The ultra is a harsh mistress

Only one week left until the JFK 50 mile run. I'll be participating in the event for the second year in a row along with my friend Brian, my brother, and my uncle. This will not only be my second JFK, but also my second ultramarathon of any kind. I am very excited to see how I do. I hope I'm able to learn from the mistakes I made last year.

The 2004 JFK was a brand new experience for me. My uncle had run the race 25 times before, and my brother ran with him a few times. So I decided to sign up. I also convinced my roommate Brian to tag along. Brian and I decided to run together since it was unchartered territory for us. The first three miles were all uphill. Then we hit the Appalachian Trail. The AT is not a flat dirt path, as I'd expected, but rather a collection of rocks strewn all over the place. I had a lot of trouble running that section. Brian got ahead of me but stopped to wait at the 9-mile aid station. The rocks continued until the 16-mile mark, where we hop on the C&O Canal towpath. The terrain there was soft and flat, so I had no trouble with footing. At some point Brian and I began alternating walking and running. By the 28-mile aid station, I felt really bad but continued to press on. I made it only a couple of more miles before violently cramping up. I couldn't run more than a few steps before being crippled by charley-horses. I later realized that this was probably caused by dehydration and/or a lack of sodium. I'd been drinking water and Gatorade at every aid station, but it apparently was not enough. I was urinating very infrequently, and when I did it was a very dark color -- another sign that I needed more fluids. At the time, however, I was more concerned about finishing in the allotted 12 hours, so I didn't stay too long at any one aid station. I also ate nothing except some Power Gel, and I didn't feel like I'd be able to keep down any solid food. In retrospect, I should have tried. Around mile 30 I told Brian to go ahead without me since I was unsure if I would finish. The final miles on the towpath were incredibly lonely. It got dark and started to rain, and I couldn't see any other runners ahead of me or behind me. During this stretch I probably covered an average of 4 miles an hour. When I finally got to the end of the towpath section, which is the 42-mile mark, it was about 4:45 PM. I knew I had to cover the final 8 miles in only a little over 2 hours, and I didn't know if I could do it. The volunteers at the aid station gave me a reflective vest, and I trudged on. While on the road, I discovered that I could "shuffle" the downhills without cramping, so I may have saved a little bit of time by doing that. The roads were dark and seemingly deserted. The rain had subsided by that point, but there were plenty of puddles. At some point my watch died, which made me even more apprehensive about finishing on time. Every now and then a runner would pass me and give me some encouragement, which helped a lot. I knew that I would cross the finish line; I just didn't know if I'd make it on time. When I passed the final aid station 1.5 miles from the finish line, I knew I was getting close. I spotted my brother at a gas station along the final stretch, and he ran along with me. He told me I had over 15 minutes to finish, and at that point I knew I would make it. Right before the finish line, Brian's dad ran out and gave me a high-five. I crossed the finish line with a time of 11:46. The sense of accomplishment I felt made the torturous trek all worthwhile.

I'll get the chance to repeat that experience next Saturday. This time I hope I can stay hydrated and nourished so I can avoid cramps. I can't wait.