Mason Dixon Longest Day Challenge 100k Run

Mason-Dixon Trail

Longest Day 100K Challenge

June 21, 2008

It took me a while to get this out because I wasn't sure what, or for whom, I should write. Do I spin my report of MDLD 2008 for the ultrarunners who might read it, which would mean getting out the maps, remembering where I was and when, what the trail conditions and challenges were at certain points, how my gear felt and functioned, how I performed physically….? Do I spin it for the less technical, spiritually inclined runner who gets off on the mental and emotional breakthroughs that long distances force….? Do I keep it clean, positive, and factual to preserve my integrity, or do I admit to the doubts and meltdowns….?

I decided my audience will be my friends and family, and that I will write the good and bad of what I want to remember, just in case I never get to do this again. What is that quote at the end of Hunt's emails: "Work like you don't need money, love like you've never been hurt, and dance like no one's watching." To that I would add, "Run like there's no end in sight." No end to the ability to run, no end to the journey, no end to the bliss.

I have multiple sclerosis, have had it for at least 13 years, and didn't really start owning up to it until February this year when I lost much of my clear vision in one eye because of it. There's lots to know about MS, but suffice it to say here that I am exceedingly lucky with my relapsing-remitting form because I'm not disabled. This makes life both easier and harder—easier because no one would ever know I have it so I don't get the weird looks or vibes that obviously disabled MS sufferers get, harder because people don't understand why, if I look and perform so well, I am sometimes so tired, numb, self-doubting, and anxious about the future.

Anyway, this silly running habit, it challenges my self-doubts, soothes the worries, probably preserves my strength, and, of course, satisfies my endorphin addiction…. so the longer the distance the better, right…? Enter MDLD (and HUMP the month before, my first ultra)!

Mental prep could fill a book because it's taken 18 years of running + the care and patience of family + the experience of friends and running groups to get me to this 100k point. So, on to the practical prep that started the week before MDLD: (1) Borrow head lamps from Fairy. (2) Buy/test Ultimate Direction Wasp hydration system (highly recommend). (3) Buy/break in new Brooks Cascadia trail shoes (highly recommend as long as your feet don't swell too much). (4) Compile manageable stashes of easy foods (sugar wafers, fig newtons, teddy grahams), energy sources (clif salt/caffeine bloks, vanilla/espresso gus), and electrolytes/salt (clif mix and succeed). (5) Buy/study the M-DTS maps.

The day before MDLD I am utterly freaked out by Trail Dawg e-chatter about proper training for this run, familiarity with the trails, notes on tricky parts from experienced runners.... Yes, I have the maps, and I have backpacking experience so can read them with reasonable confidence, but I can't fathom "learning" them well enough to run totally unfamiliar ground on my own. I know Margie says she'll run with me, but what if she doesn't for whatever reason? How will I fare solo in the woods in the dark with my vision the way it is?

The questions all come down to: What the hell am I doing? I wonder this at least two or three times A MINUTE all day Friday ….So I send Hunt and then Margie an email, subtly inviting them to tell me to stay home, overtly warning them that I can't possibly integrate all the info from maps and notes because I've never been on these trails, that because of my vision I shouldn't run alone, and I don't want to slow anybody down who might have to help me…. Hunt is smart enough not to answer. Margie assures me we'll have a blast and she'll teach me campfire songs…. That + conversations with Fairy, BFF, King Prick, Voyeur D, Rebel, Game Face, and Inspire (code names to protect the identities of my crew) finally bust me out of my mental heaviness and get me to Margie's house Friday night.

(Needless to say, I spend the afternoon studying the maps and incorporating all the notes and marking all the water stops because that is what an anxiety-ridden-overcompensator-who-does-not-want-to-look-like-an-ass DOES.)

