Tahoe Rim Trail Endurance Run 100 Mile Requisite Post (Part 2)

The Last 5 of the Not-Even-Top 10

This post is a continuation of 10 things I feel capable of writing about in regards to my first ever 100 mile race in Lake Tahoe: The Tahoe Rim Trail Endurance Run

5. I repeatedly asked myself (and answered) the question “Are you okay?”

   It seems kind of silly, but it worked. I would find myself getting worked up about how slow I was moving, or my feet would be hurting; I would be overwhelmed by how far I needed to yet go or dreading a particularly difficult section I knew was ahead. I found myself stopping my mental spirals by simply asking myself, “Are you okay?”

   Most of the time my answer was, “Yes. I’m okay.” I think it helped reel me back into the present moment, taking comfort in the fact that here, right now, no matter what might be coming, I was doing all right.

   There were other times, where it was much harder to convince myself that I was okay. Maybe I was just a hair’s breadth on the other side of “not okay”. I convinced myself more than a couple of times that continuing to move forward, slowly, was just the same or better than waiting hours in a backcountry aid station for someone to come bring me back down the mountain. I convinced myself that drinking more water or trying to eat something might help. I thought about how thankful I was for the many people in my life who love and believe in me. I thought about how proud I would be to see myself through from here and back into firmly “okay” status.

   4. I made a connection with an amazing teenager working the Hobart Aid Station.

Running into Hobart Aid Station at about 9 pm (approximately the half-way point of the race), Taylor Swift was blaring from the speakers. I don’t remember what song it was, but I started loudly singing along when a lovely dark-haired teen shot up out of her chair, pointed at me, and proclaimed loudly to the rest of the tent in a charming English accent, “YOU SEE! I TOLD YOU SOMEONE WOULD WANT TO HEAR TAYLOR SWIFT!” Her delight only intensified as she learned that I was indeed an avid Swiftie. We talked about our favorite albums (mine: Folklore, hers: Fearless) and I gasped as she told me all about how she got to see Taylor on night 3 in London (this was a big deal: this concert featured a special appearance by Gracie Abrams and Travis Kelce appeared on stage). As other volunteers scurried around to get my water bottles refilled and hand me cups of warm broth, she entertained me with photos of her and her friends from the show on her phone. She described in detail the inspiration for their outfits and asked me what song I wanted to hear next.

I danced to “I Did Something Bad” as I ran out of the tent into the night. :)

3. I will never hear “20 minute miles” the same again.

I cried actual tears twice in the race: once upon realizing I’d made it to the top of Snow Valley Peak near the start of the race and again when I saw Colby with only 1 mile to go. But, the next closest I got to losing it completely was at the very last aid station, with seven miles to go. I was still lucid enough to do math, and I knew that I was not leaving any wiggle room for myself in terms of time. I’d have to really be moving down the mountain in order to get to the finish line before the cut off at 5 pm, a 36 hour finish.

As I moved as quickly as possible out of the aid station, a woman looked at me straight in the eye and said, “20 minute miles and you’re there.” Pushing back tears I replied, “I don’t know if I can do that.”

Up to this point in my life, I never would have imagined that 20 minute miles would seem impossible. It’s still hard to believe. I can only really describe it as feeling like I was doing a sport that I had never done before. It seemed like the hard work and training I had done were for something else completely. And in this new sport I was attempting, a 20 minute mile pace was outrageous this far into the race.

The volunteer shook her head and pointed her finger at me, smiling. She said, “You’ve done harder things than this in your life. I’ll see you at the finish line.”

I took a deep breath and began my desperate push for the finish.

2. Tony’s pep talk rivaled any dramatic locker room scene from a movie I’ve ever seen.

The darkest part of the race for me came well before the halfway point. As I reached the Tunnel Creek Aid Station at mile 45 I was in rough shape. I was still throwing up, I was dizzy and unstable, I was exhausted, and my confidence in my ability to continue was shot.

A kind man who was obviously a runner started the normal routine of filling my water bottles. When he sat down across from me he stopped suddenly, I’m sure sensing my black aura of hopelessness. He asked, “Are you okay?”

I laughed because, of course that’s what he asked. I answered honestly, “I’m not sure.”

At that point, Tony, fighting back his own tears, told me about how he had found himself in this exact same place last year at this race. He walked me through how I was going to feel moving out of this aid station. He gave me advice on what to do and how to talk to myself during the night. He gave me suggestions for fighting my nausea and fatigue. He urged me to keep moving forward and reassured me that I was not hopeless. He told me that he fought through it and knew that I would too. For me, Tony’s words were more powerful and compelling than any half time speech or locker room moment I’ve seen in the best movies (and I’ve seen a lot of them); I’m talking Miracle, Any Given Sunday, you name it.

Tony walked me out of the aid station, telling me he would see me later.

I took his advice and, as he promised, things started to eventually turn around. As Colby paced me from Diamond Peak back to Tunnel Creek, I told him how moving Tony’s story was and how encouraging he’d been. As we came into Tunnel Creek for the final time, Tony himself greeted me with a giant smile. “See?” he said. “I told you you were going to do it. You look completely different today. I see it in you. I see that confidence.”

I am so grateful to this man, this stranger, who championed for me and, no doubt, may other racers that day/night/day. I don’t think he’ll ever know how powerful his words were, but I hope he knows that he made a difference.

1. The tent at the finish line was a fever dream.

After crossing the finish line, I found myself in a wedding reception-like tent, where volunteers handed me ice water and sprayed me down with cool water. Colby sat with me as I looked around in wonder and disbelief. I was surrounded by other finishers, all in various states of relief, exhaustion, emotion, pain, and euphoria.

As I took it all in, I got to hear the some of the stories of other finishers and their pacers. A woman who finished just minutes after me, told the race director that this was the 6th time she had attempted this race. Despite completing many other 100 milers, today was her first time completing this one.

Another finisher told his pacer how difficult this race was. The pacer agreed saying, “Oh my goodness, way harder than Javelina” and the race director interrupted to say “I tried to tell you all how hard this course was!”

I talked briefly to a man who had finished from Pennsylvania. We laughed and commiserated about our inability to prepare for what we had just done.

Still one more muttered under his breath “You have to be some kind of stupid to do stuff like this.”

In those moments, we affirmed to each other that what we had just done was scary, hard, and extraordinary.

I watched several more people cross the finish line, each one completely spent and so raw with emotion. Here in the last minutes of the race before cut off, I marveled at the the absolute wildness of it all. The course: terrifying, brutal, and gorgeous. The finishers: so vulnerable and brave. I’m so glad I got to be a part of it.