I’ve read enough inspirational quotes to know that I am not
defined by my failures. And therein lies my problem.
The 2013 Angeles Crest 100 was, by all accounts, to be my race.
And on and off for about 75 miles, by all accounts, it was. I arrived to the starting line healthy,
well trained and as calm as I’ve ever been before the inevitable storm that is
running 100 miles through the mountains.
I flew, weightless, through the high country, memories of the countless
miles I’d logged on these very trails rushing by me in a blur. Through Guffy Campground, my weekend
home, over Baden-Powell in one of my fastest splits ever, screaming down
Williamson singing Fleetwood Mac at the top of my lungs – in a race, yes,
nevertheless in a race with no one.
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Wrightwood 4:30am, 8/3/13: One of us will go on to win the race; the other will
do something else. You can hardly tell how this is going to pan out.
(photo: Ivan Buzik) |
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Williamson. 5:30 in; marathon complete. BTW, this is not a marathon.
(photo: Jack Cheng) |
Heading down into Cooper Canyon, my stomach began to feel a
little sloshy, but nothing too weird.
I’d taken in a lot of liquid to account for the heat and was up on
calories, so if I needed to chill on consumption for a bit, I would
survive. I alternated running and
hiking when the air became heavy and stagnant and celebrated as I passed the
point where I puked two years ago.
Perhaps that pissed the forest off, because maybe 20 minutes later, I
was dry heaving into the bushes. #ACDontCare. That continued on and off for the remainder of the section,
only producing actual vomit once.
Even still, I figured I was getting through the worst of it, and after
recharging at Cloudburst, I’d be on my merry way.
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| Fatty. |
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| 3 mile road detour. Thanks, frogs. |
Sure enough, 13 minutes at Cloudburst seemed to have done
the trick. I floated down the
trail to Three Points, stomach still sour, but just trying to focus on using my
amazing feeling legs to get me back on track for my sub-24 hour finish. That defining moment I was so
desperately seeking.
Right before the aid station, I grabbed a tree to pee and
saw stars. The liquid coming out
was a dark reddish-amber and my whole body cramped as I forced it out. I downed the rest of my water right
then and there and came in committed to ingesting more. I thought I had been drinking enough,
but I was clearly dehydrated. We’d
need a change of plans.
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| We're talking Culture Amber Ale status - third from the left, and also delicious. |
I left with a bottle of ice water for help, a bottle of
Sprite for calories and a sparkle in my eye – for I was going to turn this race
right back around and get that silver buckle. I did not doubt that for one single second. Had I really expected that this day
would go off without a hitch? Did
I now expect that there would not be more difficult obstacles to overcome
through the night? For chrissakes,
my legs still felt brand new and that was a freaking GIFT. It was time for comeback of the century.*
*SPOILER ALERT: Jamil Coury’s 2013 Hardrock Performance is still
safe.
I bottomed out on the trail section and began climbing the gradual road up Mt. Hilyer.
Not feeling as if I needed to walk, I resolved that I’d relieve my full
bladder and then push to the top.
I could make up a lot of time here and easily be back on track by
Chilao, stomach be damned.
However, as I bent down by a bush, my vision darkened and my knees
buckled. A sharp pain shot through
my abdomen and up through my chest – nothing came from my bladder. I took a deep breath and tried again,
as I have never felt such a strong urge to urinate in my life. This time, I fell over, shorts around
my ankles, tears in my eyes. I
panicked.
Not knowing what else to do, I began walking up the hill,
counting down the twists and turns to the aid station. I had to get there, and someone had to
help me. Looking down, I
discovered a horribly distended stomach, which at least in part explained the
lack of urination and dehydration.
I was fueling and hydrating, but I wasn’t processing. Why?
