Because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like me!

After last week's terrible disappointment/failure, I've done some major soul-searching. I dug around deep in there and I couldn't find a single reason to press on with my goal of running a 50 miler in November, other than that it had been on the schedule for almost a year. How did it get on the damned schedule in the first place? I was looking on Cool Running one day, the day after my untrained marathon run on nothing but piss and vinegar, and I thought I was capable of anything. That day I saw the listing for a trail marathon the next week, gave about 2 seconds' thought to signing up at that very moment, and then decided not to press my luck. I decided that rather than running the marathon in 2007, I'd run the 50 miler in 2008. Not very dramatic. It was a whim, and I'm stubborn, and this is how I get myself into trouble. Now, for the second year in a row, I've made the adult decision to leave the 50 milers to the REAL runners.

Running is stupid. Ultrarunning is stupider.

This year I feel like I've proven a lot of things to myself and to other people. I'm pretty sure that if you're reading this, no matter what your opinion of me, you probably don't think I'm a softie. Even admitting that other people might not think I'm a loser is a big step for me personally this year. Tick off another reason that I don't have to run 50 miles.

BUT me taking the mature, adult approach to things ended there.

If I was going to give up on a goal that I had broadcast to the world, then the very least I could do to not look like a total loser would be not to have my first and only step towards said goal be a DNF. So what did I do? I got right on the internet and found the web page for my next scheduled race: a 50K near Syracuse, NY.

But registration had closed.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and then I got mad at myself for giving up so easily. I clicked on the "Contact Us" button and wrote to the race director begging him to let me in. Of course I thought he would say no and that I would be off the hook. I forgot that trail runners are the nicest people in the world.

"Claire, call me immediately. I think we can work something out." Oh fuck.

Here are all the reasons why this was a bad idea:
~Syracuse is over 5 hours away.
~I didn't have a place to stay.
~I did an ironman 3 weeks ago, and I was pretty sure that a 50K was on the list of things you're NOT supposed to do while you're recovering.
~I really didn't want to run this race.

But a 5-minute phone call later, Todd, the world's nicest race director had opened registration back up for me, and I was signed up for the Green Lakes 50K in Fayetteville, NY.

I took a Tylenol PM at midday Saturday and went back to bed at about 3:00. At 10:45 I woke up, packed up my stuff, and hit the road at midnight. God, this was a stupid idea. Every car I passed I thought, "Are you going to be the drunkard that kills me?" It seems that in a stupid decision like this, Fate should intervene to let you know that you're on the wrong track. But I made it to Fayetteville with no problems at about 5:30 in the morning.

This was the only trail event that I had ever done that was chip timed. A group of trail runners always looks a lot like a bunch of hobos fresh out of the Salvation Army, so I couldn't really tell if it was a very competitive field, but the chip on my ankle didn't bode well. I wondered if I would finish in last place (which would be okay) and have to be alone for the next 31 miles (which would not be okay). Luckily a woman named Rosemary, who was a nervous chatterer struck up a conversation. She said that this was her first ultra (and first marathon for that matter), and that she'd read all the blogs and race reports about this race, and she was just so excited to be running. I made 2 mental notes: 1. Only say nice things about other runners, because they are all nice people, and they all use the same internet that I do (right, Damon?), and 2. I was probably the only person in this crowd that really, truly didn't want to be here, so out of respect I should fake like I was happy to be out here half way to fucking Cleveland running 31 miles in the woods.

The course was 4 7.7-mile loops, each of which was broken into 2 sub-loops: the Green Lakes loop (which was flat) comprising the first and last 2 miles, and the Serengeti loop (which was hilly) making up the middle 4 miles. The course was absolutely stunning. Really. I'm not one to be taken by scenery, but by the end of the first loop, I was glad I had made the phone call and the drive. The Green Lakes are actually green, not because of pond scum, but because of some sort of chemistry or fairies. Or chemistry fairies. The water was crystal clear. (It really looks like the picture below). On the Serengeti loop you ran up a hill and then through grassy fields. One was filled with purple flowers, another with yellow flowers (not actually the pictures above, but my stupid camera phone couldn't handle the colors). At one point about half way through the loop you run around a corner and can see the whole countryside laid out below you.


I was surprised that most of the people around me had a slight Midwestern twang in their accents. I'd only driven 5 hours due west, was the Midwest really this close to home? I talked to a couple from Michigan after the finish whose drive had only been about an hour longer than mine, and they'd come through Canada to get here. "Michigan, I've never been to Michigan," I said. "That sounds so exotic!" And then, "Canada, that REALLY sounds exotic." I was serious about Canada, I lied about Michigan. It's hard to say something nice about Michigan without lying.

By the end of the first loop, it was pretty obvious that it was going to be a hot one. The humidity in the air was brutal even before it got hot. It was a sunny day, and nearly the entire Serengeti loop was exposed. The high temperatures of the day were pushing 90*, and that was the main complaint of everyone I talked to. Goddamn, it was hot! It was the kind of heat where your sweat just can't evaporate. Blech. But I've been getting used to the heat, I guess. Not so much that my body's been acclimating, but that I've finally realized that there's nothing that my complaining is going to do about the situation, so it's best not to dwell on it.

