Riverlands 100 Race Report
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| Standing on my X and waiting to start |
Also, before I jump in, special thanks are due to my husband extraordinaire Kevin Hayden, my kiddo’s Sully and Lizzy, my brother-in-law Ryan, my sister and my parents, my pacers and crew Jeremy and Rob, my coach Scott Traer, my PT Shira Dragun, my neighbors for always cheering me on, my coworkers for their sweet messages, my Lynn Woods pals for their never-ending support, my nighttime running partners Manny, Natasha, and Steve, and all my friends for their encouragement. Photo creds go to Rob and Jeremy.
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| Race ready - walking to the start and posing for a quick pic with the best crew evah - Jeremy and Rob |
The race started at 6 am, with great weather. My crew, Rob and Jeremy, had set up my own aid station at the start/finish line. As we lined up to get started, I felt nervous and excited, but mostly just ready to go. I had trained for this for almost a year, so I just wanted to get the show on the road already! The race only had about 60 runners in the 100 mile race, and then a handful of relay teams also running a version of the 100 broken into 5 legs of 20 miles each. The relay runners shared some of our route, but were mostly on a different course. I have been told the relay course was less technical with less elevation gain.
The course was a 25 mile out and back, which we would run 4 times. Simple enough right? Hmmm… There was an aid station about 10K (6.2 Miles) out, called Middle Earth, and another in another 10K, called Conant Road. At Conant Road, we turned around and headed back to run another (approximately) 12.5 miles, hitting Middle Earth Aid Station again. We would then run 6.2 miles to the start line, attend to anything we needed with our crew, and head back out.
This means that each part of the course was visited eight times. Each uphill climb four times, and then that same downhill the other way four times. Anyone who has run a trail ultra knows that, downhills can be just as slow, difficult, and dangerous as uphills. Especially when they’re steep and technical, as was the case at Riverlands. Every stream or muddy bog was crossed not once, but eight times. In hindsight, I realize this race was not the best choice for my first 100. 14,000 elevation gain plus super technical trails including mud and a total of about 15-20 river crossing (where you do get your feet wet especially as the race goes on and you get tired), was not easy. I knew it was going to be tough and I knew might not finish. But knowing it and doing it can be two very different things.
Ascent (or descent) to the ridge near Middle Earth
As I have many friends who aren’t ultra runners, I have had a lot questions over the last week about how these races work. So I’ll answer a few here. The #1 question has been: Do you sleep? The answer is no. I have heard of some runners stopping for a quick nap during an ultra, but for me, I’m not a fast enough runner to be able to do that and still finish the race in time. For Riverlands, we started at 6 am, ran all day, all night, and most of the next day too. I don’t believe there were any runners who took naps during this race. Question #2: Do you eat? Yes, absolutely! Training your gut to eat while running is one of the most important aspects of training for an ultra. My goal was to take in 250 calories an hour while running. I ate every 30 minutes, and I had tailwind in my water, which is a powder with calories and nutrients. I carried water in my running pack, along with snacks and my emergency gear. I would also get food and water at the aid stations. Some examples of the food I ate during the race were: Huma gels, Ritz peanut butter crackers, Smuckers uncrustable sandwiches, bacon (yes, I did, at 3 am), coffee, coca-cola (a lot), cheese quesadillas, oranges, beef broth, ramen noodles, mountain dew, snickers bars and cheez-its. Although most ultra runners eat very healthy from day to day (for example, leading up to a race I typically stop drinking alcohol at all and try to eat as much lean protein and vegetables as possible), on race day we’re looking for high calorie, high sugar, and when we need it, caffeine. Question #3: Do you run trails at night? Yes. Although I have had a considerable amount of practice running at night, I haven’t done a lot of such technical trails as Riverlands at night, and I’ve never run ALL night. The experience of watching dusk fall, then watching the moon rise, then hearing the coyotes go bonkers all night, and then, at about 4:30, hearing the forest start to wake up around me to finally bloom into full morning sunshine, all while running, is rather trippy. I wore a headlamp, and carried a small, very strong hand held flashlight. I carried extra batteries in case of emergency. Another important factor was that at mile 50, just as dusk was falling, I picked up my pacer, Rob. A pacer is a magical unicorn of a person who keeps you on course, keeps you running at the right pace, makes sure you keep fueling, listens to you cry, and makes sure you don’t fall of a cliff. Rob ran miles 50-100 with me. He’s my guardian angel. Another difficulty of running at night can be the temperature drop. Although it was 60 degrees during the day May 8, after nightfall it dropped to near freezing, so we all had to layer up to prepare for that. Luckily I love running in the cold so it didn’t bother me. Many people ask Aren’t you afraid of running in the woods at night? And the answer is honestly, no. I’ve never been afraid of running in the woods, really at any time of day or night. I am more afraid of running some streets at night than in the woods. Last question: Do you stop to go to the bathroom? Yes, I do. A lot. I do it all in the woods. It ain’t pretty, but whatever.
