Chasing Western States

Nervous as hell at the start, I leaned down to adjust my calf sleeves one more time.  I did not know anyone here, but I knew of the big names that I had only heard of.  They were titans to me, and today I would be running in their tracks.  I asked Allen to check my pack one more time, I always question if I left a zipper undone!  The litany of questions began to race through my mind: How much snow would I encounter this year?  How hot would it get?  How would I deal with the altitude adjustments?  How would I even perform today?  I had no chance of winning, but this was my dream to be here, and I was not going home without a finish.  Today is the day that I would give it everything I had.  Every once in a while a human becomes so imbued with a dream that they feel they must attain; it becomes a life mission to go about chasing that dream.  For a few years now, I have been chasing Western States, my castle in the air.

Back in the day, a young Gordon Ainsleigh, unknowingly started a movement of such epic proportions that it would become one of the most sought after ultramarathons due to its historically enduring qualities as well as its notoriety.  Existing since that first historic run, in 1974, proving that humans could indeed traverse 100 miles within a strenuous 24 hour time limit, born out of the Tevis Cup 100 Mile Ride, this has been a race that has made runners and broken runners, built dreams and broken dreams, and made men/women out of boys/girls.  It has become legend and will forever live on in immortal words.

Back in 1974, Gordon Ainsleigh, who had finished the 1971 and 1972 Tevis Cup Rides, was planning on competing once again.  However, in a moment of concise weakness, he gave his top ride, Rebel, away to a girlfriend.  His backup horse went lame in the 1973 Ride so, at a loss as to what he should do, and encouraged by a fellow Tevis Ride competitor, he decided to make the journey on foot.  He did not take this duty lightly, wanting to prove himself and accomplish the goal in epic fashion, he trained relentlessly, running the final forty miles of the trail, four times, in merciless 100 degree heat, in the six weeks preceding the race, much like the way he trained his horses to take on the challenge.  Come race day, "Gordy," toed the line with his four legged and two legged competitors with a goal in mind, to reach Auburn, California in less than twenty four hours, the same task the horses and riders were aiming to accomplish.

The people at the end were looking for him, watching and waiting, and as the clock ticked down to the cutoff, the doubts of many were so gullibly confirmed.  There was not much time left, yet there were still a few spectators lingering, searching the horizon, praying for his safe arrival, when all of the sudden, he burst from the trail, arriving in Auburn. . . . . just eighteen minutes under the twenty four hour time requirement.  To the amazement of everyone, he did it!  Gordon "Gordy" Ainsleigh, had chased down the impossible and become a legend in his own right, starting the movement that people would carry on for years to come.

 There is never the "right time" to do a great thing; Gordon Ainsleigh created the perfect time and the perfect opportunity and situation, and suffered through that first run, so that others could follow in his phenomenal footsteps, wanting to do the same.  Greatness is a lot of small things done well, and mile after mile, blister after blister, and doubt after doubt, embracing pain and running with heart, facing the possibility of failure, the Western States Endurance Run is the dream of many, started by only one man.  Three years later, in 1977, the first official Western States Endurance Run began in conjunction with the Tevis Cup Ride.  Runners were monitored by a doctor who set up stations at the veterinary stops for horses, and runners were responsible for everything except water.  In the following year, interest in such mythical feats of endurance increased, and with the help of the newly created board for the Western States Endurance Run, Western States began an event, and a life, of its own.  1978 also saw the magnificent finish of the first female in under thirty hours!  Back then, Western States was the only run of its kind.  It piqued the interest of daredevils and endurance athletes alike and was the start of something much greater than one race, it was the start of a movement and the beginning of an epic legend so great, it could only best be told through experience of the race itself.