I spoke with a few women on the run: Rosemary (from the start), whose longest run up until this point was a 25K; Brooke, who was only 18, running with her mom, and starting college tomorrow (she made me feel old because I talked to her like someone more grown up than she was, and she let me); the woman in the grey sports bra with the Midwestern accent whose name I never caught; and Susan, who I was only with briefly at the end. But mostly I talked to my usual demographic: straight men over 40. My first 2 laps I was in an endless leap-frog game with a man in red shorts (Mark, I later found out). My second loop I picked up Ray, and ran 3/4 of the second half of the race with him.

Having Ray around really helped the time go by. What sucked about the 4-loop course was the fact that by the fourth loop, you know the whole entire course (except that they kept moving the aid stations farther and farther apart). And the real kicker is that when you start the fourth loop you're already at about mile 23 and ready to call it a day. Ray was a chatty, upbeat guy, and the perfect person to keep around on the last loop. He stayed with me to make sure that he went slow enough (I'm good for that!). This was his first 50K, so he didn't want to go too hard, but when I wanted to pick up the pace, he was right there with me. Talking to him made the miles go faster.

I wish this picture had come out. You should have seen the course first thing in the morning.

At the beginning of the second loop a clump of us were running together and a younger guy ran through us repeating, "Look out, 100K winner coming through!". Then an old guy came through right on his heels. The 100K runners had only started 30 minutes before us, so this guy couldn't have been on more than his third loop (of eight). Wasn't it a bit early to be calling the winner? And having a pacer in a low-key race like this? That's obnoxious. He never lapped me again. I was unimpressed.

But the cool thing about this race was that we DID get to see the winners running on their last lap. When you're as slow as I am, you don't get to see much of the action. The first guy lapped us early in our third (his final) loop, and actually APOLOGIZED for lapping us. Clearly, he was way more gracious than Mr. 100K Champion, and had an endearing, high-pitched laugh. We passed him back a few miles later. He was walking and blowing up pretty hard. But still, I get to say that I passed the race leader (okay, a lap behind him, but the fact remains that for a few moments in time I was moving faster than he was). When he started running again and passed us back I called after him, "Now don't let me see you on this trail again!" I hoped he won.
A couple more guys lapped us, and coming out of the far aid station the volunteers yelled after one of them, "He's bonking pretty bad. You can catch him, no problem!"
Oh no! We passed him again about a mile later. He was walking and shaking his muscles out as best he could. It was pretty clear he was going to walk it in the rest of the way. "Are you alright?" I asked. Had this been a road race I would have been met with a snarl if the likes of me passed the likes of him and acted concerned. Instead, he let out that easygoing high-pitched laugh again. "Do you want some gumdrops or something?" I asked. It was the best I could offer. I'd gone for the cheap nutrition option in this race.
"Nah, I'll get there," he said. "Just not as fast as I thought."

When I got to the finish line a few hours later he was there, talking to the other fast guys. "Hey! You made it! Congratulations!" I said.
He gave me a gigantic smile. "You were great out there!" he said, for all the cool kids to hear. "What did you offer me? Gum drops?!" And then he let out that great laugh again. I'm telling you, I could not have received a bigger compliment than to be talked to as an equal by the cool kids. But that was later, at this point he was still falling apart at mile 27, and I was still feeling sorry for myself a full loop behind him at mile 20.

On the second loop my socks had started to slip into my shoes and by now I'd worn holes in the backs of my ankles. At the end of each loop I sat down to re-adjust the socks, but they were really stinging badly. Of course there was the fatigue too, and that stabbing pain in my ass that everyone seems to think is sciatica. With Ray there, though, I seemed to be doing okay. We talked about old war stories, and I told him about Chrissy, and Anne (who I'll tell you guys about soon), Cunt on a pink bike, and Grandpa. "You tell these stories about wanting to trip people and then kick dirt in their face," Ray said to me, "but you seem like such a sweet, angelic little thing."
"Angelic?!" I said. "I don't think anyone who knows me would describe me as SWEET, but thanks."


We came up the hill and there was a group of people there to cheer us on. "I'm finishing this lap, and then I'm never running another step in my life!" I said.
"Aw, you'll be out here again next week!" one of the guys said. They always think they know fucking everything, don't they? What are they? Psychics? What if I never DO run again, huh? Why do they think that NOW is the time to remind me that I will ever have to run again?
"Never again!" I said.
"You'll be back!" a woman said.
"Screw you!" I called over my shoulder. I said it with a big smile and they all laughed.
"See? You can get away with saying things like that," Ray said. "It's that angelic little face of yours."
"Believe me, angelic or not, I don't always get away with it," I said.

