This report is going to get some additional views from those who might not be all that familiar with my race recaps. They typically are less about the run and more about what I have learned about myself by tapping into some pain that is only achievable through feats of endurance/ridiculousness. The Leadville Race Series and for me specifically the Leadville SilverRush 50 Mile Run was my humbling of choice. The most breathtaking, awe-inspiring run I have ever been on in my life. It really is like racing across the sky. Here is a link to the google images page for the Leadville 50. At one point I am standing at 12,400 feet feeling like I am invincible and lighting the fuse (putting on GirlTalk) to blaze down the descent, and two hours later I am cursing the race director and this wicked little uphill they put in right before the turn-around at Stumptown. Sons of bitches. That was my nail in the preverbial coffin. Sons of bitches.
The race starts at 6am which is cold in Leadville, Colorado. I come from where people without window units are dying or Kansas City. I like running in the extremes but I also like practicing in the extremes which makes challenging conditions not as bad. Preparing for how the altitude will affect you, if you have never ran that far or high before is difficult. People talk about their breathing struggles. At one point a dude next to me on the run is putting in his ear phones and I say, "what are you going to jam to?" and he says, "anything but my breathing." For him that was no joke. He was laboring and I could hear him very easily. On the other hand my breathing was measured and like a Sunday morning and remained so the entire length I was committed.
Here is how the altitude hit me. You get the first ten miles of a long gradual climb to the first 12K summit. I was power-hiking/walking/hiking the vast majority of the climbs. Much like everyone else who's not a former Olympian. I didn't have a plan, which is typical, I would advise having one. I don't have a watch either but other people do so it forces you to meet people and gets your mind off what hurts. Fortunately, I made friends with a demo-pilot for BeechCraft out of Wichita and basically latched on with him, started a conversation and followed a sound strategy for the first ten miles. The tall Swede esstentially coached me up the first climb. It was smart too. You need to conserve energy early because the climb out of Stumptown and back to Printer Boy are brutal. BRUTAL. It pitch black out and you are in your car stuck in a ditch with the water rising slowly around you. Your seat belt is stuck and you hit your throat on the steering wheel and can't yell. All the while a car is stopped at the top of the road with a guy out with a flashlight looking around because he saw skids mark leading to the side of the road. The water is getting higher, your hands are slick and you can't unlock the door, the flashlight keeps shining just to the side and front of the car. Then the water starts to cover your mouth and nose and you take a deep breath. Just at that moment the guy with the flashlight sees you and races down to help. Problem is he can't get the door open; it's locked and he can't open it against the wall of the water. He finds a giant rock and slams it against the window but the rock breaks and you slowly start to fade to black. Just as you think it's all over the windows bust out where the rock had cracked it and the water rushes free. The man who came to your aid pulls you out but you aren't breathing, luckily he is able to run up to his car and happens to have a defibrillator in the back. (he works for Cintas Safety) As he rushes down to help you, you see the bright lights and hosts of angels, he works to hook up the panels and gets everything straight, hits the button and nothing. The battery is dead from the class he got done teaching earlier that day at a workshop for Leadville First Responders working the aid stations the next day at the Leadville 50. You die. BRUTAL! So that section is pretty tough.
What happens to me at altitude is mostly nutritional and hydration challenges. It takes my body a few weeks to get actually "normal" once I'm out there. For this trip I gave it two days. It's weird. I drink tons of water but it never seems like enough. I don't pee enough or crap enough. I have a hard time eating and lose my appetite. In turn, what happens is I start to get cramps which are the death of me on races this long. Mistake number one harkens back to the weather. I started with gloves, arm sleeves, long sleeve shirt, tights, and neck wrap or balaclava not be mistaken for a baklava which is delicious. Mind you it's 40*F at the start of the race. That's pretty cold and I want to be prepared for all conditions. It's also in the low 50*'s at the top of the summits (12K) which you hit four times in this run. All around you are dudes wearing short shorts, with no shirts and Grizzly Man beards. It seems that shorts and a t-shirt are a much more appropriate attire than my garb that day. After the race my Dad mentioned that at the Printer Boy aid station at mile 13.5 or so that I looked great, barely sweating. He said most guys were pouring sweat and glistening. I remember thinking as I was passing dudes on the downhill that I was not sweating like the rest of the guys around me but I felt outstanding. I ate a half a peanut butter and jelly and had another gel, I usually eat one an hour, and headed down the trail for some more speed. By the time I got to mile 16 or 17 I remember thinking, "I don't think I'm going to finish it." From positive to negative in three miles. I was cramping all over my legs and it felt like my calves were actually bubbling inside. Talk about a weird sensation, followed by cramps in my neck and back which made me think about the movie Friday, "oh my neck, oh my back, oh my neck and my back".
