The week leading up to the race was cold and rainy. Thursday and Friday saw afternoon sun, but the prediction was for clouds and rain on race day.
Jocelyn and I left Hungry Horse for the race start at 5:15 in the morning. Runner check-in was to start at 7:00 with an 8:00 race start.
Spotted Bear is 47 miles north of the dam containing the Hungry Horse Reservoir. The winding forest road follows the west side. In the pitch dark, half asleep, and completely pumped with adrenaline, the hour and a half ride must have been terrifying for Jocelyn!
The race route is point to point. Spotted Bear to Hungry Horse. We’d drive the race route on the way to the start area. Since Jocelyn had not seen any of the course, I was excited for her to drive back, taking in the amazing view once day broke.
Flashlights, car lights and headlamps made the race start area seem almost like a scene from a sci-fi. Oddly, this far out in the Great Bear Wilderness, I did almost feel like an alien. This area of the country was made for animals and trees, not people.
The sky began to lighten as the runners began moving toward the starting area.
Looking around the crowd of 40 or so runners I felt much more at ease than I expected. Racing mates were talking about prior runs, catching up with one another, and discussing their strategy.
The race director sternly warned us of the dangers of undertaking this endeavor. We were all about to put ourselves under enormous stress. Runners were warned to stay on the course. “They don’t call this the Great Bear Wilderness for nothing.”
Boooom….
With the roar of a shotgun blast, the race had begun.
I was immediately overcome by the realization that the pack runners I was with were not humans in an animal’s world. No human in their right might would attempt what we were doing. We had checked our humanity at the door. It was not the human that would carry us through this journey, it was the animal.
Though cloudy and cold, the rain held off. After some time the sun began to peek through the clouds. No doubt to sneak a glimpse of the sheer insanity that was unfolding on the ground below.
The clouds began to lift, revealing the wondrous Flathead Mountains off to the east. Snow covered peaks could be seen rising above the clouds. The views were breathtaking, and kept my mind happily occupied.
I made small talk with a few runners, but for the most part, I enjoy the solitude of running alone. Really, I enjoy the fight!
The first stop I made was at mile 27. I changed my shirt, shoes and socks, had something to eat, and headed back out.
About four and a half hours had gone by. I was 18 minutes ahead of a goal 10 minute pace and I was feeling good.
But something wasn’t working right. Something I ate at 27 had screwed up my stomach bad. Every step I took made me want to throw up. And I wanted to. I wanted to pull to the side and stick my finger down my throat. Whatever was down there needed to come out.
My fear was that I would bomb if I couldn’t keep a constant flow of energy into my body. I tried to eat a fig newton but couldn’t even bear to chew it. Things were getting dim, and I was just barely over the half-way point.
I couldn’t shake it. About 8 miles passed and I felt spent. I was sure that if I couldn’t eat soon, my body would call it quits. My vision was beginning to get cloudy. Likely the result of my plummeting blood sugar level. My legs felt great, though. I kept repeating to myself, “just let your legs do the talking.” I was convinced that I was the last runner… That I was bringing up the rear.
I came to a fairly steep grade. Near the top I could see Jocelyn parked in a pull-off area taking pictures of snow-capped Great Northern across the reservoir. I became overwhelmed. I had reached a level of despair that I’d never known, and seeing her at the top threw me into a spin. She began heading down the hill toward me.
My head was telling me to jump in the car and settle for a DNF, but deep down there was a small flicker of hope telling me that I would never quit.
By the time Jocelyn made it to me, the internal struggle must have been written all over my face. “How do you feel,” she asked. “Like hell,” I replied trying to hold back the true depths of my anguish. Almost instinctively, she knew what to do. She began immediately telling me, with as much visual imagery as possible, all the things she had seen and done in the past 5 hours.
It was exactly what I needed. It was just enough distraction to let the flicker of hope grow into a little flame, and it warmed me inside.
She gave me a kiss goodbye as we got to the crest and I started running again. Though the pain in my stomach hadn’t lessened, my attitude had begun to change. A chill ran down my back that made my hair stand on end and my ears tingle. I’ve had that sensation before. It washes over me and imbues feelings of invincibility. I’d make it no matter what.
At mile 36 I had my secret weapon waiting. When food fails, turn to chemicals. Chocolate covered espresso beans. They are magic. The caffeine would quell my overwhelming hunger, and provide just enough stimulation to keep me moving. I was still unable and afraid to eat. My eyesight was getting pretty foggy now.
I ate two, that’s all I could manage.
About 10 minutes later I felt like superman. Perhaps it was psychosomatic, but I swear those little buggers saved me.
My upset stomach gave way to a severe cramp, naturally (ugh). It was so bad that it was hard to breathe! I was certain that my inability to take any food and hardly any liquid in the past 15 miles was to blame. I very rarely cramp, so hoping for a quick recovery I pushed on.
Crossing the 40 mile mark was surreal. I was back on track. I was running the level and downgrades, and walking at least part of the hills. I was hitting a 9 minute pace, but I wasn’t sure how!
There were about 3 runners who were in close proximity to me throughout the race. Both had support vehicles that would drive ahead a few miles and wait, providing aide as their runner approached.
We exchanged words, but few.
I rounded a bend at about 45. Through the trees I saw something unnatural. Something man-made. “Could it be?” I thought. “The dam!” I shouted, not quite realizing I had, and too delirious to care.
All doubt flew from me. At this point the struggle was over. For the first time in about 25 miles I was 100% certain that unless I got mauled, I was crossing the finish line.
My pace quickened. At mile 47 just this side of the Dam was the last rest stop. I munched a piece of orange and refilled my water bottle. I tried to make some light joking conversation with the couple manning the station. “I heard you guys were giving rides to the finish.” They laughed and encouraged me onward. They must have thought I was nuts. I was grinning ear-to-ear and must have looked like a little kid at Christmas.
I pushed onward.
Grinding up the final stretch I saw two of the support teams that I’d been frog-hopping for the last 8 hours. “Wohoo!” they cheered. “Keep it up, almost there!” Jocelyn was there too! The last time she’d seen me I was in my depths. “Yay, Baby!” she cheered, happy to see me with a smile on my face.
The final quarter mile of the race is marked by a short bushwhack near the finish line that culminates in a steep climb probably equivalent to a single flight of stairs.
It was during this very short trek through the woods that I realized that I was, for all intent and purposes, no longer in complete control of my faculties. I was in a dream. Someone was pulling the strings, but it was not me. The fact that my eyesight had grown significantly worse probably helped contribute to my dreamlike state.
As I took the last step up the bushwhack my left hip flexor nearly locked. It felt like I’d been shot! “Oh no you don’t!” I told myself. “Enjoy the pain, and keep going!”
It was only about 300 feet to the finish line and I broke into a sprint.
As I crossed the finish line I threw my hands up into the air, turned my face to the sky, and let out a roar!
I had done it! 50 miles in just over 8 hours and 30 minutes.
In those 8.5 hours I had experienced the full range of emotions. From complete exhilaration to being plunged into the depths of despair, bereft of all hope. And in those darkest of moments I had found something truly remarkable. I began to understand a quote I’d once read:
“Your biggest challenge isn’t someone else. It’s the ache in your lungs and the burning in your legs, and the voice inside you that yells, “CAN’T,” but you don’t listen. You just push harder. And then you hear the voice whisper, “can.” And you discover that the person you thought you were is no match for the one you really are.” - Unknown
Bill