2014 Run Woodstock 50k Race Report

“Oh my gosh, that, that, that tree just fell on a house!”  stuttered Lauren as she tried to wrap her mind around what she  just saw.

It was just after 7:00 pm the evening before   The Run Woodstock 50k that Whitney and I  have been training for and the weather was awful.    The hottest day of the summer had yielded to a cold front and the resulting 70 mph winds and rain was wreaking havoc on the countryside.   As we pressed on to our campsite, I knew that there was no way we were going to get a tent setup in the wind which was whipping trees back and forth. We were going to meet Whitney and her husband Charles along with my college buddy Brad and his wife Shannon at the campground.

As we drove slowly to the campground, I received a text message.  Lauren grabbed my phone and read it.  It was an invitation from Dale, another friend from Michigan Tech, to stay at his house for the evening since they only lived 2 miles from the campground.   After some coordination with   Whitney and Brad,   we wound up at his house and rolled out sleeping bags on his living room floor.  Safe and dry, we went to bed.

I woke up at 4:00 a.m. to my beeping alarm clock. I was instantly wide awake due to the pre-race anxiety I get.  I made sure Whitney was awake before I stumbled to the kitchen to make some coffee and eat breakfast.  I knew I needed to eat a few hours before the 6:00 a.m. start time so that my food would have time to settle and top off my energy stores before setting out to race for 31 miles. The problem is that I didn't feel like eating.   Sometimes, especially when I’m training, I will wake up hungry enough that I feel somewhat ill.  That was the case this morning.   I chocked down the rice/sausage/egg bars that I had made in preparation.  They tasted delicious but just weren't enjoyable at 4:30 a.m.    I’m not sure I would have enjoyed anything however.

After finishing my coffee, I woke up Lauren and proceeded to pack up our sleeping bags. Everyone else got up and we were out the door by 5:20 and arrived at the campsite a few minutes later.  Upon arrival,  I made a beeline for the bathrooms. The coffee was working it’s magic but I was still feeling somewhat nauseated.   I attributed it to pre-race nerves and returned to our campsite to finish getting ready.  The next thing I knew, I was standing in the start chute posing for pictures with Whitney and Lauren when I heard an announcement.

“One minute until the 50 mile and 50k start.”

There was a mass rush of anxious runners suddenly cramming into the start chute. I panicked momentarily as I squeezed into the barriers.  “I have to get to the front” I thought. Since I’ve trained on these trails in all sorts of weather over the last 4 years, I knew exactly what we would be getting into.  We would have about a quarter mile of a gravel road and then we would funnel into some narrow horse trails littered with rocks and roots.   I knew after the rain that they would also be covered in a slimy greasy mud and there were some steep hills in the first few miles.  I didn’t want to be in a mass of people on those trails.

In most mass-start distance races, the first mile or two involves a lot of walking and shuffling as a large group of people sort themselves out by speed. The faster people get to the front and the slower people fall back.  In a race like this, some people are going to start out faster than they should, some will start out too slow, and some people stand in the front without realizing that they ought to stand further back to allow the faster people to move to the front.   The first bit it literally a human traffic jam.

On a long run I typically start out slow for the first few miles, especially in the dark.  Not today.   As soon as the clock started and the beep of the timing signal sounded, I surged forward.    Whitney was following in my wake as I made my way through the stuttering, stumbling, shuffling pack of headlamps.  After about 200 yards I heard Whitney ask:

“So, just how fast are you planning to run this thing?” She knew we were going way too fast for her and way too fast for me.  I looked at my watch and we were running faster than 9:00 minutes/mile.  Way too fast for either of us to cover the next 31 miles.

“I’m trying to get to the front before we get to the woods”, I responded while I continued to look for gaps in the thinning pack of runners.

 As I got towards the front, we made  a left turn to head towards the woods.    I saw Lauren along with Brad and Shannon out of the corner of my eye and flashed them a thumbs up.  I looked over my shoulder where I had just spoken to Whitney and she was gone.  She had made the decision to deal with congested trails so that she could keep some energy in reserve for later in the race.  “Smart move”, I thought.  My approach was certainly a gamble.

As the  lead group of runners  hurtled through the darkness towards the trails, there was an immediate uphill covered in the greasy mud I expected.   The girl ahead of me slipped and fell to her hands and knees, scrambling to stand up and not get run over.    I swerved over to where the grass and weeds grew alongside of the trail and surged forward.   There were 10 or 12 other people in her same predicament slipping and sliding as they tried to work up the hill.  I stayed on the grass and kept going. At the top of the hill, I looked back and I was alone.    The rest of the group had slowed to a walk as they tried to navigate the slippery trail.   