Huffing and puffing, along a mostly flat, nine mile route, I was headed to Chick Fil A, my turn around/bathroom break.  I had started reading the book, "Ultramarathon Man," by Dean Karnazes, and had become ultra inspired. . . . . to run my first half marathon.  No way in heaven could I ever run an ultramarathon, but I could do 13.1, right?  My little sister was running the Atlanta Half Marathon in the upcoming weeks, and in typical Golden family fashion, it became a lethal competition of, "Anything you can do, I can do better."  I was just the older sister, trying to keep up with a younger sister's speed, grace, and agility.  She made running look so easy!  Little did I know, what began with a simple wish and effort to run, and try to be better than someone else (keep in mind I said try there), would balloon into much greater desires to get into one of the greatest ultra races in history, embarking upon a journey of self discovery and breaking through every barrier that exists.  I was running to discover that I have no limits, they simply do not exist and I will not allow them.  To go any further than a half marathon seemed crazy, though I secretly relished the idea of pushing limits, tromping through the woods at night, and suffering through spastic up and down hills all day, only to reach a finish line that was not really a finish line, just the early start of something much more.  Today, however, I was simply running to Chick Fil A for sweet tea and a halfway bathroom break, 4.5 miles out, and 4.5 miles back.
Flash forward two and a half years, and I was toeing the start line of an all too uncertain first year of the Georgia Jewel.  That first long run of 9 miles to Chick Fil A and back seemed like a whole lifetime ago.  I was at my first ultramarathon, but I was already looking to days of future finish lines ahead, and I was not just chasing my first ultramarathon, I was chasing the legendary Western States.  In my mind, I was not just running 35 miles on the Georgia section of the Pinhoti, I was running my heart out so that one day I could be at the starting line in Squaw Valley.  I had to make it happen.  That day resulted in tripping, falling, pulling myself back up, getting to the finish, and learning that I had the ability to grow and be better tomorrow than I was today.  Greatness, getting to Western States, is a lot of small things done well, race after race.  I may not be able to qualify for the right to enter the lottery with that race, but it was a simple building block that would lead me to a race that would get me there.  There is no finish line in my book, I am just crossing a physical line, that will lead me to another line, that will eventually get me there.

That year, I was signed up for two races, two fifty milers, that could have made me one of the youngest Western States Lottery Entries ever, but ended in heartbreaking failure.  I never thought I would ever not finish, I never thought the three ominous letters, DNF would find themselves next to my name, but they did.  Part of learning to be good at something is also learning how you can fail at something.  I failed to finish those races and it was painful, it hurt, it made me feel like a loser.  Those races did not count on one thing, I have drive and determination, and while it takes zero drive and determination to stay down and accept defeat, I was coming back and defeating both of them.  Part of me being able to do ultras is that I can face the possibility of failure, but I cannot accept it.  Two years later, under tough conditions of both heat and humidity and freezing and rain, I came back to the North Face Endurance Challenge Gore Tex 50 Miler Georgia, and the Lookout Mountain 50 Miler.  I came back and battled everything I had to doubt and the possibility of failure, only to come out on top with finishes.  I did not qualify in these two races, but my confidence in the future of qualifying for Western States was ultimately bolstered by finishing where I did not know I could.  The thought of qualifying for Western States, my dream, was the reason that I had to come back to these races.  My qualifying finish is out there somewhere, all I need to do is act upon it.

Day after day I run, and I hold on to the fact that being able to embrace the pain will be a part of my pride in the achievement of getting to Western States.  There are 86,400 seconds in a day and I do not spend all of them running, but I must spend all of them defeating the enemy within, fighting for it, working day and night for it, getting out there so I can get to Western States one day.  Throughout this post I have quoted Ray Lewis by saying, "Greatness is a lot of small things done well," and I know that everyday of work I put in, everyday of effort, excellence, and action in what I do, will build up to an eventual Western States berth.  I am not there yet, but I will be, because day after day I work towards my goal.  There is never a perfect moment or timing, but that is why I work towards it everyday, so i can created the perfect moment, opportunity, and situation.  I am so far out of my comfort zone, and no one can do this but me.  It will take me being something phenomenal, and getting there has everything to do with me; I will make it a reality.  What are you going to let drive you, what are you going to do with your time?  I am chasing Western States.

   (as a disclaimer, i do not own the video, the pictures, or the historic story of western states.  The pictures were pulled off the internet and western states website while the historic story was pulled off Western States website and as told by Gordon Ainsleigh himself).

