2011 04 22 three days of syllamo 2011

Susan Donnelly Ultramarathon Trail Runner. Motivational Speaker. http://www.susanruns100s.com

Three Days of Syllamo 2011 Date : April 22, 2011

Day 1 - life is wonderful!

March 11 – 13, 2011 Blanchard Springs Park, Arkansas I adore this weekend. It’s such a fun, full, laid-back weekend with friends, it’s easy to forget it’s a race.

Since you’re together in this stage race, not one day, but all weekend, the atmosphere – that magical combination of great people, beautiful place and je ne sais quoi – is key. At Three Days it’s especially so, because we’re in a remote part of Arkansas where everyone stays in the immediate area Thursday night through Sunday afternoon (most of us camp together at the

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park). Steve Kirk, the race director who dreamed this up, feeds us Friday and Saturday evenings so we share meals as well. You don’t split up each afternoon to go home or to anonymous hotels. While the running’s a fun challenge it’s the sharing with these friends that makes my heart beat faster when the calendar turns to March.

This year, though, wasn’t the same old, same old. First, Jerry would hopefully be running Sunday as his first race back after a horrible bike + car accident in the fall, and running it well.

Then, Dale might be coming around his wife’s blessedly effective chemo treatments. Then the questions: we would get our third day this year and how would it be (see last year’s report)?

Could I make it all three days with this hip injury? So many changes and unknowns aren’t usually overshadowing the weekend at one time. It felt distracting.

But mostly, I was tired. If either this race or last weekend’s had been nearby, running a 50-miler and then 93 miles in a stage race would be comparatively easy, but they weren’t. Rob and I had just flown to Arizona and back for the Old Pueblo 50 Mile. Cross-country flights like that cost dearly in recovery and sleep, especially if you’re also working full time hours and cramming in extra ones to make up for time missed So, three work days after the flight from Arizona, we faced a 7-hour our drive. All that travel, no matter how smooth, is exhausting.

Then there’s the packing. I can’t just toss things in one bag and go because I would forget things on race morning and don’t want to spend the precious little recovery time between the races pulling together tomorrow’s race gear when I could be sleeping instead.

Day One – Friday Distance: 50k Start time: 9:00 am Weather prediction: 43-65F, sunny, 12mph wind, 10% chance of rain, daylight 6:26 AM-6:13 PM Checking in that morning, one of the first people I saw was Jerry. There was something uplifting and calm about actually seeing him here that made everything else trivial. He’d was going to join us for the entire weekend by working an aid station Friday and Saturday, then debuting at the Sunday run. Though it was hard to see him on the sideline, it was good to see him, period.

The weekend brightened. Even Dale was there, along with the other friends get to see here every year – Stuart and Deb Johnson, Sarah Woerner, Paul Turner, Po Dog Vogler, Brad Birkholz, Coleen Shaw-Voeks, and Laurie Euler.

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Sarah's ready for the weekend.

Steve gathered us together, briefed us on the day’s course (he mixes it up every year), color of ribbon, aid, and the fact that there weren’t many volunteers today. He also, with last year in mind, briefed us on what to do and not do if we got lost. That done, he started us.

Today’s course was a simple but beautiful out and back, so you get to see everyone, which is fun. If you think of the weekend as a cocktail party, this is a nice icebreaker because you get to meet everyone. You’re definitely mingling.

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Yes, this is trail and good motivation to lose those lingering holiday pounds.

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Whee, this is fun!

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Watch your head!

The only problem is that I started with a problem. You never know exactly how back-to-back race weekends are going to work, which is part of the fun, but I didn’t expect to start out struggling. I’ve done back-to-back 100s before with no problem, so why now? Maybe I was starting too fast?

By the time I made it through Jerry’s aid station and was heading for the turnaround, the day had heated up and I hadn’t seen anyone returning yet. That could mean I was running fairly fast and pace with the pack ahead. That could also mean there was still a good distance to the turnaround. There was no good way to judge since the actual distance in a trail race might be as much as 5 miles over the advertised length. Watches could only estimate.

My half full hand bottle concerned me. I wanted to finish it off and to my relief, the leaders

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finally flew by but there were still a lot of runners yet to see before turning around. I didn’t know where the next water stop would be so I conserved. Good thing, because when I met Paul Schoenlaub at the unmanned aid station on his way back, he told me, “Bad news, it’s already out of water.”

Already? Most of the field had gone through once, but only a handful had been by twice, on their return. The heat and probable time to the turnaround weren’t ideal but I opted to pass up the Heed. My stomach and tastebuds detest the stuff and I’d make it fine without the stuff.

I’ve run in hotter temps and this is exactly why I hadn’t polished off my bottle already.