Lucky for me, Marisol Martinez was swiftly moving up behind
me and as she caught up, could instantly sense my current state of terror. She gave me some sort of fizzing
tablet, citing that it was Mexican and I shouldn’t worry about it. Taking Mexican drugs seemed like a
reasonable decision at this point, so I took it down and enjoyed her heartfelt hug. As I watched her hike off ahead, I
marveled at her instantaneous willingness to slow down for a few minutes to
help me. Her kindness would be
repeated, but unparalleled as the day wore on, even once contrasted. A single smile was drawn as I lie in
trouble at the aid station. I only mention that unfortunate moment to heighten
just how important it was what Marisol did for me and how special the lot of
ultrarunners are. You see, it is
human nature to be excited for any chance to succeed, to move up a place, to be
closer to the best, and hence, I do not blame the smiler. Instead, I celebrate the honest empathy
that was shown to me, even by those who were battling their own problems. Enter: the puking H’ard Cohen. And just as the empathy is taketh, the
empathy is giveth.
The volunteers ushered me into the Mt. Hilyer aid station, as I choked back some pretzels and tears of disappointment. There were no medical personnel there, but they got on the
radio to Chilao for some advice.
My first task was to try and pee in a cup, which after blacking out on
Mt. Hilyer, I was obviously wildly excited about.
The good news is that it wasn’t as dark as before, but the bad news was
that it still hurt like hell.
However, they asked me if I could still get myself to Chilao and that
was definitely affirmative. Hell,
I didn’t even have to walk – my legs could RUN.
I resolved to get to Chilao as quickly as possible, as I had
now been sitting at Mt. Hilyer for a half hour. Sub-24 was now a wash, but if I could get my system back to
processing, I could still salvage a 25-26 hour finish, which I’d be more than
okay with. I ran the entire
way feeling like my bladder would explode, but didn’t dare squat down and deal
with the dizziness and shanking of the stomach. Per radio’ed orders, I downed at least 20 ounces of water in
the 50 minutes it took me to get there.
Bowman was waiting for me at the trail and I began filling him in on the
madness and insisted that he look at the Honey Boo
Boo situation that was happening above my shorts. I knew Adam had been there
before – legs feeling great, mind resolved, but stuck with a system that would
not process for an unbeknownst reason. Also, he went to KU, so he can likely relate to Miss Boo's family activities and education level. We decided that I would simply sit at Chilao for as long as it took to
get my shit together, and then I would continue on. I would come around.
I could still make a comeback and run a decent time.
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| "This is what I'm gonna show the judges." i.e. the medical team. |
As I was ushered onto the scale, I was convinced that
everyone would see how much weight I was holding in my distended stomach, but
instead, I was down three pounds.
Very strange. Then, as if
it weren’t enough for the medical director to get a radio description of my
pee, I had to do it again so he could see for himself. Again, blinding pain, and again only a
drizzle of liquid. But again, it
was a little less dark than before and actually, not of concern to medical. Despite the full bladder and pain both
in my abdomen and back, they saw no reason why I should not go on if I could
deal with the pain. The theory was
that I had stressed out my system and the tube connecting my bladder to my
kidneys was inflamed. This would
create both pain in the kidney area and the inability to pee, as the hole to relief
was now very small due to the inflammation. The blood in my urine likely came from when I was dehydrated
after puking and then my bladder walls were rubbing together.
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Something you'll likely never see again
in your lifetime.
(photo: Kevin DeSplinter, against his
better judgement & at risk of familial
disownment.)
|
This actually made a whole hell of a lot of sense to me, as I’ve been suffering from kidney problems on and off for the entire last
year (more on that some other time).
When my kidneys are jacked, my entire body is jacked – mentally fuzzy,
dizzy and legs completely fried – basically dead man walking. In this case, I still felt amazing. No sir, no way it could be my
kidneys. Also, accepting this
reality meant that I could leave the aid station and keep running. So, inflamed tube thingy it was! In full disclosure, there was no part of me whatsoever that wanted to stop the race, but I also was not willing to risk serious kidney damage for a buckle. As I told the medical director, dialysis is expensive.
