Listen in for the poem of the day: What Stays, What Goes— A poem inspired by todays story.
The view was worth the climb—perfect timing for another gel. I was nailing my nutrition strategy. Every 40 minutes, gel down, regular sips from my flask, and aid station refueling. My stomach wasn't protesting. Could I keep this up for another 35 miles?
Relief flooded through me as I crested those stone steps and found the dirt trail again. The runner I'd been chatting with pulled ahead while I pushed forward, knowing the next aid station waited just a few miles out.
Then I felt it, something shifting around in my left shoe. Probably a pebble from the creek crossing. I kept running, but my coach's voice echoed in my head: “If you feel anything in your shoe, stop and get it out rather than risk more irritation.”
I fought the urge to stop, hoping it would settle, but it didn't. Finding a fallen log, I sat down, pulled off my shoe, and shook out the tiniest bit of dirt and maybe a pebble. After running my hand along the inside to clear everything, I laced back up and took off, grateful for the downhill stretch ahead.
My goal: finish the first 25 miles in 5 hours. I refused to check my watch until I reached the aid station.
Ten minutes later, that same annoying sensation returned. GRR. I kept running. My left foot discomfort overshadowed the pebble anyway. I'd clean out my shoe properly with wet wipes (thank you, Tracy, for the tip to pack these) once I got to my drop bag. Some toe wiggling helped whatever was bothering me find a tolerable spot.
Back at Buttermilk Falls aid station, I made a quick bathroom stop (real bathrooms—luxury!) and thanked the volunteers before heading toward the creek again.
This loop skipped the muddy meadow and wobbly boards. Instead, we ran a stretch on the road before diving back into the woods. Volunteers directed traffic as we crossed. I picked up my pace on the smooth, flat asphalt despite the wind and cold. I had no idea the temperature had dropped. I was grateful to be back in the protective forest.
The 50K runners were heading our way now. We exchanged encouragement as we passed, and I scanned faces, hoping to spot my two friends. There they were! Looking strong and beaming as we passed with a high-five.
The creek crossing proved trickier this direction, a muddy, slick bank to enter the water. I descended sideways to avoid falling, and that cold water felt amazing on my feet.
Squeaking with each stride, I climbed out and crossed the train tracks toward Y-camp. This gentler stretch gave me hope—I couldn't wait to properly clean my shoe. I'd sit down and do this right, hoping to run the next 25 miles without increasing foot pain.
I considered changing socks, but decided against it—two more creek crossings ahead made fresh socks pointless. Besides, my shoes dried faster than expected, and the creek water provided relief to my left foot. I could run without limping.
Cruising through the trails toward the 25 mile aid station, I felt strong. Two more loops to go! After another porta-potty stop, I found my drop bag and settled on a picnic table bench.
Off came the shoe. Out came the wet wipes. I cleaned the inside thoroughly, then noticed blood on my left leg and wiped that clean too. Lacing back up, I finally checked my watch: 5 hours, 30 minutes.
No 10-hour finish today. New goal: under 12 hours. That would still get me cleaned up in time for my daughter's dance recital.
Now for the entire course again. The thought hit heavy, so I shifted strategy—break it into chunks. Next stone steps (maybe the bagpiper would still be there), then the mile 29 aid station, then back here at mile 35.
Sitting here, quitting felt tempting. But I didn't linger with that thought, I had 50 names in my running vest. We were committed to finishing this race, no matter what.
Let's go!
To be continued…
Writing Prompt: What's your ‘coach's voice’ moment? Tell me about a time when advice from someone (coach, parent, friend, or even your own inner wisdom) made you stop and do the right thing, even when you really didn't want to.
Drop your story below—I love hearing how we look out for each other, even when the advice comes from miles away or years ago.
Summer Sessions, for Move. Write. Connect. begin July 2. No experience necessary. Please join us.
(Author's Note: I've started using Grammarly to edit my writing, which helps me communicate more clearly and create a better reading experience for you.)
Share this post