Nabbing a BQ, foray into marathon racing

LLTH 50k Race Report

Backstory

So maybe this idea wasn’t the best of ideas. My coach and friend, Erin and I had decided a few months back to sign up for LLTH 50k (as a first ever ultra marathon) as a “fun day out” and “victory lap” after our planned winter A race marathon at A1A in Fort Lauderdale just two weeks prior (13 days to be exact). We were also able to persuade another running friend, Wendy, to join in the adventure and run the 50k with us. Now you may wonder what sort of crazy breed of people classify 50k races in their list of things to do in “fun day out”… yep sometimes I wonder that too, but I continue to find enjoyment in pushing my own limit and having new experiences. As luck would have it, I’ve found a pretty good set of friends in the Lexington community who like that too. Given how recently I had raced a hard marathon and never having run a trail race much less an ultra marathon, my goals were never to race this event and strictly as follows— 1) experience what ultra racing was about 2) enjoy the woods/trails/experience 3) finish the race 4) enjoy a fun day bonding with old friends and maybe make new ones. While I can say we did accomplish all these goals, it wasn’t without challenges and I think we all came out of this experience with a new found respect for ultra racing.

To provide a little more backstory on the race itself— we chose this race because of the close proximity to us (Louisville is about an hour away), the time of year and because it worked out in the race schedule. While all those things were positives, it is also worth noting that this is probably one of the hardest ultra courses in this section of the country. This race featured nearly 7k feet of climbing in 50k, and as is typical in Kentucky, weather is always predictably unpredictable. As all the veterans at this race would later ask us “why did you pick this for your first?? It’s way too hard”. A question maybe better asked prior to us showing up at the starting line…

Race Day

My husband Kit, Erin  and I all piled into my Jeep early on the frost bitten morning to make our way to Louisville. The drive was fairly uneventful, though while we were approaching Louisville the snow was starting to come down hard making visibility difficult. I was already nervous about race day conditions… the temperature had hovered around freezing all week with lots of rain and even high flooding in some areas— making mud inevitable. Race day temperatures were forecasted to start around 35, and to maybe climb to 40 with the chance of snow. This forced us to pack a lot of layers and gear and made dressing for race day a challenge. 

After making it through bag drop/bib pick up/bathroom stops/last minute breakfast, we finally made our way to the starting line. I opted to start in shorts, a base layer and long sleeve shirt, which was definitely cold at the start, though I was worried with the mud and high water, that shorts may hold less water and actually be more comfortable— and let’s be honest… every opportunity to wear shorts I take 100%. The three of us lined up in the front 1/3 of the racers but still a bit back after taking a final last minute bathroom stop in a literal hole in the ground. Kit was running the 6 mile race but had to go back to the car so I was unsure exactly where he was at the start of the race. This race was small and relatively informal, I felt like we could hear nothing but other anxious racers chatting and the next thing we knew people in front of us were running and it was on… 

Prior to the race, we had studied the course and talked to some previous racers, so the three of us did have a tentative plan to start faster to position ourselves well for the steep hills upcoming in miles 3-4, which involved steep uphill technical single track, and for all racers aside from the very front pack and another select group of idiots going out way too hard, was a time for walking. The beginning of the race was crowded, stressful, on mostly double track fire road lined with gravel. Due to the fallen snow from the morning, it was difficult to make out all the sticks/rocks/holes… I should have considered this fact more carefully…

We were not even a mile into the race when a sudden step on the fallen snow ended in a bad ankle sprain for me. Due to the snow, what looked like solid ground clearly was not, and the next thing I knew my left ankle had buckled sideways and was throbbing in pain. I painfully stayed upright and continued running, though at a much slower pace. Wendy and Erin at this point doubled back to check in on me, I voiced to them I thought I’d be ok, and we continued on. What I had said and what I thought in my head were at polar opposition at this point. My initial thought was that my race was over. I’ve twisted my ankle a dozen of times over the last year or so— most very mild, some a little more severe, but this was different. I knew deep down this was worse and this may not work itself out. But I was determined at this point to at least try to give it a chance to loosen up… at this point weight bearing was still possible, albeit painful, but doable. 

