Showing Up As You Are: Hellgate 2024 Race Recap
As 2024 winds down, it feels like the storm is passing over, the tidal wave is receding, everything is nearly still and calm... even if just for a brief bit, before being catapulted into another new year.
Most of this season I’ve felt caught between feeling like I’m doing everything at once while it’s simultaneously never enough. I make progress in one place, but at the sacrifice of something else. A step forward in piano performance might be stifling progress in running. A step forward in running takes away from precious composing and practice time.
I feel fortunate to have people in my life that want the best for me, and out of me. Within the same week, I lamented to two of my mentors, one in music, one in running, that there’s not enough time. Neither of them were having my excuses. There’s always a way; it comes down to the choices I make every day. I’m giving so much every day, but there’s always, always more to give–even if it’s just a little bit. There is always crossover between the worlds I’m juggling, and perhaps the more I can seek that out, the closer I can get to reaching the pinnacle–not of my individual disciplines, but myself as a person.
Last weekend, as I was running the Hellgate 100K, I talked to myself, a lot. My breath was the pulse, my utterances were the music. I’d been feeling a bit stuck on a piece I’ve been working on. The next time I sat down to compose a few days later, I found a way to work in a similar pulse and exclamations with the music.
I had a big musical performance this week. Actually I’ve had many musical performances this last couple weeks, but this one was an especially big deal for the occasion and complexity of the music. I did everything I could to be prepared, to a point where I was practicing the music in my dreams. As with any performance, when the time draws near enough, you must stop, rest, then do your very best with the preparation you’ve allowed yourself. Did I absolutely nail every difficult passage? Nope. Did I play with confidence, keep moving no matter what, stay in the moment, and do an good job listening, responding, and supporting the musician I was playing with? Yes, I did!
With the Hellgate 100K last weekend, just showing up to the starting line felt like an act of humility. I know how hard this race is. I missed it the last two years because it falls within finals week, which is not ideal. It took place on finals week this year too, but I didn’t want to miss it again. As soon as I knew my class schedule in September, I made arrangements to make up the two days I’d miss at the end of the semester. Next year I will no longer be a student. I don’t know what my situation will be. I might have immovable obligations. So Hellgate 2024 it is!
As far as my preparation for this race: most of my runs were in the Boston area on bike paths and roads. Around once a week, or biweekly I was able to get out to the Fells Reservation to practice on trails. Way earlier in the fall in the first half of September, I had some nice long trail days supporting my friend Katie (Raven) on the PCT in the John Muir Wilderness (25 & 30 miles back to back), and Tara on the AT in TN/NC (45 miles in a day). I got to spend a couple days in the White Mountains in October. As the season went on, my long runs ranged from 13-19 miles, most of them on the lower end of that range, and mostly on pavement. I had some nice speed workouts earlier in the season. From mid-October to early December, though, it was pretty much shorter easy runs, with one long-ish run per week, just wherever I could fit them in amidst school and work.
So, my training wasn’t nothing, but it tapered off a lot throughout the fall season, rather than building. My Coros and Strava apps loved to remind me that I was either maintaining or losing fitness. Great.
But, if nothing else, I was consistently getting out the door. Similarly to preparing for the concert, there’s only so much you can do before it’s time to rest, then put your best foot forward for the performance. Performing well in any setting is all about playing to your strengths. Unlike my previous two Hellgates, I knew speed would not be my strength. The only way I could see this race working is if I stayed easygoing and consistent throughout the day.
I did exactly that. It was a very different experience from previous years. In the past I went out with the leaders, even though it was probably recklessly fast, the clip in the beginning just felt so easy and fun, so why not? This time I was right in the middle of the pack, or at least it seemed that way. In past races I saw the race director David Horton at the aid stations, even up to Bearwallow Gap (mile ~47) the first year. This time he was nowhere in sight; I was so far back that he had already moved on to the next aid stations to catch the leaders.
Throughout the race I had vivid memories crop up from the previous two times I’d run. I remember going back and forth with Kelly MacDonald, the eventual winner in 2019. I remembered a particular section that had a lot of pretty moss on the ground. Oh, there’s that boulder I had to hide behind while I was having stomach issues, while other runners were zipping by...and oh yeah, this is where the road was really icy and I had to hug the shoulder.
As an athlete and musician, I’m pretty in touch with my body. And my body felt different this year. I didn’t have much spring in my step. My hips felt a bit stiff, my back felt tight and wound up, and my steps felt heavier. It wasn’t a great feeling, but it’s what I had to work with. My plan going into the race this year was to stay smooth and relaxed, and eat often. So I did just that. I kept an eye on my watch and made sure to eat a snack on the hour every hour, and eat hot food at every aid station where it was offered.