So anyway, I ran most of loop 1 with a new friend named Harry. Making new friends at races is super fun and you meet the coolest people! The biggest problem I faced during this loop was that I could feel my feet were already getting torn up. They got wet in the mud and I could feel blisters forming already. Unfortunately I had to spend 20-30 minutes at the base station after the first loop getting my feet worked
on by Rob and Jeremy.
Trying to fix my feet after loop 1
I felt better as I headed out for loop 2. But I was by myself this whole loop, which was difficult. The most I had ever run was 52 miles, so I was nervous to reach 50 and know I was only half way there. I tried to focus on just moving from aid station to aid station. My strategy to spend as little time as possible at each station worked well - the volunteers said I was the most efficient ultra runner stopping at aid stations they had ever seen! I did have my first vomit session at about mile 40, but it wasn't bad and a little puke is normal for me.
Rob and I headed out for loop 3 and it felt awesome to have company. Night was falling and I was excited to pass my PR of 52 miles. I was also relieved for the withdrawal of the mosquitos that had plagued the runners all day. It was extremely difficult to navigate some parts of the course in the dark. There were dangerous river crossings, but the most treacherous section was descending the ridge. Right before Middle Earth, there was a large climb up to a ridge, and then you had to descend down over the course of about 40 stone steps. The steps were rocks stacked against the cliff, so they only had a wall on one side, and the other side dropped straight off. Not only was it the middle of the night, but I had been running for 14 hours and was physically and mentally depleted. What a rush though! I did have a breakdown at about 2:00 in the morning. I cried and said to Rob, “I just don’t think I can do this. No matter what I do, no matter how I try in everything in my life, it’s never enough. I’m never good enough.” I realized that this moment, right there, was the essence of the ultra race. It strips you down to your very bones and shows you your greatest weaknesses and your greatest strengths. I realized that I have always felt that my very best is not enough. That I am not enough. Sometimes we can't really understand or define our demons until we are tested and broken down.
If we can’t define our weaknesses, we can’t work to try to conquer them. By putting oneself through a suffer-fest like an ultra, we are able to find these weaknesses. To find ultra.
Leaving for loop 2
I persevered. The wonderful Rob helped me through it. He promised me I’d feel better once I finished loop 3, and saw the sun again.
I knew that after loop 3, I faced the first big cut-off of the race. My one goal for this race was to finish. I knew that I would be riding the cut-offs to the wire based on my 50 mile race time. But I didn’t know how stressful that would be. I had to be LEAVING the start line for loop 4 by 6:30 am. If I didn’t, they’d pull me and my race would be over. I hated the thought of getting to 75 miles only to be told I was done. My kids were coming with Kevin to see me finish later that day. I could NOT let them see mom fail. Not today, not ever. I needed them to know that you can chase your dreams, apply yourself to a goal, and win the day. No matter how old you are, no matter how short you are, how chubby you feel, how aged, no matter your gender, no matter your natural athletic ability. No matter what. But in addition to needing it for them, I needed it for me. I needed to know I could do these things. I wanted to have no regrets. I wanted to finish this race for me. As we got closer to finishing loop 3, I knew we were going to cut it close. Rob texted Jeremy what I needed, so he’d be ready and meet me right at the starting line so I could turn around and GO as quickly as possible. Because as soon I made this cutoff (God willing) there was another one in 4 hours to contend with. As I closed in on mile 73, I grabbed a large stick to help me move faster. It seemed to help, so Rob suggested we have Jeremy grab one of his alpine poles for me to use on loop 4. I mumbled something unintelligible in response. My headlamp was making my head ache and I was desperate to take it off, and to stop holding my flashlight. I kept thinking - I look so ridiculous - why is my mouth hanging open and my eye lids are half closed? Why am I shuffling along like a geriatric zombie? My neck and shoulders ached, and I only felt relief when I stretched my neck up in an odd ostrich-like impression and flopped my hands at my thighs while running. Needless to say, I was very un-Jennifer like. I also puked again somewhere in loop 3, but I can't remember where. I didn't complain to Rob - I don't like to complain. It just seems like a waste of energy.
