Renegade 50km Race Report

As many of you know, I've been training for the Northface Endurance Challenge 50-mile Race since March. Like everyone else who wanted to run, I ran hundreds of miles, paid $95 for the entry fee, booked a hotel room, and organized supplies and food eons in advance.

Twenty-four hours before the event was slated to begin, all entrants received an email: CANCELLED due to Tropical Storm Hannah. But, the email said, we could go up to DC anyway for appetizers and a 50% refund of our entry fee (oooh, how generous).

Ultrarunners responded en masse - how could they cancel for rain?! how could the "never stop exploring" company wimp out?! But anger soon changed into resourcefulness. Plans didn't have to be cancelled, training didn't have to be for nothing: we could just host our own race, dubbed the Renegade 50km and 50mi.

A group of 22 runners and their lovely, supportive crews met at the Great Falls Park at 7am. With an abundance of food and drink available and a palpable feeling of relief for all of us to be on the "starting line", we were off.

A group of fast runners, "the little ones", scooted ahead on the first 4-mile out-and-back. I suppressed the urge to keep up, to prove that a girl could hang, reminding myself that I still had dozens of miles to go.

We went back by the first aid-station and headed into the woods the lined the Potomac. It had begun raining, and the wind picked up, but we were protected somewhat by the canopy and undulating hills. I pushed my pace a little to keep up with local runners: people were already reporting that they had taken wrong turns.

At the second aid station, four miles away, a dedicated two-person team waited with smiles and nourishment. What a relief to come upon their make-shift operation! I've never had a better PB & J.

We ran through some low-lying areas, jumping puddles and avoiding mud. There were two stream crossings where we rock-hopped; I remember thinking, "I hope these rocks stay above the water line." It seemed unlikely that the river could rise that much that quickly, though.

The final turn-around was another four miles away. There were a few gallons of water, Gatorade, and Coke waiting as well as relief for me and my very full bladder. At that point, the rain had turned from sprinkle to downpour. We were soaked but still smiling. By the time we made it back to the starting point, we had run 17 miles. I decided that two more loops would be perfect: just about 50 miles.

I finally got to see Mom and Dave, huddled under the Forest Service shelter with the rest of the friends and family members. I was perhaps too eager to eat: I shoveled down a bunch of solid food, carried more with me, and immediately felt nauseated. That horrible, sneaking feeling of stomach problems coupled with sore legs started gnawing at me. The demons had made themselves known.

Burping seemed like a good thing to do. So I burped. It helped.

My company for a good portion of the second loop was a former Marine named Rob. We talked about HBO's Generation Kill to pass the time and I relied on his orienteering skills to blaze a trail. What once had been a path was now a stream; we soon spent more time wading in knee-deep (or waist-deep) water than running on solid ground.

Rob turned around at Aid Station 2 while I continued to the next river-crossing. Groups were coming toward me, and each shouted the same warning over the pouring rain, rushing Potomac, and wind gusts: "I would turn around at the rocks." Joined by another kind runner, I approached what had been the gentle stream. The rocks were fully submerged - no rock-hopping for us.

Once we got past the wading portions of the course, I felt great. I could feel some tenderness in my ankles, hips, and thighs, but my mental state was good. I was drinking lots and lots of water and Gatorade, taking my salt tablets every hour, and gulping down as many goos as I could find.

Before the Forest Station was even in sight I could hear my mom's signature "whoop". People ahead of me were stretching and drying off; it looked like most runners were calling it a day. I had to decide if I wanted to change the course and keep running or stop. For my own safety and for the sanity of Mom and Dave, I too finished at 50km (31 miles).

Looking back, I'm glad that I stopped when I did. No race is so important that you should put your safety at risk or risk potential chronic injury (running in muddy water on rocks = bad for ankles). Besides, it just makes me want to attempt another ultra.

The final part of our adventure was the seemingly-mundane act of changing into dry clothes. We three were a model of flexibility and finesse as we shimmied out of wet stuff into dry stuff in our respective cars.

Thank you to all who made the Renegade Race happen. Thank you to Mom (The Mom) and Dave (the rebel) for being the best crew and cheerleaders. Thank you to James, Rob, Dave, and Doug for keeping me on course and in a positive state of mind. Thank you to all of the Marines for being so crazy yet well organized. Thank you Tropical Storm Hannah for making an ordinary ultra into a great story.