The Marathon cliche "The race begins at mile 20" made sense
for the second time in my life this past Sunday.
Inspired by my friend L, I signed up for a beautiful trail run 13
weeks ago. My first ultra-marathon (50km) had about twice the
elevation loss than gain (3190ft/5790ft), i.e., it was mostly a
downhill course. Like many, I thought downhill would be easier.
I found out otherwise by the time I paced at Quick Silver (4wks
ago). I could've planned a later race and actually my earlier
choice was one in Jul, but after three years of general physical
preparation, I thought I could pull it off. None of this was
excuse for L, whose crazy race schedule definitely roused
something in an apathetic office dude.
I trained for the event by building up to a half-marathon in
the first six weeks and later by running to Mission Peak.
But even visiting MP twice took only 18.2 miles and 4 miles
of it were road running which was a break from the trail.
Things I couldn't experience lie beyond that distance. In
this sport, constantly pushing beyond one's capacity seemed
the only way to grow.
At mile 16, my glutes were still great, quads OK, lungs and
heart not taxed at all, and I had taken care to eat and
drink in time. Even the bottom of the feet didn't hurt much
as the forest floors were infinitely more forgiving than
hard-packed and gravel-fested MP or QS trails.
But my joints including the knees, ankles, and to some
degree the hips started to rebel. The left IT Band problem
seemed revived after four years. The right felt no better.
The overall pain was so bad that I had to step sideways
when climbing down a flight of stairs. "Is this what it is
going to be like in my old age?" I remembered thinking.
Afterwards, downhill, where most people flew, I could only
walk. Toward the end, I still beat others uphill but that
was irrelevant for competition as one after another runner
passed me on the way down. I basically walked the second
half of the race.
But I didn't feel self-pity or miserable as I did in high
school endurance runs. The serene giant redwood trees
and the fresh cheerful shamrocks seemed to remind me
that I was part of nature and there was nothing to feel bad
about. "You are a child of the universe no less than the trees
and the stars; You have a right to be here." from Desiderata
also came to mind. These, among other thoughts, kept me
from thinking about quiting.
The amazing L did it under six hours and his son S won his
age group. I had my distance PR in sandals (Z-Trail) and
placed about two thirdth of my age group. I met Miguel,
L's second and adventurous son, who kindly kept my bag and
with mom Lidia, on crutches after her knee surgery, cheered
us at aid stations and took pictures. At the finish, I told them
that I wanted to quit in the middle but couldn't leave Miguel
holding the bag ;-) Indeed, it wouldn't be the same without
my friends.
I didn't need to rest before driving back. The next morning,
most joints felt healed. The hamstrings needed more time and
my strides were shorter. Tim did his exercise with extra
vim, took my finisher's medal to show off at school, and we
were going to run a 10km together this summer. This was great.
Thank You!
PS. The next week, I chanced upon this advice from Julie Fingar:
Train by time on your feet instead of total miles. Focus
on quality workouts versus quantity. Your goal is to
arrive at the start line healthy and injury free. This
is 50% of the battle in getting to the start line of any
endurance race.
