I've been attempting to write this for a couple weeks now. There have been different versions scribbled onto notepads, and generated in my head, and yesterday I decided I just need to get this done.
The title tells the basics, my race at this years Vermont 100 didn't end with a buckle, but instead with a shuttle ride back to camp, and a lingering sense of frustration and disappointment. I'll start from the beginning, and eventually get to the place where things fell apart.
If you've read any of my posts leading up to this year's race, you'll know that I was feeling fit, I was feeling ready, and I had set a sub-24 hour finishing goal for myself. You'll also know that I was, for my second year in a row, running to support Vermont Adaptive Ski and Sports through the Team Run 2 Empower group. What I can say to all of that is: I was fit, I was ready, I missed the sub-24 hour finish, and I raised 700 MORE dollars this year than I did last year. My training was on point, I focused on as much specificity as possible, running all the rolling hills I could find in Starksboro, New York, Virginia and all the places in between. I was ready to run up and to run down. I had the knowledge of last year's race to know what to expect, and that was a tremendous advantage to this year's training. So...what happened?
The day before the race this year was cool and cloudy, a significant change from last year. This has been a particularly wet spring and summer for Vermont, and a lot of the ground is super saturated as a result. (Translation: wet and muddy all over the place) I had shared with Amy, the RD, that one of my fundraising tactics had been doing bake sales. She joked at the Cayuga 50 that I should bring her some on race weekend, so I baked a strawberry banana loaf as my "thank-you" gift for all she does. I arrived early for check-in and to set up my tent and just get things settled. I passed the bread along to Amy and received more hugs and encouragement from her, which should no longer surprise me. Amy is a genuinely supportive and enthusiastic RD, she really makes this race community feel like a family, and that's just one reason I'll plan to keep coming back to run it. I did my medical check-in, finished organizing my drop-bags, and turned those in. I wandered around the various sponsor booths and had the chance to try out some of the Normatec boots. (They are awesome, talk about the best addition to some rest day brags!) I chatted with a few people here and there, and saw a couple familiar faces. By the time the race briefing rolled around I managed to introduce myself to Kyle Robidoux in person, we had "met" via Twitter and gearing up for the race. Kyle ran as one of the first official participants in the Athletes With Disabilities division of this years race. He is legally blind and he crushed it, finishing in 28:11:53!! (Congrats Kyle, on your first hundo, I hope to share more miles with you in the future!) I also saw Jason Cousins and his family. Jason and I met while volunteering at the Breakneck Ridge marathon race (a Red Newt Racing event) and have kept in touch leading up to Vermont. Jason also crushed his race, hoping to go sub-24, he certainly did, with a finish of 21:52:27. Jason and I managed to run a few miles together in the early part of the race, which was awesome. Congrats to Jason on his race, and good luck at Grindstone in October! But, I'm getting ahead of myself, talking about finishes...
The night before the race there was a steady stream of rainfall, which started to taper off around 3am, a little bit after I woke up. I slept well, much like last year, which is always an encouraging sign. The morning was cool and misty, the ground was soggy, but the remainder of the day was forecast to be moderately overcast, no rain, and slightly warmer. I was happy for a cool, but not chilly, start. I checked in around 3:20, got into the port-a-john line for one last systems check, and then milled around under the big tent until we were told to move over towards the race start.
I was feeling confident, excited, and ready for a long day enjoying the rolling hills of Vermont. We counted down the clock and at 4am we started our journeys.
I got into a good rhythm pretty quickly. I knew that last year I had gotten stuck going a bit slower than I had wanted to at the start, and so I made a point to just stick to a comfortable pace, move around folks where necessary, and to just feel it out. Within the first couple of miles we were already navigating some muddier trails and roads. It is here that I should tell you something about myself that you may not know: of the many things I do to make a living, one of them is building and maintaining trails. I am passionate about it, and as a result I have a few habits that others may find strange. As a trail builder, when I come across a trail that is particularly muddy or wet, I run through it. That's right, right through the wet, muddy, mucky place where the trail is supposed to exist but is temporarily hidden to to excessive rainfall or snowmelt and poor drainage. Many people (one may argue more intelligent people) will avoid this wet and muddy endeavor, and will 'go around' the trail...and this causes what we in the trail world call "blow-out". It can turn a single-track into a triple-track. It can trample sensitive plants. It can make for an unsightly mess when things dry up. It's not good for the health of the trail, and I just can't do it. This is the foreshadowing moment of this story, just so you know.