We pulled into the start line at 6:20 am. I dropped my headlamp and flashlight in the dirt, gave Jeremy my pack for a water refill, grabbed a mountain dew, and turned right around. By this time everyone knew my name, and everyone was yelling “Go Jennifer!” “You go girl!” “Don’t stop, keep going!” Jeremy, a very experienced ultra runner and salt-of-the-earth individual, walked with me as I drank my soda and he said kindly, “I don’t want to be a jerk, but I need to be honest with you. You need to find a way to somehow cut one hour off your last loop time. I want to be honest - I don’t know if that’s possible.” I was silent as I contemplated. I knew inside that I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t. I wanted my kids to see my finish. For them, and for me, I wouldn’t stop. I told him, while weeping, “Whether I finish within the time limit or not, I’m running 100 miles today. They’re going to have to drag me off the course to stop me. I DON’T QUIT. I WILL NEVER QUIT.” I have never felt more powerful or strong than I did in that moment. I knew that it would take a small miracle to make it to the next cutoff in time. But I was going to do it or die trying.
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| Mile 80 |
I had to reach Conant Road in another four hours (12.8 miles, 20K). Something to understand about trail running, and ultra running too, is that paces are slower than road running. The pace depends upon the trail conditions. Myself for example: I can currently run a road 5K at about 9 minute miles. My PR 5K time is 24 minutes about 4 years ago. But on trails, I run untechnical, easy trails at about 10 minutes per mile, and technical about 12-13 minutes per mile. But that’s at a distance up to about a marathon. Above a marathon, or what’s known as an ultra, I’m much slower (and so is every runner, no matter now elite). Additionally, the vast majority of runners do a LOT of walking or very slow shuffle-running in the last 25 miles or so of a 100 mile race. From everything I have read and heard, the last loop is going to be pretty slow. People have said to me that of the last 25-30 miles, they only ran about 5. But for me, I realized I was going to have to RUN this last loop. That was an extremely daunting task. Not only was I mentally and physically spent, but honestly, I was in last place in the race. I was the slowest freaking person out there. And now I was supposed to RUN? But I put on my big girl panties and did it (not really, I didn’t really change my panties because, that would be too painful due to my extreme chafing in that region of my body and because, well, I just didn’t have the time). I put in my headphones for the first time in the race. I turned on my music. And I RAN. I ran up the hills I had walked up in loops 1-3. At one point I thought to myself, I’ve traversed 80 miles in the last 24 plus hours, and I am running like a goddess. I felt like a million dollars. My smile was real. We climbed up to the ridge and then I hopped down those stone steps for THE LAST TIME. I pulled into Middle Earth aid station at exactly 8:30 am and heard the cheers of the volunteers screaming my name. I saw their faces. I know they thought - damn she is fucking booking it. Go mama go!
I knew I only had two hours to make it 6.2 miles. An almost impossible feat for me. Rob stayed right behind me and told me that if he passed me, I was going too slow. He yelled at me. He yelled kind of a lot, and as much as I love him, at moments I hated him. But he was doing his job. I know it wasn’t easy for him. I know he worked REALLY hard. I will never be able to repay him.
