My son, Reese, and I pulled into the deserted Salem Lake parking lot a little ahead of the 4 am hour, the heat-index a “less-than-ideal” 80 degrees. As we readied our running packs with the necessary hydration bottles and salty snacks needed for that first 7 miles (and 50 yards, do not forget the 50 yards) loop around Salem Lake, he laid his hand lightly on my shoulder and said –“I’ll only say this the one time, dad, but you know that this is not a good idea. The real temperature is going to go over 100 degrees today. Heat stroke and Rhabdo is a real possibility here….I’m pretty sure you’ve come close before, so you are even more susceptible”. My neck was already coated in a light sweat, and we hadn’t taken a step toward the trail yet. I smiled and told him I had a good plan to take care of myself all the while knowing that he was right. At 63 years old, trying to “run my age” was tough enough on a good cool day, add in excessive heat and it was a rather garish example of my stubbornness and willingness to show that yes, I could do this. His hazel eyes pierced mine, reflecting back my DNA. After 35 years, he knew who and what he was dealing with. We slid our water bottles into place, turned on our headlamps and started down the darkened Salem Lake trail at a slow trot.
This mid-August attempt to run a 100k would never have happened if I hadn’t DNF’d at the Tahoe Rim Trail 100k just 4 weeks before. I turned 63 in January of this year, and sometime in those cold winter months I decided that it would be neat to run a mile for each year within a 24-hour period. Why I decided that would be such a great idea made my inner-psychotherapist purse his/her lips in a poor attempt at “I’m not trying to look too concerned” while furiously writing notes and what-nots on their yellow pad, held of course at an angle that would prevent me from seeing just what screw had broken loose inside my brain. I can only imagine the conversation in that room inside my head:
Rational Inner-Therapist – “uh huh, and so you’re 63 years old and want to run a mile for each of your years?” Scribble scribble scribble 63 year-old stubborn me – “well sure, why not? I’ve done bunches of Ultras.” (I’m sure as heck not going to mention the times that I sat on the side of the trail puking my guts out during some of these – hopefully this part of my brain was out-to-lunch at the time). He/she Analyst with the comfy seat (adjusting the knob on the device playing soothing music) – “okay, so let’s say this isn’t a bad idea. Why are you choosing a race that’s in Nevada in July?”
Mr. “I’m Invincible” – “Yeah, uh, good point! Uhm, well, it’s the Tahoe Rim trail, and it’s supposed to be beautiful. Plus, at 8500 feet of elevation, the temperature only gets to about 80 or 85 degrees”
Therapist (scribbling madly now, the pen is beginning to smoke a little) – “goodness, that sounds hot, and high!” scribble, scribble, scratch-thru, scribble….
Humble Me – “hey, it doesn’t start that high, you have to climb 4800 feet in your first 10 miles…” Scribbling continues….”I just thought running 100k would be fun, you know?”…….”its ok, its ok, you don’t have to put your head in your hands…Uhm, that sure looks like a lot of notes!”
Turns out my “inner therapist” was right. While Tahoe was one of the most beautiful trail races I have done, dehydration took over early, and I called it at mile 35 that day. Apparently, the
phrase “it’s a dry heat” isn’t always a positive. Luckily, I actually showed some sense (cue the inner-therapist smiling) that day and quit before things got out of control. Unluckily, I didn’t run my age. (Analyst gets an “uh-oh” look on their face) Scribble, scribble, scribble….
It took two weeks, but I came up with a plan to take advantage of the small window of opportunity I had to get this goal of mine done. Still in shape from my training, I realized that I
didn’t need a “bona-fide race” to achieve my goal, I could do it right here in my own town, at my own pace, and solicit help from my wife, son, and old running buddies to join in the fun.
Nine laps around Salem Lake, a 7 mile (and 50 yards, don’t forget the 50 yards) packed dirt, groomed trail, would make a tidy 63 miles, so what if its August in the Carolinas? (scribble,
scribble, scribble). I could ask folks to jog/walk a lap to help with the monotony, and we could even set up a “mini aid station” with snacks, water, electrolytes, and music at the Salem Lake shelter. Having been a solo trail runner, and not in the group running scene for several years now, I was a little concerned about getting some help from old running friends to take a few hours out of their day to come help. My “call to feet” was quickly answered by many of the gang, and the response was tremendous!