I'm moving well. I ran a short bit with Kyle and Amy (Amy was his guide for the first 15 or so miles) and then moved along. My pace felt good and easy and at some point Jason and crossed paths. We were moving at a good clip, again, it felt easy and sustainable, so I was just rolling with it. I was planning to track this year's race on my Garmin Fenix3, just using the Ultratrac setting to preserve battery, and I had it on, but I kept the watch face only showing the time, not my pace and splits, because I wanted to run by feel more than anything else. Jason had his watch set up to give him more information, and every now and again he'd remind me that we weren't just running a sub-24 pace, we were running closer to a 22hour pace. And I checked in with myself, and I was still running and able to have a conversation and feeling good, so we just kept rolling along. At one point Jason checked his watch and announced "Hey, we just hit a half-marathon!" and we both laughed a bit at that. A little bit before the Taftsville bridge Jason pulled ahead, and I hung back. That would be the last time we saw each other out on the course. It was fun to share some miles.
I crossed Taftsville bridge with Amy and Kyle, refilled my water bottles and kept rolling. At this point I got into a more solo style run, which felt good. While I do enjoy sharing miles with folks, I am also so used to running long and alone, that sometimes its nice to just fall back into that. A little more than 15 miles in and I was feeling great. My pace was consistent and I was certainly headed towards my sub-24 hour goal. I had decided this year to go more minimal with the number of drop bags I had out on the course, which meant that after Taftsville bridge I had about 15 miles to the Stage Rd aid station and my first drop bag. Between the random snacks of bananas and boiled potatoes from aid stations along the way, as well as my home made energy blocks and nut butter packets that I was running with, I felt well fueled and kept moving. There's a good climb heading out from Taftsville bridge and I was excited to be running much of it. My training truly had been solid and the relentless days of going up and down Big Hollow road were paying off. I still did some powerhiking in the places where it made the most sense to conserve my energy.
Still, I was moving well. I didn't spend much time at Pretty House, the first aid station with crew access, but I did see Kyle's wife (whom I'd met the night before) and she was very sweet to cheer me on. Kyle was moving quite well with his guide and was a few minutes ahead of me at that point. I was ecstatic to remember that last year at Pretty House was when I first stopped to deal with the pain I was feeling in my big toes which ended up being gnarly blisters underneath my toenails. No such issues this year!! My Altra Torin 3.0's were perfectly broken in and performing well. With about 9 miles to go to my first drop bag, I was feeling good. There were still muddy sections to run through, and I did, happily.
The volunteers at Stage Rd aid station were great, helped me find my drop bag, and had buckets of water with sponges to douse my head so that I could stay cool. I grabbed some more snacks to put into my pack and keep with me, as my next drop bag was at Camp 10 Bear, just 16.7 miles away! Last year at this point I was counting every mile waiting for the opportunity to change shoes in the hope that it might shift the direction of my race. This year my feet felt great, and I just kept rolling along. I went up, I went down, I ran silently, I chatted with a few folks...just another day out on the trails and back roads of Vermont. By the time I rolled into Camp 10 Bear I was still feeling strong. I grabbed my drop bag and did my first sock change. Wow, my feet were wet! All that running through the wet and mud had accumulated more than I had realized. My feet were still feeling good, and I hadn't been having any issues, so I hadn't realized just how wet things had gotten. So, new dry socks were a great addition to my life. At first glance there were no real blisters to speak of, other than a couple spots that were being caused by my calf sleeves. So, I ditched the compression sleeves, buttered things up with my Squirrel's Nut Butter, quickly basked in the glory of dry socks, grabbed some more fuel, and got back on the course. I was moving well, I was nearly halfway through the race, and was looking forward to the sign on the side of the road that would make that declaration.
One step after another, the miles continued to pass, and somewhere around mile 52 or 53, something started to not feel right with my feet. I wasn't sure what it was, wondering if maybe my new socks were causing some irritation, but it wasn't unbearable, so I just pressed on. Somewhere in this section I met Karen Bonnett and her running partner Nattu Naraj, and that was super fun. Karen is in the midst of the 2017 Grand Slam, having already run Western States and now moving on to Leadville and Wasatch. Karen is also the aunt of James Bonnett, a stellar human being and runner from back home in Arizona. I know James from volunteering with Aravaipa and just running out there. He's an extraordinary runner, a great coach who has been kind enough in the past to give me free training advice. (If you're interested in a distance running camp in AZ, check his out: here) Karen, Nattu and I did the ultra leap frog game for a while, some moments where I was ahead, and some moments where they were ahead. My feet continued to not feel great and it was really starting to slow me down. I was trying hard to not be too frustrated by this, to not get fixated on how it would affect my sub-24 hour goal, and to just keep my focus on the task at hand, which was continuous (relentless) forward progress.
