photo courtesy of: http://runitfast.com/2011/10/10/heartland-100-mile-ultra-belt-buckle-2011/
There are certain experiences in life that create a clear sense of before and after. A new friendship, a marriage, the birth of a child, a death, a diagnosis, a change of career, a confession of faith or belief, are all the sorts of things that fundamentally alter life. Some life changing moments are welcome and some are not. Some are chosen and some are not.
Though it isn't altogether clear to me yet, I sense that I willingly chose to undergo such a life-altering experience this past weekend as I ran the Heartland 100 Spirit of the Prairie, a one hundred mile foot race through the Flint Hills of Kansas.
No, it doesn't compare to getting married, or the birth of my child, or the death of beloved ones in my life, however, it does feel as if something has fundamentally shifted for me having gone through this long journey on foot across the tallgrass prairie. In the last few days I seem to be looking at my life, and the life around me, a bit differently after having run a hundred miles.
I set this personal goal to run a 100 mile ultramarathon after having run a few 50-kilometer runs, and then one 50 mile trail run this past spring. I found that I enjoyed the challenge of these distances, especially when it meant moving on a trail through a beautiful landscape. My friend and former climbing partner, Trevor Hostetler, had described for me the particular challenges of running 100 miles and I was more than curious, I was compelled. So, I signed up for the Heartland.
The months of training were full of challenges as I worked to become more disciplined in managing my time and the many important callings of my life. Some things were sacrificed for the sake of running those miles. As with anything we set our hearts, minds and bodies to, we say a "yes" to something that inevitably implies saying "no" to some other things. I can only hope and pray it didn't mean sacrificing the quality of key relationships in my life. In fact, my sense is that the discipline and the running have helped make me more present to my work and my personal life on the whole. There is no way I could have done any of this without the understanding and support of family and community!
October 8th came much more quickly than I anticipated! It was a long, very hot summer for training and by the time September came to a close I was plagued with doubts as I packed and repacked drop bags and the extra gear and food for the crew vehicle: Have I trained enough? Am I prepared mentally for this challenge? What the heck was I thinking when I signed up for this? Though Trevor and other experienced ultrarunners counseled me that it was normal to feel this way before a first 100, it didn't make the anxiety feel any less consuming.
Gratefully, that anxiety quickly dissipated at 6AM on Saturday morning, October 8, on the outskirts of Cassoday, Kansas when race director Tony Clark said, "5, 4, 3, 2, 1, GO!," and more than 100 of us took our first steps off into the pre-dawn darkness. Suddenly things got very simple: run, walk, drink, eat, enjoy the scenery and camaraderie, pay attention to the moment at hand.
The first leg of the run, from Cassoday to the aid station at Battle Creek, went by quickly on mostly flat, well-maintained gravel roads. I enjoyed running this leg of the run with Adam Monaghan (we'd shared some miles at other events before this) and Steve Baker, both of Wichita. We had great conversation, and I benefited from Adam's experience running the Heartland several times before.
The second leg of the run, from Battle Creek to Lapland aid station, took us to the 16.8 mile point. This is a beautiful section of rolling hills that I thoroughly enjoyed on the way out and occasionally cursed on the way back in (Heartland is an out and back course). I arrived in Lapland around 9:00AM and tried to maintain efficient aid station stops with a six minute stop for fluids and some food. Coming out of Lapland the route drops down into one of the only groves of trees on the very exposed prairie course of the Heartland 100. I enjoyed that brief moment passing through the woods before starting a long climb back onto the hilltops.
Teeterville aid station, at mile 25, marked the quarter-of-the-way milestone in the run. I arrived here at 10:36AM, still feeling strong and relaxed. I enjoyed a few more brief moments with my wonderful crew - who at this point consisted of my wife, Yolanda, and my son, Noah - before heading toward Texaco Hill. The miles to Texaco included a significant climb which my legs seemed to enjoy at this point and I was eager to reach that high point on the course. I felt like my overall pace was good, though on the faster edge of where I had planned to be.
