Lessons I Learned At My First 50k

Hello friends!
The past couple months have gotten away from me!

​After writing my previous post, my intention was to return immediately and fill you in. But I had lots on my mind, was overwhelmed with where to begin this story, and I also have just been overall prioritizing other things lately and I've neglected to post on here! But I'm getting a grip. Here's what happened at the end of August.

   I wrote my previous post about a week before I ran my first 50k race. I had been garnering distance, putting in the work to be physically ready for this event. I also had been mentally preparing, both by building confidence over time and strategizing for the potential of exhaustion or injury. I had heard this course had some climbs, and I also had heard the trail was going to be technical (but also that it was a great course for a first 50k experience). I didn't have a time goal going into this event, just the goal to reach the finish line.

   When the day finally came, I felt nervous but prepared. I'm totally happy to maintain what I call a "chill bill" pace. It's something I can sustain, no pressure, and it helps keep my anxiety at bay. I had conquered long distances before, and I practiced enough hiking to ensure I had a backup plan if I reached a point of fatigue, so regardless of the outcome, I felt like this was something I could accomplish.

   The 50k runners took off early that morning. I was somewhere among the middle of the herd, and as we made our way down the road and towards the mountain biking trails, we all had begun creating a decent amount of distance between ourselves. I tend to internalize when I hear people around me during trail races, so I was appreciating the early separation. I was feeling strong, appreciating the new scenery (this was my first time running at East Fork State Park), and internally coaching myself through navigating the trails. They marked them super well, so I luckily didn't feel too anxious in that regard.

   I was feeling generally good. Around mile 4, I took my first tumble. No biggy, just a scrape. The mountain biking trails had been recently trimmed, so it was inevitable that I'd mistake a root for a stick. I've fallen plenty of times on the trail, plenty of times during trail races as well, so I was a little shaken up, but I dusted myself off and carried on. Within the next mile, I had some additional close calls. Stay focused, don't let it ruin your mentality. At around mile 6, I had fallen again, and slightly twisted my ankle on the way down. Okay, so that hurt. I'll take it slow and keep it moving. I kept a relatively positive attitude. Again, lots of internal coaching. Couple of steep climbs later, and some small talk with a couple folks who had passed me, I was still feeling okay. I was approaching that first aid station, a little beyond mile 7.

   A small note I told myself during this race, especially because I didn't have a time goal, was that I'd be intentional about using the bathroom at all aid stations (because when I know I'll reach discomfort at some point just for running a long distance, why subject myself to little discomforts that are avoidable?). So while the volunteers helped refill my hydration vest, I was taking my precautious restroom break. My spirits were still high. I set off again, and one of the volunteers said, "The worst of the hills is over." I felt so relieved. Nutrition-wise, I was doing okay at this point. I didn't feel too fatigued, I was moving at a decent pace. I was using the fuel I packed as well as utilizing additional fuel from the aid stations.

   So unfortunately, things started to take a turn. Between that aid station and mile 11, I had rolled my right ankle over and over again. At a certain point between mile 11 and 12, I had begun to hike. And limp, might I add. I started worrying about when I'd feel more confident about picking up the pace again, or if I'd risk making it worse. What would've originally maybe taken me 9 hours to complete (based sheerly on rough calculating of my pace) was about to take significantly longer. I had told some family members about my projected finish in case they wanted to meet me at the finish line, and at this point, I was now updating them to say I didn't know when I'd be finishing. And I think having that in the back of my mind, potentially making my family drive all the way out there and then having to wait even longer for me, added more of a negative pressure. I knew logically it would be their choice to make the long drive, but I also felt guilty about having no answers to tell anyone. I didn't know if I'd be able carry on, that's how tender my ankle was feeling. So I didn't know projected pace or if I'd be finishing at all.