58.5 miles in I made it to Margaritaville. It was awesome to keep the perspective of having reached this point earlier in the race than I had last year, but disappointing to realize that something was going on with my feet, and that I had sworn to myself that I would not do anything overly stubborn and stupid at this race. I trotted out from the aid station and made it about a mile or so before I decided to stop and look at what was going on. I sat on a big rock, I took off my right shoe, pulled back my sock...and was sad to not see a blister. Yes, you read that correctly. A blister would have been manageable, what I saw was worse, and ultimately insurmountable. I was looking at a classic example of trenchfoot. Two thirds of the skin on the bottom of my foot was completely white and desiccated. On the ball of my foot just between my big toe and my first smaller toe, a spot where blisters can commonly develop, instead I had a large crease amidst dead looking skin that was threatening to split. This was not good. My socks were a little damp, and I didn't have another pair in my pack, my next dry pair was waiting for me at Camp 10 Bear, about 10 miles away from where I was. Should I take my shoes off and go barefoot? Hoping my feet could dry out and I could continue? Would the gravel road just cause more damage if I tried that? I knew a rocky class 4 road was not far ahead of me, and that it too would be full of water and mud...my best option was to just keep moving with what I had and hope for some small miracle of my feet getting better in the 10 miles between myself and Camp 10 Bear. I was moving SLOW. Super slow, and each step felt painful, but I was trying to embrace it, to move through the discomfort, and focus on other things.
Because I had been moving so well up to this point, I was still well ahead of the time cut-offs. Aside from the sub-24hour goal for this year, I also had determined to not be chasing cut-offs. Now with my feet slowing me down, I started doing ultra-math...it looks like this: okay, so I'm at about mile 62, I have about 7.8miles to the next aid station, I have approximately x number of hours before the time cut-off there, and y amount of hours before the 30-hour race finish cut-off, if I average z amount of miles per hour, even moving slowly, I could still finish under the cut-off...I can still do this. Another painful step. At the race briefing they said there would be two reasons that the Volunteer Medical Staff would pull you from the race that were non-negotiable: rhabdomyolysis, and trenchfoot. I did not have rhabdo. I did have trenchfoot. Having spent a lot of time in damp boots and socks over my years of trail work, often in environments where your feet never really get to dry out from one day to the next, I know it well. And this is the part of the foreshadowing where I bring it all together. My trail building self, running through the middle of the mud and the wet, having previously had trench foot, am at a higher propensity for redeveloping it when the conditions for it are prime. My race was over, and I knew it. All of the ultra-math and justification in the world wasn't going to change my situation. Could I skirt around the medical check point without them looking at my feet and keep moving? Yeah, I probably could have done that, but at what cost?
I kept shuffling. I worked through the highs and lows in my head as I moved towards Camp 10 Bear. I had showed up well trained and ready to reach my goal, and things went awry. I didn't anticipate my feet getting as wet as they did, and that was poor planning on my part. I know now to bring more pairs of dry socks and to plan to take the time to change them more frequently. Knowing that this simple act alone could have saved my race was really hard to acknowledge without beating myself up significantly. I tried to shift mental gears and focus on the positive again. I raised more money this year than last year. In spite of the last few months being really tough in the realm of family, and life and navigating the world in general, I had gotten back to a place where a focused approach to running was keeping me more balanced and happy, and I was grateful for that. I knew what had fallen apart in this race, and I knew how to fix it, so I know I can come back and perform even better next year. Unfortunately, none of this changed what I knew to be true, my race was done.
I made it back to Camp 10 Bear. The first 47 mile trip that got me to Camp 10 bear took me about ten and a half hours. The 22ish miles that took me out to Margaritaville, Brown School House, and back to Camp 10 Bear took me about seven hours. If that provides some perspective of how significant the damage to my feet was in the moment. My legs were good, my feet were not. Arriving in Camp 10 Bear, one of the volunteers asked me if I needed anything, and I told him I needed to turn in my number, that my race was done. He asked if I had a pacer that they could find to come talk with me and I told him that I was running in the solo division. "Oh, well if we paired you up with a pacer, do you think you'd want to keep going?" My reply: "Only if I can take their feet." I headed over to the medical tent and sat down on one of their cots. They asked how I was and what was going on, and I told them I was dealing with trenchfoot and that I had to throw in the towel. They asked to look at it, so that we could determine the next best steps. I removed my shoe, and then my sock, and we took a look. And this is the part that was both affirming and frustrating. The lead medical said "Oh hey, you guys can come see this, you were asking what trenchfoot really looks like." Yup. I was the posterchild for trenchfoot, and it was not a modeling campaign I had signed up for. I unpinned my race number (number 7 this year, last year I was 16, proof that my fundraising had been even more successful) and handed it to the volunteer who marked me as no longer running the race. In that moment, my DNF was official. Internally, I was devastated. Externally, I was still trying to focus on all the positives, all the little rays of sunshine amidst the disappointing outcome, trying my best to see the big picture. Stopping now meant healing faster, not exacerbating a traumatic injury that could take months to recover from. The medical staff was reminding me of this, and assuring me that not only was I making the right decision, I was making the only decision available to me.