I had accomplished what I wanted to; I was on the single-track trail without my vision of the treacherous footing being obstructed by other runners in the dark.    I ran hard over the next few miles to make sure I didn’t get overtaken by a large group of people. The strategy worked.   I could pick the lines I wanted to and dodge the worst of the obstacles as small groups of faster runners would pass me after they got caught in the big group of people.

Shortly, I came to a meadow area which was encouraging because I knew that meant I was very close to a crushed limestone pathway called the Lakelands Trail.  Once there, I could settle into whatever pace felt right without having to worry about hordes of people or poor footing.  At this point I noticed that something was definitely wrong.  As the adrenaline form the start wore off, I realized that the nausea I had been feeling since breakfast had become pretty bad.   I was close to the edge of wanting to vomit and my stomach hurt.   I continued running and was able to stick to my fueling plan.   I was able to stomach an energy gel every twenty minutes and about 24 oz of water an hour, which is normally exactly what I need in cool weather.  I continued to run through the dark and settled into a pace that was just a bit harder than I would have run in training. 

I blew through the first aid station, Gracie, without needing to refuel or fill a water bottle. I knew that I had enough gels and water to get to the next aid station so I checked my watch and kept going.   I was moving slower than I was hoping to, but given the awful footing, darkness, and my sour stomach, I was pretty content with what I had done thus far. I was slightly worried because my lower back had gotten tight, but I kept going hoping it would loosen up.

 Leaving Gracie, there is a stretch of gravel road for about a mile.  The previous night’s rain had turned it into an inch of mud on top of gravel and made it super sloppy.   I hammered down the road, making good time while the footing was good.   The flying mud was gratifying and made me smile.

About the time the sun came up, the trail dove back into the single-track mountain bike trails of the Pinckney State Rec area. I’ve logged hundreds of miles on those trails and metered my effort carefully. An occasional check of my watch told me I was moving faster than I expected. My stomach was feeling a little better and the daylight was really helping me navigate the trails.

I made it to the second aid station, Richie’s Haven, and quickly restocked on gels and water.   I blew through there in a hurry and got back on the trail.     I started to recognize the people passing me and I realized that even though I was running more slowly than them, they were spending a lot of time in the aid stations waiting around and resupplying. I smiled to myself, remembering my Dad’s wisdom from racing sled dogs that wasting time in aid stations is the last thing you want.  Move or move slowly, but don’t stop.

As I headed back on the loop towards Gracie, I fell in with a group of people who were moving well.  The miles clicked by in the soft morning light and things were going remarkably well. I chatted with a guy from Iowa about the race and gave him a little course knowledge. He and I talked about different events and I was again left in awe.   He typically runs multiple 50 mile races a year, but decided to only run the 50k race today since his wife was there and  he didn’t want her to get lonely in the afternoon.  Cool guy.

I again kept rolling right on by Gracie and onto the old railroad grade.  The miles kept clicking until  I made the turn  to climb up the biggest hill on the course.   As the hill got steep, I started to feel the one thing that every runner fears, cramps.   My lower back had loosened up in the previous miles but decided that it had had enough.   The cramps were minor and as I walked up the hill they began to subside.   I started running again at the top, passing the 5 mile runners who were now sharing the course and occasionally getting passed by the faster half marathon runners.   Up and down hills, I repeatedly yelled “ON YOUR LEFT” at people slowly walking while wearing headphones. I felt like a jerk while yelling and scaring people, but I knew there were other people faster than me coming through too.   Also, headphones?  Really? On a crowded race course you deserve to get yelled at for that decision, and I wouldn’t even feel bad about running you over.

As I was coming around a corner, I saw Brad and his wife Shannon. They were running the 5 mile race and waiting for a group of faster runners to go by. I immediately checked my watch and my heart sank. I knew that I wasn’t going to meet my goal time for the race. It was time to reassess what my goals were and keep moving.

As I pressed onwards, by lower back cramps returned with a vengeance. First my back, then my hamstrings, and finally my calves, all cramped simultaneously.  It felt like searing knives in the back of my legs.  It took my breath away.  I slowed to a walk but knew that if I stopped moving, they might lock up completely.  I quickly took a couple salt capsules, a gel, and a bunch of water.   I checked my GPS watch and realized that I still had a mile and a half to go to the halfway point.

