A Valliant Effort

After 73 miles and after 13 hours of non-stop forward movement, the machine shut down. The crash occurred on the fourth 20 mile loop, 13 miles after I had picked up with her to pace her over the last 40 nighttime miles. She looked great over the first 60. Absolutely great. Good rhythm. Comfortable pace. Smiling. Easy. Other than feeling like she had already ran 60 miles by the time I began running with her, when I asked her how she felt, she said "Great!" After 7 miles and about 1 1/2 hours into the fourth lap, it got dark and we broke out the headlamps. I noticed our pace slowing a bit, but it was dark and this was a surprisingly narrow two-way traffic part of the course so I attributed our slow down to that. No big deal. We're still moving forward and still clicking off the miles every fifteen minutes. We reached the Far-Side Aid Station, the turn around point for this section of the course and continued our way back through the night. And then... 30 minutes later... it happened. We stopped briefly. "Something's not right", she said. "I don't feel good." We kept going. Walking mostly. Shuffling a bit. "Oooooooohhhhhhhh, this is not good." She placed her hands on her knees and rested there for 30 seconds before walking again. "What's happenning?" It took us a long time to get to the next aid station. We were probably walking 20 minute miles. We got to the aid station. She sat down. I knew she needed fuel. Liquids especially. Anything. Oranges? Great. She downed a whole orange, drank half a bottle of water, got up and continued on. We were much slower now. No running. We stopped again after another 1/4 mile or so. She sat down to rest and sip some water. 15 minutes later, she tried to get up, but couldn't. Dizzy. Blurred vision. Nausea. Chills. She sat down again. Sipping more water. Another 15 minutes passed. Another attempt at getting up. Nope. Not gonna happen. Finally, we got up and walked slowly back to the last aid station we were just at. By now, she was having trouble walking on her own. She sat down in a chair and began the slow process of climbing out of the hole she had suddenly found herself in. Two hours later, we were evacuated out of the race course by a race vehicle with three other runners dealing with their own health issues. It was over.

I'm so proud of her. Amazing. Other than under-estimating the fluid intake necessary to run for that kind of distance in warm and humid conditions, she ran a beautiful race. It's difficult to prepare for warm humid sea-level race conditions when you live in a frigid, high-altitude, arid climate. She did everything she had planned to do. Her training went great. Her preparation was perfect. Finishing the first 100 mile run of your life is something everyone who sets off for the race aspires to accomplish. Many don't on their first attempt. In these races, experience is what gets you through those long miles at the end and the next one will be easier. Dramatically easier. When and where that is... who knows. But it's out there waiting. And when the time comes, she'll be ready. And I don't think there's anything that will stop her.