And that's about it. That was my 2017 Vermont 100 experience. I took a shuttle back to my tent, fell asleep and woke up around 5am. My feet already looked better, but still had some pretty bad patches and walking was tender. I made my way over to the finish line to cheer some folks in, to give Amy a hug, and to thank her for another incredible experience. In spite of her policy of hugs for finishers, Amy was willing to make an exception, and encouraged me to come back. As I've mentioned before, this race has really started to feel like a family, a community I want to be part of, and I do hope to be back. Volunteers like Laura who remembered me from last year and saw me and cheered me on at multiple points throughout the race, who chatted with me as I was making my way over to the finish line and both commended me for the effort I'd put forth, and supported me in making the hard but right choice. These are genuine people who really do care about everyone who shows up to this race. This is the ultra running community I love and am so grateful to be a part of.
My co-workers at Common Ground Center have also been supportive of my ultra-running, despite the fact that they think its a little bananas. When I made it back to the Farmhouse, the room I had been staying in prior to moving out to my tent was decorated to celebrate my race, and it was extraordinary. There was a finish line taped across the door, (the only one I got to cross!) streamers, and a hilarious diagram of the race elevation profile and all the things that could have occurred/crossed my mind over the duration of the race.
This was really wonderful to come back to, and definitely made me smile. After showering and feeling slightly more human, I was happy to join them all for a beer and hanging out, mostly not talking about the race.
My feet did heal, it took a few days for the tissue to get back to normal, but I was already back to running by Monday afternoon, albeit short and slow. This week I'm pretty much back to normal, including a run fueled on frustration that led to one of my best times on a route that I use regularly. Lastly, I have struggled with whether or not I would write much on this platform about my experience as a transgender human being, and have realized that speaking to it in small ways in my past couple posts has helped me to feel less like its something I need to dance around. It's been a long journey, and like many an ultra-distance adventure it's had its ups and downs, but the ultimate reward of being true to myself has been worth it. There's a lot of hate and vitriol out in the world right now, and its not to say that it wasn't out there before, but now it seems to be getting amplified. I just want to say, if you think you don't know anyone who's directly impacted by this hateful speech, chances are you do. I love that the ultra community is made up of folks from all over the world, from a variety of backgrounds and experiences, and that even if its just for a race weekend, we all manage to come together and support one another in reaching our running goals. I hope that more folks can find ways to take that spirit of compassion, community and support out into the world. I know I'm making my best effort to do my part.
Vermont 100, I hope to toe your line again next year, and to raise even more money for Vermont Adaptive, and to cross that finish line under 24 hours to add another buckle to my collection.
A huge thanks to all of the volunteers, to all of the landowners who make this race possible, to all of the runners who were part of Team Run 2 Empower, to all the friends and families who showed up to crew their runners, and everyone who helped make this race happen. And thanks to my family and friends who have continued to support me on this journey.
Thanks as always for reading.
Here are some songs that were stuck in my head throughout the race
***************Postscript Edit*************************
I meant to include the recipe for the energy blocks that I made, because some folks have been asking me for them. This is what I came up with, after much searching of cookbooks, interwebs, etc. I'll include a picture of the silicone mold that I used, I found that the ones from the silicone mold held up better than the ones i just let set in a pyrex dish. Have fun creating your own versions and let me know if you come up with any fantastic new flavor variations.
The title tells the basics, my race at this years Vermont 100 didn't end with a buckle, but instead with a shuttle ride back to camp, and a lingering sense of frustration and disappointment. I'll start from the beginning, and eventually get to the place where things fell apart.
If you've read any of my posts leading up to this year's race, you'll know that I was feeling fit, I was feeling ready, and I had set a sub-24 hour finishing goal for myself. You'll also know that I was, for my second year in a row, running to support Vermont Adaptive Ski and Sports through the Team Run 2 Empower group. What I can say to all of that is: I was fit, I was ready, I missed the sub-24 hour finish, and I raised 700 MORE dollars this year than I did last year. My training was on point, I focused on as much specificity as possible, running all the rolling hills I could find in Starksboro, New York, Virginia and all the places in between. I was ready to run up and to run down. I had the knowledge of last year's race to know what to expect, and that was a tremendous advantage to this year's training. So...what happened?
