…….Well ?

By Paul Boyette

            Checking my email when I had returned back home from the race sent my mind searching. It was there in front of me and I didn’t really know how to answer it. It was an email from a running friend and it had a one word title. I stared at it until my mind went hollow and empty, and all it said was “……Well?” Really though it didn’t need another word to get my friend’s point across. He knew I’d trained hard for four months for this and he also knew I’d dissected last year’s race and done my best to correct every mistake that I thought I’d made in my first attempt at ultra running. The Holiday Lake 50K++ pulled me back to it, not because I fell in love with the race, not because I got the ultra running bug, not even because I enjoyed everyone associated with the race, including the volunteers, the runners, and most of all David Horton. It pulled me back because it was unfinished business, a race I hadn’t concurred, a race I didn’t succeed at, and most of all a race that I walked away from just twelve months before feeling like a total failure.

            If last years race had made me feel like a failure, then unbeknownst to me this years race would seek to make me question why I run in the first place, and if I wanted to continue ever again. Throughout the training for this race, my training buddy, Joe Woods and I were blessed with great weather. If we scheduled a long run, it would turn out to be between 35 and 45 degrees with no rain in sight. If we planned to run hard one day, it would be sunny and mild. If we planned to rest one day it would be windy and raining. It seemed like every move we made, the weather moved to accommodate us. We sailed through the Holidays and into the New Year with great runs, great weather, and great plans for Holiday Lake.

            I meticulously went over last years training log and tried to pull out clues as to why I crashed and burned at Holiday Lake. Several things stood out, like maybe too many nagging injuries coming into the race. Maybe to much mileage some weeks and not enough during others, also not enough trail running, not enough speed endurance, and lastly not enough of an idea of just what I was getting myself into. I knew I was in great shape after last years race, because within months of running it I ran in the low 18:00’s for 5k and even won a local 8k race with my best time in years. What would it take to do better at Holiday Lake? I was starting to get a picture, a vision if you will, of a better conditioned, more attuned trail runner, with an endurance level my body hadn’t seen in decades and an iron will to push beyond my physical limits.

            I finished up my fall season on October 8^th with my last cross country 5k for the year. Any other races would have to fall within my training guidelines for Holiday Lake or else I wouldn’t run them. Then I began my buildup for the ultra. The following weeks flew by with mileage of, 42.5 – 50.5 – 60 – 50 – 41 – 22 – 63 – 44 – 77 – 53 – 71.5 – 62 – 34 – 48 – 76 – 31.5 – 39 – and a race week total of 52. My long runs increased with five being over 20 miles, the longest a 26.2 miler in practice in just over 3 hours and forty six minutes. I felt stronger than I’ve ever felt since my college cross country days. I mixed in trails, two runs a day sometimes, ten mile and 20k races as tempo runs, and even a 10k to see how the body was adjusting. All the feedback was telling that this year at Holiday Lake, sub five hours was possible, and if it all went well maybe top three masters.

            Fast forward to race day, I’m standing on the porch of the cabin in front of the starting line. The rain is coming down and the weather is calling for snow. My spirits are still high, after all I’m in great shape and nothing can hold me back. When we start I move with my training buddy to a spot behind the first group, before you know it they are gone. We lead the second group around the lake on the single track trail and not only do I feel good, but I feel great. The snow falls around us, and it all seems so surreal. Finally the first female runner moves past us and starts to turn it on, a few more runners go by, but I know our pace is where we need to be so I don’t get caught up in the racing. It’s the course I want to beat; not the runners. The footing by now has started to deteriorate, and in the muddy conditions caution has to be used. It’s three of us in a small group; me, Joe, and another guy who says he ran a 2:45 marathon in the fall. If he’s that good then Joe & I feel that we’re in good company and keep pace with him. Eventually he moves on too. Before the third aid station the snow is really coming down and starting to cover the ground, I’m getting wet and cold but remain in good spirits.

            Then it happens, just past the third aid station we come off the trail and start to cross the road. A car comes by so we get on the grass to run and wait for it to pass. When it does we’ve already gone past the next turn across the street. We run on and can’t see any white ribbons anywhere, we turn and look at the group behind us, but they run on towards us, we stop the next van coming down the road and they say we’re going the right way when we ask. We run on not sure what to do, when just then David Horton pulls up and tells us we missed the turn, we’ve gone a half mile past it. We turn around, and the first thought that enters my head is how with everything this man has to do as race director, can he take the time to keep up with us. It seems like to much to ask, but yet there he was.

