Miles 50-66
I came into Hanley Gap #1 knowing that the heat of the day was behind us and yet very aware that I was nearing foreign territory. Julie, Melissa and Keila (wonderful crew for Mike and I) made it up to check on Mike since he had some rough patches earlier, even though this was not a crew access point. I walked over to the aid table. They had a plate full of honeydew. I ate a piece, and it was the best tasting thing all day. I starting eating piece after piece in rapid succession, throwing in some watermelon dipped in salt for good measure.
When I looked up from my melon euphoria I then noticed a woman standing there in a cat costume. The others were in cat costumes too. They didn't blink an eye. I asked how long til the next aid, and they informed me that this was to be the first flag grab on the top of Squaw Peak before returning to this aid station. So I paused my noshing and started hiking up the dirt road hill that I also then saw. Oblivious until necessary, I suppose.
I started climbing at 5:40pm. The climb was not the steepest of the day, but it was a doozy that would gain something like 700 feet within one mile. Earlier I was able to maintain something of a 4 mph power hike while on hills. I was hoping to maintain as close to 3 mph as I could.
Five minutes in, before the first switchback, Mike came down the hill with his flag. It was the first I had seen him all day. I asked how he felt. He blew through his lips and shook his head. "Had some really low points earlier." How to put this nicely.... Mike is something of a delicate guy when it comes to heat and certain obstacles. The day before the race he perseverated on how walking through 90 degree heat for ten minutes may be a test of how the heat would feel during the race, and he spent a lot of time trying out and pondering the use of a cooling neck wrap. So considering that he was moving fine and the rest of his facial expression read that he was fine, I wasn't going to worry about him.
Ten minutes into the climb at a switchback I then met Jenn Shelton again on her way down. "You look better," I told her. "I hope the puking as stopped."
"Thanks! Feeling much better."
It was fun to be trailing someone as known and established as Jenn. And yet, she wasn't getting that far ahead of me. She must be taking her time at many of the aid station, since that would negate some of her faster pace.
Another guy I recognized was next, saying "You're very close." I took his words with a grain of salt. Never say "close" or a specific distance to someone unless they actually are within a spitting distance or the legitimate distance you are telling them. In previous races I've had people tell me "It's all downhill from here" when it was half uphill, and I've had people tell me "Just one more mile" that ended up the longest lasting mile ever that took a half hour at running pace. Here the switchbacks continued with increasing frequency while subsequently steeper than the last.
Then, magically, I rounded the corner to the fire watch tower. I reached for one of a hundred flags stuck in the ground, and as my hand grasp around the flimsy wire my watch changed to exactly 6:00pm - exactly 12 hours into my race. There, at 5000 feet with a 360 degree view of the mountains in southern Oregon, I stood at the invisible line demarcating fifty one miles, the farthest I had traveled before. I swear time slows to 1/1000th of a frame per second during moments like these, an incredible existential awareness of your tiny, mortal being while agape at the raw world around you.
I took stock. Everything had been great so far. My stomach was holding up, my legs were holding up, my blisters had faded from feeling, and my mind was calm and still functioning. I had assumed everything would go wrong, yet thus far nothing really had. The sun would be setting soon, and with this very next step I would plunge into another fifty miles of unknown. One more long breath of reassurance. Time to get moving. Like in a dream, you body slowly shifts onto one leg while the other floats through molasses thick air, a momentary free fall before that first foot connects once again to the ground and you fall out of the mini-dimension and back into a hyper-aware reality.
As I tried to make my descent as ache free as possible (it was a rather significant downhill at that point!), the same song looped through my head again. I realized I was humming a song I didn't actually know aside from subconsciously. Down the switchbacks, then finally getting to jog with gravity in the last stretch back to the aid station.
I dropped my flag into the box and made a beeline for the honeydew. How many miles again til the next aid? Eight. Kay. Soda, honeydew, watermelon, honeydew. I checked out with Miss Kitty Kat, and started my post-aid digestive walk.
The entire next section was old dirt road, ascending in just enough of a grade that kept walking even after my stomach deflated. Sideshow Bob trotted past again, and we exchanged another set of pleasantries. This became one of many quiet sections. I knew that by running my own pace I'd like be by myself for much of the time, but usually there is the boomerang effect from earlier. This far in it seemed to separate much more. It stayed quiet enough that I could pull over for a pee without having to trek too far off course. After a few miles the road angled while also turning down enough to trot. The sun was also starting to set. I felt a little tired, hoped I could stay awake without issue.