The day before the race this year was cool and cloudy, a significant change from last year. This has been a particularly wet spring and summer for Vermont, and a lot of the ground is super saturated as a result. (Translation: wet and muddy all over the place) I had shared with Amy, the RD, that one of my fundraising tactics had been doing bake sales. She joked at the Cayuga 50 that I should bring her some on race weekend, so I baked a strawberry banana loaf as my "thank-you" gift for all she does. I arrived early for check-in and to set up my tent and just get things settled. I passed the bread along to Amy and received more hugs and encouragement from her, which should no longer surprise me. Amy is a genuinely supportive and enthusiastic RD, she really makes this race community feel like a family, and that's just one reason I'll plan to keep coming back to run it. I did my medical check-in, finished organizing my drop-bags, and turned those in. I wandered around the various sponsor booths and had the chance to try out some of the Normatec boots. (They are awesome, talk about the best addition to some rest day brags!) I chatted with a few people here and there, and saw a couple familiar faces. By the time the race briefing rolled around I managed to introduce myself to Kyle Robidoux in person, we had "met" via Twitter and gearing up for the race. Kyle ran as one of the first official participants in the Athletes With Disabilities division of this years race. He is legally blind and he crushed it, finishing in 28:11:53!! (Congrats Kyle, on your first hundo, I hope to share more miles with you in the future!) I also saw Jason Cousins and his family. Jason and I met while volunteering at the Breakneck Ridge marathon race (a Red Newt Racing event) and have kept in touch leading up to Vermont. Jason also crushed his race, hoping to go sub-24, he certainly did, with a finish of 21:52:27. Jason and I managed to run a few miles together in the early part of the race, which was awesome. Congrats to Jason on his race, and good luck at Grindstone in October! But, I'm getting ahead of myself, talking about finishes...
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| A cool and cloudy day |
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| Baked goods for Amy! |
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| Pre-race briefing |
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| Drop bags ready to go, shoes broken in and read, and race bib #7!! |
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| The big tents at Silver Hill |
The night before the race there was a steady stream of rainfall, which started to taper off around 3am, a little bit after I woke up. I slept well, much like last year, which is always an encouraging sign. The morning was cool and misty, the ground was soggy, but the remainder of the day was forecast to be moderately overcast, no rain, and slightly warmer. I was happy for a cool, but not chilly, start. I checked in around 3:20, got into the port-a-john line for one last systems check, and then milled around under the big tent until we were told to move over towards the race start.
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| Waiting under the big tent |
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| Bib number 7! Ready to roll. |
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| Ginger Runner crew, represent |
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| I tried to use the elevation tat...apparently permanent tattoos stay better on my body than temporary ones |
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| Race is about to start, under a light mist |
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| Here we go! |
I'm moving well. I ran a short bit with Kyle and Amy (Amy was his guide for the first 15 or so miles) and then moved along. My pace felt good and easy and at some point Jason and crossed paths. We were moving at a good clip, again, it felt easy and sustainable, so I was just rolling with it. I was planning to track this year's race on my Garmin Fenix3, just using the Ultratrac setting to preserve battery, and I had it on, but I kept the watch face only showing the time, not my pace and splits, because I wanted to run by feel more than anything else. Jason had his watch set up to give him more information, and every now and again he'd remind me that we weren't just running a sub-24 pace, we were running closer to a 22hour pace. And I checked in with myself, and I was still running and able to have a conversation and feeling good, so we just kept rolling along. At one point Jason checked his watch and announced "Hey, we just hit a half-marathon!" and we both laughed a bit at that. A little bit before the Taftsville bridge Jason pulled ahead, and I hung back. That would be the last time we saw each other out on the course. It was fun to share some miles.
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| Obviously I was moving sooo fast! Ha! |
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| The Taftsville Bridge |
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| Blurry uphill after Taftsville |
I crossed Taftsville bridge with Amy and Kyle, refilled my water bottles and kept rolling. At this point I got into a more solo style run, which felt good. While I do enjoy sharing miles with folks, I am also so used to running long and alone, that sometimes its nice to just fall back into that. A little more than 15 miles in and I was feeling great. My pace was consistent and I was certainly headed towards my sub-24 hour goal. I had decided this year to go more minimal with the number of drop bags I had out on the course, which meant that after Taftsville bridge I had about 15 miles to the Stage Rd aid station and my first drop bag. Between the random snacks of bananas and boiled potatoes from aid stations along the way, as well as my home made energy blocks and nut butter packets that I was running with, I felt well fueled and kept moving. There's a good climb heading out from Taftsville bridge and I was excited to be running much of it. My training truly had been solid and the relentless days of going up and down Big Hollow road were paying off. I still did some powerhiking in the places where it made the most sense to conserve my energy.
