Run Rabbit Run 100, A Finish to Cherish
I didn’t want to get out of the warm sleeping bag. Â The rain was sleeting on the windshield and the muted sounds of Roch and JB discussing my fate were only vaguely registering as the morning light filtered into the car. Â I had been there, at mile 75, for a long, long time. I looked at my watch, trying to do the math. It took around 17 hours to run those 75 miles, but my Garmin was showing around 19.5 hours at this point. Â Â The waves of nausea were seemingly less severe and the soreness from my destroyed quads were all I could feel anymore. Â “Jen, suffering this much sucks, but not finishing is going to hurt more.” Roch said. Â I could only nod, but I was certain a DNF in this case would be more than okay. I hadn’t had many calories since mile 50, puking the rest of my stomach’s contents right then and there, when I came in to get aid at 75. I felt a bit out of it no doubt. So, I put my head down to give in, to find a way out. Â But something felt wrong about doing that. Â Roch’s wisdom worked it’s way into me and I too, knew the sting of a DNF and the mental destruction it would create. Â I sat back up. Â Certainly, I had lost the race, but I hadn’t lost the finish. Â Slowly I started to get my head around the idea of walking. Â Walking all day long. “Okay,” I said, ” I don’t know how I’m going to do this,but I will.” Â After doing some math, Roch figured I had nearly 10 hours to get the 29 miles done. Â He told me it was only 25 miles at the time, as we all knew the course was long and I didn’t figure out that sneaky trick till much later. Â I couldn’t run anymore- but I could shuffle and I could crawl and I could get there somehow. Â After a few bites of bacon and some broth that stayed down finally, I began to get my head right. Â I wiped my face off, put on my shoes again and JB and Roch pulled me out of the car into the rain. Â Hello Jen, meet your soul. Â You two will get real close today.
The next 7.5 miles were all uphill. Â JB and Roch walked me up for a bit and got me smiling again, giving me those parting words I would chew on for the next 9.5 hours. “What else am I going to do today anyway,” I shouted out as I began to walk ahead. Â Roch found a piece of course tape and put it in my pack and told me I owed him that at the finish. Â I laughed and then cried a bit and then I was by myself again for another day in the Colorado mountains.
Time to reflect on what had happened today. A lot of time. Â It was as simple as a stream of ups and downs but with no calories to make it all work. Â I raced hard and was having a great time in the rain, the lightening storms, the falling over 3 ski jumps as I got lost at mile 41, the moving up to striking position when I was 7th, to cruising down glorious ridgeline singletrack, to singing “This heart of mine,” by the Wailin Jenny’s as loud as I could at night to scare off bears…. Â All of these, were piercing memories of a glorious day in the mountains. Â Some of it running fast, some of it at a miserably slow pace. Â But none of that really mattered. I was here and had a long way to go. Â I was able to chat with the others left on the course, everyone able to smile and laugh and push through the pain. Â I got to see panoramic views where it seemed heaven was crashing into the mountains with bursts of cloud and rain and peaks of sun. Â I saw two elk running right towards me, just to head across the trail and out of sight at the last second. Â I thought about my hip hurting, wanting to lay down and sleep, my daughter, my mother, and just about everyone else in my family. Â I thought about my friends whose unborn child was about to be born. Â I walked slow, but I walked lightly, enjoying the miles for what they were. Â As I got to the last aid station with all of it being downhill and 6 miles to go, I watched others find their downhill legs and begin to run. Â I tried to run, but realized I had just encountered the worst of the course as my quads couldn’t take the steep grade. Â I wasn’t sure if I would make the cut off so I found this little shuffle that seemed to get me to a speedy 17 minute mile and worked hard to keep that going. Â The very last steep downhill, which was on a grassy slope of the ski hill, I actually had to slide down on my behind to get down as I kept stumbling from my legs giving out. Â It was time to be done.
And as I crested the last hill,almost 29:30 hours after I began, and limped it in to the finish (my right hip and SI joint couldn’t point forward any more), I felt tons of love from my fellow racers (many whom had slept and ate several meals by the time I came rolling in), my crew, my teammates, and my hubby.  No, I didn’t have the race I am capable of, but  I had the race I was supposed to that day.  Getting hugs, a buckle and a mug full of beer, I felt as good as my 100 mile win this year, no kidding.  Truly euphoric, completely destroyed, but my soul content with the honest effort.  I got to see and feel another dimension of this sport.  And though I have yet to nail that big stage 100 mile race, I added a much needed wheel in the cog.   Frankly, I am excited by the idea that my grit meter is working so well.  The speed is in there somewhere, but I need to be more patient.  Not so much racing, seasonal breaks, and putting some hay back in the barn.  I’ve been a bit threadbare for a while.
I am super impressed by my teammates! Congrats Jason Schlarb for a stellar time and win, and Karl Meltzer, who truly is a champion of this sport.
Thank you crew, Roch Horton and JB Benna. Â Love you both.
Thank you Hoka One One, GU energy, Drymax socks, Vespa and PT lights. Â A huge thank you to Coach Ian Torrence who is helping me go back to the drawing board.
Now its time for a break. Â Not from running, from racing:)
