I was really hoping that I wouldn’t have to write this, but
the sooner I write it, the sooner I don’t have to write it anymore. So, with that in mind . . .
The North Coast 24-Hour National Championship race is a race
that’s had my number twice already. In
2010, I stopped after about 8 hours and 50-ish miles due to burnout from over-racing. In 2011, I came in far less burned-out, but
far more sick, and had to stop after about 8 hours, due to uncontrollable
coughing fits. A few months ago, when they
announced that this year’s 24-Hour National Championship race would be in the
spring, as opposed to the fall, I was excited for the chance to redeem myself
for 2011 just half a year later. So I
foolishly signed up early . . .
And then life happened.
Between being sick right after the Boston Marathon, to life-consuming
turmoil at work, in about three weeks, North Coast went from being a really
great idea, to being a completely terrible idea. A week before the race, I wasn’t even sure if
I would be able to go there, because I wasn’t even sure when (or if) I would be going
to Israel for work. On Thursday, just
two days before the race, the work travel situation finally became clear, and I
had to scramble to make travel arrangements to get to the race.
Fortunately, Serge and Christian were pretty accommodating in
allowing me to ride out to the race with them (an 8-hour drive, punctuated by
numerous bathroom stops, and, closer to Cleveland, uncontrollable laughter at
drifters walking through random fenced-off parking lots, always carrying plastic
bags), and Laurie generously allowed me to stay at her house, so that I didn’t
have to brave the Days Inn Lakewood (the “official race hotel”) again.
For giggles, I did go in the Days Inn when I
arrived there with Serge and Christian, and, sure enough, within seconds of
walking in, I saw two men at the end of the hallway, vacuuming chairs from the
rooms that they had taken out into the hall for some reason. At the other end of the hall, a girl was
trying to talk to them, which meant yelling over the vacuum. When they couldn’t hear her from the end of
the hall, she walked down the hall, still yelling, and they had their yelling
conversation over the vacuums (which apparently could not be shut off). Yep, still the same Days Inn.
I slept well on the futon in Laurie’s spare room, ate a good
dinner (chicken ratatouille) and a good breakfast (eggs and fruits and veggies), and had a
good laugh with her son and her husband at the apparent slave trade operation at one of the local Mexican
restaurants. We made it to the race with
plenty of time to spare, and, despite a breeze, it was actually comfortable
outside for once. In spite of
circumstances, I had a good feeling about this.
(It probably helped lighten the mood that, about two minutes before the race, Jenn
Shelton was banging on the door of a port-a-john, wanting to take a dump on top
of whoever was taking a dump in there, “like the dogs do.”)
After a slightly disorganized, nonchalant start, that, for
the first time, did not include the US national anthem, we were off - counter-clockwise this time, which led to immediate joking from Jenn Shelton about "summiting the mountain" that is the first turn. The race was sufficiently star-studded – Dave
James, Jenn Shelton, Valmir Nunes, Serge Arbona, Connie “Constance” Gardner,
Anna Piskorska, Sabrina Moran. So we
went off sort of fast, but not insanely so – even Dave James seemed
restrained. This may be the only time
that I’ve seen an ultra with this depth of talent where there wasn’t an
immediate “sprint out, burn out” at the start.
I felt mostly okay, and occupied my mind by focusing on what
number lap I was on, for the entire lap. (This was a good move, since the
original timing belts failed, and the secondary chips that they stuck on our
bibs after about six hours were probably not a lot more reliable, and the hand
count, well, the less said about that, the better.) I was running “my own race,” and wound up
with a pretty significant gap between myself and the other runners most of the
time. I wasn’t feeling terrible, but I
wasn’t feeling great, either, and gradually, the random pain in random places in
my legs became more consistent and more severe.
Still, I kept nearly a constant distance behind Valmir for about five
hours, and during that time, nobody passed me.
 |
| Totally focused on "summiting the hill," proof that there is actually a coastline in the vicinity of this race, and evidence of a windy day. |
But I knew that it wasn’t going to last, and the first time
I stopped to use the restroom, and felt the pain shooting through my legs, I
knew this wasn’t going to end well.
After about six and a half hours, I stopped and sat for about an hour,
ate some mashed potatoes, then got up and kept running for about another
hour. Mostly the cheering from Valmir
(who had dropped at this point) and Jenn (who had dropped maybe 7 laps in, probably due to boredom) kept
me going, but eventually, they left. Then
I sat again, and it was effectively over.
Perhaps I’ve hurt worse in races, but this was a different kind of pain –
both sore and tired, all at the same time, and gradually getting worse. With a long week in Israel ahead of me, then
coming back to the US on Friday, to start the Massanutten Mountain Trail 100
race at 4 a.m. on Saturday (spoiler alert), and any sort of significant goal
out of reach (after around 50 miles in 8+ hours, depending on whose lap count
you believe), it didn’t make sense to keep going.
I went to Laurie’s car and slept overnight, then got up at
around 7:30 am the next morning to watch the end of the race. Serge and Jon were still going (relatively) strong, and Sabrina Moran was killing it (Connie had staggered to her car a
little before the 24 hours was up, apparently conceding victory – hard to
compete with a new American record.) I
hung around for the requisite post-race awards and socializing, and it was nice
to hang out with people, but after a while, the fact that the race had gone
poorly, for the third time in a row, was casting a shadow on all of this, so it
was even nicer to get to the Cleveland Hopkins airport and move on to other
things (even if “other things” included standing in a stupid-long security
line, where the TSA agent was slowing down the process by chatting up every girl that went through the
line).
I feel okay about at least going out and giving this race a
try, in spite of circumstances. I had
already scaled back my goal before the race to “run until my body tells me no more,” and I
achieved that. But it’s still
disappointing that “no more” was only about 50 miles. And Cleveland still has my number. I’ll be back at some point, though . . . but
I won’t be making that decision until about a week before the race, when I’m
sure that I’m in top shape to take on the stupid-long challenge that is the
24-hour race, not to mention the stupidity that is Cleveland in general (okay,
that last part I’m always up for, at least for a laugh).
In the meantime, I’ve got 100 miles of
Massanutten Mountains to re-climb . . .
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