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| Top of Barclay's meadow, a great vista point |
The volunteers at Stage Rd aid station were great, helped me find my drop bag, and had buckets of water with sponges to douse my head so that I could stay cool. I grabbed some more snacks to put into my pack and keep with me, as my next drop bag was at Camp 10 Bear, just 16.7 miles away! Last year at this point I was counting every mile waiting for the opportunity to change shoes in the hope that it might shift the direction of my race. This year my feet felt great, and I just kept rolling along. I went up, I went down, I ran silently, I chatted with a few folks...just another day out on the trails and back roads of Vermont. By the time I rolled into Camp 10 Bear I was still feeling strong. I grabbed my drop bag and did my first sock change. Wow, my feet were wet! All that running through the wet and mud had accumulated more than I had realized. My feet were still feeling good, and I hadn't been having any issues, so I hadn't realized just how wet things had gotten. So, new dry socks were a great addition to my life. At first glance there were no real blisters to speak of, other than a couple spots that were being caused by my calf sleeves. So, I ditched the compression sleeves, buttered things up with my Squirrel's Nut Butter, quickly basked in the glory of dry socks, grabbed some more fuel, and got back on the course. I was moving well, I was nearly halfway through the race, and was looking forward to the sign on the side of the road that would make that declaration.
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| More than halfway there!! (I love this sign) |
One step after another, the miles continued to pass, and somewhere around mile 52 or 53, something started to not feel right with my feet. I wasn't sure what it was, wondering if maybe my new socks were causing some irritation, but it wasn't unbearable, so I just pressed on. Somewhere in this section I met Karen Bonnett and her running partner Nattu Naraj, and that was super fun. Karen is in the midst of the 2017 Grand Slam, having already run Western States and now moving on to Leadville and Wasatch. Karen is also the aunt of James Bonnett, a stellar human being and runner from back home in Arizona. I know James from volunteering with Aravaipa and just running out there. He's an extraordinary runner, a great coach who has been kind enough in the past to give me free training advice. (If you're interested in a distance running camp in AZ, check his out: here) Karen, Nattu and I did the ultra leap frog game for a while, some moments where I was ahead, and some moments where they were ahead. My feet continued to not feel great and it was really starting to slow me down. I was trying hard to not be too frustrated by this, to not get fixated on how it would affect my sub-24 hour goal, and to just keep my focus on the task at hand, which was continuous (relentless) forward progress.
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| Still trying to enjoy the beauty of the course |
58.5 miles in I made it to Margaritaville. It was awesome to keep the perspective of having reached this point earlier in the race than I had last year, but disappointing to realize that something was going on with my feet, and that I had sworn to myself that I would not do anything overly stubborn and stupid at this race. I trotted out from the aid station and made it about a mile or so before I decided to stop and look at what was going on. I sat on a big rock, I took off my right shoe, pulled back my sock...and was sad to not see a blister. Yes, you read that correctly. A blister would have been manageable, what I saw was worse, and ultimately insurmountable. I was looking at a classic example of trenchfoot. Two thirds of the skin on the bottom of my foot was completely white and desiccated. On the ball of my foot just between my big toe and my first smaller toe, a spot where blisters can commonly develop, instead I had a large crease amidst dead looking skin that was threatening to split. This was not good. My socks were a little damp, and I didn't have another pair in my pack, my next dry pair was waiting for me at Camp 10 Bear, about 10 miles away from where I was. Should I take my shoes off and go barefoot? Hoping my feet could dry out and I could continue? Would the gravel road just cause more damage if I tried that? I knew a rocky class 4 road was not far ahead of me, and that it too would be full of water and mud...my best option was to just keep moving with what I had and hope for some small miracle of my feet getting better in the 10 miles between myself and Camp 10 Bear. I was moving SLOW. Super slow, and each step felt painful, but I was trying to embrace it, to move through the discomfort, and focus on other things.
Because I had been moving so well up to this point, I was still well ahead of the time cut-offs. Aside from the sub-24hour goal for this year, I also had determined to not be chasing cut-offs. Now with my feet slowing me down, I started doing ultra-math...it looks like this: okay, so I'm at about mile 62, I have about 7.8miles to the next aid station, I have approximately x number of hours before the time cut-off there, and y amount of hours before the 30-hour race finish cut-off, if I average z amount of miles per hour, even moving slowly, I could still finish under the cut-off...I can still do this. Another painful step. At the race briefing they said there would be two reasons that the Volunteer Medical Staff would pull you from the race that were non-negotiable: rhabdomyolysis, and trenchfoot. I did not have rhabdo. I did have trenchfoot. Having spent a lot of time in damp boots and socks over my years of trail work, often in environments where your feet never really get to dry out from one day to the next, I know it well. And this is the part of the foreshadowing where I bring it all together. My trail building self, running through the middle of the mud and the wet, having previously had trench foot, am at a higher propensity for redeveloping it when the conditions for it are prime. My race was over, and I knew it. All of the ultra-math and justification in the world wasn't going to change my situation. Could I skirt around the medical check point without them looking at my feet and keep moving? Yeah, I probably could have done that, but at what cost?