Now, the best part about actually leaving Chilao was that my dad
was going to be pacing me for this section. Honestly, not getting to run with
him might have been the hardest part had I been pulled from the race. We headed off into the golden light of
the late afternoon sun and set about getting things back in order. I had been reluctant to take an
ibuprofen at the advice of medical, having never taken it during a race and
still not fully convinced my kidneys were entirely unaffected, but I have to
admit, it definitely dulled the sharp pains in my abdomen and back. The downhill jarring was no longer
excruciating and I must note that I ran this next section faster than Dom. He might have been having some breathing issues, but facts are facts.
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M-I-Z .... P-E-E (please.)
(photo: Joan DeSplinter) |
Mentally was a bit of a different story. I was fully engaged and committed, no
doubt, but I’ll tell you here what I told him then. I was having a hard time wrapping my brain around continuing
to push as hard as I would for the goal, when the goal was no longer
attainable. Had I been tired or
had my legs been blown out from running too hard, I’d have had to accept that I
had simply pushed beyond my ability.
No shame in that. But
this. This was some freak system
shutdown thing that I had done everything to prevent and then correct. I was playing by the rules, but the
powers that be certainly were not.
What had I done to deserve this?
I’d worked so hard for this day.
I’d been through enough “learning experience” races already. I deserved to have my day. My defining moment. And I had long before decided that was
going to be TODAY.
Ah, but then the sky turned pink and the clouds turned
purple and I could feel the beautiful light dancing on my cheeks. I was still here. In the stillness of remembering what
you had… What you lost…, Stevie Nicks
persisted. All morning I had
repeated the mantra, “stay in the moment. Just stay in the moment.” If I could do that now, perhaps I could
be happy. What you had... What you lost...
By Shortcut, I had promised both to my dad and to myself
that I was just going to have fun with the rest of this race. I had friends to run with and since my
legs felt so great, we’d have a grand old time catching other runners and
flying along the trails. I’d
likely look back on the race with a twinge of sadness, but for now I was going
to be okay with it and just keep moving forward. Free life lessons, folks.
Elan was stoked to accompany me for the next 16 miles, and I
was actually quite excited that we could have a good run together, rather than
a “Katie ran too hard and blew up” suffer-fest at mile 60. Sure enough, we dug into the 5 mile
fireroad descent that is normally the bane of my existence with fervor. I opened my stride as we talked the
entire way down to the river, completely forgetting about the race and my
disappointment. And miracle of all
miracles – I started peeing! I was
back on pale ale status, perhaps even approaching blonde and I wasn’t blacking
out when trying to squeeze it out.
Improvements.
Newcombs (mi 69) came and went – now that I wasn’t pushing a time goal, I was
okay with taking a few minutes to sit, get some soup and crackers in and try to
keep my system relaxed. I talked
to my parents and Monica on the screen they had set up and they filled me in on
the drama that was Ruperto catching Dom at Chantry and the ensuing battle
royale for the win. At least I
wasn’t dealing with that shit.
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After running a faster split from Chilao to
Shortcut than Dom. I don't even know
what is happening anymore.
(photo: Joan DeSplinter) |
Elan and I kept a good pace on the technical trail down Mt.
Wilson – nothing remarkable, but definitely something I could be happy with
considering my last bout with ‘ole Sturdevant. Two years ago, I had been limping down to Chantry with my
poor pal, Maruoka; basically rocking two kneecaps on my left knee. This was definitely
better. About a mile and a half
from the aid station, we saw two headlamps coming towards us on the trail and
soon discovered Chris Price and Josh Nordell. Though I hadn’t noticed, Ashley was apparently on a cot up
at Newcombs. As we pushed on, my
heart sank for her. Here, I’d been
so wrapped up in my own misfortune and deservedness of a good race that I’d
failed to consider that others were dealing with the same or maybe worse. Ashley is one of the most talented
runners in the country, and I could only imagine her disappointment at having
had to drop at Western States 6 weeks ago and now what seemed to be an
inevitable drop here. We’d also
received word that Jorge Pacheco and Tommy Nielson were additional casualties
down at Chantry – again, two runners who I respect the hell out of and
personally know have put in a ton of hard work for this day. This day that just wasn’t panning out
for any of us.