The first three miles were fast, but intentionally so. My ankle was painful, but loosening up somewhat. By mile 3, the hills started kicking in— in a big way. Luckily, around mile 3, the terrain became so technical and steep with a very crowded pack that walking was the only available option. This was a welcome change on my ankle, and did loosen it up immensely. I was still nervous of what was to come given it didn’t feel perfect, but was hopefully optimistic at this point that things would improve. Overall, through the treacherous single track of miles 3-8, things continued to feel better and loosened up, or adrenaline got me through the pain, who knows, but I became increasingly optimistic that my race would continue and I would possibly finish. 

It was around mile 5-6 that Wendy elected to go ahead of Erin and I. She was feeling good and is a very strong runner and really had the potential to place or even win the overall women’s race. She had a really awesome day and ended up coming away with 3rd overall. We were sad to see her move on, but so happy that she had a great race. 

Around mile 8, the single track started to dissipate for a little less technical terrain with more space to spread out. This was a welcome change, as the beginning sections of this race were very stressful— the amount of people close on our heels on the muddy/sketchy descents led to a lot of stress in the early miles- especially on an already unstable and painful ankle. I was happy to have space to slow down or speed up at whim. 

The miles continued, slowly, though at this point we were both in cheerful spirits and enjoying being out in the woods. My ankle was still bothering me, and I had to be cautious in how I landed on rocks and roots in order to avoid pain. The hills continued, and we elected to walk most steep uphills while jogging the rest of the terrain, though all still very technical and some very muddy. Through the first aid station at mile 12.7 we made very good time, getting there well under 3h. 

Erin and I were lucky to have an excellent crew in both of our husbands Kit and Damien (who came later due to work obligations). Kit had also run in the race in the 6 mile option, and come home with the overall title in a speedy 47min. Despite his efforts, he was full of smiles and energy at every aid station, willing to help with anything and everything we needed. It was always so uplifting to see these familiar faces at low points in the race, and I know Erin and I were truly thankful for their efforts. 

It was around this point in the race that I was still contemplating either attempting the 50k or dropping down to the 15 mile option. My ankle was feeling better at times, definitely loosening up, though was not perfect and doing more than double the distance I had already attempted seemed daunting. On top of that, I was already experiencing muscle soreness and some tightness in my bilateral IT bands— a phenomenon I attributed to the very-recent hard marathon. Erin urged me to do what I felt was right, and she would support me either way. The thought of a 50k made me nervous, very nervous at this point. However nervous I was though, I was pretty much unwilling to do less than I had set out to do and my goal to conquer the 50k continued…

Parts of the race feel like a blur without a ton of details, while other sections I can vividly remember intense details of single moments. One thing that vividly stands out in my mind are the new friends we encountered along the way.  One of the things that stood out to me about ultra running was the comradery of everyone racing, the immediate friendship and bonding. It’s funny how running, especially something like ultra running, really breaks down immediate walls people often put up. We met people from all walks of life— a woman training for her first Ironman, a man who had run his 492nd marathon, a man who had conquered alcoholism and found endurance sports— and in all of these interactions, there was no judging, no cut-throat, need to win mentality, just a common bond of running and the outdoors, and the genuine desire for everyone to do their personal best. As our new friend Andre , who we met late in the race put it, “you’re really only racing against yourself” and really he spoke the truest words for the majority of ultra runners on the course. This is one of the best lessons I took from this race and I think speaks volumes about the ultra running community. Definitely this is a place where all sports should be, as the atmosphere was one of welcoming joy—everyone there truly seemed to be completely content they were in that moment, even through late miles of clear suffering.

As the race continued, it felt that the hills got harder, everything hurt more and the aid stations seemingly got farther and farther apart. At the point in the race after the 15 mile broke off, it truly felt like a solitary battle against the wilderness. In one way, it was so beautiful, and so peaceful— the trails were serene with rolling steep hills and vista views atop melting snow; but in another way it was weirdly quiet and almost eerie- a sense that you never get when you’re accustomed to road running with headphones blaring. It was a feeling that you were really “out there”— something that I had longed for in doing an ultra, but also a feeling that truly the only way home was to keep moving forward and run there. 

Erin and I tried anything and everything to distract each other from the pain we were both experiencing. From the ankle soreness to the muscle fatigue, the uphills as well as the downhills were getting equally difficult in different ways. I think that doing experiences such as this with good friends, you will either come out of them loving or hating each other, and, you will learn a ton— probably things you wanted to know and some things you didn’t. I’m happy to say we definitely didn’t come out of this race hating each other, in fact we bonded in one day in ways that many people likely don’t achieve in a lifetime of friendship. I guess that’s what you get with ultra running. 