Teeterville aid station, at mile 25, marked the quarter-of-the-way milestone in the run. I arrived here at 10:36AM, still feeling strong and relaxed. I enjoyed a few more brief moments with my wonderful crew - who at this point consisted of my wife, Yolanda, and my son, Noah - before heading toward Texaco Hill. The miles to Texaco included a significant climb which my legs seemed to enjoy at this point and I was eager to reach that high point on the course. I felt like my overall pace was good, though on the faster edge of where I had planned to be.
By this point the wind had significantly picked up. When I reached the Texaco Hill aid station (mile 31.2), we were experiencing up to 40 m.p.h. gusts that were alternately at our backs and at our sides. Thankfully, it was a rare moment to turn into them head on. Something in me savored the wind at this point. After all, what kind of Flint Hills run would it be if the wind didn't howl? It just wouldn't be quite right! At the same time, there was that little voice in the back of my mind that said, "And what do you think the return trip might be like? Oooof!"
The five and a half miles from Texaco Hill aid station to the Ridgeline aid station remain at a higher elevation (relatively speaking for Kansas) so the wind continued to howl for these miles and the temperatures were well into the 80s (not sure what the high was for the day). It was a recipe for dehydration and I was realizing at this point in the afternoon that I had not paused for a roadside break for a number of hours. Time to keep drinking and drinking! Given the dehydration I was also concerned about cramping muscles. I had gone into the race with a somewhat tight IT band on my left side that was creating tightness in my hip. I knew it would cause me some pain, I just hoped not too much. I felt it a bit at this point in the race but gratefully not too much. I kept drinking and taking my electrolyte tabs. Most of my calories up to this point were coming in the form of gels and Perpetuem drink mix, along with bananas and pb&j at the aid stops.
I was glad to see my crew at Ridgeline since they did not have access to Texaco Hill. According to my wife's helpful records I reached Ridgeline at 12:55 and left at 1:07. The slightly longer aid stop was due to pausing to tape up two blisters. They were small and in non-weight bearing parts of my feet. They would be the only blisters I would get the entire run.
Following Ridgeline the course makes an overall descent into the aid station at Matfield Green (42.4 miles). I reached Matfield aid at 2:19 still feeling relatively strong and in a good mental place. Legs were feeling some fatigue but still plenty strong. The significant milestone of the 50 mile turnaround felt tantalizingly close! I spent five minutes at the aid station at Matfield Green, making sure I had what I needed for the 15.2 miles I would need to run out to the turnaround and back before seeing my crew again. If I remember correctly, this was the point at which I started to enjoy the soups at the aid stations. I learned that I LOVE soup during an ultra - especially potato soup! It settles well and it packs some good salts and calories.
For me the run out to Lone Tree (mile 50 turnaround) was a unique mental hurdle. That turnaround represented a major milestone for me. It was the farthest I had run up to this point and I knew that once I reached it, every step beyond it would mark the farthest I had ever run. No small thing. In fact, a very, very big thing!
I also knew that Eric Steele, the awesome race director of the Flatrock 25K/50K runs in Independence, KS, would be running the Lone Tree aid station. I love Eric's energy and passion and I knew that he would be a great boost once I got there.
I began the run to Lone Tree by myself, which I preferred at this stage. Most of my running is done on my own and I enjoy the time to reflect and simply find a flow with the rhythms of body and mind. I was glad that I had not reached for the headphones to this point (I never did listen to music on this run) and I simply tried to pay attention to what was going on with my body and the landscape: steady breath, power walk the hills, run the downs, steady breath, pain, wind, drink, eat, steady breath . . .
At some point I noticed that the HUGE cellular tower marking the halfway point between Matfield and Lone Tree kept looming in the distance. It looked close, and yet remained elusive. I got fixated and frustrated by it, knowing that at its base were a couple of jugs of water I could take advantage of to refill my handheld bottles to go the next four miles to Lone Tree.