The run down into Stumptown is hard and makes every other downhill you have done pretty tame. It's also so damn disheartening because you realize at that point you have to go back up it again. I just kept thinking and doubting myself with the doubter screaming, "holy shit, you have to hike up that again, and you feel like this already. You will never make it. If you do it will be over the time limit. Just give up and quit. It's not worth it." Being manhandled by doubt my tiny mental supporter is pushed further and further into the dark recess of my brain meekly yelling, "you commit not to quit! You can do this. The cramps will pass. Emily is going to be pissed." Until finally, that mental support is squashed out by the desire to end the pain and you quit. For me that's usually long before I stop running. I quit at mile 19 or 20 at the end of the second climb to 12K. I didn't stop running until the halfway point at Stumptown. An expensive long run that I would never take back in a million years.
I should have worn shorts and a t-shirt. You warm up fast. When my old man mentioned I didn't look like I was sweating I should have noticed that as well. He told me that after the race and when you looked at my clothes you could see white salt lines all over the front and back of my shirt, tights, front and back in places that I never get salt deposits. You see I was sweating like the rest of those guys you just couldn't tell. Plus, my body couldn't tell either. The relief you get from sweat evaporating was being trapped inside and I was getting hotter and hotter while my body was sweating more and more. I needed to lose the tights and long sleeve shirt and it would have been the oasis I was searching for. Secondly, why the hell did I eat the PB&J? I never eat like that and why I picked the first third of a moutain race to start is beyond me. Part of it was because I was really freaking hungry from not eating much at all for breakfast and knowing I need something for the second half. About three miles after eating it I threw it up. That provided some temporary relief until the cramps kicked in full bore.
I'm hot, cramping, thirsty but I'm carrying water, doubting myself and trying to just shuffle down the descents all the while thinking that I can't even run down the mountains. What the hell just happened? Running happened. I just had the best 25 mile run of my life. Next to playing with my children, nothing is as magical as being on top of a mountain while you soak up the brilliance of the giant sun, surrounded by the bluest sky imaginable. All for $100 bucks and they have snacks. I had conversation about running with a bunch of new Facebook Friends and had about a five hour conversation with God. Running that race is the closet thing to being in church and actually feeling like I belong. I believe in this. Humbling, providing clarity into how I fit into this massive universe. How insignificant and tiny we really are but yet the dichotomy of how little old me can take one step and then another step and we can make even the greatest of feats achievable.
I started running to finish. Then I ran to go fast. Next, I ran to go new places. Now, I run because I believe in it.
So to recap, this race is hard as hell. Have a plan, eat, drink, dress, and rest right. Then, look around and be amazed that somehow your life has worked out and you are standing on the top of a mountain, wearing shorts, doing something you love, surrounded by an indescribable natural gifts and lucky to be alive.
The race starts at 6am which is cold in Leadville, Colorado. I come from where people without window units are dying or Kansas City. I like running in the extremes but I also like practicing in the extremes which makes challenging conditions not as bad. Preparing for how the altitude will affect you, if you have never ran that far or high before is difficult. People talk about their breathing struggles. At one point a dude next to me on the run is putting in his ear phones and I say, "what are you going to jam to?" and he says, "anything but my breathing." For him that was no joke. He was laboring and I could hear him very easily. On the other hand my breathing was measured and like a Sunday morning and remained so the entire length I was committed.
Here is how the altitude hit me. You get the first ten miles of a long gradual climb to the first 12K summit. I was power-hiking/walking/hiking the vast majority of the climbs. Much like everyone else who's not a former Olympian. I didn't have a plan, which is typical, I would advise having one. I don't have a watch either but other people do so it forces you to meet people and gets your mind off what hurts. Fortunately, I made friends with a demo-pilot for BeechCraft out of Wichita and basically latched on with him, started a conversation and followed a sound strategy for the first ten miles. The tall Swede esstentially coached me up the first climb. It was smart too. You need to conserve energy early because the climb out of Stumptown and back to Printer Boy are brutal. BRUTAL. It pitch black out and you are in your car stuck in a ditch with the water rising slowly around you. Your seat belt is stuck and you hit your throat on the steering wheel and can't yell. All the while a car is stopped at the top of the road with a guy out with a flashlight looking around because he saw skids mark leading to the side of the road. The water is getting higher, your hands are slick and you can't unlock the door, the flashlight keeps shining just to the side and front of the car. Then the water starts to cover your mouth and nose and you take a deep breath. Just at that moment the guy with the flashlight sees you and races down to help. Problem is he can't get the door open; it's locked and he can't open it against the wall of the water. He finds a giant rock and slams it against the window but the rock breaks and you slowly start to fade to black. Just as you think it's all over the windows bust out where the rock had cracked it and the water rushes free. The man who came to your aid pulls you out but you aren't breathing, luckily he is able to run up to his car and happens to have a defibrillator in the back. (he works for Cintas Safety) As he rushes down to help you, you see the bright lights and hosts of angels, he works to hook up the panels and gets everything straight, hits the button and nothing. The battery is dead from the class he got done teaching earlier that day at a workshop for Leadville First Responders working the aid stations the next day at the Leadville 50. You die. BRUTAL! So that section is pretty tough.