August 14 th , “Event Day” started bright and early with Reese and I hitting the parking lot just before 4am (but you, good reader, already know this). I was not only trying to take advantage of the coolness of the night, but I was hoping that the Analyst in my brain wouldn’t get into the office until it was too late to talk me out of it…maybe 9 am or so. This “conversation” would certainly take place after I’d already completed 3 laps:
Inner-Analyst (holding a coffee mug that says “every day is a great day”) – “uh Glenn, uhm, what are you doing”?
Sweaty Old Me – “Running my age, what do you think I’m doing. And I’m 21 miles in, and going pretty good! Why do you ask?”
Analyst (with a pained look, like they have gas or something) – “Well, Glenn, I don’t remember discussing that you were going to do this today. Its going to hit 90 plus degrees today with high humidity. I’m concerned some people might call you ‘stupid’ and you know how sensitive you can be”…
Me, sucking on a water bottle – “ I got this. Plus I only have 42 miles to go…6 more laps around the lake!”
Analyst (coffee mug now reads “every day is a great day to stay alive”) – “Let me get a pen…”
The day was an amazing success! Old running friends came out to join in a lap either by foot or by bike. There was jogging, walking, conversation and laughter! I had time to visit with so many folks that I hadn’t seen in a while…hear about kids, travels, and “days of old”. My son Reese finished the first 4 laps with me, and continued to check in throughout the rest of the day. Jill Miller, who propelled me into distance running, biked and walked the lake for 16 hours with me until 8 pm when she and her husband Gary rode their bikes home from the lake. I jogged/walked laps with Tim Doran, Betsy Armentrout, Nate Ayers, Eva Owens, Tim Rigsby, Dave Jacobius, Heather Hugosson, and JP Sanchez. My amazing wife, Sheryl, was there all day to run the “Aid Station” at the shelter, providing snacks, fluids, ice, and music until she too donned her running/walking shoes and did the final lap with me. A driving force that kept me going all day.
I came to the shelter after Lap 7 and I knew the end was near. The heat had finally taken its toll, and things were starting to get a little wonky. I was sure that I had one more lap in me, but not two. My wife looked at me before we headed for Lap 8 – “before I put all this gear up, I want to make sure you are okay with only going 56 miles! I don’t want to have to go thru you trying for 63 again before December 31 st !” Her brown eyes pierced mine, reflecting back 38 years of love and support, and she knew I meant it when I assured her I was done. She and I set out for the final lap (Jill and Gary on their bikes as well). I was going to come up a few miles short, and I was perfectly happy with that….56 miles is a good day! I can’t thank all of those who supported me enough for all of their efforts, without their help, I’d have wilted in the heat.
It was great to be with everyone and pass a day doing something we all enjoyed. Thanks gang!
My Inner-Therapist, who had previously decided to be quiet that day, settled into their chair as I was passing mile 55 on my way to 56. He/she had a yellow notepad in their lap, pen at the ready:
Tired, smelly, me – “A little late to the party aren’t you? We haven’t talked all day.”
Tired Therapist (holding a cold beer) – “Oh, I’ve been here since early morning. You just haven’t needed me!”
Sore, Salt-crusted 63 Year Old – “What? I’m not sure I know what you are talking about!”
Inner-Therapist – “You had everyone else here….Wife, son, friends….all here to help you. Now, maybe some of them lovingly called you a big dummy for running in this heat, but they all showed up for you! My services weren’t required! They got you here! One mile to go….”
Introspective Me – “So why now? Why are you here now?”
Inner-Therapist, with a slight smile, pen at the ready – “Been a long day, and I’d like to know for sure if you meant it back there when you said you’d be satisfied with 56 miles instead of 63. After all, I really do know you!”.
Me – with an exhausted grin – “Oh yeah! Very satisfied. Because of all this support, this ‘home-grown’ Ultra has been one of my favorite events, and I’ve been blessed to have done some fantastic runs in my day.” Scribble, Scribble, Scribble. “Turns out, 63 was just a number; and anyway, I’m 56 at heart! Wow, here we are at the finish already!” Scribble, scribble, scribble. “Hey, can I finally see what you are writing?”
Inner-Therapist, giving me a little personal hug “you sure can, all you ever had to do was ask” and turned his/her pad to show an incomprehensible mess of lines and doodles.
Exhausted, odorous runner – one eye up and the other squinting – “Wha…what the heck is all of that mess?”
Inner-Therapist – beaming – “That’s you smiling and content while surrounded by all your peeps! C’mon, you big dummy, use your imagination!”
Normally reticent Glenn wipes tears from his eyes, hugging Sheryl as his foot crosses the Salem Lake Starting line for the eighth and final time that day.