Gratefully, somewhere in here I reconnected with Adam who helped take my mind off the silly tower and move it back to the beautiful landscape. I shifted back into a place of rhythm and enjoyment, appreciating once again some advice from a seasoned Heartland runner.
It was during this leg that we began to be passed by runners in the lead group coming back from the turnaround, most of them looking plenty strong. I didn't keep a close count but I knew that Adam and I were somewhere in the top 20 runners.
Adam and I reached the Lone Tree aid station after nine hours and fifty minutes of running. My only other 50 mile trail run was done in 10:00:17, so I suppose this was a PR. I knew that if I came into the turnaround under ten hours I should be checking in to be sure that I was feeling good and didn't need to hold back a bit. I felt good overall, tired from 50 miles of running of course, but reasonably good all things considered. No need to back off.
As expected, Eric Steele had a great aid station. He greeted us with cowbells and his big smile. Then he introduced us to his smorgasbord created in a deep fat fryer that was hard at work: taquitos, pizza rolls, fried wings, and so much more! It looked good but something in me knew that if I ate fried food it would make a quick exit. I wasn't nauseous but my stomach told me that it would tolerate only certain things. After some more banana, pb&j, and one taquito I took off with Adam, and Eric said: "Eric, you're lookin' way too good for having run 50 miles. You'd better pick up the pace buddy!" It was a great confidence booster. I know I didn't look great, and I certainly knew that it would be stupid to significantly pick up my pace, but I felt his encouragement and positive energy. It was what I needed.
Adam and I ran together a relatively enjoyable 7.6 miles back to Matfield Green and my crew. For this leg I felt inspiration from the company, the awareness that each step was a milestone, and the excitement that at Matfield I would meet an expanded crew that would include friends who would serve as my pacers for the journey home. Adam and I passed many runners going the other way and the greetings included: "Great job!" "You're lookin' strong!" "Way to go!" I certainly felt the fatigue and the pain of tired legs and feet, but the completion of this run suddenly seemed very realistic.
I returned to Mattfield Green at 5:30PM and loved running into the aid station with my son Noah and his friend Kate. Kate's father, Kevin Sebes, would be my first pacer of the race. This aid stop was my longest since it included a planned change of clothing, socks, shoes, and hydration system. I checked feet and was glad to see they still looked good. Key word: looked. The way they felt was an entirely different matter at this point!
During my extended stop, Adam continued on along with a couple of other runners. I noted that this did not bother me. In fact, throughout the race I never felt an urge to catch the runners in front of me and I never felt bothered when others passed me. This was something very different from my reactions in shorter, faster races and I felt grateful that this shift seemed to happen very naturally. I didn't want to deal with the anxiety of racing against anyone for this event! My first goal was to finish and my second goal was to finish under 24 hours. I didn't care where I came in compared to others.
Kevin was a great pacer for the leg from Matfield Green to Ridgeline. The six miles went very fast for me as we kept a steady, metronomic rhythm of power hiking the rises and running the descents and flats. I was surprised how quickly Ridgline aid station arrived.
After some more soup and other calories - I think this is where I finally reached into the bag of powdered sugar "Donettes"! - I was ready to go on. Russ Neufeld served as my pacer for this next double-leg from Ridgeline, through Texaco Hill aid station, to Teeterville aid station. This is when night fell on the prairies and the cloud cover was heavy with moisture. Rain showers were steady for the better part of two hours and we got a good soaking. The gravel track between Ridgeline and Texaco has quite a bit of clay-type soil that's exposed, so shoes got pretty gummed up and heavy at times. We were grateful when we eventually descended out of Texaco Hill aid station and found our way onto some more solid trail/road that was less muddy.
Russ, too, was an awesome pacer, helping carry on great conversation, giving encouragement, and checking in periodically to be sure I was taking in liquids and calories. It was two days after the run I would find out that his IT band was tight through all but the last few miles of this 12-mile leg and causing him significant pain in his knee. Proof that those Canadian hockey players are pretty tough!
