100 Miles IS That Far

Welcome to Cascade Crest 100!

Why? Why run 100 miles? I ask myself this question often. Why Jenn? I crossed the finish line of Cascade Crest 100 with what I believe to be the answer to my most personal question.

Dream team! Aly Drake, Jeff Fisher, Jeff Boggess, and Monica Ochs

To be honest, I was dreading toeing the start line at Cascade Crest.  I had worked, and trained relentlessly over the months leading up to this race to ensure I was ready. To ensure I wouldn't repeat what my first go at the 100 mile distance looked like.  Less than a week before, "go time," and I was in a deep funk.  I've decided not to chalk it up to "taper tantrum," because it was much deeper than that. I had lost a strong sense of balance within myself, and I was drained. Mentally, physically, emotionally, and with a broken spirit. The candle had been burned at both ends over the months, and all at once my system was firing every single red flag. In the middle of the night I stood up out of bed, walked into our living room, and had what I believe to be my first ever anxiety attack. My heart raced, my palms were sweaty, I couldn't catch my breath, and I was more confused than I'd ever been in my adult life. Right there in the middle of our living room. Jeff wrapped me up in his arms, and let me ball my eyes out to my hearts content. It was amazing how much better I felt after that release. He talked me through what I was experiencing with soothing words, and then when I had my wits about me, we talked about why that happened. We came to the conclusion that all I needed to do was get through this race. Get through this race, take the much needed downtime in recovery, and regain my sense of lost balance. Okay. I can do that. I think?

Friday morning before the race, and my crew was ready to go. I soon decided I would, "fake it till' you make it," all the way across the finish line. I focused on how immensely grateful I was in having the most amazing friends supporting me through this journey.  I focused on the words of support, and positive encouragement that so many of you had given to me leading up to the start.  I reflected on what it meant that I was arriving in Easton healthy, and stronger than ever in my own running body. I took a deep breath knowing that I had done my homework. I couldn't have had a better year of training up to this very moment.  I stood next to Krissy as we exchanged big hugs, and even bigger smiles. I scanned the cheering crowd around me, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath in.  I could hear Jeff's last words he whispered in my ear; "This is your race, and nobody else's. Yours." I would carry these with me for the next twenty three hours and twenty eight minutes... "Go!"

I had two goals for this race; I deeply desired to break the twenty four hour mark like so many of us attempting the distance do. I also yearned for a podium finish. I had put my all into this race, and I yearned for the feeling of satisfaction that a 1st, 2nd, or 3rd place finish would yield.  I longed to prove something deep within myself that I had what it took on this day.

The air was crisp, and the sun began its climb into the morning sky.  In my first few steps away from that start line, I knew it was going to be a good day. I knew I was going to be okay, in fact, more than okay. I settled into my breath and held on tightly to the energy of the cheering crowd as they faded into the distance that each of my steps created between us. I was meant to be here, and I could feel it.

My focus early on was to make a new friend to share miles with experiencing this breathtaking course. Little did I know that I'd end up spending the first half of the course with Washington runner, Jordan Maki-Richards.  We chatted about ourselves, what we did, and all other things of interest that runners talk about. Her energy was refreshing, light hearted, and peacefully fierce. Along our shared path we recruited a couple more new friends to what we deemed our, "unit." Douglas was running his second hundred miler ever just like me, and Tomo from Japan was blowing my mind with his most recent race reports. We were doing this thing together, and it felt like home.  My soul became so full in their company, and I have all of them to thank for the amazing journey this was for me.

Wonder baby! 

I came into mile twenty five more anxious than ever to see my crew for the first time. As we descended into Tacoma Pass aid station I could hear the sharp clangs of Jeff shaking the tambourine, and the yips and hollers from everyone awaiting our arrival. "My people!" I came in completely recharged from the troubles that had so recently held me in their grip. As I turned to leave after filling my bottle and grabbing a few more provisions for the trail ahead, I was greeted by the smiling faces of my crew. More importantly, by Reed Robbins himself. This little bundle of joy is the beautifully wild creation of Gary and Linda Robbins themselves. He was all smiles, and phenomenal baby juju! I had spent so much time trying to soak up his adorable baby essence I almost forgot to check in with my crew! Whoops. "I'm great! I feel amazing! No pack needed, but thank you! Love you guys!" Ethan locked eyes with me to let me know what a treat the trail had in store just ahead. I could hear the alluring section of PCT calling to me. Off into the woods I went.