Of course, the turnaround was further than guessed. I’d still make it back but could feel my head starting to pound and face getting a tad flushed. Either the day was hotter than expected or I was less acclimated than I thought (or both). Fluid would be better now than a happy stomach, so I’d take the Heed on the way back.

Except that by the time I returned, both jugs were empty. Dumb, dumb, dumb, but there was nothing for it. The kid who’d been hanging behind me for the past mile shook each cooler forlornly and asked if I knew where the creek beside the aid station came from. I said I wouldn’t trust it. This wasn’t pristine wilderness and a good case of giardiasis would ruin the entire weekend. I might run slower on the water I had left but I wasn’t going to die in the next four or so miles back to Jerry.

Slow it was, a sure sign you’re getting dehydrated and your heart has to work harder to pump sludge through the pipes. But it was easy terrain and I got to see Deb Johnson, Colleen ShawVoeks, and Rob. Rob was out of water and knowing the distance he still had to go, I gave him some of my last reserve. Another good reason to have rationed it.

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Deb Johnson, feeling the heat but still smiling.

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Maurice Robinson, being Maurice - a young 69.

Soon enough, I was back to both Jerry and hydration – talk about an oasis! I hung out while he wasn’t busy, enjoying his company while drinking a bottle of water. As other runners came in, I re-filled my bottle and left for the last aid station and the finish.

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Yay, a smiling Jerry is waiting at the aid station!

Running eased up for a few miles as the water hit my system and I caught up with Karrie Anderson into the last aid station. Another bottle of water, a refill, and then on to the finish with her. She was good company and we could even talk tarantula stories and a shared taste for BBC Radio.

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Catching up to Karrie.

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Karrie shows me how it's done without falling.

But I horrified her by falling a ridiculous three times in the short distance left. Tiredness, lingering dehydration, electrolyte imbalance…whatever – the result was grossly bloody knees and a deep aversion to horrifying her further.

It was close, but we crossed the finish line without further mishap. I hobbled as fast as I could to the creek to soak my legs and then back to the finish in time to chow down on Chef Cal’s pasta with friends and wait for Rob to finish.

Amazingly, the last runner, a new trail runner, ignored volunteers who pulled him at the last aid station and proceeded on the last 6 or 7 miles without a headlamp. In a cruel flashback to last year, Steve was again put in the position of waiting and hoping, well after dark, that the runner would make it. To everyone’s relief he did, though Steve rightly barred from participating the

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next day.

PT and Po Dog Vogler resting up at dinner.

Stay focused: it was as early to bed tonight as possible, because it was early to rise tomorrow.

Day Two – Saturday Distance: 50 Miles Start time: 6:00 am Weather prediction: 42-63F, 6 mph wind, 10% chance of rain, daylight 6:25 AM-6:14 PM This morning’s start was in the dark. Steve briefed us on the day’s course and flag color and sent us off into the pre-dawn woods.

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Into the barely-lit woods.

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Wake-up climb in the first mile.

No matter what, the second day usually feels a little impossible. You try not to think about the 50 miles ahead as you force stiff muscles and a tired, sleepy body to work properly until the engine magically sputters to life. Except when everyone else’s engine caught, mine didn’t. I gave it more gas with no response. Lungs stuck in low gear wouldn’t sync with anything else, cardio was without power, and eye-leg coordination wouldn’t fire. Not one part of my body wanted to work with another, leaving me the driver, utterly frustrated.

The line of runners ahead of me that should have been easy to pass gradually pulled away and disappeared in the woods ahead. I fought the slump while Rob carried on a one-sided conversation.

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Glad to have a much-needed scenery break.

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Miles of running out there.

Miles crawled by and the grim truth was that our time on an easier course at Old Pueblo 50 last weekend wouldn’t make cutoff here. Yes, an easier course. In the middle of fixating on this unhappy thought, a toe snagged some minor blip in clear trail and I fell, plowed dirt and leaves.

Ugh, something was wrong. Undertrained? Over-raced? Sleepy? Bad form? Overhydration? Dehydration? None of it likely.

A pit stop solved the mystery – dehydration. No way! Surely I’d rehydrated after yesterday’s experience, but the evidence didn’t lie. Careless mistake. I should and could have easily fixed it overnight but thinking back, I probably didn’t. Luckily, there was an easy fix.

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Catching up with Rob on a switchback.

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This is definitely not pristine wilderness.

From there on, I worked at rehydrating every aid station, which meant drinking a full bottle at the aid station and re-filling the bottle for the section ahead. The mileages between each aid station were reasonable, so the strategy slowly worked and running became easier. Lingering at the aid station to drink also paid a nice bonus because I got to talk to Jerry twice at his aid station, definitely the high point of the day.

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One water crossing...

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...after another.

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It's definitely fun trail, meant to be enjoyed.

