Race Report – Holiday Lake 50K++

by Jeff Minahan

            Upon crossing (stumbling is more like it) the finish line in Saturday’s Holiday Lake Ultra, I was reminded of a line I included in our annual Christmas letter last December.

After 25 years of casual to serious running, I had finally completed my first marathon over the Thanksgiving weekend.  I wrote in our holiday letter that men would never, ever know what delivering a baby feels like, but running a marathon is God’s way of teasing us.  Now ladies, in no way can I begin to pretend that the two experiences compare in pain or meaning.  But what is shared is this:  both are among the small number of life experiences that can leave you genuinely and powerfully moved, knowing that you have dared and accomplished something profoundly difficult, something amazing, something worthwhile, and something very, very real, for lack of a better term.  You do one of these babies, and you know you’ve done something.  And isn’t that feeling so much a part of what draws us to this crazy game?

Coming so soon after my marathon baptism-by-fire in November, Saturday’s Holiday was a dreaded, but at the same time welcome, return to that feeling and all of its accompanying emotions; the doubt and fear going in, the desire to excel and conquer, the struggle of the race with its pain and relentless work, and ultimately, the elation and abject relief of finishing.

Good God, what a killer!!  And to think that this is the shortest and least challenging of Dr. Dave’s murderer’s row of ultras?  I had the chance to crew for good friends and training partners Chris Palladino and Paul Carrasco at the Hellgate in December.  I wound up running two legs with them, only about 14 miles, and that “fun” adventure wiped me out.  How in the world did those people run 66 miles?  Half that distance took everything I had and more on Saturday.

There are so many powerful images, observations and memories still fresh from Holiday.  Here are just a few, in no particular order.

·   The weather.  Was that fun or WHAT!?  I remember talking to friends in the days leading up to the race.  As we checked the weather sites online every five minutes, we agreed that rain would be our worst nightmare come true.  Saturday’s wet snow and resulting mud-bath might have trumped even that scenario.  When you see dirty, brown puddles forming in footprints left behind, you know you are in some thick, wet mud!  I’ll be seeing that mushy, muddy, mucky, murderous junk in my dreams for months.

·   You learn something every time you run one of these.  Notes to self:  waterproof gloves next time (duh!): and next time, make sure your jacket actually IS waterproof (duh-duh!):  aaannnd next time, find a way to make sure your gel-goo will not freeze up (a HOOVER Super Vac couldn’t have sucked that thick stuff out of my gel-carrier!).  I must have looked pretty funny running along in the muck, a plastic bottle stuck in my mouth, head tilted back, looking like some kind of clown trying to balance a plate on my nose.

·   The volunteers.  God bless ‘em.  You’re dying for an aid station, and you get there and they cannot do enough to help you out.  And talk about variety.  No doubt, our aid stations were four-star.

·   And speaking of volunteers.  God bless the wonderful lady at the last aid station who screamed out as I left the station, “Only three-and-a-half miles to go!”  I could have kissed her.  I’d heard the stories.  I knew about “Horton miles.”  But of course, a rookie is a rookie is a rookie.  I had read the signs at the aid stations, added up the miles, and they didn’t seem to add up.  They didn’t, of course.  As she said it, I thought I had at least 6-8 miles to go.  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

·   Warm soup at the aid station coming out of the woods after the turn.  Heaven.

·   The two ladies in the woods cheering and screaming support like NFL bleacher bums.  Nice going girls.  You gave a tired runner a big lift.

·   Cold, wet snow pelting your face for five hours.  Endless.  Relentless.  Malevolent.

·   You meet the coolest people in these races.  I enjoyed a great conversation over a few miles with an experienced ultra runner.  He had come out of retirement to run this one with his 18-year old son, who was running his first ultra.  I hooked up with him after the turn and he explained how his son had dropped back coming into the campground and did not look good.  It was obvious the poor kid wanted to give up the ghost.  As we started the second leg, his dad was concerned, preoccupied.  I checked the results and did not see his son’s name among the finishers.  Kev, I hope he came out of the experience okay.  I feel your parental pain.  Thanks for pulling me along for a few miles and thanks for the encouragement.  Coming from an accomplished vet like you, it meant something. (SIX 100-milers in one year??!!....that’s just wrong!)

·   The feeling when your shoes would dig up some slimy combination of mud, leaves, twigs and God knows what else, and it would fly up and hit the back of your leg just below the knee, then over the next 20 yards, slowly ooze down the back of your leg and into your shoe.  Yummy.  That happened about 20 times.

·   How do you describe that level of exhaustion when you finish?  Can that feeling accurately be described?  How do you do it justice?

·   The hopeful smile on the nice lady who was the last runner I passed going the other way after the turn.  Don’t know her name, but I was pulling for her the rest of the afternoon.  Hope you made it.

·   Cannot imagine the pride Jon House must feel, crossing the line with daughter Heather, just a high school junior.  Both finished their first ultra.  The kid has run a marathon and a 50K ultra in the space of a few months.  What guts.

·   How about the relief when you finally, finally, FINALLY hit the single track at the edge of the lake coming in and know, just KNOW, you’re going to make it?

·   In his race report, Jim McFarland talked about the lift you get when you approach that final turn at the end of the lake, maybe half a mile out, and hear the cheers at the finish line?  Jim, you got that right.

·   And finally, the foot.-in-mouth award to yours truly.  Upon crossing the line, Dr. Dave, whom I had never met but had heard all the legends, offered his congratulations.  Someone told him I was finishing my first ultra, and he doubled his congratulations.  And while bent over in exhaustion, with my tongue planted firmly in my cheek, I spit out “Never again!”  I couldn’t have been kidding more, but I think I might have offended Dr. Dave’s sensibilities.  I really, truly couldn’t have been kidding more, Dr. Dave!  Honest!   I absolutely GOTTA do this again!!  Thanks for a great race.  Way to go everyone, starters and finishers.