I had been thinking about running the race for months. Last year, with the snow falling during the race, the woods were just...magical. It was so incredibly beautiful out there. I started thinking about coming back until I could get the 5 time finisher trophy.
This was a down year for racing for me. Last year was the LUS plus Hellgate, plus a few other small races. This year I took a break. I ran the Terrapin half, Promise Land 50K (because that one is my favorite), and that was it. I had registered for a few others that I ended up not starting because of family schedule conflicts or illness. So when August rolled around, and all I'd been doing was some fun 15 mile long runs, I knew I had a lot of work to do.
Then we were out of town for seven Saturdays in a row, and despite my best efforts to run & hit the gym during the week, I found myself running a miserable hot run the weekend of Grindstone, struggling to get to 20 miles and knowing that the Hellgate application would be out that week.
The following Saturday, I met up with my friends Helen, Missy, and Mary to go for a run on the Hellgate course. Helen and Missy were in a similar boat-none of us had raced much this year, all of us were doubting our fitness, and all of us were trying to decide whether to apply for Hellgate. I remember the two of them bolting up the hill on the way to Petite's Gap and wondering what I was thinking, that there was no way I could finish the race if this was my fitness level and it was already October. Somehow at the end of the run though, we all decided to put in our applications and leave it in the hands of the Race Committee.
Lo and behold, the Race Committee let us all in. Now the pressure was on. I kicked my training into high gear. I did hours on the stairclimber at the gym, I ran long every weekend, I got on the course as much as possible. Helen, Missy, and I did a lot of training together, including night runs, 4am runs, and whatever else we had to do to fit the miles in. I really did my best but I felt like I was 4-6 weeks behind where I'd like to be.
Before I knew it, race week was upon us.
Early on it looked like a massive snowstorm would hit the day of the race, but thankfully that got pushed back 24 hours in the forecast. Race day was good weather for Hellgate-25 degrees at the start, colder up at the top (probably low teens), high in the upper 30s. No precipitation. Already something to be grateful for!
I accomplished my first goal-I arrived early enough to get the right size shirt at checkin. After dinner with other runners, we listened to Dr. Horton's race briefing. We heard about the devastating ice storm, how the Parkway was still half-closed but the Park Service would be escorting the aid station crews so they could still get there in time.
After a few hours of chatter with other runners and crews, we piled into cars to head to the start. As we pulled into the parking lot, the nerves hit. What am I doing here? There's no way I can finish this...I ignore the thoughts and check in with Dr. Horton, put my drop bag in the van, and return to huddle in the warm car for a few more minutes with my friends. Then it's time to walk to the start.
We sing the national anthem and O Holy Night. It's beautiful out here. Then we run. One mile down. How can I be tired already? You're not tired, you're just not warmed up. This race is a lot of miles. Yes, but right now you're just running four miles to the road. You can run four miles. I listen to the footsteps, and the rustling leaves, and sounds of breathing, and I keep running.
One aid station down. Soon we start climbing. I'm at the back of the pack, which I expect. I see a fast friend, which I do not expect. We chat going up the hill. She is dealing with an injury and struggling. I admire the sight of headlamps snaking up the hill in front of me, and wonder what it would be like to be looking down at lights behind me, to be fast up this mountain.
More running. We get spread out. I run alone for long stretches, just listening to my own breathing and footsteps, and my pack shuffling on my back. It's dark. Almost no moon but thousands of stars. It is beautifully calm on the mountain. I relish being out here.
Things get harder. My stomach is fighting me. I lag behind. A few runners pass me and I know I am one of the last. But I'm only a few minutes behind my goals. I continue on. I focus on gratitude and joy. Gratitude that the trees have been cleared and the snow is holding off. Gratitude that I am able to run. Gratitude for a husband who supports my hobby. Joy in the sweet stillness of a night in the mountains, in the way a headlamp beam in the dark forces me to focus, in the way a monumental challenge is broken into one step at a time. Beauty.
I'm approaching Floyd's Field and finally seeing other runners. I catch up to some friends. Both are struggling and may drop. I try to encourage them. One stops at Floyd's Field and the other continues on. My stomach is feeling better but there is no hot food left here. I was too slow. I'll wait for breakfast at Jennings Creek.
We cross the parkway and at long last, we start to run downhill. My legs feel great here. I have struggled on the climbs but find myself able to run hard downhill. I fly. I pass another friend, who should be far ahead of me. I'm concerned. Keep going, you can do this, I tell her. We run down, down, down. The sun rises. A new day! It is beautiful in the woods. I pass several runners. For the first time today, I am feeling strong. Maybe I can do this.
I arrive at Jennings Creek ten minutes behind last year, but hopeful because I am feeling better. Bacon, potatoes, smiling faces, encouraging friends-this aid station is full of everything I needed. I feel refreshed and energized and go back out on the trail.
