I crawled out of bed quietly and tip-toed down the stairs. I put on my Pearl Izumi running tights (in late April, mind you), a Nike sports bra and my favorite long-sleeve running tee. I grabbed a couple gels, an almond butter sandwich and a water bottle + nuun. Within five minutes, I was out the door.
The roads were dark and lonely, and I cursed myself for not making time for coffee. I wanted something warm. Something to wake me up. Something to wash down the previous night's indulgences.
As I closed in on my destination, I began to see a bounce of lights and the reflection of running gear. The men ran together in amazing cadence and I took a moment to revel in their pace and accomplishment. These men were running strong. Strong after 20 hours and were on their way to a 100-mile victory medal.
As for me? I was on my way to start my volunteer shift at the Indiana Trail 100.
This year was the first time the event was held, and it is the only 100-mile ultra in Indiana. There was also a shorter race - 50 miles. Because 50 miles is obviously a lesser distance. The running store coordinator seriously said, "Yeah, I only did the 50."
The other 50-mile participants were long finished and gone by the time I got there, and it was my job (plus that of two others) to man the main tent and help the runners in anyway possible.
I made lots of coffee, peeled bananas, poured Mountain Dew and ate pretzels - like a boss.
The runners who were coming in were finishing the race - a race that took place in undesirable conditions. The deluge of rain left the trails muddy, wet and even impassable in parts. Coupled with bitter cold - temperatures dipped into the mid-20s overnight - and the runners were at risk for hypothermia and dehydration as one doesn't often drink as much when cold. Runners' shoe laces were frozen and one of the top female finishers, who wore Vibrams, had her socks freeze to the insides of the shoes.
The seriousness of the conditions was never more evident than when paramedics urged us to get out of the way and carried in a girl who could no longer move. She basically stopped dead in her tracks and couldn't take another step. Another guy, a finisher, sprained his ankle at mile 10 and finished the race. The joint was red and inflamed and hurt just to look at.
There wasn't a lot I could do to help some of these people as many had a crew of family and friends who were well-versed in their needs. I just tried to be present and available because, for fig's sake, these people had just ran 100 miles. It gives the term "long run" a whole new meaning.
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When my shift was over, I decided to stick with my definition and headed around the park roads for my last big run before Wisconsin. My plan said 12 but my frozen toes said zero and my mind said, "You woke me up at 4:45 - enough with the confusion."
My journey out into the park took me uphill, which is always a fantastic way to start a long run, and my two-loop plus tangent route was not stingy with the inclines, which sandwiched decent stretches of flat. The "rollers" in my neighborhood are a far cry from what the park had to offer, and I could feel my legs burning as I climbed.
As my body screamed, my mind stayed with those Indiana 100 participants. I'd see one here and there as I ran, and I couldn't imagine trying to tackle the hills after 24 hours of running. They say trail runners and ultrarunners are a different breed and I'd agree. They are a jovial, passionate, less whiny breed of runner to which I need to aspire.