I kept shuffling. I worked through the highs and lows in my head as I moved towards Camp 10 Bear. I had showed up well trained and ready to reach my goal, and things went awry. I didn't anticipate my feet getting as wet as they did, and that was poor planning on my part. I know now to bring more pairs of dry socks and to plan to take the time to change them more frequently. Knowing that this simple act alone could have saved my race was really hard to acknowledge without beating myself up significantly. I tried to shift mental gears and focus on the positive again. I raised more money this year than last year. In spite of the last few months being really tough in the realm of family, and life and navigating the world in general, I had gotten back to a place where a focused approach to running was keeping me more balanced and happy, and I was grateful for that. I knew what had fallen apart in this race, and I knew how to fix it, so I know I can come back and perform even better next year. Unfortunately, none of this changed what I knew to be true, my race was done.
I made it back to Camp 10 Bear. The first 47 mile trip that got me to Camp 10 bear took me about ten and a half hours. The 22ish miles that took me out to Margaritaville, Brown School House, and back to Camp 10 Bear took me about seven hours. If that provides some perspective of how significant the damage to my feet was in the moment. My legs were good, my feet were not. Arriving in Camp 10 Bear, one of the volunteers asked me if I needed anything, and I told him I needed to turn in my number, that my race was done. He asked if I had a pacer that they could find to come talk with me and I told him that I was running in the solo division. "Oh, well if we paired you up with a pacer, do you think you'd want to keep going?" My reply: "Only if I can take their feet." I headed over to the medical tent and sat down on one of their cots. They asked how I was and what was going on, and I told them I was dealing with trenchfoot and that I had to throw in the towel. They asked to look at it, so that we could determine the next best steps. I removed my shoe, and then my sock, and we took a look. And this is the part that was both affirming and frustrating. The lead medical said "Oh hey, you guys can come see this, you were asking what trenchfoot really looks like." Yup. I was the posterchild for trenchfoot, and it was not a modeling campaign I had signed up for. I unpinned my race number (number 7 this year, last year I was 16, proof that my fundraising had been even more successful) and handed it to the volunteer who marked me as no longer running the race. In that moment, my DNF was official. Internally, I was devastated. Externally, I was still trying to focus on all the positives, all the little rays of sunshine amidst the disappointing outcome, trying my best to see the big picture. Stopping now meant healing faster, not exacerbating a traumatic injury that could take months to recover from. The medical staff was reminding me of this, and assuring me that not only was I making the right decision, I was making the only decision available to me.
And that's about it. That was my 2017 Vermont 100 experience. I took a shuttle back to my tent, fell asleep and woke up around 5am. My feet already looked better, but still had some pretty bad patches and walking was tender. I made my way over to the finish line to cheer some folks in, to give Amy a hug, and to thank her for another incredible experience. In spite of her policy of hugs for finishers, Amy was willing to make an exception, and encouraged me to come back. As I've mentioned before, this race has really started to feel like a family, a community I want to be part of, and I do hope to be back. Volunteers like Laura who remembered me from last year and saw me and cheered me on at multiple points throughout the race, who chatted with me as I was making my way over to the finish line and both commended me for the effort I'd put forth, and supported me in making the hard but right choice. These are genuine people who really do care about everyone who shows up to this race. This is the ultra running community I love and am so grateful to be a part of.
My co-workers at Common Ground Center have also been supportive of my ultra-running, despite the fact that they think its a little bananas. When I made it back to the Farmhouse, the room I had been staying in prior to moving out to my tent was decorated to celebrate my race, and it was extraordinary. There was a finish line taped across the door, (the only one I got to cross!) streamers, and a hilarious diagram of the race elevation profile and all the things that could have occurred/crossed my mind over the duration of the race.