The Run of a Lifetime at the Lookout Mountain 50 Miler

As the truck rolled up to the start line, I shivered with excitement at the thought of what lay ahead.  A terrifying 50 Mile run on Lookout Mountain that had defeated me once before.  The weather was brutal as mother nature had dealt us a great hand that day, and she posed a serious threat to what many hope would be a brilliant athletic feat that day.  The torrential rain kept washing down on us and it was not relenting, the wind kept beating us against the mountain, but there was one thing that mother nature did not count on.  Undaunted and unphased by many "normal" obstacles, ultra runners do not go home or give up without a fight, and as far as I was concerned, the fight was on!  As we parked and I started rummaging around for my gear, my mind flashed back to my other lengthy battle of the mental kind that had recently come to an exhilarating end.
I had never been much for academia, God knows I hated to sit down and spend hours listening to one more professor lecture for eternity on endless topics.  I did not want to be here, my motivation had waned since I was an eighteen year old college freshman, and when twenty five hits, well still being in college felt a little old.  I felt defeated that I was still here, weak and vulnerable, and I quite frankly did not want to attend college anymore.  I was no good at "learning stuff".  There were three people who pushed me to continue, as they did in all my races, motivating and working with me to receive my degree, my mom, my dad, and my husband.  I think it was fitting that I started running ultramarathons when I began the end of my college journey at Georgia Gwinnett College, and it was fitting that I was celebrating my long awaited graduation with yet another run at personal glory.  As I sat back and tried to bring my mind to focus on the task that lay before me, I was also breathing a sigh of relief at graduating college with my degree, and thanking my lucky stars that I had made it all this way.  After weathering the ultramarathon that is college, it was appropriate that I end my experience with a race that had defeated me before, and return to finish it.
I sidled up to the mud puddle of a start line to get the shoes that I was borrowing from the Salomon rep, the Fell Raisers.  It goes against everything in my being to try new shoes out in a race, but this day was making the mountain slush and I figured it could not hurt to try something new.  I ran back to the car to avoid getting soaked by waiting out in the rain.  I kept fretting about the start our day had gotten off to, flat tire, dog getting loose.  Sharpening my mind to laser focus on getting through this race on my own two feet seemed like an impossible task.  I could not help but wonder how this would all go down.  My husband offered reassuring words, but I silently brushed them off.  Before I knew it, it was go time, and my family, my husband, and I reluctantly shuffled to the soggy start that was the Lookout Mountain 50 Miler of 2013.

Randy Whorton, the ultra fabulous RD, of the Rock/Creek Race Series gave us final instructions while final pre race pics were being snapped, and everyone gathered in a nervous, electrifying bunch at the start.  You could feel the excitement in the air, race day was finally here!  In just mere seconds, the hammer would drop and the runners would be off, hoping to finish out this nasty day with a personal win.  Just like that, the herd disappeared into the woods, crossed the road, and headed off behind Covenant College for our journey down the mountain.
It all starts with a winding road behind Covenant College that disappears onto technical single track, which leads out to the bluffs trail.  At this point in the race, everyone is still bunched together and passing is difficult, it is easier to settle into a pace and wait for things to thin out.  The trail was made more technical by practically being underwater.  Never mind the rocks, roots, and steep creeks, the dirt was so wet it was slippery and we had to watch our step.  This is the first year that they had rerouted the course around a rock slide on the mountain that blocked the old course, preventing us from going that way.  It is at this point where it could be extremely scenic, but there was so much fog, that we could not see off the mountain and into the valley below.  This helped since we all needed to focus on our running and where we were placing our feet.  Small conversations were struck up while making our way to Craven's House, but people were quiet for the most part.  Upon arriving at Aid Station 1, Craven's House, there was loud, raucous, welcoming cheer.  We were all soaking, freezing wet and the cheer was much welcomed.  This was the hardest aid station to navigate because of the jumble of bodies that were scrambling for food and water.  I, not having any food, grabbed some Fig Newtons and got out of there.  So far so good, aid 1 down, but many more to go.
This race provides lots of opportunity to run with someone, and much of it is runnable, but I was by myself for most of it.  I offered encouragement to passing runners, and the runners I passed, but I was flying solo on the trails today, in my own zone.
At Aid 2, I ran into Kris Whorton, the wife of RD Randy Whorton, whose exuberance was uplifting.  She was talking and filling cups with M&M peanuts.  I am pretty sure my unintelligible speech, made so by a mouth full of Peanut M&M's, meant next to nothing but she still nodded, smiled, laughed, and encouraged us to press on.  Aid Station 2 had an entrance and exit on asphalt road, but the exit was brief, leading us straight back to the single track, which began to get grueling.  We just spent 14 miles running down the mountain, and it was only going to take 8 to get back to the top and the start/finish line at Covenant College.  While not extremely difficult in terms of incline and terrain, it is a good thing this is tackled early on in the race.  I felt like this was the first real place where I needed to walk, but I kept in mind that I had to maintain a good pace so that I could arrive at the top in plenty of time to change to dry clothes and forge on to the other side of Lookout.  This is another point where the view could be incredible, but again, the weather was unfortunately against us with thick blankets of fog and the heart dampening rain that ensued upon us.  Once the initial climb was over, we were constantly conquering switchbacks and every time it seemed that we were going up, we started going down again.  There was no general concept of where we were on the mountain and how far up we had gone.  I would not have minded so much if my bottle belt was not rubbing holes in my sides the size of Lake Lanier.  I was simultaneously battling the cold, the wet, and a rubbing bottle belt and it was enough to drive my mind crazy, until the stairs appeared out of the fog that led us back to Covenant.