During every ultramarathon, you will encounter emotionally hard and challenging points. While I was shuffling along, fighting the cramps and the urge to cry, I was at the one of the lowest points emotionally since my father passed away. That seems pretty dramatic, but to have the wheels fall off in such a drastic fashion over the span of about 10 minutes was a huge emotional blow after spending most of a year in preparation.

After a short while of feeling sorry for myself, I resolved to finish in a way I could be proud of.   So, while my legs were still threatening to cramp, I kept eating the gels as often as I could stomach them and drinking water to try and get ahead of the curve. I knew that I would need the fuel.   Shortly, Brad and Shannon caught back up to me along with all the runners I had yelled at.   Brad, who happens to be my coach ran up to me  and asked, “ Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Cramps, from my lower back to my heels” I responded, staring at the ground.

Brad then grilled me on salt, gel, and water intake.    I don’t remember exactly what was said, because I was answering on autopilot.   My world had shrunk to the size of the piece of trail immediately in front of me. After a while, I lost track of Brad, as I was focusing on the next step.  Slowly, the salt, calories, and water worked their magic and I was starting to feel better.   After a ways I started shuffling again, trying to slowly work back up to speed.

Suddenly I heard screams and yelling ahead.    I came around the corner and started laughing to myself.    The 5 mile racers and casual trail runners had discovered the mud pits.   A mile from the finish line, the horse path had been turned into   200 yard section of mud up to a foot deep.  It was sticky, slippery, and smelled of horse dung. The telling and screams were from people falling into the mud. I picked my way around the first few mud pits.   Then I stopped.

“This is stupid, to hell with it!” I charged right through the middle of the pits, splattering mud everywhere.   In knew I had a change of shoes waiting for me in a mile and I was mad that I had to stop while a large group of people slowly and unsuccessfully tried to keep their precious neon shoes from getting dirty.    I looked at my feet on the other side and smiled.  They were caked in mud and I could hear my dad saying,   “If you’ve got the energy to be mad, you don’t get to quit.”   I started running again towards the halfway point where Lauren was waiting for me.    A few more hills and I rounded the corner into the campground where the start/finish was located. I had completed the first lap.

Lauren helped me get to a chair and handed me my bag.   I started pulling off my shoes and checking my feet.  No blisters and no other issues. I pulled on fresh socks, which felt like heaven.  Brad showed up and refilled my water bottles and grabbed a quarter of a Nutella sandwich.   I devoured the sandwich while I tied my shoes. After restocking my supply of gels, I asked about a bathroom.

“They’re that way” Lauren said, pointing back the way I came from.

“Well, that is unfortunate.”  I responded. Then, I spun around and started jogging, in the exact opposite direction that she had pointed; I was moving forward. I had bounced back mentally and knew that physically I would need a little time but I should be able to recover and finish well.

I started the second lap in amazement.   I looked at the trail conditions as was shocked. “How on earth did I navigate this this morning?” I thought out loud, “This is crazy.” It was still slippery, but seeing all the roots and rocks I was shocked at having been able to navigate it in the dark at speed when I first started.

The miles went by slowly, but I was starting to regain the momentum and energy I had during the first lap.  I started to wonder if I had missed a gel or two or had maybe lost track of the bottles of water I had consumed.   As I was wondering what happened earlier and doing a self-assessment of my energy levels, my mind was brought back immediately to the task at hand of running.

OW!  CRAP! CRAP CRAP CRAPCRAPCRAP!!!!  I had  stepped on a root and twisted my left ankle.  As I stumbled and lurched forward I felt a sharp pain in my left ankle.  The world slowed down like it does in the movies.  I stepped forward to catch myself with my right foot.  I landed heavily and could feel my muscles and tendons strain to catch my fall.  I immediately started inventing profanity and cussing myself out for not paying attention to where I was putting my foot. I hobbled along  for a bit hoping my ankle would loosen up.  It did and I  started jogging. I made it back to the meadow.    Then I was on the Lakelands trail again and looking forward to some easy running.

Shortly after hurting my ankle.  I'm not a happy camper as I'm realizing my race is probably over.

