Third Time IS a Charm

I guess there is a speck of competitiveness in my old bones.  It showed its face during my third running of the MMTR 50Mile ++.  I remember so vividly, three years ago, and still chuckle at your response when my husband emailed you before signing up for my first Masochist in 2002.  He related my time at my first 50, JFK in 2001 (only my 3^rd Ultra), and asked if there was any chance I would be able to finish within the allotted 12 hr. time limit.  “Sure she can…She just has to run faster.”   I think I run your races as much for the entertainment as for the challenge!  Well, here I was 22 ultra’s later, a little older, but not much faster. As you know, my husband Herman is the real ultra-racer in the family.  I usually finish up from the bottom roughly the same place he finishes from the top.  I got into it because it just seemed like so much fun!  He is such a dear to put up with my slogging, and plodding.  Don’t think I’m not jealous of all the young, fast, good-looking women he gets to play with during the hours of any Ultra.  I enjoy the company of all I meet on the trails also.

My year started out slow, with no particular direction.  Took a devastating nosedive with the death of my younger sister in a horrific car crash.  Bounced back up when we celebrated my Sons graduation from the Naval Academy and then wound down with a much-needed fun family vacation in the canyons of Utah and N. Mexico.  The realization that our tomorrows are not guaranteed drove my quest to make this my year to conquer Masochist.  I ran a few more miles, pushed the trails a little harder, and ate just a few less calories.  The doubt still hung over me, but I was determined.

My only job for the day was to conquer the hills.  I had so much fun on the down hills.  Herm taught me well on how to fly down the trails letting gravity do most of the work, but the uphills are tough on me.  My friend Mary gave me my mantra for the day; “CFM, CFM, CFM . . . . ”, which stands for constant forward motion.  Friends staying home in NJ promised to think of me, and I could feel the energy.  During a revelation while climbing an early hill it hit me.  Today WAS my day!  The tears came, and confidence set in.

I had all the times written down, and managed to stay 10-15 minutes ahead of the 12 hour pace.  Climbing the hill to aid station 14 was nerve-wracking since that is where I was pulled last year.  When I got to the top, no bus, no one stopping me.  “Better hustle.”, someone said, “Time is tight!”  I gave it all I had, but while I couldn’t even see the aid station, heard that I had only two minutes to stay on 12 hour pace.  I crested the hill, and got a thumbs down.  I was three minutes over the 12 hour mark.  “Don’t I get a 5 min. warning?”  (I know I read that somewhere.)  I wasn’t going to argue, didn’t want to get you mad at me, but remember stopping wasn’t an option!!   (The rules do allow runners to be 5 minutes over the 12 hour pace, but possibly not at the 15^th aid station?)   Several other workers at the aid station felt it too, and thought 3 min wasn’t worth drowning a dream over.  My bottle was filled, and they sent me on my way.

I floated along the trail.  Cresting the hill to the last aid station I yelled, “Any chance I can keep going?”  “Give us your bottle and keep going.  It’s mostly down hill!  What do you need?” A handsome young man caught up to me with my drink a good distance down the trail.  How did all these strangers know how important this race was to me?  I “flew“ down the hill.  Somehow the pain of running all those miles left, and I was ecstatic and having so much fun.  One mile to go, 7 minutes to do it in.  I don’t think I ever ran a 7 min. mile in my life.  It took me 12.  Not good enough for a finisher’s shirt, but it was the best race of my life.

Thank you for everything!