   A little before the second aid station, I was once again being passed by someone. But he was also hiking. His name was Will. I was choked up a little (because I felt so frustrated at how strong I felt going into this versus now having to hike to relatively early on). I tried hard not to cry, and he was reassuring me that this aid station would help me out. "I know these guys. They'll take good care of you. They won't let you drop out of this race." A little after mile 13, we finally made it to the aid station. And I immediately started crying. Just sheerly speaking out loud that My ankle hurts. I don't know what to do. I don't want to hike the whole time, I want to run! My energy felt so strong! was enough to bring out the waterworks. I'm definitely one of those people who, if something is slightly wrong and someone askes are you okay?, I can't hold it in. But these folks were great. "Want some Coke? Want some pancakes? Blueberry or regular?" They filled my hydration vest and kept handing me some goodies. "Here," one of the volunteers said, handing me a baggie of extra pancake slices and Nerds Clusters, "I want you to eat all of this before you reach the next aid station. It'll help you feel better. You're going to finish this race!" I once again did a precautious bathroom break, then took off to mile 21 aid station. And I was hiking.

​   Not going to lie, I was feeling overwhelmingly frustrated that my first 50k experience was now going to potentially be hiking from that point forward. But I tried to not feel discouraged. If you recall in my previous post, I mentioned that my buddy Cooper and I did some longer hikes together, since I tend to get more sore from hiking than I do running. And one of the things that eased some of my anxiety was that, during one of the longer hikes we did, I felt sore around mile 7, but then it dissipated and I hadn't realized I was pain-free until a few miles later. So as I hiked during my ultramarathon, from mile 11 or so (and beyond), I'd feel the occasional flare-ups of pain (primarily in my hips) but I kept telling myself that this is temporary. I'll feel better in a few minutes. And it's true! Every single time I'd have a flare-up, it would gradually dissipate as I continued through the motions. So in a way, my mindset was beginning to look up. And it especially improved when, around mile 16, I met a man named Jason on the trail. He was taking part in the 100-mile distance of that race, and he asked how I was doing. I started getting a little choked up and he acknowledged that I had been limping, and even offered one of his hiking sticks for me to use. I try to pass on it, but he assured me that I was going to finish this race and that he can just get the stick on his next loop through. Then he told me something that fully shifted my perspective: "Forward is a pace".

   I carried on with the stick, met some more amazing folks along the way with my improved mindset, and tried to also give support to folks who would pass and say they were concerned they undertrained. I wanted to share the same uplifting energy to others that Jason shared with me. Other folks were giving me a very good heads up as well: "This next aid station is the best. It's like a party. And they've got someone there who can wrap your foot for you." Mile after mile, I didn't focus about how many more miles I had until I reached the finish line. I was taking this aid station by aid station, and I was so excited to get this foot wrapped.

   And they were being truthful—this aid station was incredible. I sat down and once again got a bit emotional describing my ankle situation to the volunteers, but they brought me Coke with some salt mixed in, quesadilla slivers, and even made me a delicious smoothie. They also had a changing station, so I was able to re-apply anti-chafe items and, yes, I did use the restroom once again. I'm serious about this bathroom stuff! The perk of hiking versus running is that, I felt a lot more comfortable consuming more foods. If I was running, I'd be concerned about taking in some of this stuff, not knowing how it would make my stomach feel. But with hiking, there's less jostling happening in my stomach, so I was perfectly happy to eat. But I still felt emotional. "Eat some more quesadillas" the volunteer who was wrapping my foot said, "Not eating enough and having low blood sugar can really impact your emotions. And it can risk causing your ankle pain to feel heightened." She also advised me to keep Aquaphor-like products on my feet when changing into dry socks, since the creek crossings I was encountering could also make my feet feel worse (from all the water absorption and sock friction). I was learning a lot. But at this point, I was ready to keep moving forward. So I partnered up with another lady, who was signed up for the 100k distance, and we both set off together in a hike towards the next aid station: mile 26.2, right at the marathon mark.

   She eventually moved quicker than me, which is totally fine! I told her to do her thing, try to get back to her drop bag to retrieve her headlamp before the sun sets. We had each others backs out there. I did have some extra challenges with the downhills in this section. I was finding it harder to stabilize my ankle on the downhills compared to the uphills, and I was so so extra grateful for the hiking stick in these moments. And eventually, after a long and painful descent, then through a waist-deep creek crossing, I made it to the final official aid station (there would be one more un-manned water station near mile 30, and the course was closer to 34 miles than 31.1 miles, just for some additional context!). I changed socks, ate some food, and was surprised when Jordan appeared. I guess there was a nearby parking lot! I did cry (once again) upon seeing him, and preemptively apologized for not knowing when I'd see him at the finish line. My miles at this point were taking about 30 minutes each, simply from all the limping and climbing and cautious descents. I also met a man named Chris at that aid station, and learned that he was also in the 50k and was also struggling (with his calves, I believe). So we wished each other good luck, and he took off a little before me.