The truth was that I knew that I was never, ever going to have to do this again for as long as I lived if I didn't want to, and that made it bearable. If I had known that this was all a step towards another, longer race then I would have hated every second of it. But as it was, I was... surprisingly... in my happy place. Okay, maybe not my happy place, but I didn't wish I was dead. That was huge.

Ray and I passed the marathon mark in just over 5 hours on the clock, which was about 4:45 of real running time. I was aware that this was only a couple of minutes off my old marathon PR. God, I really HAD come a long way since Cape Cod 10 months ago. Right around then Ray started flagging, right when I got my second wind that would take me to the finish. We had picked up Susan at that point, so I didn't feel so bad pulling ahead on a slight uphill when they decided to walk.

Okay, now here's the crazy part: every single person that I'd talked to along the course had ultimately wound up behind me: Rosemary, Mark, Brooke, Susan, Ray, the woman with the Midwestern accent... Even the fast guy with the easy laugh had wound up falling back in a sense. That NEVER happens, I am always the one that is left behind. I've come to expect it. When I passed Brooke's mom in the final 5K (she had been ahead of me the whole race), I couldn't believe it. I was finishing strong! I knew I had a slight chance of breaking 6 hours. It wouldn't be a PR by much, only 3 and a half minutes faster than the last time, but it was something to shoot for.

At Pineland Farms 50K I'd been paced every step of the way by Jay. Now it felt pretty significant that I was doing this on my own. I was going to have to average sub-10-minute miles for the last 5K to break 6 hours, so I dug deep. My body wasn't really cooperating, but I thought about how running a 9:50 mile now was a hell of a lot better than running 7-minute miles behind Michelle as I peed my pants. So I sucked it up and ran hard.

In the last mile (which was flat), I tried to push the pace even more, and was surprised to find that it hurt to breathe. Was I... out of breath? Was I running hard enough to ACTUALLY be pushing my threshold?! I looked at my wrist, I was only running in the high 9's. My body and lungs were just SO tired, that keeping me at below a 10-minute pace right now was as hard as running 2 minutes faster under normal circumstances. Then again, it kind of hurt all over, so it was hard to tell. I wanted to let up so badly, but I also just wanted to be DONE.

The expression "gone-burger" popped into my head. That's how I felt. I don't even know where I heard it, but there it was bouncing around in my mind as I waddled up the final rise to the finish as fast as I could in 6:01:03 (sprinting at 9:05 pace). One minute and three seconds. Oh well.

I tended to some immediate needs: water, pretzels, taking my shoes off, and then I limped down to the beach to sit in the water for a few minutes before I showered. When I got back, fully dressed but not moving any faster, I got a gigantic plate of pasta and set about eating whatever the hell I wanted. When I went up for my second plate, Mark (the man in the red shorts from my first two laps), who was done by now, called me a pig. Whatever, dude. Today I could eat whatever the fuck I wanted.

As I got up to go and thank all the volunteers a man walked up to me. "Are you one of the women that didn't get her prize?" he asked.
"What? I got my finisher's patch," I said. This is a running race. Claires don't win prizes at running races. Claires don't even bother to check the results.
"What's your name?"
"Claire Badas..."
"Claire?! From Boston?!" This was Todd, the race director who had been so patient with me!
I gave him a hug. He looked so happy to see me, that it seemed like the appropriate reaction. "Thank you so much for bending the rules for me..."
He cut me off and put his finger to his lips. "Ssssshhhhhh!"
"Okay, well thank you for all you've done. This really has been such an enjoyable... no, that's not the word... This has been such a positive experience!"
He looked down at his clipboard. "You got second in your category!" he said.
"WHAT?!?!?! Where were the other women?! Did they die?!?!?!" Like I said, Claires don't win running races.
"Don't say that," another volunteer said. "We already found one guy on the ground today." I wonder what the story was with that.
"Is this one of those things where there were only 2 people in my division?" I asked.
Nope. I was the second of 5 women under 35, and 4th of 14 women overall. True, it wasn't a very deep field, but I repeat, Claires don't win running races. Okay, I didn't win, but I placed. Claires don't place in running races.

I won a backpack!

Todd, the world's kindest race director congratulated me, and even printed up google directions for me to get back to the highway. You might think that this story is leading to the conclusion that I'm going to keep going with this ultrarunning business. Nope. I had a really great day, everything seemed to go right, and I felt like it was enough to make up for my DNF. I'd pushed hard, I'd gone long, I'd even done well in the overall standings. And this was exactly the high note I wanted to leave off on. I won't say I'm never running longer than 26.2 miles again. I'm just saying that there'll be plenty of time for that when I'm old and slow and suck at EVERYTHING as much as I suck at running. For now, I'm going to pursue the stuff that I like.

The traffic sucked on the way home, which sucked my whole good mood. What was a 5-hour drive on the way out turned out to be a 7-hour drive on the way back and my legs totally cramped up. Today I am one hurt unit. I'll have more to say about accomplishment soon, I think. But for today, I'm TRYING to keep it short.