Russ and I arrived back at Teeterville (mile 74.9) and rejoined the crew at 9:55PM. It was a ten minute aid stop this time, slightly longer than the average because I wanted to change my top layers since I had gotten pretty wet. I slipped on a fresh long sleeve shirt, tied a dry shell around my waist in case the rain picked up again, ate more potato soup, slapped on more Chamois Butter (a.k.a. "butt butter" among cyclists) to protect against chafing, and carried on. Kevin was once again my pacer for this next 8.2 mile section to Lapland station.
I left Teeterville with a growing sense of confidence that indeed I was going to complete this adventure. I was weary and hurting, but 25 miles felt doable one way or another. I reminded myself that this would likely take a good solid 6 hours at my now slowed average pace, but I was still able to maintain my run/walk pattern in the hills and figured this was a good indication I would finish upright!
I honestly remember few details about those last 25 miles. From the leg to Lapland with Kevin I remember noticing that I grew annoyed with the dancing light of Kevin's handheld flashlight. I tried to look elsewhere, but it was hard! Soon it was getting me a little motion sick so I asked Kevin to turn it off and we were fine running by our headlamps. I remember that leg having more hills than it did when I was outbound earlier in the day. Where did these come from? Where is that big downhill and the nice grove of trees that signals Lapland approaching? I thought I was there at one point, only to realize we were still an hour or so away.
These are the sorts of moments when you simply have to accept what is going on and where you are. I knew it wouldn't help to get ahead of myself, or to wish I could be in any different sort of place. This is where I was, this is what I had chosen, and this, too, was a unique experience of the run. 'Accept it and live it fully, Eric!' I reminded myself.
Often in these moments of regrouping my mind and heart there were quiet prayers that would arise, often simple thoughts of gratitude for all that was making this possible. I was reminded that there are very deep wells within each of us that we can draw from, and they enable us to live and be in ways we might not have imagined or expected we could. There is energy and Presence that feeds us in each moment that is far beyond all that is stored in our muscles, our brains, or our emotional worlds.
Lapland aid station (mile 83.1) marked my final aid station to see the crew, and the point at which I would pick up my final pacer, Brad Guhr, who would run with me the final 16.9 miles to the finish line. My mind was in a very solid place at this point, even though I knew my body was beginning to break down. I felt no doubts, no questions about finishing, no reservations about having chosen this journey. I recall feeling a sense of calm, confidence and gratefulness - gratefulness especially for these people who were spending a sleepless night helping me with this effort. Amazing! None of us can ever say 'thank you' enough to the beloved ones in our lives who help us every day, in ways great and small!
During those last 17 miles I think I gradually moved deeper into myself, knowing I needed to do this to finish. I talked less than before, and Brad seemed to sense the times for conversation and for quiet. Brad is a gifted naturalist who knows the prairie intimately. I enjoyed it when he would point things out, and voice his appreciation for things like a coyote's yelp or the parting clouds that were gradually revealing a bright moon and stars. He helped draw my attention back to the incredible beauty of the prairie and how it was being revealed on this cool, humid moonlit night. This is why I chose the Flint Hills for my first 100: the prairie has been my home for the last 12 years, it has surprised me with its grandeur, and it is one of the most powerful, vulnerable landscapes I have ever known.
Another joy about running these closing miles with Brad is that he was coming off a very long year of recovery from knee surgery to repair a torn meniscus and ligaments. He had only returned to regular running a couple months ago. We ran the Flatrock 25K together and his knee did well there, so he committed to the pacing duties as well. I won't be surprised if I am returning the pacing favor some time in the very near future!
Well, suffice it to say, my deepest depths were reached in the final 8 miles after we left Battle Creek aid station. I did not help matters by backing off on my calorie intake during this time. I think I was getting a bit of "finish line fever" and forgetting that at this stage of the race, 8 miles would take about two hours. I was able to maintain a power-hike pace at my slowest moments (probably about 15-16 min. mile pace) and up until the final four miles I could periodically shift to a 12 min./mi. jog on the downhills and flats. In those last few miles, however, I lost that ability to shift the gear into the jog. I decided to hold the power walking for a few miles so that I could at least save my last vestiges of energy to jog in the final mile.