What happens to me at altitude is mostly nutritional and hydration challenges. It takes my body a few weeks to get actually "normal" once I'm out there. For this trip I gave it two days. It's weird. I drink tons of water but it never seems like enough. I don't pee enough or crap enough. I have a hard time eating and lose my appetite. In turn, what happens is I start to get cramps which are the death of me on races this long. Mistake number one harkens back to the weather. I started with gloves, arm sleeves, long sleeve shirt, tights, and neck wrap or balaclava not be mistaken for a baklava which is delicious. Mind you it's 40*F at the start of the race. That's pretty cold and I want to be prepared for all conditions. It's also in the low 50*'s at the top of the summits (12K) which you hit four times in this run. All around you are dudes wearing short shorts, with no shirts and Grizzly Man beards. It seems that shorts and a t-shirt are a much more appropriate attire than my garb that day. After the race my Dad mentioned that at the Printer Boy aid station at mile 13.5 or so that I looked great, barely sweating. He said most guys were pouring sweat and glistening. I remember thinking as I was passing dudes on the downhill that I was not sweating like the rest of the guys around me but I felt outstanding. I ate a half a peanut butter and jelly and had another gel, I usually eat one an hour, and headed down the trail for some more speed. By the time I got to mile 16 or 17 I remember thinking, "I don't think I'm going to finish it." From positive to negative in three miles. I was cramping all over my legs and it felt like my calves were actually bubbling inside. Talk about a weird sensation, followed by cramps in my neck and back which made me think about the movie Friday, "oh my neck, oh my back, oh my neck and my back".
The run down into Stumptown is hard and makes every other downhill you have done pretty tame. It's also so damn disheartening because you realize at that point you have to go back up it again. I just kept thinking and doubting myself with the doubter screaming, "holy shit, you have to hike up that again, and you feel like this already. You will never make it. If you do it will be over the time limit. Just give up and quit. It's not worth it." Being manhandled by doubt my tiny mental supporter is pushed further and further into the dark recess of my brain meekly yelling, "you commit not to quit! You can do this. The cramps will pass. Emily is going to be pissed." Until finally, that mental support is squashed out by the desire to end the pain and you quit. For me that's usually long before I stop running. I quit at mile 19 or 20 at the end of the second climb to 12K. I didn't stop running until the halfway point at Stumptown. An expensive long run that I would never take back in a million years.
I should have worn shorts and a t-shirt. You warm up fast. When my old man mentioned I didn't look like I was sweating I should have noticed that as well. He told me that after the race and when you looked at my clothes you could see white salt lines all over the front and back of my shirt, tights, front and back in places that I never get salt deposits. You see I was sweating like the rest of those guys you just couldn't tell. Plus, my body couldn't tell either. The relief you get from sweat evaporating was being trapped inside and I was getting hotter and hotter while my body was sweating more and more. I needed to lose the tights and long sleeve shirt and it would have been the oasis I was searching for. Secondly, why the hell did I eat the PB&J? I never eat like that and why I picked the first third of a moutain race to start is beyond me. Part of it was because I was really freaking hungry from not eating much at all for breakfast and knowing I need something for the second half. About three miles after eating it I threw it up. That provided some temporary relief until the cramps kicked in full bore.
I'm hot, cramping, thirsty but I'm carrying water, doubting myself and trying to just shuffle down the descents all the while thinking that I can't even run down the mountains. What the hell just happened? Running happened. I just had the best 25 mile run of my life. Next to playing with my children, nothing is as magical as being on top of a mountain while you soak up the brilliance of the giant sun, surrounded by the bluest sky imaginable. All for $100 bucks and they have snacks. I had conversation about running with a bunch of new Facebook Friends and had about a five hour conversation with God. Running that race is the closet thing to being in church and actually feeling like I belong. I believe in this. Humbling, providing clarity into how I fit into this massive universe. How insignificant and tiny we really are but yet the dichotomy of how little old me can take one step and then another step and we can make even the greatest of feats achievable.
I started running to finish. Then I ran to go fast. Next, I ran to go new places. Now, I run because I believe in it.
So to recap, this race is hard as hell. Have a plan, eat, drink, dress, and rest right. Then, look around and be amazed that somehow your life has worked out and you are standing on the top of a mountain, wearing shorts, doing something you love, surrounded by an indescribable natural gifts and lucky to be alive.
