What is Ultra?
Finding more while running my first 50k
I went out too fast on lap one.
I should have listened to my friend’s advice and walked the hills.
I tried to hang with the boys in the front for too long.
My hip-flexor is fucked.
There is no way I can run another lap.
These are the thoughts that began going through my mind 14 miles into my first 50k trail race—the Catamount Ultra. The race consisted of two laps of a 25k loop starting at the Trapp Family Lodge in Stowe, Vermont. With each lap there is around 2,500 feet of gain. The course is made up of a lot of double-track cross-country ski trails, single-track, fire roads, and muddy fields. It was challenging, yet a fast course, that was not overly technical.
Things were going great for the first 13 miles. I felt good and was running pretty fast. Although I did worry a bit during the initial climb to the first aid station—a runner passed me, but I noticed that he stayed ahead of me even though he was hiking the hills. He warned me that I should save running them for the second lap. “Huuummm”, I thought, “I’ve heard that advice before…” I kept pushing on at a one-lap-pace, but, in the back of my mind I knew that I could not sustain it for two.
This was my first 50k, so I wanted to focus on racing myself and the course. Going into the race, I was confident enough in my training that I believed I could run it strong—not be totally wrecked and crawling over the finish line in the end. But, when I got to mile 14, I was not so sure anymore.
Going Dark
My left leg was really hurting by that point. What I thought was a twinge in my hip flexor early on, was starting to get really grouchy and effected my breathing as I labored through the pain. Runners were passing me. The hills were killing me and I had to walk up them. I was getting low and spiraling down into dark places in my mind. Time to over analyze the race!
Running is almost always a very positive experience for me, even when my body is wrecked and it’s tough to push on. But, I think that most runners have experienced what I call “going dark”—when your mind and aching body conspire against you to quit running. When I began over analyzing the race at this point, I was really searching for justifications to drop out when I completed the first lap.
I somehow slogged through the next mile and a half, despite my mind telling me it was all over, and made it to the start/finish area completing the first lap. Just one more lap to go! Oh, god! My friends Mike and Amos were there to cheer me on, and it really lifted my spirits. Maybe I could leave the dark place and get this done?
I had a drop bag stashed near the aid station, and I desperately wanted ibuprofen to calm down my hip flexor. I took some, and then started rummaging through the bag—wasting time—I could feel myself slipping in the dark place again, not wanting to face going out for another lap. The rational part of my brain kicked in for a moment and I told Mike that he should yell at me very soon to make me leave. Back to rummaging in my bag: Where is that other buff I packed…?
“You know, the longer you stay here, the farther ahead those other guys are getting.”—this was Mike’s version of yelling at me.
Good enough. “Fuck it, I’m good to go.” I said, and took off for lap two, accepting it for what is was: This was not going to be a fast and strong lap. No feeling free and connected to nature, enjoying the the trail, the woods, and beautiful scenery. This was going to hurt, going to take a long time, and require absolute focus. I decided that simply finishing was now my goal. So much for learning to race!
Letting Go
Maybe I had begun this by racing the others, and not myself? I thought about this during the brutal climb to aid station #1. I walked it. Even the slightest of inclines. It was all I could do to run the flats and downhills. While this section was both physically and mentally grueling, there was a little place inside me that was beginning to feel better because I had realigned my expectations and let go. I was only trying to finish now, and I knew that if I did what I needed to do, I could.
“It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.”
At the aid station, I let go of my food hangups and downed a couple of cups of soda. Mountain Dew. Coke. The sugar immediately activated the pleasure centers in my brain. I ate a boiled potato, swallowed an s-cap, and sucked down the sticky goo of a Hammer gel. I thought, “Five miles of muddy downhill and we’ll be at the next aid station. You can do this Merritt.”
A switch had flipped. Or, maybe it was the combination of the sugar, ibuprofen, and letting go. I took off at a fast pace and before I knew it, I was transported to Parcel 5 in my hometown of Norwich—the trees zipping by and my mind focused on picking a good line. My feet were dancing over the rocks and mud. My body felt strong and focused. I was having fun!
I knew it was mostly downhill over the next five miles to the next aid station. I made a deal with myself that if I’d try to keep up the pace for that whole stretch, then I could walk all the hills over the final six miles to the finish. Knowing what lay ahead was comforting, and enabled me to race the course to the best of my ability, with what I had left in me. I knew that the last six miles were going to be tough because they would take me out into some open fields that would be really hot, and full of deep mud. And the last three miles would be climbing. But these next five, were downhill or flat, and I could run them hard.
People talk about not being able to feel their legs deep into long runs, but I think it’s only half true. For me, what I was feeling in my legs became so omnipresent that it was now normal and I no longer cared. Everything was all about breathing now. The next five miles were the hardest miles I have ever run. I had to dig deep and use what I’ve learned from yoga—focus and breathing. This carried me through to the next aid station.
Finding More
I downed more soda, gels, and an s-cap. The volunteers were really supportive, and one guy actually ran to his car to get sunscreen when I asked if they had any. I was feeling really good and proud of the effort I put in over the last five miles—all sub 9 minute miles! As I ran out of the aid station, I let out a loud “yeeeeeaaaaaahhhhhh!” and decided I’d try to keep up my effort all the way to the finish.
I don’t know where it came from, but I felt strong and determined. I began passing other runners. I hit the large field, knowing it would be really tough —it was very hot at this point and there was an enormous mud pit in the middle. I thought of my friend Mike and how he always goes straight through mud with the glee of a child. I did the same, and stumbled a bit as I sunk up to my knee. My right hand plunged deep into the muck and when I pulled it out, I rubbed the mud all over my face and chest. I thought, “If I’m going to get muddy, might as well have some fun.”
I walked all of the hills over the last three miles. Mentally I was determined to run them and keep up my pace, but my body would simply not allow it. I accepted it, and hammered the flats and downhills instead. I could not believe how well these last 11 miles of the race were going. Days before I imagined the last ten would be the worst—I never would have thought it would be seven miles in the middle of the race.
What is Ultra?
Technically, it’s any race that is farther than 26.2 miles, but I think it’s about going further than what you think you have within yourself. Sometimes it takes falling apart before you can get there. That was my experience during this race. As I crossed the finish line, I knew that I had learned more about myself over the past 5 hours of running than I had in the last 5 months of training. Ultra is a state of mind. It’s a determination to keep moving forward in spite of physical and mental challenges. Ultra is training for life. Relentless forward progress.
Technical Info:
17th place overall, 8th place in age group 30-39 men, 5 hours, 5 mins
GPS data on Strava
Jeremy enjoys running the trails around the Upper Connecticut River Valley of New Hampshire and Vermont, practicing Bikram yoga, developing software, and beer.