As we neared Conant Road, we passed runners coming towards us and asked them how much further. When they said one mile and I looked at my watch, I yelled at Rob “This is happening! This is FUCKING HAPPENING! I AM GOING TO DO THIS!” and I didn’t yell it in an elated cheerleader kind of way. I yelled it like a crazed sumo wrestler. Poor Rob.
Closer and Closer. Rob started yelling at me - THREE MINUTES, COME ON DON’T STOP RUNNING! I kept going. It was so hard. The hardest thing I have ever done (yes including two natural childbirths). TWO MINUTES….COME ON JENNIFER I CAN SEE IT I CAN SEE THE AID STATION! I ran up to Conant Road at 10:29. I yelled I’M HERE!!! Then I turned right around kept going. On my way back I passed another guy who I didn’t even know had been behind me. I yelled at hime (still channeling a crazed sumo wrestler) something along the lines of YOU’VE GOT THIS YOU CAN DO IT! and then I forced him to give me a fist pump. I think it got pretty weird, I’m not sure. His dad was following behind him. This darling man said to me, “You’ve got this Jennifer, you’re going to make it sweetheart, I just know it.” I will never forget what he said to me. Some things just stick with you, and I saw the best of humanity in that guy that day. Sadly, Rob later told me that runner didn’t make the cutoff, and they put him on an ATV to drive him back. They wouldn’t allow him to keep going. It was strange for me to think that, that could have been me. I was glad I wasn’t on that ATV. But mostly, I felt so bad for that poor kid and his dad.
I tried to keep running. Rob kept yelling at me. I knew I only had 3.5 hours to make it 12.2 miles. My mind spun around. I knew that if I
pushed myself to do what I had just done on the first half of the loop, I’d likely end up in the hospital. I knew I was on the very brink of my physical ability. I also reasoned that, I had made the only two published hard cutoffs - 6:30 am and 10:30 am. According to their rules, they couldn’t pull me from the course. If I finished after 32 hours (2 pm), I wouldn’t get a buckle, wouldn’t get my finisher sweatshirt, wouldn’t have cheering crowds to watch me finish. But I’d have my kids and my husband there to see me, on mothers day. And I’d have run 100 miles. I knew in my heart that my only two goals were to 1) run 100 miles, and 2) for my kids to see me do it.
Rob and Jeremy at mile 76
As I said, ultras teach you about yourself. It’s almost like a near death experience that teaches you what you value, what you really want from life, how you need to improve and what you need to do to get there. In the middle of the night in the Maine woods, I saw with a clarity I have never before experienced that I am wracked with insecurities. I feel like I will never be good enough, and I care far too much what people think about me. I also learned the only thing I wanted, when my mind turned to fantasizing about release from my current agony, was to be with my family. Now, on the morning of the second day, I knew that for me, to finish beyond the cutoff time and to BE OK with that was more of a win than to earn a buckle. To know that this race was for me, not for anyone else. Not to make me look a certain way to others, but to make me feel a certain way, to know inside myself that I was enough. I told Rob that I wasn’t going to be able to run the whole last 12 miles. That I wasn't going to finish in time. But that was ok. This race was a 10 out of 10 for me. This was a win. I was going to finish 100 miles, and I was going to have no regrets. I told him that if I pushed myself too hard to finish by 2:00, I’d end up in the hospital, and I couldn’t do that to my kids and husband. They had all already sacrificed so much for me to be here at this race. I needed to be with them for mothers day, and that was my priority, not finishing within a certain time.
I also felt that, over the last year, we have seen terrible things in our country and our world. I have lost a friend to COVID-19. People are dying every day. I feel fortunate just to be able to do a silly thing like run a race. More fortunate than I ever have before. In the face of the sadness and fear we are living through, gratitude for what we can do is more powerful than regret for missteps.
Rob texted my family and Jeremy to let them know my projected finish time. Rob and Jeremy worried the race may still close the course and force me to get off the trails, but I argued that these were public trails and I’d go off course on other trails if I had to. I was finishing.