The aid station at Scott’s Gap finally appeared over the horizon at mile 23. It had felt like it should have been right around the corner for the last hour as the miles were ticking along painfully slow. We elected to change our shoes at this aid station for a change in feel, hopeful to alleviate some muscle soreness. It worked somewhat. The course was designed so that there was a 3 mile loop from the Scott’s Gap aid station, and then we would hit this spot again at mile 26.5 for a second time prior to continuing on to the finish loop. This sounded mentally like a fairly easy section— 3 mile loop followed by seeing the guys again at mile 26?? Nope, wrong. This section was crazy hard, crazy technical and full of crazy hills. It felt like eternity as we power hiked our way up the hills, some sections requiring scrambling on our hands and knees up the rocks they were so steep. This was followed by painfully descending treacherous mud with very sore IT bands. Let me tell you, a whirlwind of fun and pain, filled with cursing. It is a miracle that Erin and I still speak after this experience. 

We emerged through the forest to find Kit and Damien, both with big smiles and cameras ready, immediately brightening our spirits. We stopped for a quick bite and picture before heading on— only 5 and change more to go. 

We met Andre around mile 26 as we exited the Scott’s Gap aid station for the second time. Andre, a veteran of ultra racing, was a wealth of knowledge and distraction through our several miles together. We shared stories of races, hobbies, families and he was an excellent distraction this late in the race. We were holding great pace with him, I was feeling good, all up until I twisted the same ankle for the third time this race (the 2nd time was less severe and much less memorable, but maybe happened mid-way through the race- you know just as I was feeling good again). This time brought me to the ground, again thinking my race may be over— but at this point, deep into the woods, mile 28 or so— what choice did I have to get home other than continue walking. The steps were painful, and Erin graciously slowed with me to a walk as I needed. I was determined to finish this race one way or another despite the elements seemingly against me. 

Mile 29.5 brought the final bathroom stop of the day, the temperature dropping, the sleet falling and we desperately wanted to be done. We traversed through the sloppy sloppy caked mud that was the last few miles of torture. As we descended through the forest we could hear the finish line, only to realize we must first climb down the mountain and then back up through the winding muddy switchbacks to get there. At this point, both of our Garmins were dead and we had no idea of the mileage but knew we must be close. Finally, we could see the end in sight. We were so happy and drunk on ultra racing with giddy joy. We terraced the hill to hear Deborah, Frank, Kit and Damien yelling for us in joy. We would finish. It was slow and it was not pretty but we would finish. 

Post Race

The feeling of finishing this race was very satisfying as it was one of those finishes that was truly earned. I could have taken the easy way out and dropped down to a shorter race or called it quits, and maybe I should have in some ways given all that happened, but getting through the mental challenge and physical exhaustion was one of the harder challenges I’ve done in a while. So when I got that medal and crossed that line, I was proud. I was surprised to find how different and difficult ultra racing really is. I think I was a little over zealous and maybe slightly arrogant to think this would just be a walk in the park or just a hike in the woods… Certainly that it was not, and ultra runners I’ve found are seriously tough and seriously good athletes. 

I learned a lot about myself in this race with plenty of time for self introspection, and I learned a lot about Erin as there’s plenty of time to bond when you spend all day in the woods together. We both probably learned that we’re fairly stubborn and motivated people that may want to have our ideas filtered through someone else the next time we decide to race an ultra right after a marathon.  

If you had told me after rolling my ankle within the first mile that I would finish this race, I probably would have doubted. If I had the knowledge of how I would feel during the race, I probably would have never signed up. But for everything worth doing there is a sacrifice — as they say- you can’t taste the sweet without the sour. I’m proud of myself and of my efforts. I’m proud of the bonds and friendships I’ve formed. This race wasn’t my fastest or prettiest but it feels like as big as an accomplishment as any I’ve done.

So will I be back to Ultra Racing? And in short, I’m not sure, maybe someday, but for now I’ll stick to my stronger suits of triathlon and road racing… Onto the next adventure.... IM Puerto Rico, March 2020.