One of my goals for AC is always to get through Chantry (mile 75) before Dom reaches the finish, but today I hoped that was not the case. As I saw the lights ahead, I realized
he’d need to beat me out of the aid station to break 19 hours and as such, this was the first
thing I asked as I was ushered onto the scale. But before I could get an answer, a little panic. I was now up seven pounds. If you remember correctly, less than 25 miles ago, I had been down 3
with a distended belly. Now, I was
peeing again, but had somehow gained a whopping TEN POUNDS in the last 5 ½
hours. Sweet baby Jesus.
Now for some additional panic. Apparently, Bowman (who was to be my pacer for the final no
crew access 26 miles) had gotten cell service on the way to Chantry, only to
discover his wife, Carol, was in the ER with a serious allergic reaction to
some antibiotics. Obviously, he’d
needed to get over there. And obviously, I’ll take a pause from the story here
to let you know she is perfectly alive and well – I saw her with my own two
eyes and hugged her with my own two arms the very next day. My mom informed me that Kevin would be
my new pacer, and I became very concerned.
You see, Kevin is my dad’s name, and Kevin had already run 7 miles with
me. Kevin had been concerned about
his ability to run 16, as it was in the mountains with a bit of elevation and
he could not train properly for this feat of athletic prowess in St. Louis,
Missouri. While I was deeply
touched at this selfless act Kevin was willing to subject himself to for his
ailing daughter, I sincerely doubted Kevin’s ability to go an additional 26 miles
over two more major mountains on technical trails in the dark.
Fortunately for all, they were talking about Kevin Chan.
And so, after downing some soup, protein bar and Coke and
hearing that Dom had not yet finished but had been lengthening the gap between
him and Ruperto, we left the aid station, not doubting for a moment that I
would see this thing through. I
ran where I could and hiked where I couldn’t – all was going as well as it
possibly could be on a 3700’ climb at mile 76. And then, it just wasn’t. My stomach rose, I began dry heaving and the next thing I
knew I was puking uncontrollably.
All the food and all the water I had been ingesting, sans processing–
gone.
At first, there was elation. My stomach was suddenly free from the confines of cramping
and the rise and fall of what I can only assume was battery acid and warm,
spoiled milk. I ran the rest of
the way to the turnoff for Upper Winter Creek, where I knew I’d need to
immediately start replacing what I’d just lost. I struggled with a gel, but got it down. My stomach immediately wretched. Drinking or eating anything was only
making the situation worse, yet I knew I wouldn’t even make it to the next aid
station, much less the finish, if I didn’t keep the calories coming. I was beginning to get extremely sleepy
as a result of the deficit, but was reluctant to take any real caffeine, lest
it upset my stomach even worse.
Eventually however, I deemed that it really couldn’t get any worse, so I
took down a yerba maté shot. And I
was clearly mistaken, as evidenced by a new episode of dry heaving.
The climb was slow going. Every 10-20 minutes, I’d sit down on a log and choke down a
gel in 4-5 parts, praying that it would process. But none of them were.
Nothing was getting to my muscles, so my legs were glycogen-depleted and
heavy. Nothing was going to my
brain, so I was dizzy, sleepy and increasingly hopeless. It was all just
sitting there in my stomach and chest – it was honestly
to the point where I was adding up the money I was wasting with performance
food that wasn’t doing anything.
We eventually got to the bench and I sat down in a moment of true
despair. I wanted to cry, but I
didn’t even have the strength for that.
So I just looked out over the city below, let the breeze blow across my
face and began to let go.
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Hey, remember this girl? Yeah, me neither.
(photo: Mike Epler, Islip, 50+ miles ago) |
We continued up to the toll road, where I decided that if I
could run, I could feasibly get myself to the finish line. If I couldn’t, I could maybe still
get there as well, but deep in my heart, I just wasn’t willing to do that. I’d completed this race before,
dragging a broken body to a 30+ hour finish. There was nothing in me that possessed any desire to do that
again and seriously mess up my body in the process, as I was legitimately scared about what was going on. For the first time in my
life, simply finishing would not be enough. And I felt like a fucking coward.