I noticed a cramp starting in my neck and soon it was difficult to hold my head up easily. I knew my body was really beginning to break down. The pains that had been there and gone throughout the day were ALL there at this point. I looked at my watch and did a double-take at one moment, as I realized that I was not only going to break 24 hours, but that I was likely going to come in under 23 hours unless things went really wrong.
Brad kept giving great encouragement as we tried to keep a brisk walk. He was incredibly helpful in keeping my attention focused on what was most important. He reminded me more than once what an incredible gift it was to do something like this, to set a challenge for myself, to prepare for it in the way I did, and then to see it through. He knew just what to say.
I should add here that when you come in to the final miles of the Heartland you see the lights of Cassoday (if you come in during the dark hours) or the tower of Cassoday (if you come in during the light hours) for MILES. It seems as if you are only a mile away when you are still miles and perhaps even hours out. I had to work hard not to get over-fixated on them as I had the cell tower at the turnaround. Be here, be now, in this moment . . . .
Finally, we reached the final turn, onto the final road, and the final 1/2 mile to the finish. It was amazing. It wasn't tough at all for my legs to find a jogging pace now. Brad and I exchanged words of gratitude for having shared this experience together and I felt a growing surge of emotions as I saw the shadowed forms of people and dancing headlamps and flashlights marking the finish area.
Suddenly I remembered that Yolanda and Noah had given me a small blue light to attach to my race belt so that at night they could tell it was me coming into the aid stations. I had turned it off earlier so that Brad and I could better enjoy the moonlight, but now I turned it on in the hope that they would see me coming. I fumbled with it for a moment, then got it on, and as soon as it lit I swore I could hear some louder yells coming from the finish line 1/4 mile away.
I crossed the line at 22 hours and 36 minutes, the 14th of what would be 69 finishers. It was an amazing feeling to know that I was done; I didn't have to run any further. There were tears and smiles and joyful greetings shared with so many great folks and fellow runners who had finished before me. What a strange gathering at 4:30AM on a Sunday morning on the outskirts of a small prairie town in Kansas!
We lingered for an hour or so in the finish area to welcome in more runners, including Adam and Steve who crossed the line together just a few minutes after I did. Some of the finishers were the 50-mile runners who began their race at 6PM on Saturday and others were part of the 100-mile event. It was incredible to watch each person finish their own journey at the finish line. A powerful, emotional place to be.
I still had a few more lessons to learn after the finish line. I learned the hard way that it is very important to take on a healthy amount of post-race fluids and calories to help your body on its way to rebalancing itself. I did not eat or drink enough before going home and crawling in bed. When I awoke later in the morning and hobbled (oh the pain of the first day of recovery!!) into the bathroom, I proceeded to pass out on the floor. It gave me and Yolanda a pretty good scare but after more fluids and food I was feeling better.
Now, several days later, most of the muscle soreness is gone. The hip remains tight and I know I will need to lay off running for a while yet and do other low-impact activities until everything is healed. I see the silver belt buckle (the traditional award for finishing a 100-miler) and race bib number sitting on the shelf in our house and feel both thankful and inspired. Yes, I hope to do another 100-miler, perhaps in the mountains of Oregon, Washington, or Colorado that I love so much. I also expect to return to the Heartland, perhaps as a runner, perhaps as a volunteer, perhaps both. Who knows.
For now I know I love to run. I love the simplicity of moving on my own feet, by my own power, through beautiful landscapes, for long distances. I love doing this alone and, as I was reminded at the Heartland, I love doing this with amazing people. I sense it enriches my life and deepens my attention to all that is right here and right now.
This journey has taught me much about remaining open and receptive to life, without trying to resist or control what I have no control over. It is truly amazing what is possible when we choose to simply be present to whatever challenges lay before us - chosen or unchosen - with Love.
