You know when you've been through something long and drawn-out and you're too exhausted and over it to rehash all the details? :) Instead of doing that, I would like to reminisce about some of the highlights:
Amazing race direction, volunteers, and spectators
Rob and Rachel Goyen like to put on tough races. For Habanero, they mess with runners' minds by staging it in the heat of the Texas summer, making it 16 loops, and even putting 1/2 mile markers out there, so each mile seems to stretch out for eternity. The noon start makes it so you're out there in the heat of day 1, and still out there as the sun starts to bake you again on day 2. You also are more sleep-deprived than usual since you finish the race about 6 hours later on Sunday than you would with a normal 6am Saturday start time. Finally, on this new Habanero course, you're not even running on a trail -- you're running through a somewhat mowed pasture, with cow shit and random stretches of so much sand you could set up a net and play beach volleyball.
|Not kidding about the sand. PC: Joe Schmal|
|This quote came from a previous conversation, when Rob had asked me what advice I had for runners who wanted to finish Habanero this year. Having the sign out there on the course was extra motivation for me to take my own advice.|
The aid station volunteers were so amazing and helpful. Becky, Jaime, and the other medical personnel took such good care of us. Jeremy gave out just the right mix of heckling and encouragement. And Myke Hermsmeyer, noted trail racing photographer, was seemingly at all points on the course, day and night, capturing moments of joy and (mostly) suffering. The spectators were also great -- every time I ran into or out of the start/finish, people cheered encouragement. I never got tired of hearing "Go #1!" and "Go Julie!" It almost made me forget, as I headed out for each new loop, that I still had 94 miles to go, 88 miles to go, 82 miles to go, etc. (Almost.)
Gator-itas and ice
At the aid stations, the volunteers used a blender to churn out slushies made with Gatorade, which was amazing when we were suffering in the humidity. At each A/S I'd fill one bottle with ice water, one with Gator-ita, and get ice in my hat and bra.
This is the first time I've ever had anyone doctor my foot during a race. It was just a case of trenchfoot, from the rain, creek crossings, and sweat keeping my feet wet for 24 hours. I spent way too long at the start/finish A/S at mile 75 getting it taken care of, but my feet immediately felt better with the change of socks and shoes. That feeling lasted a couple loops before my feet became quite sore again, and probably could have used some more attention. But who has time for that?
|PC: Myke Hermsmeyer|
It rained off and on during the night and day, sometimes hard, sometimes light. There was a little lightning and thunder, and for a few moments I worried they'd have to call the race. (But then I remembered that we're trail runners, not pansies.) Honestly, for a lot of the time it was raining, I guess I was a little out of it, because I barely noticed it. Saturday afternoon started off incredibly humid, though the temperature was only in the 80s -- so it was cooler than last year's race, but I think more humid. That meant chafing, overheating, and then feeling slightly chilly once we were soaked by the rain. After I finished, I had to borrow a sweatshirt from Rob, because even though it was probably in the 80s, I had a little sunburn and was just exhausted from the ordeal.
Quality time with a quality person
I would describe this race as occurring in two parts: Before Joe and After Joe. In case you don't know Joe Schmal, he's a super fast runner, and all-around good guy, who agreed to be my pacer for this race.
Before Joe was all right; it was 68 miles of running pretty well, managing my pace and nutrition, making sure I didn't overheat, saying a couple rosaries, and singing Starship to myself, followed by 6 miles of dragging ass and fantasizing about investing in a Hoveround. Joe had told me to expect him between 5 and 6am, so from miles 69-75, I kept telling myself, "Just make it to Joe," confident that he'd help me carry on.
From the moment I saw Joe at the start/finish line, around 5:30am Sunday, he anticipated and took care of my every need. He even took off the tops of my gels for me without my having to ask. Need I say more? He told me stories when I didn't feel like talking, he lied to me about how well I was running (Chris Russell's pacing strategy!), and he even backtracked to the start/finish line once when I had forgotten to ask what place I was in. Occasionally I was good company, for short stretches when I was feeling all right and had the cognitive energy to make conversation, but for long stretches of time, he had to put up with a spaced-out zombie, when all I could muster was grunts and assenting noises as I forced him to walk more slowly than he's probably ever walked in his life. Yet somehow he insisted that he was having fun and there was no place he'd rather be. Have I mentioned that Joe is the best guy on the planet? Even in the midst of the suffer-fest stretches, being with Joe made it fun.
|Out for a casual stroll with Joe, mile 99.8. PC: Myke Hermsmeyer|
The finishing touches of Joe's pacing: he paced us home, by driving in front of us, because we were all worried that Edward and I would doze off on the drive back to San Antonio. And then he helped me carry all my crap up 3 flights of stairs to my apartment.
On the drive home, Edward told me a joke he'd heard during the race: Q: What did the socks say to the pants? A: What's up, britches?
It was so fun hanging out with folks at the finish line. I don't know how long we sat there, talking about the race, listening to Rob tell stories from our trip to Cruel Jewel, and cheering for other finishers. It took awhile to gather the motivation to get up and head to the showers. After we cleaned off the incredible stink that had settled on our bodies like a second skin, Edward, Joe, and I headed to the nearest Whataburger -- where Edward and I took a long nap in the parking lot after failing to finish our modest meals. This does not bode well for our upcoming Whataburger Challenge. Joe, on the other hand (who didn't stink after the race, just to clarify my earlier sentence), demolished a #2 meal, and probably could have put away a #3, but didn't want to cause us excessive shame by comparison.
|Waiting for our meals at Whataburger.|