I frantically tried to run to dispel these dissenting
thoughts. To prove to myself that
I was the fighter everyone thought I was and that pride could never get the
best of me. But I’m not a
hero. My stomach wretched, my
abdomen seized, my kidneys ached, my entire body was shutting down. Running made everything remarkably
worse. More puking. Oh God, please just let this end.
Right before the aid station, I discovered Dom and my names
written in the dirt and the tears finally came. Idlehour was run by friends and they were a) going to do
everything in their power to get me to leave that aid station; and b) were
going to be horribly disappointed in my having given up. Sure enough, I was ushered into a
chair, handed some warm salt water and Tums and told under no circumstances
would my bracelet be cut. I buried
my head in the blanket and began to sob uncontrollably.
I sat for over an hour and soon thereafter a hint of light
graced the sky. I had been
watching friends come and go and a few times tried to talk myself into getting
up and walking it in. To be
courageous and tough like them. I thought about the other names in the dirt - the other friends who would have given anything to continue this race but had been cut off at a previous aid station. I still had plenty of time. I could drag my ass home. I was so utterly confused.
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The scene of the crime. Flanked by two finishers.
(photo: Jack Cheng) |
Instantly, I could no longer stand to be here – still
technically a part of this race. I
had to go somewhere, and my choices were either 5 miles down the toll road to
the city or 7 to the next aid station.
I stood up, took a deep breath and that’s when it happened – the moment
I knew everything in my body was officially over.
Guys, I shit myself.
No joke. I had now lost control of my bladder, kidneys, stomach,
legs, mind, eyesight and well… the one thing you never want to lose control of. It was horrific. And I knew I was done in the most epic way possible.
Luckily, my friends took extreme pity on me and gave me a
ride down to the city (I sat on a garbage bag). The next
thing I knew, I was lying on the floor of the shower listening to Dom recount
his victorious race, unable to feel anything any longer. It was almost as if I was in shock, unable to mentally
process that I had really just DNF’d Angeles Crest at mile 85. My race. The race that was going so well until it wasn’t.
I cried a lot in the days after the event. Disbelief turned to anger, anger turned
to sadness and honestly, while sadness has greatly dissipated, it is still very
much a part of my conscious. While
I was still peeing blood on Sunday, I was confident I had done the right thing,
but once my body began feeling better, I was flooded with doubt. What did I do wrong? What could I have done differently? Could I have safely kept going?
Truth is, I don’t know and I physically can’t care
anymore. AC100 2013 is over. In the wake of it all, it's not so much the DNF that is bothering me, in as much as that I am still left searching and pushing and
praying for that one magical day when it all comes together. You see, the failure itself did not define me. But did I choose to fail when I felt like I already had? Am I not as tough as I thought I was? And more importantly - am I still running and racing for the right reasons, or have I defined myself in a new category where it is acceptable to drop when you're not having a good race? I wasn't medically pulled. I wasn't even advised not to go on. The choice was all mine. Sure, I pushed through some serious shit with a great attitude from mile 35 to mile 85, that much I know. But mile 85 wasn't the finish. AND I'M NOT A QUITTER.
Or am I?
***
Regardless of outcome, I must thank a few folks for sharing the day with me:
Mom, Dad & Bowman for a long weekend of crewing
Dad & Elan for some most excellent pacing
Momica for the endless support, no matter the outcome
New Balance (1010s and 890s)
Injinji (Trail 2.0. Blisters 0.0)
Hal, Ken & the awesome volunteers
Tiffany & Trey for talking me through one of the harder moments of my life
and finally,
Kevin Chan - who did not sign up for that shit, and most assuredly had a less than idyllic Saturday night/Sunday Morning. I owe you, bro. Holy hell, do I owe you.
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| Back to training for 2014. (sigh.) |