THE DAY starts at 3:00 a.m. with me insisting that Margie's dog, Spicy, has stolen my socks. (Margie, I found them… at home.) A bad omen? No, no, everything will be fine, my feet will be just fine….. I brought my normal breakfast and coffee, so I cook and down all that. Hunt, Margie, and I leave on time, and 15 minutes out Hunt thinks he forgot his cell, so we race back to Margie's….Oh, nevermind, here it was the whole time between the seats… Bad omen? No, no, no, everything will be fine, there will be plenty of cell phones, plenty of support…. Besides, the lateness makes the drive all the more exciting, and who doesn't need a little adrenaline before a 62-mile run? I-95 this time, pedal to the metal, baby…. We get to truck stop in good time…. Laurie's waiting outside, coffee for Hunt and bathroom for me inside…. It's all good. On to the start.

At 5:37 a.m., Hunt says "Whenever you're ready, start running…." Oh, ok, calm and casual, here we go…. Dover Boys and Nate; Seth and Howard; and then Margie, me, Brigitte, and Laurie start jogging—that girl order will change up 18 times between now and mile 25 when Brigitte finishes her run with us.

No problems until Broad Creek Memorial Scout Reservation—trails are closed, so Flintville Road it is. Valley Forge training pays off for me, and I'm happy to be on open, sometimes hilly road, and finally able to find a comfortable pace. But is it a conservative enough pace? Did I mention this is my second ultra event, with my first being half the distance a month earlier? Oh, yes I did. So I'm wondering at this point just what exactly is a reasonable pace this early into in a 62-mile run? I've been warned not to go out too fast, to conserve and walk the uphills…. but my calves are killing me from HUMP, and walking just plain hurts.

True to Nate's predictions, we miss a couple turns around Peach Bottom (my fault… mental note, girls, never let half-blind chick lead the way….) Brigitte and I have great conversation on and off between there and Mile 25. I feel strong into and out of that stop, but I sense that Laurie and Margie are preoccupied, annoyed, or tired. We are at different points in our training. I'm rested and they are coming down from MMT 100 and Highlands (OMG). We are at different points in our distance running "careers." I'm clueless and nervous; they are experienced, confident. We have different reasons for doing MDLD. I wouldn't presume to know theirs, but I'm hoping to gain concrete evidence that distance running is for me, that I am capable of recovering from it without an MS relapse, and that I can put some big miles to good fundraising use someday.

Somewhere between Miles 25 and 38 (maybe 29?), Margie cuts me loose. I'm running well enough, and if I have a shot at The Challenge, I need to go try to catch Seth and Howard, she says. Though I'm having all kinds of doubts about my ability to see the blazes and read maps while running (good thing no gum-chewing involved)—and I'm nervous about the urge to run rather than walk some of the hills—off I go. And thereafter, I find my bliss. I am alone, self-reliant. I am not entertaining anyone. I am self-focused, formulating new meanings-of-life, writing a research paper, planning my MS run, defying everyone and everything and most of all my disease and my SELF. Yipeeeeeee!!!!

I catch up with Howard near a water stop manned by Gary. Howard's right foot wants to fall off, and he is looking to find a new one. If he finds one, I say, will he please keep his eye out for a left calf for me….? Howard goes ahead for a while, and I catch up with him on the island before Mile 38. We have trouble finding a blaze, so Howard checks left, and the black snake hanging from a tree tells him to go right, so we do. I jog ahead a bit, pass some hikers who wonder what we are doing, and after I tell them and they shake their heads, I wonder the same thing "What am I doing?" I'm not feeling confident by the time I get to Mile 38 aid.

Phil, I don't know you, but if I had the energy, I would throw my arms around you for giving me the potatoes and salt…. there is a pic of me mannerslessly shoving them into my mouth. It's funny how exhaustion and endorphins combine to bring on lacko-self-consciousness. The more depleted I get, the less I care who knows I can't see so well, who knows I'm scared shitless and very tired. I start whining at that Mile 38 stop, all but saying that I don't want to run alone anymore, hint, hint, hint. Ahhhh, Pete. He gets it. "Do you want company, Jen?" Hmmmm, let me think abo—YES! "But you have to not mind me not talking, Pete. I'm just not feeling like I can hold a conversation…." He says, "No prob…. Oh, and just in case you happen to see my watch while we're running, I'm not weird: ‘Jen' is also my wife's name….." His watch says "I love Jen." Awwwwww!!!