Then up again, with a few road switchbacks. The sky by now was a brilliant orange turning to pink over purple and blue neighboring mountains. A couple guys were within view behind me. I kept turning mid-stride, completely distracted by the changing display of atmospheric grandeur. We just don't get that on the east coast. And the higher we ascended the wider it became as pink morphed into a blue-gray cloak.
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| Photo by Timothy James, taken from Facebook |
I kept turning during our hike-and-chat, holding my arms wide and exclaiming "Isn't that amazing??" The stars came out, with more constellations fit into one sky view than I remembered possible. They were all bright. No competing light from cities to stifle the view. And as you looked to the horizon you saw one long zig zag of the slowest shooting stars ever. At least that's how it looked. They were actually the runners in front of us, little twinkle lights a few miles away leading us forward. Suddenly there was also context to where the rest of the race community was dispersed, with the minutes between people now of visible measure. Music then wafted in, a peculiar mix broadcast down the mountainside from the aid station to keep runners moving.
The old dirt road got rather choppy as we neared the bend of the last switchback. I wondered how cars like our crew were faring with all the ditches and random large rocks. After we turned for the last mile to the aid station, we saw a few runners headed out to the next stretch. Some were wearing down sweaters, but most were bundled somehow. With a half mile to go Keila recognized me, Mike hot on her heels. And as we rounded that last hill and turn I had to shield my ears from the speakers. I had a brief flashback to Boston with the Welesley girls, though relieved to open my eyes and see a group of ultra geeks clustered under a few tents instead of a mile-long blockade of screaming girls.
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Miles 66-80
We arrived at Dutchman Peak at 7400 feet. The sun was long gone, the moon was super bright despite being at only three quarters, and a thick blanket of stars encircled unobscured to all directions. Were it day still then it would have held the best view of the course. Dutchman used to be another flag grab, but this year the party was held entirely at the peak, a little island of commotion surrounded by the night. This was the last big aid station with crew and the first point where pacers can join in, so there was an extra buzz of excitement.
Most runners spent a little time here. I changed clothes completely even though most of my clothes had dried as the day cooled the sun went down. I think my sport bra was still a tad damp, but more so my entire wardrobe from the day could stand up on its own from all the salty sweat. I caught a whiff of my feet while removing my socks - that almost blew me over. A volunteer and Julie just laughed, since they were far enough to avoid the olfactory attack. I added another layer of Aquafore to every possible body part. The Melissa re-pinned my bib onto my bag, Julie handed me another protein shake. I wanted fruit but was getting chilled; temperatures drop by some thirty degrees overnight in Oregon, a far change from the ~15 degree difference in the concrete jungle of NYC. When Melissa said they had broth my eyes doubled in size. It is silly how good something like broth tastes at that point. I had a second cup and put on my jacket since I was starting to shiver.
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| Photo by Timothy James, taken from Facebook |
"Are you okay?"
"Yes. Once I get moving I'll heat up again."
"You have a pacer, right?"
"Nope."
Grand pause from Mr. Volunteer. He blinked a few times while pondering a shivering runner out alone in the wee hours of the morning.
"Are you dry?"
"Yes. I changed everything, right down to sport bra and socks."
"Do you have gloves?"
"No, but I have arm warmers I can use as gloves, and I have an extra head wrap too."
"Are you moving okay?"
"Yes. I promise that I usually can't use this jacket unless it is below twenty degrees. Give me ten minutes and I'll probably take it off again."
He did not look convinced.
Marshall stood up from a chair three feet away. "Hey, Laura. Heading out?"
"Yes!"
"Sweet, let's do it!"
"Oh wait, batteries!" Marshall had put on earbuds until he realized he'd have a partner. It reminded me to grab my own iPod shuffle, which I brought in case I was alone overnight and needed a human voice, and my extra headlamp batteries.
Mr. Volunteer breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. He was okay with letting me go. Had Marshall not been there he may have let me go under more persuasion, but he may have made me wait until warmed up or until an extra pacer showed up looking for someone to run with. I thanked Julie and Melissa, thanked the volunteers, and we checked out with the official clipboard guy with a hoot and a holler and fists pumping overhead.
We backtracked down the old dirt road for at least a mile down to the parking lot just past our original switchback, then turned left for a jaunt down another dirt road. Just before the turn onto the Pacific Coast Trail I pulled over to take care of some business behind some trees. Marshall went ahead assuming I'd catch up to him soon. I wasn't so sure. Did I just sign away my only companion for the night? From how things were getting spaced out, I sure wondered.
