Attitude is Everything – My Experience at Mountain Masochist
by Anne Lundblad

Mountain Masochist has always been on my “to do” list.  Way before I ever
became an ultrarunner, I used to see folks show up at the Shut In Ridge
Trail Run wearing t-shirts from a crazy 50 miler held a couple of weeks
before.  As I was getting my butt kicked on the eighteen miles up Mt.
Pisgah, I wondered what this ultra business was all about.....and more
importantly, why anyone would voluntarily take part in a race with the word
masochist in its title?

I started running ultras in 2000 and great experiences at two of David’s
other races convinced me that MMTR was one I had to try.  But injuries and
other races always seemed to get in the way.  This year, upon learning that
my 100k race would be held in June, I realized my fall schedule would be
open.  I knew that I would have to venture into the mountains around
Lynchburg to see what all the fuss was about.

I was excited to see that Masochist would once again be the grand finale for
the Montrail Ultra Cup.  This would undoubtably bring a much deeper field
than most of the races I’d run this year.  I regularly checked the entrants’
list to see what familiar face would be there, and whom I’d be racing for
the first time.  However, as race day drew closer, some of this anticipation
would shift towards anxiety.  I remember one night in particular that I was
up for hours, stressing about the competition and worrying that I was not up
to the task.  On the next morning’s run, I realized that something had to
give.  There was no way that I could continue like that for the next several
weeks, eventually working myself into a tizzy by race day.  I realized that
there were only two things that I could control – my own fitness level and
my attitude.  It just so happened that my training was cranking up
substantially at that time, so I had no time or energy to think of much
beyond my next training run.  That helped to move my focus away from my
competitors.

My attitude required a little bit more work.  In several ultras this year,
when the going got tough, my attitude went out the window.  I’d be in the
middle of a race, thinking about all of the things I’d rather be doing,
feeling selfish for being out on the roads and trails for so many hours when
my daughter needed me, and coming to the general conclusion that “this
sucks”.  I had ruined many a perfectly good performance by mentally beating
myself up along the way.  For this race, I was determined to not let that
happen.  My main goal was to have fun, whether that meant coming in 1st or
100th place.  I adopted a mantra, “smooth and relaxed,” to reflect this
kinder, gentler attitude.

Going into the race, I wasn’t quite sure about what strategy to employ. 
I’ve run lots of 50k’s and lots of 100k’s, but only a couple of distances in
between.  My only previous 50 miler had been in 2000.  I knew race strategy
for a 50k (go out as hard as possible and hang on for dear life) and for a
100k (go out slow and steady and wait for the competition to come back to
me).  After comparing finishing times and consulting with Nikki Kimball and
Howard Nippert, both previous MMTR winners and champion 100k runners, I
decided to approach the race like I would 100k.  If I had a nickel for every
person who told me, “You’re going to do great – this is your kind of
course”, I’d be rich.  I guess I have a reputation for being stronger on 
jeep trails and dirt roads than single track.  This didn’t give me a whole
lot of confidence, however.  I had heard the same words prior to last year’s
venture up to Vermont, and my performance there had been less than
satisfactory.

After what seemed like months of physical and mental preparation, race
morning finally dawned.  I was pleased to find that I didn’t have the same
pre-race jitters as usual.  Either I truly was approaching this one in a
more laid back fashion, or I was simply confident about my fitness level. 
At any rate, there were many points in the race where I didn’t think that I
was in contention.  I actually didn’t even know what place I was in until I
saw my family at Aid Station 5 (14.9 miles).  At that point, they told me
that Annette was five minutes ahead.  I knew that Cat was up there somewhere
as well, but didn't stress about it too much.  A few miles later, I was told
that I was nine minutes back.  This was discouraging, but I reminded myself
of my goal of focusing on myself, not the competition.  All I could do was
to run my race; if other women were stronger on race day, that was beyond my
control.  It was a beautiful day to be in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and I
was there to enjoy myself, regardless of outcomes.  This was a radical
departure from my usual competitive mentality -- typically upon hearing that
I was that far back, I'd be experiencing all kinds of self-doubt and other
negative thoughts.

Upon entering Aid Station 10, I was surprised to hear that I had picked up
some ground and was now only 2 1/2 minutes back from both Annette and Cat. 
We were heading into a stretch of the course that Mark and I had run back in
August, when we spent a weekend scouting the course.  Knowing the next
fifteen or so miles of the course gave me a boost of confidence, and somehow
the climb up Buck Mountain seemed a little easier than it had during
training.  Hearing the theme from Rocky helped substantially.  I passed both
Cat and Annette, and both were incredibly encouraging, making comments about
the course record, although at that point my goal was still to stay as
relaxed and comfortable as possible.  I wasn't daring to contemplate a win,
as I knew there was a distinct possibility that I would see one, if not
both, of these strong women at another point in the race.

Making it through the Loop without getting passed felt like a real
accomplishment, and at that point, I began to feel a little more confident. 
Still, I managed to sneak more than a couple of peeks over my shoulder over
the next several hours, fully expecting to see Annette's blue Montrail
jersey coming towards me full steam.  I don't think I relaxed at all until I
passed the "1 Mile to Go" sign and realized that a course record was indeed
within my grasp, providing that a) I didn't trip and fall; and b) David did
actually measure this mile somewhat more accurately than the remainder of
the course.

Now that I've had a week to reflect on the experience, I am still thrilled
with the outcome, although I think the biggest lesson that I learned was the
ability to focus on the positive and to realize that in ultras, like in
life, it is the journey rather than the outcome that matters most.