I was so happy to be back on top of Lookout because I had my first real opportunity to see my husband, Allen, and my dog, Samson, and be lavished with new, dry gear.  I half expected Allen not to be there because I came into the slightly halfway point well under my predicted time in roughly 4:37.  As I rounded the corner, the black coat of my rescue mix dog, Samson, was unmistakable and as I called his name, both their heads turned.  Allen congratulated my current race success, changed my bottle belt for my camelbak, got me fresh socks, fresh clothes, fresh water, fresh food (okay, m&m's don't count as fresh food, but it was good to me).  I braced myself for what lay ahead, and took off once again, looking forward to the next point when I would see them both, at Long Branch. 
The following miles, leading down to the Lula Lake Land Trust were the first in which we encountered serious mud.  Right off the start/finish we had a mud laced field, and about a mile away from that, under the power lines, we had another section that many racers were calling the "mud fields."  These sections were practically calf to knee deep in slippery, sliding, gooey mud.  Even in good shoes people could barely gain enough traction to get them up and over some of the hills.  Those who had unfortunately chosen to wear road shoes were clearly having a rough go of it.  At this point, coming down the mountain, before hitting Lula Lake, I had a nice, easy, settled pace going that moved me right along.  I was humming the "Indiana Jones" theme song and just keeping to myself, even passing a few people, when I all of the sudden tripped and fell...hard.  It was here that I felt the first twinges of pain in my left knee.  Never before had I experienced knee issues, but I was beginning to feel my body rebelling against me.  Running uphill became a lot more difficult, and running downhill was manageable at best.  Gritting my teeth and bracing myself  was the best way of coping because I had a lot further to go.  I was over the halfway hump, but I was not down to the single digit miles, and I needed to keep moving.  When arriving at Lula Lake, you hear the noise of running water, and you all of the sudden see these beautiful waterfalls.  When I say beautiful, I mean the best part of our whole day!  Absolutely breathtaking to watch the water cascade over the rocks and fill the pools below.  This was one of the best picture spots of our entire day.  At this aid station, we encountered a sweet little four legged cheer dog name Charger.  He was so excited, running back and forth, here and there, greeting us and telling us goodbye when all of the sudden, there was no Charger.  His owner, not knowing where he went, ran off looking for him but to no avail.  He was gone, and so were we. 
We took off for the most vertical part of the race, and fortunately the runners had spread out here.  Once you turn off the dirt road of lula lake land trust, you encounter a steep climb through which you pull yourself up by ropes tied between trees.  During the day, no problem, even fun; however, at night, it is down right scary looking straight down and not wanting to fall.  On top of Lula Lake I was really beginning to suffer with that knee problem, but I followed Ultra Runner logic in thinking, "I've run more than halfway, there's no way I'm going home now."  On top of Lula Lake, there are beautiful views, once again clouded by the terrible weather, but there was an even better view that we did not expect, it was the lost dog Charger!  Not wanting to turn back, and not knowing what else to do, we told him to come with us, and he did!  He ran all four miles to Long Branch, even staying in the shoulder of the road when we got there so as to avoid cars.  When arriving at Long Branch, we delivered Charger to a very excited/worried Kris Whorton who scooped him up into her car to deliver him to a worried sick owner.  Poor boy got lost and needed his momma, and luckily he went home safe.  It was nice having Charger run along with us, his exuberant, "Do you know where my momma is face?," helped to keep me going, and knowing he was going home safe set my mind at ease as well. 
Long Branch version one, was an opportunity to see Allen and Samson again!  I was finally starting to tire, my knee hurt, shoes and socks were very wet, and I was just beginning to become physically and mentally depleted.  I used my MuscleTrack to rejuvenate my worn muscles, sipped on some Ramen noodles, ate some trail mix, gave Samson a hug and Allen a kiss, and headed up the trail, well under the time cutoff.  This next four miles would be a strain, but was some of the most runnable of the entire course.  It was a small four mile loop that encircled private property and allowed to see the beautiful homes of the Long Branch loop.  These gorgeous homes took my mind off how bad I was starting to feel, seeing the architecture and craftsmanship.  I slightly went off course when I followed the road to the trail, instead of the trail, missing the guide flags on the ground.  I dared to hope that I would finish this race, and when the end of the loop was in sight, I knew that the finish was in my grasp and I was going home.  As the people in the camping chairs were cheering, so it ran through my mind, "12 more miles!," on and on.   
Just like in my academic career, after failing three finance classes, before finally passing a fourth, and being cleared to take capstone, I was on my way to the end.  I cannot explain how frustrating my battle with numbers and math is, but we just do not mix, and that volatility spilled over into my problems with finance class.  While I have great experience in reaching people, developing a sheet of numbers was so far from my forte, it was like trying to see the top of Everest on a cloudy day.  Finally passing that fourth finance class, and moving on to my final two classes, Capstone and Promotion, made me see that the end was finally in sight.  I knew I had two more classes to go and I knew I was going to graduate college.  Finishing this race was something I could do because I was determined to finish and it was within me to finish, just like graduating college.  I was hurting, but as an ultra runner I have learned to have a little bit of gumption, which means the character to commit and complete.  Ultra Runners never give up, not on anything, I had the character to commit to the race, but the evidence that I committed to this race would be found when I crossed the finish line and completed this race.  It was time to dig, dig deep within, and find the gumption to complete.