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| the only finish line I crossed!! |
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| So appreciative to have this kind of support and hilarity. |
My feet did heal, it took a few days for the tissue to get back to normal, but I was already back to running by Monday afternoon, albeit short and slow. This week I'm pretty much back to normal, including a run fueled on frustration that led to one of my best times on a route that I use regularly. Lastly, I have struggled with whether or not I would write much on this platform about my experience as a transgender human being, and have realized that speaking to it in small ways in my past couple posts has helped me to feel less like its something I need to dance around. It's been a long journey, and like many an ultra-distance adventure it's had its ups and downs, but the ultimate reward of being true to myself has been worth it. There's a lot of hate and vitriol out in the world right now, and its not to say that it wasn't out there before, but now it seems to be getting amplified. I just want to say, if you think you don't know anyone who's directly impacted by this hateful speech, chances are you do. I love that the ultra community is made up of folks from all over the world, from a variety of backgrounds and experiences, and that even if its just for a race weekend, we all manage to come together and support one another in reaching our running goals. I hope that more folks can find ways to take that spirit of compassion, community and support out into the world. I know I'm making my best effort to do my part.
Vermont 100, I hope to toe your line again next year, and to raise even more money for Vermont Adaptive, and to cross that finish line under 24 hours to add another buckle to my collection.
A huge thanks to all of the volunteers, to all of the landowners who make this race possible, to all of the runners who were part of Team Run 2 Empower, to all the friends and families who showed up to crew their runners, and everyone who helped make this race happen. And thanks to my family and friends who have continued to support me on this journey.
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| Training for next year already underway |
Thanks as always for reading.
Here are some songs that were stuck in my head throughout the race
Talking Heads: Road to Nowhere
Rufus Wainwright: I'm a Runnin (From one of my favorite good/bad childhood movies)
Bjork: Human Behavior
Broken Social Scene: Halfway Home
Minus the Bear: Give and Take
The Sundays: Here's Where the Story Ends
***************Postscript Edit*************************
I meant to include the recipe for the energy blocks that I made, because some folks have been asking me for them. This is what I came up with, after much searching of cookbooks, interwebs, etc. I'll include a picture of the silicone mold that I used, I found that the ones from the silicone mold held up better than the ones i just let set in a pyrex dish. Have fun creating your own versions and let me know if you come up with any fantastic new flavor variations.
Disclaimer, I looked up lots of different versions of these recipes online, and none of them really worked for me, so I took bits and pieces from the few that came close to working out, and I think I hit the jackpot.
I bought a silicone mold (cost about $4 at a fancy kitchen store) that was intended for small ice cubes that were about the same size as shot bloks. This worked way better in the long run, so far as staying well molded over the course of 17hours of running and bouncing around in my Nathan pack. I did make some that I just poured into a glass pyrex dish, but those didn't hold together as well. So, if you're planning to take these on long runs in a ziploc bag (like i did) i would invest in the silicon mold. If you'll just be grabbing them from a drop bag, you'd pry be fine without it. Also, these are vegan. I'm not sure how much using gelatin vs agar agar would change things, but if you're not vegan/vegetarian, you could experiment with it. Also, I made a blueberry version, but they were too sweet for me, and I also made a pineapple version, that were pretty good. Just exchange the orange juice with pineapple juice.
Here's the recipe:
Scout's homemade energy blocks
Orange Coconut
½ cup orange juice (i strained the pulp out)
3Tbsp chia seeds
⅛ cup coconut milk
1/4tsp sea salt
pinch of baking soda
¾ cup raw sugar
⅓ cup maple syrup
½ cup water
1 heaping Tbsp agar agar powder
Boil juice&chia for ~1-2minutes, remove from heat and cool to room temp. (I sped this up by sticking it in the refrigerator) Once cooled add the coconut milk and salt/soda mix and set aside.
Over medium-high heat, in a heavy sauce pot, mix the sugar, maple syrup, water and agar agar powder. Make sure that the pot is large enough to leave about 3 inches of room, because even with stirring constantly, the sugars will try to bubble up and boil over. Stir regularly, and heat sugars to ~230*F (thread stage) If you don't have a candy thermometer, with regular stirring and over a medium heat, this should take about 20 minutes. Have a glass of cool water ready and when you are nearing the 20 minute mark you can get a small bit of the sugars on a spoon or fork and drop it into the water. If the syrup creates long threads, you are good. If it just dissolves, it needs to cook longer. If it forms a ball, you've hopefully just reached the soft ball stage and can likely still use it, but your blocks may not be as gummy/chewy as preferred.
Remove from the head and pour into juice/chia mix, then pour into silicone mold or a lightly greased square dish. They take about 25 minutes to really set. I kept mine in the fridge until race day, but then they spent the whole day in drop bags and my race pack and were fine. I did coat them with a little corn starch, just to ensure they wouldn't stick together, as I had about 6 in a snack size ziploc bag.
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| This shows the strawberry version that I made which I found to be simply too sweet&didn't quite set, but it made for good jam |