My friends catch up to me on the climb. I am not climbing well today but I am glad to see them. We talk. They are having a hard time. Me too, but we can do this! A group of us hike together for awhile. Then we reach a downhill and I take off. I feel the best I have felt all day. I fly down the hills, relishing in the experience. It is a wondrous thing to run through the woods. I pass a few runners and come out on the road. Time to climb again. It is still hard. I keep looking back, hoping to see my friends catch up but they aren't here. I keep climbing. Why is there so much climbing in this race? All the way up to Little Cove. Yea! More bacon!
I feel like I have been running well, but struggling on every climb, and I am still slipping in my time. Not great. Need to keep moving. Focus on the positive. Make the most of the downhill miles. Hike with purpose. Careful on the rocks! No time to roll an ankle. Push hard. Run every step you can.
Finally we cross the road before Bearwallow. It takes forever but I reach the parking lot. That is the most ridiculous half mile of any race. There is my friend Mary! She will run with me to the finish. I am so thankful for her. I am feeling rushed. I arrived fifteen minutes later than last year, when I finished at 17:39. I cannot slow down any more. I have to speed up or I will be over the time limit. I quickly change my shoes and socks, which have been drenched for 43 miles. Dry socks feel wonderful. I dump the extra water bottle and headlamp from my pack. Mary gets me a burger. Delicious. We leave. I want to eat, but I need to run...but I need to eat in order to run. I hike and eat. It takes a very long time to eat a burger. Mary is so cheerful. This is good. I hope she will push me to run hard.
After I have eaten all I can we start to run. Mary keeps me moving. I am so grateful to just watch her feet and follow, to take a break from thinking. We talk (mostly Mary). The miles go by. The food digests and I start to feel better. We are moving well. This is fun again! We run a lot and pass some people. We run in and out of the swooping mountains a thousand times. We climb the "you have got to be kidding me" hills. We cross the ridges. Finally we are on the road to Bobblets. I look at my watch-we have gained back ten minutes. Mary is a good pacer. I start to feel more hopeful that I can finish today.
Bobblets Gap has good friends and hot food. This is a wonderful place. It looks like it would be fun to spend the afternoon here but I can't do that. There's another runner who wants to stop. I try to convince him to come with us, that we have time to finish. I'm trying to convince myself too. I'm still nervous about time. He doesn't join us but Mary and I set out down the road.
Downhill again. This is good. I'm still running well downhill. We run hard all the way to the forever section turn. Then I feel so tired. I always do here. But Mary keeps pushing me. She keeps me running and hiking well. This is a beautiful section of trail. We can see the Peaks of Otter now that it has been cleared. Mary is telling me lots of stories about her adventures, but I only hear half of it. I'm too tired to ask her to repeat. The parts I hear are interesting. I should have her tell me these stories again after the race. We are running more. That means we are going downhill. That means the aid station is getting closer. Finally, the trail widens and I know we are close. There it is, Day Creek. We have made up more time. We are here before I was here last year, and last year I finished. For the first time all day, I am pretty sure I will finish in time. This is an emotional realization.
We get our last food. I have Mary dump out my second water bottle. Anything to lighten my pack. My shoulders have been screaming. The rest of me is just tired. But we are getting close now. No more single track. One more climb. One more downhill. We go. The climb doesn't feel as hard as last year. I'm tired but I'm not dead. We cross the Parkway for the last time. Then we take off. I still feel good. We run down the mountain. Downhill makes me feel strong and fast. We run all the way to the camp with only a few very short breaks, more than I've ever run in this section. One mile to go. I'm really going to finish! I can see the lights of the camp. We come through the gate. Why is the building so far away? Finally we see it. The finisher's chute. I cross the finish at 17:34, five minutes faster than last year. Dr. Horton gives me a hug and greets me with, "Cutting it close, aren't you!" Actually that was a PR, that felt like plenty of time to spare.
I thanked Mary for pushing me, for helping me gain twenty minutes in twenty miles. She was great. I watched a few more friends finish. I celebrated with those at the finish line and was sad to hear about those who'd had to drop. Overall, this was a very good day. I am so impressed with the course conditions. It took a tremendous amount of work to clear the ice storm damage and I am grateful to all who helped.
Dr. Horton asked me at the finish if it gets any easier. No, I said, a little shocked at the question. If I hadn't been so tired, I would have given my full answer-no, it doesn't get any easier-but I don't want it to. I love that this is hard. I love that I get all the way to mile 60 uncertain if I will finish in time. I love that this race is right on the brink of what I am physically able to do. I love that I need my friends to help me train for and run this race in time. This race will never be easy for me and I don't want it to be. I want my kids to see me do hard things. I want to prove to myself that I am stronger than I think I am. I want to be forced to dig deep and overcome pain to be able to finish. Finishing is sweeter because it is hard. The beauty of Hellgate is the challenge-it will never be a guaranteed finish. And that's the way it should be.
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