It wasn't until Stampede Pass mile 36.2, that I saw my crew again. Aly made sure I left complete with headlamp, but not before I gave her the biggest hug I could while telling her I couldn't wait to pick her up as my first pacer at Hyak. Everything was on par. My body, my stomach, my energy, and my will to maintain a conservative effort knowing I would use saved energy to my advantage for the later half. I did what I know how to do best, and just kept running. Just kept feeling the warm summer sun on my cheeks, just kept thinking of all the people I was beyond grateful to have out here supporting me, about a life I felt so fortunate to have the ability to live, and really live. The biggest section of climbing was now behind me, and dusk was falling upon us. Jordan had fallen back a little dealing with some back spasms, and though I wanted to have a strong race, I wasn't ready to lose her presence yet. Soon enough she had rejoined the unit, and explained what she was experiencing with back pains. We all ran in a silence that was understood, and shared supportive energy up and over our climbs. I remember Tomo telling me that if we held this pace we were certain to break twenty four hours. Good, I was still on target for at least one of my goals.

Just after Blowout Mountain. Photo cred: Glenn Tachiyama

The miles continued to melt, and before I knew it we were through Ollalie Meadows ready to take on the roped section. Ethan and Kim made an unexpected appearance where Ethan once again dropped his knowledge on my crown. "It's so great you're here before dark. This next section will be SO much easier to navigate." A warm hug from Kim, and down we went.  As I allowed the rope to slide through my hands I had acknowledging thought that, "Hey! I'm doing it!" Douglas took a solid fall and landed on what appeared to be his back, but we finished mostly unscathed. Just before the two mile tunnel that I had been terrified, and excited for all at once, I had a creeping suspicion I'd need to use the little girls room. Nah! I'll be fine until the porto's at Hyak. WRONG! While we shared the dark, dank tunnel experience, my stomach hit the eject button. "Sorry Douglas, I'll be right back!"  Yes, I pooped in the tunnel. Yes I used the Trail Butter bandanna around my neck as toilet paper. Yes I tried to save said bandanna before Jeff made me chuck it deep into a garbage can. This was my lowest point in the race. Not too shabby eh? I gave a quick thanks to my bathroom in the tunnel, and bolted for Hyak.

Aly, Jeff, Jeff, and Monica thrust every bit of their enthusiastic energy all over me. I've never felt a better dynamic in the way my crew was able to care for me. There was Monica the mom, Aly the basket of bubbles, Jeff, my rock and rationality, and Boggess as well, Boggess. Monica strapped my pack to me, Jeff told me I was running the smartest race I could be, and Aly ushered me out of the aid station as I shoved as much watermelon as possible into my mouth. We had eight miles of road ahead of us, and Aly didn't even need a headlamp. Her energy lit up the night sky! I complained about this road section quite a bit, but before we knew it we had arrived at Kecheelus Ridge. I couldn't believe how good everything felt. I owe every bit of this feeling of strength to following Krissy's 100 mile training plan in her book, Running Your First Ultra.  As Aly and I left we soon caught up to Jordan and her pacer. She had been dealing with serious nausea, and I could sense she was in a pain cave of her own. We chatted briefly before Aly pushed the pace, and soon they were out of sight. This would be the last time Jordan and I saw each other before the finish. We climbed up and up before Douglas came up alongside and asked if he could join our headlamp party. His was giving out. As long as he kept up we let him stay, and kept up he did! Aly kept chirping away with stories, and experiences that kept me joyfully distracted from getting into any sort of mental game with myself. The blackness that was the night sky lent to some amazing star gazing as we made our way to Lake Kachess campground. As we rolled in Jeff pulled Aly aside to let her know it made the most sense for him to take over pacing from here to avoid an inconvenient drive to Mineral Creek. In a last minute swap I left with my best friend, and man was he fired up! "Let's do this girl!" We jaunted up the road as I caught him up on how my night was going, and within moments took a sharp right to start the infamous, trail from hell section.

"This is your race."
Photo cred: Aly Drake

I could go into elaborate detail about the novelty of this trail, but I don't feel the need. If you've ever run in the Columbia Gorge, this territory was all too familiar. We clambered over roots, rocks, downed logs, and somehow managed to keep ourselves upright the entire time. Jeff frequently looked over his shoulder to tell me how well I was doing, to tell me how proud he was, but mostly to ensure I was looking when he dropped his pants to moon me. Some people say it's not the best idea to have a partner pace you. I'm so fortunate to have had the experiences I've had with Jeff to completely disagree with that statement. To have someone by your side that understands you sometimes better than you do yourself, to lovingly kick you in the ass when you're sandbagging it, and kiss your dirt encrusted lips for no reason at all, there's just nothing that compares.