As I ran through the night, it was a bit hard to accept myself for where I was at. The feeling of being behind–I didn’t love it! One wonderful distraction was the brilliant full moon lighting up the forest around me. It was unreal. The second time this year I’ve covered mega miles at night accompanied by the moon; the first time being the final stretch of my Kungsleden FKT in Sweden this summer. I exclaimed something like, “Wow!” and the runner in front of me shouted, “We are badass!” It did feel like a wild thing, to be running under the moon through the Virginia mountains at night. The moon continued to act as a spotlight throughout the night, and at times it would flash through the trees as I ran by, as if it were communicating by morse code.
As I approached the Jennings Creek aid station around mile 30, I started to see a hint of daylight. This made me feel a little sad, because I’ve only ever been to Jennings Creek at night. Granted, my first year it was raining, so there were clouds making it darker, and for my second year, I don’t remember. But, I’m pretty sure this meant I was well behind my previous self. I mean, it made sense, I went out much slower in the opening miles, but shoot. I was also starting to get a little out of it, like my brain was getting foggy. Some volunteers asked me what my number was, and it didn’t register that they were talking to me. They had to ask me a second time, and I snapped out of it, “108!”
Chris was waiting for me at the aid station with all my supplies. We quickly switched out my water bottles, he grabbed a hot pierogi for me, and I emptied the trash I had in my hydration vest and handed him my flashlight. I kept my headlamp just in case, though I didn’t really need it. I did not feel like eating, but knew I had to eat, so I stuffed down the pierogi feeling a bit dazed and glum, thinking that I wasn’t even halfway through, and could I even do this? Chris gave me a hug and I was on my way. Some runners that had passed me earlier cheered as I passed them on the way out the aid station, and I cheered for them back. On we go.
The next section was a bit lonely as the runners were starting to get more spread out. I alternated walking and running up the next hill, but compared with others, my walk was much slower than my uphill jog. So I jogged teeny steps uphill as much as I could manage. Soon it became fully light outside, and very cold. And I found myself to be mostly alone, aside from getting passed by one or two people. This is when I started talking to myself. At that moment, I considered the things I said to myself to be really funny or extra motivational, and thought about how fun it would be to share it later. Now I don’t even remember what I said. I was caught by several women I don’t think I’d seen yet. They passed me on the downhills, which were starting to feel hard on my joints, but I would start closing the gap again on the uphills. This was very similar to how my 100K in Japan went this past summer–strength on the uphills!
When I reached the Little Cove Mountain aid station, the volunteers helped me refill one of my bottles with Tailwind. They asked me if I would like some food and I said, no thanks. I don’t know why “no” is always my first response. I immediately changed my mind and said, “sure!” It’s smart to eat. It’s not smart to not eat. They handed me a cup of broth, I paused by the trash bag on the gate to quickly drink it. One of the other runners and I gave each other weary smiles and said, “Hey!” We were in it.
Something came over me and I took off in the next section. Just pausing for a bit somehow immediately refreshed my energy. I felt like I had a little bit of momentum on my side. My body was letting me run a little bit better on the next downhill stretch.
Someone recently asked me what I think about while spending so many hours out there in the woods for this race. You’d think my mind has time to wander and roam, but really I think my mind just goes into cavewoman mode. When’s the last time I ate? When will I eat again? There’s a person in front of me. See if you can catch them. Keep moving. Don’t fall.
Some of the more painful sections were the rocky downhill stretches leading to Bearwallow Gap. The trail is extra rocky, plus it’s covered in leaves. I got passed again by some of the same women in this section, but I think I caught up to one. The trail was rough, but every time it flattened out or went uphill I gained a little more momentum. I thought, I might actually be doing okay!
Reaching the aid station at Bearwallow Gap, my watch read 47.8 miles. That didn’t seem quite right, because I remembered the next aid station being at around 50 miles, but I knew it was farther than 2-3 miles away. I was told we were at around 41 miles, and the next aid station was about 8 miles away. This was a tough blow. I went from thinking I might be able to break 15 hours to thinking, I might not even break 16 hours. My best previous times are 14:18 and 13:57. I felt pretty crushed. There was still such a long way to go, almost a marathon!
On the upside, I was starting to feel really good physically, like momentum was on my side. Chris and Jen (who was there supporting her husband Ryan, but stayed behind to help me too), told me that a few people had just left the aid station and I could catch them. With Chris’s and Jen’s help, I took a second to change into wider shoes since my feet were swelling, then I had a swig of coffee, ate some hot food, took some ibuprofen, switched out my empty bottles for full bottles, emptied trash, tossed my headlamp, swapped out my heavier gloves for fleece gloves, and grabbed some new snacks. So many little things to take care of, but all important and helpful.
I left the aid station feeling motivated, despite the psychological setback of being further behind than I thought. I told Chris and Jen, well, there’s more miles left than I thought, but that means more miles of wiggle room to catch up with the other runners.