OMG, this giant of a man is an angel, and Jen (wife of Pete), you are one lucky woman. Pete maintains the perfect pace, distance, level of quiet. He starts running slowly after uphill walks, listens to see if I'm running again, stops if I'm not and keeps on if I am. We get to an open road section, and we do not go left into the shade. We go straight. Into the sun. Onto a sizzling road that looks like it will never end. I don't care. I can handle this challenge—I like elements. Give me rain, wind, snow, and hot hot hot sun. At least the ground is level for now, and I don't have to look down at my feet and concentrate so hard on not tripping. I don't need to see small stuff like blazes and rocks for a little while, so this is heavenly, and I speed up. I'm finally able and eager to talk, and Pete and I are in sync, so we discuss food and mindfulness and rock through the next few miles. Those 12 were the highlight of my day.

So now to the low lights. At Mile 50 stop, Pete says he's waiting for Margie, and Hunt is out hanging chem sticks in the woods…. Hmmmm, so that means I'm running the last 13ish on my own. Ok, that's not so far, but I remember something about the last stretch being tricky….. I'm tired, calf's hurting, and I want to go home, but I can handle this…. UNTIL Dave says, "Yeah, 13 miles… that'll take you about 5 more hours." THUNK. That's my brain flattening out and flipping over. No way. No way. Not 5 hours. The pics of me at that stop reveal lots about my inner talk.

Pete and Dave see my face (or maybe just hear my whining), and they start reframing the distance and time…. "Well, Jen, you just ran a great 12… I usually run this next section in 4.5 or 5, but you're faster and could maybe do it in 4.0 or 4.5…." says Pete. "Yeah………" says Dave (sorry Dave, everything after "5 hours" sounds like blah blah blah). Pete, Dave, and Roxanne try to explain the few places I might get confused on the trail, and I tell ya, absolutely none of what they advise sinks in. They may as well say "At the 3,475th rock, go left," because I just can't muster the mental energy to conjure up the imagination I need to figure out what the hell they are telling me I am in for! Roxanne walks with me away from the picnic table. I glumly ask her to point me in the right direction, and I convey in every type of language at my disposal, verbal and nonverbal, that I don't think I can do this. Even though I can't hear what she's saying, I'm sure she tells me I can.

Sorry, I know this has been long, and I'm almost done. To begin my report on the last section, I pose a koan: If a girl cusses alone in the woods, does she make any sound? An answer: Depends on whether she's got any bars on her cell phone.

I should backtrack a little to brag about how well fueled and cooled I am…. The heat is not affecting me, I think because I'm wearing a 10-year-old tank that doesn't know how to wick, and therefore the sweat (and yes, my stench) is staying on me, keeping me cool. I think I'm maintaining my sanity and my ability to run because I'm making myself take stuff in every hour, alternating clif caffeine bloks with gus, and clif salt bloks with salt tabs. So up to this point, I have felt mentally alert enough to think through some tough directional decisions on the trail, and I have not let myself go too far when unsure of the right way. I simply have not allowed myself to lose my direction, or my shit. At least not until now.

This creek crossing is my first out-loud cussing stint. I see Hunt's chem sticks even though it's not dark yet, so that's good, but I must've come at one of them from the wrong direction, because the trail keeps taking me immediately back across the creek. So I'm walking back and forth in the space of maybe 100 feet, in the creek, extremely pissed off and saying so. "Where am I supposed to go? Where am I supposed to go here? WHERE IS THE NEXT DAMN BLAZE?!" You can take it as a compliment or an insult, Hunt, that a relatively attractive woman is alone in the woods calling out your name. "OK, HUNT, I SEE THE STICKS, BUT IT'S NOT REALLY CLEAR HERE WHERE I'M SUPPOSED TO GO, OKAAAAY?" Pause now for a quick slip on a rock and a slamming of right shin down on same.… Karma. That's all it takes. Out come the tears and the f-bombs because surely my leg is broken and now I am just going to die. (Isn't it scary being inside my head?) I don't want to do this anymore.