   My spirits were higher after seeing Jordan, and my goal now was to keep eating, stay strong, and if I felt comfortable again, I'd attempt to do what I call the trudge. It's pretty much a shuffle sort of run. Not super fast, and slower than my chill bill pace. Once things were flat for a while, I felt comfortable enough to actually try out the trudge. And it was working wonders! I trudged from mile 29, saw Chris again at the water station (and we cheered each other on again), and kept it rolling! I wanted to finish strong, and I wanted to try to beat the sunset (although I did have my headlamp with me just in case, thankfully). I kept on trudging, and any time the course got more rocky or root-y, I would revert back to hiking. But I kept trudging, trudging, trudging, and my mile time went from 30 minute miles to 18 minute miles. Progress is progress, people! Especially this late in the game! It did start to get dark, and around mile 32 I kicked a root with that right foot. Youch! The shock of the impact hurt so so horribly, I genuinely sobbed for a little bit to myself out there. That was the hardest I cried in a minute. But even while whimpering, I coached myself to keep going. You're so close, keep moving. Just hike for now, it's okay, we're almost there. At mile 33, it started getting dark. I turned on the headlamp and trudged, trudged, trudged. I could start to hear the music at the finish line! This was it! With a little more shuffling, I had made it to the finish line! I was so thrilled and grateful to see my sisters and Jordan; it meant the world that they still made the drive. And I was also very intrigued by the boxes of pizza waiting for me. 

   I know that post-race blues is a thing. And most times during a tough race I push through it and feel satisfied enough that I completed it. But this was the first time that, despite all my misfortunes throughout this 50k, I actively was thinking "I can't wait to try this again and give it a better shot." Because I knew I was capable, I knew I maintained strong energy. And I proved to myself that I truly can finish this thing, even if I have to walk there! I immediately wanted a do-over. And the extra reassurance as well is that: I was on my feet for 13 hours. So it made me think: Imagine if I ran for a whole 13 hours. How many miles could I cover? The fact that I, while currently participating in the race, already was wanting to do this again, shows how much of a great overall learning experience I had. It gave me confidence in myself that I can sit with pain, but I won't let it ruin my time. I can keep moving forward, even if I cry. 

   As for the hypothetical how many miles can I achieve in 13 hours? I'm already signed up for a race in the spring that's a 12 hour loop. We'll see how this goes.
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Thank you guys for reading. I'm happy to have finally written out my story. I don't want to forget the various lessons I learned at his race. This changed my perception of my capabilities. This gave me extra insight into how impactful emotional support can be. And this definitely changed my life. Here's to another chance!

Keep on grinning!

​Lydia

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Bonus highlights:

Meeting a person around mile 18, who originally was feeling discouraged due to undertraining. But when I saw them again at the mile 21 aid station, their spirits were so much higher. It warmed my heart to see someone else being supported by the amazing volunteers, and regaining confidence in themself.

Seeing a guy and his daughter on horses. They passed me a couple of times, and even tried to offer me a beer. I'm okay, I promise! Thanks for the offer! Was he a mirage?

Enjoying my first creek crossings! One was waist-deep, which was tough when my ankle was giving me a hard time. It was hard to see that deeply into the water in order to get solid foot placement, but man it was refreshing. I brought plenty of dry socks in my drop bags.

Meeting a woman around mile 6 who had never done any runs above a half marathon (13.1 miles) distance prior to signing up for the 50k. She had amazing energy and confidence and I believe she finished! 

Approaching the mile 21 aid station with a man who said, "Oh this is your first 50k? You're doing great! Last year I threw up over in this ditch." Hey, I'm happy we're looking at the positives!

Getting a big celebratory hug from Nettie, one of the amazing race directors, at the finish line. It means so much to have that kind of support, especially after a race doesn't go the way I wanted.