2018 Potawatomi 50

Survival
and the
DNF

Facts

The Potawatomi Trail Races take place in McNaughton Park in Pekin, Illinois - which lies roughly half-way between St. Louis and Chicago.  The course is a 10-mile loop that is completed a number of times for 10, 30, 50, 100, 150, or 200 miles.  The surface is almost entirely singletrack, with a few stretches of flat field.  The terrain fluctuates between very runnable flat stretches, punctuated by extremely steep, albeit brief, technical climbs.

The race culture can be easily described as casual.  While the 50 and 100-mile races officially begin at 6am Saturday, early starts are permitted (the 150 and 200 mile races begin on Thursday).  Essentially, runners have between Thursday evening and Sunday at 4pm to complete their chosen distance.

There are two aid stations on the loop.  The first is the Totem Pole, located 3 miles from the start/finish, and the second is Heaven's Gate, which is roughly 6 miles from start/finish.

I had chosen this event due to its extremely generous cutoff (36 hours) as it would be my first 50-mile event. 

o-Dark-Thirty

At 4:25am, my eyes shot open.  My alarm wouldn't go off for another five minutes.  My starting gear was laid out the night before, and my bin for the drop area was already staged.  With Runguard and Nipguards applied, I was dressed and heading to McNaughton before 5am.

Looped courses are funny things.  The recurring familiarity of landmarks helps break up the distance into more mentally manageable pieces.  The placement of aid stations at miles 3 and 6 were perfectly spaced such that each loop was just 2 5K's, and a 4 miler to the start/finish.  Rinse and repeat until victory.

With headlamps on, the gaggle of 50 and 100-mile runners shuffled to the start line.  The seconds ticked to zero and with that, 99% of us took off at a conservative shuffle. 

"In the first half, don't be an idiot." 

This sage advice kept my pace between a moderate to brisk walk, with short stretches of slow running.  This was my first 50-miler, and I had plenty of time.  I tuned out everyone around me, not wanting to get caught up in their particular speeds.

The surface of the trail during the first lap could be compared favorably to unyielding, jagged permafrost.  Distinguishing rock from frozen mud was a meaningless exercise.  The hose from my water bladder was frozen before I reached the Totem Pole aid station, and before the end of the loop I was effectively playing Sherpa to a bag of ice.

I crossed the line for the first lap in just under 3 hours, which was probably a bit faster than I anticipated.  I resolved to slow my pace even more. I dropped my pack and associated iceblock with my gear at the drop, grabbed some french toast and bacon, and soldiered on into the second loop.

As I began my second lap, the sky was clear and the sun quickly turned the trail from a wonderland of frozen dirt, to a slip and slide surface where the gods of the trail had taken turns wiping their runny noses.  One runner I paced for a short while described how he was once passed by a man who was standing still on such a surface. The steep ascents and descents had now taken on an entirely knew dimension of difficulty.

To combat the fatigue and give my mind something else to think about, I began to pick out landmarks between the start/finish and aid stations.  The creek crossing, the hill that was so steep that a rope had been provided to help runners ascend, and various oddities provided checkpoints along the route. 

Additionally, I knew that during my third lap, I would set a vertical PR, and my fourth lap would see me nab my distance PR.  Lap 5, of course would be the victory lap.

"in the second half, don't be a wimp."

As I came up on the end of my third lap, I was tired and sore.  The sun was closer to the horizon than it was to noon; knowing that it would be dark before I finished lap 4, I added a layer, and grabbed warmer gloves and my headlamp.  I refueled with some hot soup and Tailwind and left to set my distance PR.

Going down hill at this point in the event was painful.  Each step felt uncertain.  Before I put a mile between myself and the start/finish, I was joined by two women, AJ and Annie.  Annie was on the final lap of her 50 miles, and AJ was on her 11th lap of her 150 miles.  The conversations and camaraderie we had all but carried me back to the start/finish.  About 2 miles from the end of the lap, AJ went on ahead to get some better gloves, and we made plans to meet at the drop area so we could keep going after Annie finished her race.

As we came up to the finish, I gave Annie a fist bump and headed over to get a fresh pair of socks.  I sat down in the tent, getting some fuel back in me while I started the process of changing socks (yes, at this point it was a "process"), and inspecting my soles for the telltale signs of blisters that might be addressed before heading out.

Before I was able to able to pull my second sock back on, I was stabbed in the chest.

the dnf

Okay, so "stabbed" is a bit dramatic.  All I know is that one minute I was fine, and the next I was violently shaking.  My fingers and toes had been a little numb from the cold, but I had felt otherwise fine.  In an instant a pervasive cold seemed to well up inside me.

Very quickly, I had people putting blankets over my shoulders by a campfire and vigorously rubbing by back to try and get some semblance of warmth back in my core.  Volunteers worked with me for what must have been 90 minutes to get my core temperature back up.  When I had finally stopped shaking, I left the tent to begin my fifth lap, but before I had gone 200 yards, the shaking returned and I had to call it.

aftermath

Each and every one of the volunteers at the event were demigods of support and motivation.  The aid station fare was the best I have ever seen.  The support I witnessed and experienced from everyone (volunteers and fellow participants alike) was everything that embodies what is best in the ultra community.

I returned to my hotel, cranked the heater up as high as it would go, showered to get warm, and slept.

Two weeks before the event started, the race director, Mike Kelsey, wrote on the Facebook page, 

"No DNFs. If you do not make your intended distance you will be placed in the finisher results of the distance you did finish. Again, not eligible for place awards.

Those results also count toward your cumulative miles.

You MUST complete the mileage you signed up for to receive a buckle.

If you fall short, you will receive a plaque with the Potawatomi logo and your completed miles. So everybody gets something."

Something is an understatement.  My experience at the 2018 POT50 left me with riddled with dichotomous feelings.  I feel at once both shaken by how it suddenly ended, yet also tempered and strengthened by the knowledge that my body failed before my mind did.  I wanted to keep going (hell, for 200 yards, I tried to keep going).  I didn't come anywhere close to completing that 5th and final lap, but I still feel that by some measure I still succeeded.