I began unconsciously modifying my gait to compensate, or to at least in some way mitigate, the pain.  The next nine miles were horrible.  In fact, I can’t really remember being in more pain in my life.  Happily, I caught up with Christine, another Hokie who was in as much pain as I was.  We helped motivate each other to keep running and sometimes to just keep moving.  After my second visit to the fourth aid station, and another handful of vitamin I, I nearly lost the two cups of Conquest that I had just downed.  The blinding pain shot though my legs and forced me into a hobbling walk.  Small bits of conversations started flashing through my head,

            “Michael, what if I really think I’m doing damage to my knees?”

            “Oh that always happens; you get to a point where you just feel like your mashing bone against bone.”

            “…and?”

            “Just keep running.”

Mikes words kept me moving and laughing at ourselves kept Christine and I sane.  I could see that she was feeling the exact same pain as I was.  Our muscles were fine, but the joints just couldn’t support the pulling and pushing.  Walking down a gravel road without another soul in sight Christine gave a little warning and then started jogging slowly away.  As I watched her round a corner to the right I pushed it and started jogging to catch her.  As I rounded the corner and gazed forward I could feel something inside me change.  Where there was pain, there was still pain; but for some reason I felt great, the fog that had been plaguing my mind for the last ten miles lifted away and the long gradual downhill slope in front of me propelled me forward faster and faster.  As I neared the bottom of the hill and passed Christine, who had again slowed to a walk, I yelled that I was feeling really good and I’d see her at the finish.  The last mile to the third station blew by and I was greeted by the volunteers at the aid station yelling encouragement and generally being very excited.  I grabbed a handful of grapes while one of the helpful workers filled my water bottle and as fast as I could I was running again.  The next seven miles went by fast as I passed runner after runner.  The ibuprofen had finally kicked in and while I worried about the damage that I was doing and not feeling I kept myself moving as fast as I could.  Past the sea of grass, down the steep hill, up the long gravel hill and back to the first aid station.  My legs were feeling wonderfully wrecked and I was happy because I knew that no matter what I was going to finish the race.  Nearing the lake I felt a familiar pain creeping back up my legs.  I had forgotten to douse my system in anti-inflammatories at the last station, back to the hurting…oh well.  The branches, roots and other ankle deforming obstacles were slightly more difficult to dodge this time around.  Getting around the lake became a fight to keep from falling down and as I closed in on the last short road section I began to ignore the pain and push myself to move faster.  Coming down the last small hill to the line I was moving on pure adrenaline, at a full sprint I could see my friends in a group just across the line, yelling and waving me home. 

            As I sit here writing this my knees still hurt.  I am more than excited that I did the race and more than happy to hurt, but what makes me feel much more content is that everyone in our group finished the race.  Some with very fast times and some with very slow times, but we all stood on the starting line together and we all stood at the finish line together.  And while I realized after this race, much like after the first time that I stood on top of El Capitan, that it is easy to make something much more important than it really is.  There is something to be said for pushing yourself past your comfort zone and having an adventure no matter what you do, be it climbing, running or even going outdoors for an entire weekend without your cell phone.