That’s what one of the race officials next to the finish line said to me.
I was just finishing—finally—the first of two 16-mile loops of the Patapsco Valley 50K a few months ago. As I was approaching the finish area, the person monitoring the finish line asked me if I was 50K or 25K (companion race to the 50K). I said 50K but I'm debating whether to not do the second loop and make it a 25K. Then this race official on the side said, don’t go past the finish line yet, go to the aid station, get some food first, see how you feel, and then decide.
Which I did! So, because of this guy’s "get some food
first," I was able to finish my first ultrarace ever. Instead of some
at-least-I-did-one-loop-and-got-familiar-with-the-course-for-next-time rationalization,
I now can say, I fricking did it! I “showed up” for that second loop. Indeed, "whether in running or in
non-running, showing up intentionally is the Tao." (And, after this
past November 5th, showing up is all the more important.)
What happened at the end of that first loop was the main lesson of the race for me. Mind over body? Sure. But, in this race, the lesson is that my mind sometimes underestimates my body.
The Patapsco Valley 50K was more challenging than I’d anticipated. But, I should have known that, given the course winds near and across the Patapsco River within the Patapsco Valley State Park (southwest of Baltimore, MD). The last mile or so of the 16-mile loop, after crossing a small tributary to the Patapsco River and checking in my bib number with a race volunteer there, is pretty much a continuous steep ascent until the grassy expanse next to the softball field of the CCBC (Community College of Baltimore County) Catonsville. At least it felt that way.
It was during this last mile at the end of the first loop, with my legs feeling barely responsive from all the lactic acid buildup and walking most of the way, that I was trying to talk myself into stopping after one loop and just finishing the race as a 25K. Thoughts going through my mind: If I am feeling this way now, what will it feel like in the second loop? If my legs are not feeling normal, wouldn’t parts of the course with side drop-offs be kind of dangerous? What if I lose my balance crossing the Patapsco River, especially the second one with water deep enough to get my shorts wet and a riverbed full of slippery rocks? If I stop and finish the race as a 25K, it wouldn’t be a DNF; I’d have a medal. If I just stop, I could get off my feet and …
It didn’t occur to me—perhaps I didn’t want it to occur to me—that, with rest, the lactic acid should start to be flushed out and the legs should then feel differently. I should have known better. I did know better. After all, I’d written about it. According to Tim Noakes’ Central Governor Model, during the final stages of any race, as much as 65% of the leg muscle fibers are inactive and not contributing to the effort. Similarly, David Goggins, former Navy SEAL and ultra runner, wrote about the “40% rule” in his book, Can't Hurt Me. I don’t know the basis for his rule. But he also refers to a governor in the human mind that makes most people give up when they’ve only used around 40% of their maximum potential--even though they feel like they’ve reached their maximum. Noakes’ 65% is untapped potential; Goggins’ 40% is tapped potential. So, the two are about the same. The question is why some people are better able to overrule their governors and tap into their potential. In the 2024 Barkley Marathons, Jasmin Paris became the first woman to finish the entire course with just 99 seconds left of the 60-hour limit. One has to wonder how much of her untapped potential she was able to access, especially during those final few minutes before the finish line.
I knew intellectually that I had a lot more in me to do the second 16-mile loop. But that knowledge was nowhere to be found during the steep ascent toward the end of the first loop and the start/finish line. I suppose I could have tapped into a bit of that 60-65% potential, if I knew better how. Definitely a work in progress. My post-race recovery was slower than that after marathons (e.g., in walking down the stairs). Both big toenails were none too happy from all those descents on the course. It took seven days to recover enough to do a test run, compared with the usual four days after a marathon.
The irony is that I actually had resigned myself to running
the 25K, after being too late to register for the 50K. I figured I’ll run the 25K
and get familiar with the course for next time. I registered for the 25K and
was #8 on the waiting list for the 50K. Being that far down the list (so I
thought), I didn’t expect much. So, it was a pleasant surprise when I finally got
back onto the grid and checked my email after I’d completed the BOSS 14-Day Primitive Living Intensive course in southern Utah. For several
days prior, the Patapsco 50K folks had been emailing me that I’d been selected for
the 50K.
I have long wondered what those five miles beyond a
marathon feel like. In recent years, I’ve been thinking more and more about trying
an ultrarace to find out. The Patapsco Valley 50K, located only about a
30-40-minute drive away, was a logistically easy ultrarace to try. (And, yes,
50K should be about 31 miles. So, with Patapsco’s two 16-mile loops, the runners got an
extra mile for free. 😊)
This being my first ultrarace, I just wanted to finish. So focused
was I on finishing that I didn’t even think to take any photos, though I had my
cell phone with me. I was also concerned about the two river crossings. I’d run
before in wet shoes from rain and puddles. But, I’d never run in shoes that
have been completely submerged in water. So, crossing the river was a new
experience. It turned out to be not too bad; the shoes drained and dried pretty
quickly. It was easy to know when a crossing was coming up by the cries from
runners up ahead. The second 16-mile loop was both harder and easier. Harder
because I was more tired and because I knew, e.g., oh, here comes that really
steep ascent. But it was also easier because I felt more of a sense of progress
toward the finish, e.g., oh, this foot bridge means I’m more than halfway there.
The Patapsco Valley 50K was “minimalist.” Maybe intentionally. Maybe because it’s not a huge race (some 200 runners total). In any case, I love it! Because I’m very much a minimalist runner. The bib pickup the day before the race was minimalist. It could just be me, but, after I parked in the designated lot of CCBC, I wandered around the adjacent athletic fields for quite a while, before seeing a couple of people coming from that very lot with their bibs. It turned out the race organizers had set up a couple tables located diagonally and not far from where I’d parked. I totally missed it. The start of the race was minimalist, basically just 10, 9, 8, … go. The race T-shirt and bib were minimalist. The bib had no timing chip, which I guess is not necessary for ultraraces.
But, there was definitely no minimalism from all the staff
and volunteers in providing race support! Kudos to all for a great race! The
trail markings were very well done. In a goldilocks way. Not too many to
disrupt the natural feel of the run, but enough to not get lost within the
dense trail network of the Patapsco Valley State Park. Except for a couple
places. But, course marshals were strategically placed, and they got me back on track. Parking was plentiful and conveniently located. Fueling and hydration stations were well-situated
and -stocked. PB&J on white bread, cut into quarters, was my food of
choice. Also, PB pretzel nuggets. That vegetarian chili after finishing was
sublime. Whoever made it should get a medal!
And, of course, a huge thanks again to that guy who said, “Get
some food first …”