            Back on the right trail we have literally let dozens of runners that we worked hard to put behind us back in front. Joe and I push on, but for the first time I sense that the good fortune of this race is gone. By the time we get back to the single track trails around the lake, my hands and feet are frozen. I can’t feel either of them. At this point all I want to do is change clothes. I harbor thoughts that with the bad weather somehow the race will be stopped, and as long as the leading runners haven’t come back past us those thoughts dance in my head full of promise and hope. Then suddenly Billy Barnett comes swiftly running by, he looks smooth, I feel crushed by the fact that the race is not going to end soon. At the turn around we move to the truck to change clothes, last year it was hat and gloves. This year because of the weather, I change everything except my running briefs. My hands are so cold that I can hardly move them. My calf’s cramp when I try to bend down to put new socks and shoes on. My mind starts to wander in different directions. I so desperately want to stop, but try to get the thoughts out of my mind and just change clothes. It takes around seventeen minutes, that’s right seventeen minutes to change. I turn and look back out on the race course, and do not wish to continue. I plan to dropout, it’s not my day and the weather is terrible. I think of a warm hot shower, warm clothes and a cup of coffee. I walk a few steps towards the course, and can’t bear to tell Joe that I’m quitting. It’s his first ultra and I know he wants to finish it. With every part of my body telling me not to do it, I start to run.

            It’s times like these when I question the human mind. How is it that when everything in your brain tells your body one thing, your body does the exact opposite of what it has been told to do. Your mind rationalizes it, it lays out the steps, first tell Joe your quitting, then go inside and get a hot shower, then get on some warm clothes, then you deserve a hot cup of coffee. It will be alright, nobody will think less of you, you’re training won’t be wasted, in fact this will be good for you. No need to suffer any longer buddy, this is your day to quit, enjoy it. All the while your body just listens. It doesn’t talk back, it doesn’t object, it just goes through the planned routine then it starts to finish the task at hand. As you take the first few steps, the mind pleads with the body, “don’t do this,” but after a few more steps the mind succumbs. That is how the turn around went for me heading back out, I knew it was going to be hard. The first half, (with the extra mile) had taken 2:41:33, just how long the second half would take, my mind couldn’t fathom.

            The camping I’d remembered from the year before was now in full flight; the calf muscles, the hamstrings, even my arms. They all cramped to a musical beat that only my body could understand, and one my mind tried to mask. After the single track trail was finished I made my body run all the way to the next aid station. Last year I had walked this section, this year I swore I wouldn’t do the same thing. With over seventeen minutes wasted at the turn around, I had to make up time somewhere. I walked / ran from the first aid station through the rest of the course the best I could. I never looked at my watch again though, because many miles back I had gone into survival mode, and finishing was my only motivation. At this point in the race it’s impossible to stay with another runner. You walk they run. They cramp, you run by. Then you feel bad and they hit a good spell. It goes back and forth at this point and Joe and I got separated.

            As I did last year I tried to find something to focus on, something other than just finishing. I decide on trying to beat a rival of mind that was also at the race, it wasn’t like I was racing; in fact I was just trying to focus on something other than the cold and pain to get me through. I’d run a while, and then come to a hill that my cramping legs would not let me run up, so I’d walk. My mind would then violently swing to the negative and say “just let him pass, you’ve done all you can.” Then as I started to run downhill my mind would swing the other way just as fast, “you’ve got him now just keep it going, as long as you’re running he can’t catch you.” I played this little game through two aid stations and on to the finish. It seemed to take forever. Finally through the snow, the finish line beckoned, seeming neither satisfying nor disappointing. It was simply the finish line. A sought after place to quit, that had occupied my mind for hours and hours.

            My time was 38 minutes and 49 seconds slower than last years. I had not broken five hours I had not even broken six hours. At 6:33:46 I had not only ran worse than last year, I had managed to confuse myself. If I had prepared better than last year, trained harder than last year, how in the world could I of ran worse? It’s like some sort of puzzle that I can’t solve. I feel like everybody else gets it but me. It’s like how hard can this be to figure out; I’m a good runner, with above average talent. Why then can I not run this race better than I do? Maybe that’s what ultra running is all about. Finding a race and learning to conquer it, no matter how many times it beats you down. Maybe ultra running is learning to accept the fact that it equals everyone out, it slows the fast down, it speeds the patient up and it takes the young and the old, the men and the women and gives them all a level playing field where anything is possible. It humbles you, it teaches you, it forces you to open your eyes in a new way and look at something that just maybe you will have to come away from defeated and dejected a few times, to learn the true meaning of why and how a race such as this is to be challenged.

            I’ve always liked a good challenge, but good challenges are far too easy. Holiday Lake is much more than a good challenge, it’s like a puzzle, and if I ever get the pieces together right, it will be the most satisfying puzzle I’ve ever done. As for now, I’ve closed the box for this year. I know it will always be there if I ever want to pull it out and try again. Right now I’m not far enough away from the pain in my legs to make that decision. However I will tell you this, I don’t care how many races I win this year, how fast I run the next 5k, or how many trophies I bring home this summer, until I conquer the Holiday Lake 50K++ I will not be ready to answer that email that said, “……Well?”