Many runners had dropped or already gone on to the finish, and I was by myself so I finally picked up my ipod to keep me company and began jamming out to anything that would keep my spirits high.  Most people would be surprised that I have just about everything from "Ode to Joy," by Beethoven, to "Amazing Grace," by Chris Tomlin, to "Timber," by Pitbull.  Keeping a steady flow of random music keeps me calm and keeps me excited.  Night was beginning to fall and I was rushing to get to the top of Lula Lake Land Trust by nightfall, and optimistically to the section of ropes by full darkness.  I was now racing against time to finish, and avoid as much of the night as possible.  I reached the top of Lula Lake by the time it started to get really dark, but then I began to have more problems.  My headlamp was dim and I did not know why.  I was certain I had checked it before leaving the hotel.  My knee hurt even worse and was progressively sliding downhill, and with the eminent fall of night, the mind games began to play rampantly.  I heard noises that were not there and saw things move that did not exist.  I was in the woods, at night, alone, and I was rushing to get back to Lula Lake, and the safety and comfort of the aid station.  Reaching the ropes faster than I expected, right as the sun was eking out its last stretches of comforting light, I slowly lowered myself down to the dirt road.  Coming into the aid station was a welcome relief.  There was food, drink, hot soup, and the last bit of encouragement before we were to reach the finish.  I was beginning to chat with others as we took off for the promised land of the finish line.  I was in a nice four person group just about until we reached the footbridge crossing the creek of Lula Lake.  It was a sight for sore eyes because it was a clue that runners were getting close to Lookout Mountain again.  It was also the start of a very long climb back up the side of Lookout Mountain.  In the day, it is easy to see and hear everything around you, but at night, the trail is hard to find and the woods are cunningly deceptive.  My headlamp was causing me to stumble and fall again and I was most frustrated here.  I was so close and so far all at once in trying to reach the end.  I wanted to finish, but how could I finish if I could not even see where I was going? 
This felt a lot like being in Capstone and playing the business simulation game.  It is hard to see the end, when everything is so confusing in the now.  I wanted to graduate but I had to depend on the help of my team to get me there.  Even though working in teams can be difficult, it is nice to have different people that have different strengths, because putting them together can make the team strong.  Just like being on course at the Lookout Mountain 50 Miler, there were other people who had stronger headlamps that I caught up to that I had to rely on to help get me to the finish. 
My headlamp was virtually no use, and I needed the help of those other runners to get me home, finally emerging from the woods to the power line mud fields, I was so grateful, because we were no more than two miles from the finish.  I was panicked because we barely had the time to get there within the allotted 13 hours to finish.  Luckily the last few miles, once the mud fields were passed, were really runnable, but I had to take stock in the value of time management and hurry my rear end on into the finish.  I was exasperated, was I going to make it or not? 