After a couple minutes, it occurs to me that I may have come at that chem stick and blaze from the wrong direction, so I go what may be backwards, but it does kind of look like I haven't been there before… so I just go. If I'm going backwards (because you understand I now really don't know which side of the stupid creek I started out on….) I'll soon run into Margie.

Here's where I have to admit some mental decline. I am happy, having found my way out of that creekbed, don't care about the uphill I am doing here, and my read of the map tells me that the switchbacks that are going to take me DOWN will also somehow lead me OUT. I think I know on some level that this thought is delusional, because I put the map away and decide not to look at it again. I don't want to admit/know/believe I still have so far to go. So, when I get to the bottom of the switchbacks and a little farther on and look up and see nothing but SUSQUEHANNA RIVER beyond the trees, I kinda want to attach a few of the boulders I have been climbing TO MY FEET and jump in said river and be finally, completely, fatally done with this journey.

When I get within 5 feet of the river and meet a turn blaze that insists that I GO BACK UP THE VERY SAME FREAKING MOUNTAIN I JUST CAME DOWN (YES, IT WAS SO A MOUNTAIN I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU SAY), I retort "no I will not" and I refuse to find the next blaze. It is getting dark but not dark enough for the headlamp, and yes, the gray-time of evening is hard for me given my grayed-out left eye view, so finding the next faded blue blaze on a sapling just isn't going to happen, whether because of vision or denial is pretty much irrelevant. Now where is that goddam cell phone….

Oh, there it is…Oh look, my little girl texted me! Where are you Mommy, are you done yet Mommy, when will you be home Mommy? Yes, you know what's coming, right? Tears, cursing, and this time I have the cell phone in my hand. No I will not count to ten. Hunt is going to answer the phone and he is going to be nearby and he is going to run the rest of this cursed thing with me. Ummmm, ok, no he's not going to answer his phone, but he's gonna get one heck of a message…. Next on list: Margie. I'm so sorry, Margie. I think I spared Hunt the cussing and saved it for you. Margie's reassurance + Pete's certainty that he knows where I am = Ok, they'll be here in ten minutes so for goodness sake calm down. I sit and eat, compose myself, and feel justa bit silly about the cell phone calls….

I can begin summarizing the final nasty two hours by saying thank God Margie and Pete aren't interested in running anymore, because I need to save any turnover I have left for the last two road sections. And thank God it is dark and the headlamp is on, because I don't need to see anything but the two-foot circle in front of me lest I realize how tricky the terrain is and lose my balance due to tiredness and overthink. This will be a romp in the woods, I think. A power hike. And when Paul and then Dave and Roxanne show up, it almost feels like a party

When Roxanne says, "There's a car at the end of this stretch for anybody who needs it," I say, with just a tinge of resentment at the Mason-Dixon Trail System, that I am going to finish this blippity blankin thing if it kills me. Fantasies about pepperoni pizza and gingerale, instigated by Dave's mention of pizza, keep me inspired to finish. I formally decline the car when we get to it, and Paul and Roxanne say they'll run or walk me in. I don't want to walk this section, I say. I'm tired of walking and it still hurts to do so. But after ten minutes of running, if you can call it that, here we go again onto trail, where running just isn't possible for me anymore.

Talk about endorphins releasing the inhibitions, I think Roxanne and Paul know my favorite color, how many times a day I floss, and when I lost my virginity…. Just kidding, but I do tell them about my MS, about my hope to do some fundraising, about how important this run is for me. They understand, they are impressed, and they seem to genuinely care.

So here's the road again, and there's a light up there that's the finish, says Roxanne. We pass some small groups of people on the way. They are impressed, or maybe amused, at seeing three wingnuts running down the road with headlamps on, so they shout out. Paul clarifies "This woman has just run 100k" and I get hoots and hollers and clapping that, in my mind at that moment, rival those of Boston's Wellesley Girls.

The creases of the balls of my feet have waited until seconds before the finish to break apart, and there is pizza and gingerale and chips, and the people who helped me do this thing are there, and I can sit down now.

Just like after childbirth, when you swear you'll never do this again and wonder what the hell you were thinking when you turned off the lights 9 months ago—but then you go right ahead and do the deed again, and maybe even again… If I'm still upright, I'll see you next year.