The aid stations came to us one after the next. I pushed each climb as hard as my legs would allow, and ran every bit of terrain that looked even remotely flat. We had climbed and descended Thorp mountain in the final moments of the night sky to then make our way to the cardiac needles. We hit the last needle at sunrise. As the sun lit the morning sky on fire behind the mountains, I began to weep in silence.  Jeff looked over his shoulder again with a smile that pulled me up the last bit of the climb. We were almost home. French Cabin marked mile 89.2. "You're not going into that station. You have your food, you have your water, we're moving you straight through it. Let's go!" He hollered my number to the volunteers, I gave a wave of thanks, and just like that there was only one more aid between us and home.

Sunrise by Glenn Tachiyama

I recall the wisdom of my pals Yassine, and Jbob telling me about the final nine miles of descent. If you have your quads under you at this point, you can move. We had one little climb just ahead of us, and it was there we spotted the second place woman. This was it. We wished her and her pacer well, and never looked back. I had my quads, and we were moving. At one point I rolled my ankle in a brief technical section, and Jeff simply says from behind me, "You can deal with that later," to which my response... "What?! Are you insane?! My ankle! Owwww!" "Nope, you can put weight on it, you're fine!" Dammit do I love that man, but dammit if I didn't want to punch him square in the gut for a brief millisecond of thought. He was right though, and I hobbled for several minutes, but kept moving. Just keep moving Jenn, just keep moving.  Eventually everything just hurts, and I could no longer differentiate the ankle pain from the ache over my entire body.

T-minus three miles!

Silver Creek- four miles to go, and the plan was simple. No stopping until the very end. "106!" Jeff yells to the aid station, "Let's go team! She's not stopping!" Monica, Boggess, and Aly launched into action to join us for the remaining miles. All of my people were with me once again, and there was no stopping us! Everything became a blur of excitement and relief in these final miles. My crew giddily chatted while showering me with nothing but praise. I couldn't say much. I was completely overwhelmed with gratitude and appreciation for each of these souls that had made this experience what it was. I took one peek over my shoulder to see if there were any hungry runners charging from behind. Nothing. After crossing the highway the finish line was in sight. I had the feeling of bittersweet wash over me as I realized I'd give anything to be able relive this entire day, but alas, it was time for the journey to reach its end. We kicked it over the train tracks, locked hands, and came in as one hell of a unit. Together. Twenty three hours, twenty eight minutes, and second female. We did it!!

I couldn't have asked for a better finish line celebration with all who were there to celebrate. I couldn't have asked for a better anything from this day really. Over the next several days I would go over again, and again in my mind just how special and cherished this memory would be.  So why did I do it? Why did I choose to run 100 miles after having a terrible experience the first time? The answer is simple. Because I'm too afraid not to. I'm afraid not to experience the power of raw emotions. I'm afraid not to put myself in the most vulnerable of situations. I'm afraid not to feel what it feels like to trust in myself. I'm afraid not to push myself when the times are the hardest. I'm afraid not to experience the highest of highs, and the lowest of lows. I'm afraid not to share this part of my life with others. I'm afraid not to experience what it feels like to be the best version of, well, me. Running 100 miles forces you into self discovery, no matter who you are. You never walk away from one of these things without learning something you didn't know before. I'm afraid, no I'm terrified, not to learn, and that's why.

Thank you to my phenomenal people who shared in this day with me. Thank you to the race directors and volunteers for all of their hard work in creating a life changing experience for runners. Thank you to Krissy for being an amazing role model and developing a training plan that left me feeling strong, and confident from start to finish. Thank you to my freight train Aly who kept me choo chooing deep into the night. Thank you to Boggess for being a presence that balanced our wacky equation. Monica, thank you for being that nurturing spirit that ensured I stayed focus, safe, and fueled for the fire. Jeff, thank you for being my person. Thank you for your relentless encouragement, and unconditional love. My love for you will always span the gap between time and space that surrounds us. I love you guys!

That's it, that's all.
 (minus Monica)

Until next time.

-Jenn