I moved through the next section well and did catch up with a bunch of runners on the uphill including Ryan, who seemed to be in good spirits. The miles flew by and before I knew it I was on the uphill gravel road to the Bobblets Gap aid station. I said hello to a white blaze on a tree marking the Appalachian Trail, which the race course intersects with. I made it to the aid station much sooner than I thought I would. I asked a volunteer what mile we were at and they said, “Hmm.. maybe 60 miles?” I tried to process this and responded, “I’m confused.” While yes, I was feeling good, I was also in a slightly dazed and zombie-like state. Then they said, “Actually, I think more like 50 miles. You have about 13 miles to go from here.” I did not know what to do with this information, because none of it seemed quite right (13 miles to go was actually about right). This isn’t a knock on the volunteer, as I really should have reviewed the mile marks of each aid station ahead of time. I did not do a lot of strategic prep before the race this year- my race prep was, get to the start line, have all the supplies/resupplies I need to be out there for a long time, keep the pace easy, worry about the rest when I’m out there.
I ate a banana and continued on my way. I really didn’t know how much of the race was left, but knowing wouldn’t get me there any faster, running would get me there faster. So I ran down the gravel road, keeping an eagle-eye out for the next right turn into the single track “forever section”, which can be easy to miss. There was no one that I could see behind me, and no one that I could see in front of me. The Forever Section has been both my nemesis and friend. My first year I got passed by so many people and slowed down a lot. My second year, I vowed that I would run every step of the Forever Section, and I did just that. This year I walked some of the steeper uphills, but ran a lot of it. I kept looking for runners ahead of me, and kept not seeing any, but I just told myself if I kept moving I could close the gap with whoever was in front of me. I did eventually catch up to one person. He asked me if I’d run the race before, I said yes, and then he asked if I knew how far until the next aid station? I said honestly, I have no idea, and I don’t even want to know, because I don’t want to be disappointed! He laughed and said he completely understood.
The trail wove its way along the side of a mountain, crossing at least eight or nine streams. I kept thinking, “this is the last stream” and kept being wrong. When the trail finally veered left and started flattening out, I thought “Hallelujah!” and made it to the Day Creek aid station much sooner than I thought I would. I honestly couldn’t remember if the forever section was 8 miles or 11 miles, and just so I wouldn’t be disappointed, I had told myself it was 11 miles. But it ended up being fewer than eight miles and I was pleasantly surprised. My brain was also really foggy. I was just telling myself what I could to not make myself feel too sad, and it seemed to work.
I made sure to eat at least a couple snacks in the forever section so that I’d have a lot of energy for the final 6+ mile push. I wanted to make the most of the last section and give it whatever I had left. As I approached the aid station I drank some water, applied some chapstick, and made the plan to ditch my hydration pack.
As soon as I saw Chris and Jen I asked where my resupply bag was, they pointed the way, and I ran right toward it, dropped my bag, Chris handed me a single bottle of Tailwind to take with me, and I kept moving, hardly breaking my stride. Chris shouted that the next woman was seven minutes ahead. I thought, if she’s having a hard time, and I’m feeling good, I might be able to catch her.
It felt so freeing to run without my pack, which I’d been wearing the whole way. I ran most of the way up the hill, which was about 2.5 miles. In the past, I knew that if I could hold strong on the uphill, I’d be unbeatable on the downhill. According to Strava (take it with a grain of salt), I have the fastest closing downhill miles of any woman ever! This time, I wasn’t so sure though. I think doing well on the uphill was my only chance of closing the gap, because the downhills were hurting my legs. I didn’t see any sign of the next woman, but like the forever section, I tried to just keep believing that if I kept moving, I could catch up. I didn’t see her or anyone for the rest of the race. The last downhill stretch hurt. Once I got through the initial rocky section, I was able to open up my stride a little, but not much. The neat thing though, was looking down at my watch and seeing I’d finish well under 15 hours! It was quite the psychological rollercoaster, thinking I’d finish hours behind my previous finishes, to actually less than an hour from my previous times.
I tossed the bottle just before the last turn, getting to run toward the finish line feeling totally unburdened. 14:48:21. I was not expecting that! Wow!
Post-race I’ve been feeling a mix of happiness for pulling off the race that I did, and some sadness that I wasn’t better. Isn’t it funny that no matter how things go, we always want more? And maybe that’s the spirit of all of this, in everything I’m doing, every day. If I didn’t want to keep stretching myself and seeing what’s possible, I wouldn’t be who I am. Any dissatisfaction felt is just more kindling for the fire. It makes me want to keep going, to keep trying, to do better. I’m so glad I entered Hellgate this year and tried. It’s much easier to hide away when we’re not the best version of ourselves. If I only performed concerts when the music was perfectly learned to my liking, I wouldn’t play any concerts, ever. Make the time. Prepare your best. Show up as you are!
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