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Whew, great seeing Mike Muir and Jen Foster (both fast runners) giving us an aid station instead of running today.

The second low point came later than afternoon. Rob and I kept the pace up all day because I was still concerned about cutoff, but after the halfway point we stopped catching other runners.

Somewhere between the next to last and the last aid station, talking as we had all day, some sense suddenly told me we were overdue. Most of the sections were 7 to 9 miles, which take a while on trail, but this felt suspiciously long. I interrupted Rob, who carefully replied that we were indeed overdue. My heart skipped a beat.

“How much?”

“Twenty minutes.”

We both knew that was bad. Five minutes is nothing. Ten is time to watch for markings.

Twenty is definitely overdue.

“When was the last marker?”

“A long way back. I haven’t seen one in a while.”

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“Did you see anywhere we could have made a wrong turn?”

“No, nothing after leaving the aid station.”

“Me either, but we could have been talking and missed something.”

“Seven miles has taken us three and a half hours. That’s bad.”

Another pause. “Ok, if we’re lost, what should we do – go back to the aid station or sit and wait? It’s another 3 hours back to the aid station and they may have pulled it by now.”

Pause. “Let’s go a little further before we give up.”

Running further felt like denial but the other options were much less attractive. We checked the time so we’d know how far we were going from this point forward. I had reluctantly started weighing our other, limited choices to select Plan B when a dirt road crossing came into view with flagging on either side of the road. Hallelujah!

We decided to assume were on course but strangely overdue even though we’d kept up the pace. Dirt road meant the aid station had to be nearby and sure enough, a few minutes later we rolled into the last aid station where Steve Kirk was waiting. Turns out that section was 9 miles instead of the 7 advertised by the volunteers at the last aid station. Our pace and judgment were sound, but the extra two miles were enough to make a significant time difference.

Reminder: know the distances better for yourself!

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Happy to see Steve and the aid station!

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What I think of the Scrappy Mountain section we just finished.

The 5 miles downhill to the finish felt good. Day 2 was in the bag 1.5 hours faster than last year, so not too shabby in spite of it all.

Day Three – Sunday Distance: 20k (12 miles, assuming you follow directions) Start time: 9:00 am Weather prediction: 49-62 degrees, partly cloudy, 10% chance showers, daylight 7:24 AM – 7:15 PM (Daylight Savings Time weekend) Today was THE day. Rob and I joined Jerry at the starting line. This was his first race back and I would (hopefully, if I could hang on) get to run with him, something I didn’t dare imagine when I heard about the accident. If Rob didn’t keep up today, he was on his own. There was

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no way I was passing up the chance to run with Jerry at his first race back.

Paul Turner hamming it up, as usual.

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Brad Birkholz, ready for Day 3.

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Deb Johnson, Coleen Shaw-Voeks, Sarah Henning, and Laurie Euler - ultra chicks.

It was wonderful. We spent the whole time talking and catching up. Jerry’s speed hadn’t suffered at all. In fact, he showed an alarming tendency to run up all the hills and I optimistically went into oxygen debt to keep up, hoping there’d be enough in the bank to keep doing that the whole 12 miles.

While we talked (mostly Jerry talking and me trying to keep up), we accidentally followed some of the previous day’s markings and added a few miles. It felt long, and we idly wondered about it at some point but didn’t overly care. There were plenty of other runners in sight and I was blissfully content to bask in the warm spring sunshine and Jerry’s company.

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Hard to put this in words. After the accident and starting back with a walker, here he is. He's one incredible, determined, inspiring person.

We had just started on some easy rock ledges at the top of the last long downhill into the finish when things took an unexpected turn. My foot edged solidly under a rock and thrashed me down hard onto the uneven rock plates. My lungs lost their air and I almost couldn’t breathe with the pain. I stood up with the aid of a nearby tree, then had to sit back down as unending waves of nausea and lightheadedness swept by. Jerry stuck with me while I re-grouped and Deb Johnson stopped to ask if I needed help. This wasn’t the way Jerry’s run was supposed to be!

My body has never reacted that badly to a fall (even with plenty of opportunities) but miraculously, nothing seemed broken so we picked back up as soon as my head cleared and ran downhill, through the campground and around to the finish.

We learned later that I cracked a couple of ribs and we managed to turn 12 miles into 15, but those were 15 quality miles that still make me smile. I wish I could have more running days like that (minus the fall) but am grateful to have the ones I do.

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Grateful My overwhelming reaction after this race is to wish we could do it again next weekend. It never fails to remind me how good life is and how fortunate I am to have the ability to do this and these friends to share it with. Life changes, circumstances change, everything changes – just look at Jerry – so I cherish this weekend more than most. The falls and the dehydration…none of that matters in the big scheme of things. I’m lucky each moment for being alive, being able to run like this and to share it all with my friends.

Life is good.

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