Don’t misunderstand. The last 12 miles were not easy. Torture. Discipline. So hard. I wanted to curl up under a rock and just die at least 47 times. I started making ridiculous and irrational bargains with myself. Maybe I could just start bushwhacking through the trees to shorten my trip? Maybe I could cut off my feet and just crawl? Maybe, I could climb a tree to see how much further I had to go? Sticks started to move like snakes. I started to think trees were bears. At one point, I told Rob I had seen a beaver in the river. In hindsight, I think there was no beaver. And I’m pretty sure Rob knew it.
The miles slowly winded down. I got to Middle Earth at 12:30. They cheered but said to me - “you’re going to have to really book it to get to the finish in time.” I said, with tears streaming down my face, “I’m not going to make it by 2:00, and that’s ok. I have two little kids, one with autism, and they need to see mommy finish on mothers day. I have only two goals - to run 100 miles and for them to see me. I don’t need a buckle or anything else. I just need to be with my babies on mothers day. All I want is them right now.” They were four men manning the aid station, and they all joined me in my tears. They said “You go girl, you go see those babies, and you’re a badass.” About a quarter mile from the aid station, the quesadilla I had grabbed at the aid station stuck in my throat, and I had a really bad puking spree. It was definitely the worst I've had while running. But I kept moving while puking, which is key for me. No matter what I'm doing, I do it while moving.
The last 6.2 miles was interminably long. I just knew someone had gone out there and moved the flags to make the course longer. There
was NO way this was the same course as earlier. Finally we reached the last stretch of gravel ATV road which I knew signified the last 1.5 miles or so. I began to try to move faster. We crested the final hill, then started down. Then finally, after an unacceptably long wait, I saw, at the bottom of the hill, the turnoff to the parking lot, where the finish line waited. One of the volunteers from the Middle Earth aid station was at the bottom. He raised his arms and yelled GO JENNIFER!!! He ran up to me and Rob and trotted along with us. I began to weep. I mean ugly, ugly gorilla-at-the-zoo weeping. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like that. Gasping and smiling and snotting all the way. In that moment I felt not only what I had done over the last 33 hours, but what we’ve all done over the last 14 months. The sacrifice, the fear, the despair. Watching my sons’ social skills wain and behavior lapse because he wasn’t able to be in school and wasn’t getting the services he needed. Trying to teach my daughter to read and write and do math, when I had no idea what I was doing and I knew I was failing. Crying myself to sleep because we were all suffering and I couldn’t decide if I should send them back to school or not. Worrying my parents would get sick and I wouldn't be able to be there with them. My own inability to work because I was home educating two children on IEP’s, one with serious neurological differences. The process of explaining to Sully that he has autism, and what that means. The one constant I’ve had, beyond love from my family, was running. The one thing I had to grab onto for me was training for this race. And I had done it. I had not allowed myself to quit. Even though I wanted to, and honestly others probably wanted me to, I didn’t. And my kids got to see that. I pulled around the corner and saw them and Kevin. In an odd way, I couldn’t believe they were there. There, in that now mostly empty parking lot, a whole lifetime had transpired for me over the last 33 hours. I had grown as a person ten-fold, and suffered beyond my imagination. Yet the world had continued to turn, and here they were. My daughter ran up to me and crossed the finish line with me. I hope that she knows a woman can be stronger at 38 years old than 20. I hope she knows a woman’s strength and worth has NOTHING to do with her appearance. I hope she knows everything she needs is inside of her, not in the opinions of others. I hope she knows that life will challenge her, push her down and make her cry, but she can get back up. I hope she knows the most important thing: just keep going.
Jeremy serving as crew chief at my own
personal aid station
So that’s my story and I’m grateful for it. I learned more and gained more as a person than I would have if I had ran 100 miles in 32 hours. I am a better person after last weekend. But I know I will continue to be challenged by life, motherhood and my physical pursuits. My only aim is to keep showing up, keep trying, to hold myself to my own standards, and to not succumb to what I think I SHOULD be, but focus on what I WANT to be.
Finished. Finally.
~Jennifer
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| Since returning home, I found out the Race Directors awarded me their award saved to give out for special efforts. I was awarded a quart glass jug of Maine maple syrup. Winning! |