After a full day of fighting, dragging myself through mud, and mentally giving myself pep talks to carry on I saw something beautiful!  The second set of mud fields!  We were less than half a mile!  I ran/slipped/sloshed through those second sets of muddied fields and was relieved to see Christmas lights.  Christmas lights mean only one thing, the end is near!  I could hear Randy Whorton on the loudspeaker announcing finishers, and I burst into a limping hop a long.  I nearly started to cry!  I emerged from the woods and crossed the finish line in 12:46:22.  Not only had I finished a race that had defeated me before, but I also PR'd in my 50 mile time by nearly an hour!  I felt like I had really accomplished something that day and I was happy to finish!  I leaned over to have a medal hung around my neck, and received my hoodie and pint glass with honor.  In a race that had defeated me soundly before, one I never knew I would finish, I came back and gave it all I had to finish the run of a lifetime at the Lookout Mountain 50 Miler.

       
Nobody should underestimate the impact of finishing a race.  Whether it is five miles or fifty miles, the need to finish is great, and I see no reason to fail when success is offered everyday.  I toughed out a rough and tumble day on course at the Lookout Mountain 50 Miler, and when I thought defeat was eminent, I crossed the finish line.  I also toughed out nearly eight years in college, failing and passing classes, frustrating and enthusiastic, and just when I thought the end would never come, I finished.  When the day seemed darkest, the horizon was just beyond, and the finish was right there.  I see no reason to fail when success is offered everyday.  The races that I have been the most proud of are not the ones that I easily finish, feeling as if I have simply destroyed them.  No, the races I am most proud of are the ones that feel like I have barely eked out because they asked everything of me.  It took all of my being to finish, but regardless of my fears and my doubts and my shortcomings, all lined up like a firing squad to shoot me out of the sky, I finished.  It was within me to finish, I needed to finish but it was purely the determination that lay within that allowed to reach the finish both in college and at the Lookout Mountain 50 Miler. 

Bottom Line: The day was wet and no one can control the weather.  Many people who had finished before said that these were the worst conditions they had seen this race receive in years.  The trails were soggy and difficult to navigate and the mud confounded most runners.  Randy and Kris Whorton and all the sponsors put on an excellent race and they do the best they can to make runners comfortable despite the weather.  The mileage was pretty accurate and the support crew was beyond fantastic.  The food and drink provided were exemplary.  It was well organized, well run, and beautifully executed despite the damper of a weather foul day.  I have nothing but good things to say about these races because they some of the best to run in the SouthEastern United States, bolstered by a strong outdoor running community.  I always recommend running any race in the Rock/Creek Race Series because these trail races are some of the best!  Thank You Wild Trails, Rock/Creek, all the sponsors for 2013, and Randy and Kris Whorton for yet another wonderful season of Rock/Creek race series!