As I started to run on the gentle crushed limestone path, it became apparent something was severely wrong.  My ankle was sore, but not enough to prevent me from running.  My right leg however, was starting to hurt.  As I kept running it became worse and worse, the pain radiating from my hip to my knee and down my shin. Finally, I was forced to walk. I stopped momentarily to stretch it.    I could tell that my IT band, a band of muscle and tissue that runs from the hip to the knee was getting severely inflamed.  As I continued to walk, my IT band started to subside.  I tried running again.  Nope, that wasn’t going to happen.  Running immediately irritated the angry tissue.

I  decided that I would walk the next two miles to the aid station and then make my assessment of what to do.  As I turned off of the limestone path and back onto the trails, my heart began to sink.  The trails require much more of my legs than the path, and even walking became painful.  As the swelling progressed, it felt like a screwdriver being jammed into the outside of my thigh.  The pain was bad enough that my eyes would water any time i had to lift my foot over a rock or step off of a small ledge.  My leg hurt so bad that I had to go backwards down hills because I couldn’t bend it enough to go forwards.   I knew, as I backed down a hill, that my race was done. There wasn’t any sense in trying to push through an injury and making it worse.

Many times,  the decision to quit is a nebulous one and can be impacted by a lot of things  that don’t really matter, like being hungry. Most of the time during a race, it is wise council to sit for a while, eat and drink something, and then make a decision. This time was different. It was clear that continuing would only result in further injury and, as I told several people, I do this for fun and want to do it for a lifetime. Injuries might happen, but I won’t make them worse to prove a point. 

I eventually made it to the aid station.  It took me longer to cover the 4 miles to get there from the start/ finish than it should have to get to the station 8 miles away where Brad, Shannon, and Lauren were waiting for me. One of the volunteers looked at me and tried to be encouraging saying “You’re looking great!” I looked her square in the eyes and said “Thank you and thanks for being here.  Can you tell me who I need to speak to so I can withdraw from the race?”  She was startled by my bluntness but pointed me towards the recovery tent.

I spoke to the race official and officially quit and then borrowed a phone to call Lauren to let her know.  She didn’t pick up, so I sent her a text message and sat down to wait. As I waited, I mentally rehearsed my decision over and over and over.  I knew it was the right one, but I was mad. I had pulled through awful cramps and overcome an emotionally crippling time earlier only to be stopped by a little stupid tree root.  I sat in a chair watching the woods where other runners were emerging and stretched my screaming IT band. I stared at the trail where it emerged from the woods  and waited, feeling sorry for myself .   I knew Whitney couldn't be too far behind me  and I debated hiding from her  because I didn't want her to worry about me.

Eventually, Whitney popped out from behind the woods. I could tell she was hurting, but as soon as she saw me, she stopped in her tracks.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?!”  she demanded.

“I’m done  Whit.  I hurt my knee and ankle.”

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?!”  she demanded again, this time visibly shaken and upset.

“I can’t run Whit.  I’m done”

She quickly ran to me and gave me a giant hug.

“I’m so sorry Chris.”

“It’s ok Whit.  I’m proud of you. Get goin.”  Another hug.

“Do you have any extra salt tablets?  I’m cramping pretty bad”

I gave her all of my extra salt tablets from my race pack and sat back down.   As she refueled and restocked, she started giving me a bit of a hard time like little siblings do when they’ve beaten their big brother. I was glad to see her smile, and as she left, told her to let any Lauren or Brad or Charles know where I was.

Moments later, my mom walked up with Charles since they had literally been waiting just around the corner the whole time. I had her call Lauren to let her know that I was ok and she took me back to the campground while Charles went to Richie’s Haven to wait for Whitney. After we got back to the campground, I went to the first aid tent and got compression wraps and ice packs for my knee and ankle.   I then grabbed a shower and started waiting with my Mom for Whitney to get back with.  Brad, Shannon, and Lauren returned after having seen Whitney through Richie’s Haven.

Whitney came around the last corner and into the finishing chute looking strong and steady. She had beaten her previous time by over 40 minutes. We then spent the remainder of the afternoon hanging out in the shade, chatting, and recovering.   Eventually, we devoured a taco dinner and were joined by a few friends for s’mores by the campfire.   After the fire died out and the last of the 100 mile racers finished, we called it a night and crawled into our sleeping bags. As I lay there, thinking about what was and what could have been,    the Kenny Rogers song “The Gambler” kept running through my head.

“You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em,

know when to walk away, know when to run.”

I’ll be back next year.  I’ve got a date with that finish line.

Whitney  crossing the finish line.   Heck of a good job out there!