Hey all!
If you missed part one of this series, listen or read below.
Now for part two:
By the second aid station, the blood on my hand had dried, and I forgot about it again. My ankle throbbed and ached. It felt good to stop for a moment. I filled my flasks with Skratch, a hydration drink, and was really excited that they offered this at the aid stations. I use it for training; this was the first time I saw Skratch at a race. I ate half a banana and thanked the volunteers. Let’s go!
The three runners took off, and I wanted to catch up. Another steep climb called for power hiking, so I inhaled an energy gel, recalling my coach’s advice. Meanwhile, I lost sight of the runners. Julie, run your race. I was alone, paying attention to the pink flags so I wouldn’t get off course. The race director recommended we carry our cell phones, and I also printed out the course map just in case. I tucked both into the back pocket of my vest. This was the first race where I carried my phone, and I didn’t want it to distract me. I’m glad it never crossed my mind.
Steep switchbacks demanded my focus while my ankle hummed in the background. I took deep breaths, enjoying the tall evergreens, pine needle scent, and technical terrain. What a beautiful day to be in the woods. I smiled. I refused to let my ankle pain ruin my mood. This is trail running. I was getting a real taste of it today, especially as I stubbed my toe for the 20th time. I had to laugh. I was sure I was lifting my feet, then WHACK! I’d wince in pain, stumble or wobble to keep my balance, and, surprise, I didn’t fall. My poor toenails.
I repeated: It comes in waves, it comes in waves, and courage over comfort—a lot! Come on, Julie, dig deep. I was all alone—no runner ahead or behind me. I had to rely on my mental training to keep going. I worked hard to stay calm and relaxed. I’d be lying if I said my mind wasn’t trying to go to dark places. You might have broken your foot. You should stop. Why are you doing this? I countered with: I want to do this. I dedicated this run to finishing my book, MILES of MEANING. I recalled my 50 run buddies and decided I could finish the race with a bum ankle for them. A marathon was nothing compared to what they’ve endured. I looked at what was going well. My stomach was happy, no issues, and my nutrition was on point. I felt strong, except for my ankle. I repeated my mantras like a champ, remembering why I was out here.
The third aid station became my next focus. When I arrived, one of the volunteers took my flasks and filled them while I ate a banana and energy chews. It was great to have their support and chat for a bit. I tucked my flasks into my running vest and headed back the way I came. Seeing other runners heading toward me was encouraging. Maybe I’ll have a run buddy soon.
I power-hiked a good stretch up the steep switchbacks and was thankful my ankle had only a dull ache during this part. I sipped from my flask, took deep breaths of pine, and felt content just putting one foot in front of the other. I let go of my time goal and appreciated that I could keep going. One more aid station, then the finish. Ten more miles to go.
To be continued...
Do you have questions on running, writing, or the book: MILES of MEANING: from Doubter to JFK 50 Mile Finisher? Reply to this email or submit them using the form below. I would love to share your questions on an upcoming podcast.
Thank you for being here with me. Four years in the making!
Keep showing up.
Julie
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