On Saturday, February 9th, 2013...

Last year, I swore upon my favorite running shoes (Adidas Trail Response) (fine, tease me, but those fancy Inov-8s or Montrails just don't do it for me) that I would never run Holiday Lake 50k ever again.

No offense, Horton, it's not personal!

 
I just kinda hate flat surfaces.

So what in the WORLD happened? I dunno. But Friday the 8th I found myself for the THIRD TIME in the car with a bunch of stinky guys heading to the darn 4-H center. I was seeded 6th woman. Crap!
I have the sickness.

My head was in a weird spot, neither in the race nor out of the race, neither present nor distant. I was thinking about my legs and how strong they had gotten at climbing for hours and hours in the mountains, at walking/running from sunrise to sunset. I am neither slow nor fast, but consistent.

I knew moderate-speed consistency was NOT going to put me in a Top Ten finish at Holiday Lake. Especially not this year.
Maybe I would construct a giant mountain at mile 20 with my huge rock collection that I have made in Derring Hall on campus. If my pending bachelors degree in geochemistry gets me one things, it's rocks.

As we approached I finally accepted how bad my stomach felt and how my right knee and left ankle were seriously hurting. Pshhh whateverrrr no big deal.

 A brief stroll on the course with a fellow VT Ultrarunner proved my biggest fear: the course was just as flat as I remembered. What was I going to do? Why didn't I do track workouts and tempo runs? Why did I sign up for a flat 50k and a MOUNTAIN 60 miler within a month of each other?!

 I wanted to run my race and I wanted to race the women and finish top 10 and get that fancy shirt. I ran a 4:58 last year off a month of ITB and fatigue. What was going to happen in the morning was sometimes I could not predict.

 I ate pasta and pretended to be engaged in conversation with my friends and mom and boyfriend, but really I was not there in that room talking to those people before that race. I was off in my thoughts and concerns but pretending to everyone that I felt good and fast.

 

I woke up to people in my bunkhouse WAY too early. I was grumpy. I had the grumps. It does not take an hour and 45 minutes to put shorts on and tie your shoes. I immediately went outside to get some air and try to convince myself that I was going to RUN 33 miles sorta fast. I couldn't get excited. I felt so so so sick and nauseous and full of stomach cramps. My left ankle wouldn’t bend and water made me gag. What on Earth was happening to me? How did I make it to the start line? Why was everyone running SO fast for the first 6 miles? This was not track practice! This was an Ultramarathon. I ran the first lap with a façade of enjoyment plastered on my salty face and tried to run with some people but couldn’t make myself think of responses to their sincere conversation. I still was not present. I arrived that the turn-around aid station in 2:25, faster than I have ever wanted to run 16 miles. I pretended to act excited when Fletcher and Rudy cheered for me and told me I was killing it. If I could have stopped at the turn around I would have, but that’s not how I do things. If I’m signed up for a race I’m gonna finish it. No matter how much I want to throw up and sleep for 15 hours. As soon as I turned around my body gave out. I was drained, zero energy. My legs felt like they weighed 100 lbs themselves, and my back and stomach were NOT happy. I drank hardly any water during the first lap, and only 1 orange slice and ¼ a pb&j. I couldn’t swallow any food or water. My ankle was on fire. I had to make about 3 pit stops within 4 miles, catching my legs in the torn bushes in the process, which took about 5 minutes to untangle myself from. My attempt to take an endurolyte ended in my heaving it up, still in it’s capsule (reusable?). What has happening to my body? Miles 18-28 passed by in slow motion and my mind left my body for a while. I woke back up at mile 28, the last aidstation, and stopped for a minute. I was in 14^th place and nostalgic for my physical condition last year. Within 10 minutes of leaving the aid, I was passed by a 17 year old boy and felt lost. That was me last year, 17 and happy and passing people with 4 miles to go, on fire and full of adrenaline. I was without my spark, not Rachel Corrigan at all, just a sweaty mess of curly hair and tired legs.

Sometimes 4 weeks of resting is more beneficial than 4 weeks of intense training and mileage.

The last 4 miles dragged on and my legs were not moving anymore, but churning slowly in a vat of viscous jelly. Each stride required a massive effort and was greeted with a heavy sign from my tired lungs. How badly I wanted to curl up in bed and not leave until I was back to my old self.
Suddenly I was on pavement. “Look, Rachel, ½ a mile to go!” I said to myself.
“Ugh. Whatever. I give zero craps.” I responed.
“Yes you do, come on, pick it up. The faster you run the sooner you’ll cross the finish line.”
“Eh….I do have to pee…”
With that acknowledgment I picked it up and ran sorta fast across the finish line. The clock read 5:09 and I was finally done. Horton gave me a hug and told me I was 13^th. That’s fine. Only 11 minutes slower than last year.

I eventually cheered up and gave people high fives and stuff. I mostly hung out with  my mom until we all decided to disperse back to our respected habitats. I was really sore and tight and nauseous until we got back to town that afternoon, where Fletcher and I got the most delicious cheeseburgers that have ever been made.

I am tired but feel much less nauseous than I did Saturday. I know I just as strong and in shape as I was last year, but I need to rest, especially before the Georgia Death Race on March 16^th, which I am extremely anxious forJ I will represent the women's contengent of VT Ultrarunning proudly!

Overall I am still glad that I did HL this year. It confirmed that I was ultrarunning to take me to places on this Earth that you can only see from traveling on foot, not fast times and PRs. The journey is what's important. I want adventures!

 See you on the trail.