The single track of the PCT is very fun, especially after so much dirt road the last 18-ish miles. The day's trails were straighter cuts into the mountainside aside from the switchbacks. The PCT seems older, with all the winding up and down while essing side to side. I'm pretty sure this trail would have been the prettiest for me had I been able to see more than just what my headlamp would highlight, since wild grasses abut the edges. Why I love the aesthetic of wild grasses so much is beyond me, but I do. Something about the patterns, the way it moves a whole pieces, and the swishy sound in the wind. I paused to re-tie my shoes, feeling like I was overzealous at the aid station when expecting downhill. I paused again to remove my jacket, as expected. Then two minutes later I saw a headlamp stop and turn sideways up ahead. Marshall was paused on a rock to tend blisters, told me to go ahead.
This entire section is about nine miles long. The PCT as a whole descends a bit, though stays above 6000 feet, and has a fair amount of variance along the way. I kept my headlamp beam on high, but felt relaxed thanks to the quality of Oregon trails. Were this Escarpment or the Bear Mountain course then I'd probably be much slower.
Just after crossing a road I came upon a salmon light (heading the opposite way). It was Yassine Diboune again, wearing running gear and carrying a substantial flashlight. Keeping lookout for runners in distress? Going to post up at road crossing? Regardless, he's such a nice guy. Gave lots of encouragement. I asked how far through the section we were. He guessed four and a half miles, about halfway there. "There's lots of downhill and runnable parts the rest of the way." Awesome.
So turns out that Yassine's beta is based on his elite/semi-elite capabilities. From the time I left him, the trail kept rising enough that I kept power hiking. I wondered what the hell he was talking about, but a half hour later I realized that this is runnable for him. As much as people shake their heads in amazement while hearing about a 100-mile race, this was when I shook my head while thinking about running so much more of the course than I had so far.
To the left was a sheer drop from the trail. A few times I paused to shine my light down and see what it was like. Popped another bunch of chews with caffeine to keep my wits about me. I passed a pair of guys who pulled over for some reason, but they seemed in good spirits and were chatting away. Eventually the trail turned down. I trotted as best as I could, trying to use momentum to help me loosen up. Another section where you feel more like a runner and the decline is modest enough to feel good. As it leveled off another salmon light approached me. It was a woman in regular clothes.
"Did you pass any runners in distress?"
I paused, worried about those I had seen. "No. A few moving slow, but they seemed okay."
"Okay. Thanks." With that she moved on. I hoped that was just a curious inquiry rather than an attempt to track down someone who needed help. I did my own mental checklist. Still moving decently. Stomach okay. Mind okay. In fact, that same song from the morning (the one I didn't even really know) was still looping through even with all the music from Dutchman to replace it. GU Chomps and Honey Stinger chew intake was slightly more frequent than before but consistent, and my drinking was consistent. Hand were more normal looking, just a hair of swelling now.
I heard the cowbell before I saw the lights. I don't remember much about Long John Saddle, mile 74, because I was so distracted by the sky. We came out from the woods and onto a dirt road again, the moon and stars even brighter than before. A volunteer explained the next section, slight uphill on dirt road that very large industrial trucks could manage year round. That didn't give me much confidence, but I appreciated his zeal. I had some ginger ale and a few pieces of fruit. Or something like that. And with the road heading ever so slightly up I used my same hike-off-the-belly as before.
I tried to keep my pace at what felt like 4mph. During training I only run four days per week; the other three days are walking up and down hills on the way to/from work. I only had muscle memory of effort and cadence to gauge since I wore my basic, everyday Timex rather than my Garmin (the battery lasts 8h max). A couple pairs of fellas passed while I hiked. Sean and his pacer. Another guy I recognized and his pacer. So far I was okay with being pacer-less. Hadn't even considered the iPod, thanks to the random devil's dream in my mental stereo.
The road turned down and I began my trot/run/penguin waddle. Awkward for the first hundred feet or so, then starts to feel better. I passed each of the pairs, who were taking their own turns to walk. I probably could have turned off my headlamp and run by the moon since we were on dirt road, but I was worried about my tendency to trip over nothing and the few cars that passed en route to the next aid. The air alternated through warm and cool pockets. I ended up taking out my arm sleeves though keeping them doubled over on my forearms. At a later turn of the road I thought I saw a bright light coming from high up in the trees. Aid station? Did they hang a camp lantern from up high? Would be easy to do by throwing a rope over a branch, but it was impressively high. After the turn the light seemed to switch to the opposite side from what I had thought. Maybe the station is further away than I thought? Another turn, and the lantern became the moon and it moved over the road straight ahead. Ooookay. Does that count as my one hallucination? I ate another bunch of chews while tipping my hat to the Cheshire Cat.
Again, I heard the cow bell before I saw the light of Wagner Butte, mile 80.
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