
By Jason Adams
At the West Village Parking lot at Mt. Bachelor is where the racers gathered to get ready for the start of the Flagline 50km. Being my first ultra, I was more bug-eyed than normal watching the dozens of elite runners emptying out of the cars, stretching, chatting and getting their race numbers on. My friend and fellow ultra newbie, Scott Hubbs, and I were finishing off our 30 minute debate on how much gel and water to carry and whether to wear gloves and a stocking cap for the 36F start temperature. Our chatter stopped when we saw a 70 year old gentleman jog pass us to the start line in a tank top with no water bottle and no gel containers. He was headed to the start like a seasoned saint going to the cathedral with nothing but his bare hands.
At 7AM, scheduled start time, Super Dave took attendance at the start line like an elementary school teacher making sure he knew who would start and who should finish. The reality that the 50km of remote trails would open the risk of getting lost, hurt or in need of help began to settle in. Super Dave’s care for each competitor was apparent as each person responded with a “here” when their number was read.
At 7:04, he yelled ‘go’ and the runners were off. The 80+ runners quickly organized themselves into a single file line that headed down the first trail. Like a troop of soldiers knowing their position in the chain of command, everyone headed off with easy synchronicity. Shivering and nervous energy turned into steady breathing, and then the sun began to rise above the horizon. The race was on.
For the first hour, I replayed conversations that I had prior to the race with ultra veterans Jeff Browning and Sean Meissner about water, gel and salt consumption as well as pace. My goal was to run at 70% effort for the first 2 hours, but my heart rate quickly jumped to 80-85% and I couldn’t slow my motion down. The adrenaline of the race had quickly overruled my game plan. The first 8 miles was downhill to Aid station 1 and I had time to loosen up my tight muscles and feel the fresh air waken up my body.
Aid station 1 came and went as I had my water bottle topped off from a friendly volunteer woman. Because of the quick start, I was 12 minute ahead of my most-hopeful schedule and I started the climb to Aid station 2 with more excitement that was prudent. Being an ultra rookie, I couldn’t help but honor the desire of my body to charge up the hill and that I did to Aid station 3. I passed 5 other runners as I showed off my zesty legs. Also I didn’t want to have to wait in line at Aid station 2 for water, so I put out a little burst to pass a small pack.
My rigid schedule of water, gel and salt consumption began and it gave me confidence. But then a serious toe-stubbing while getting gel out of my back that almost sent me to the ground and had me limping for a half mile reminded me that this was a trail race and that nothing was predictable or smooth sailing.
Coming into Aid station 3, I felt a deep left lower calf cramp that startled me immensely. My feelings of being a rock star were set aside for the reality that nearly 14 miles were left and I better be smart. So, I took Browning’s advice and increase my salt consumption through the next 45 minutes and through Aid station 3. The cramps went away, but I guzzled my bottle within less than a mile after Aid station 3 and faced the next 5 miles with no water down to Happy Valley and then the climb back up to Aid station 4. This was my first major rookie mistake and the race quickly became a survival quest.
My regiment of gel ever 20 minutes and salt ever 30 minutes had to stop with no water. The climb was long and the temperature was increasing and the altitude was showing its face. My time goals were replace with finishing goals. I finally reached Aid station 4 and quickly drank a full water bottle of water to try and quench my insatiable thirst. That was my rookie mistake #2 because as I took off on the 7 mile decent home my stomach sloshed like a big water balloon and it felt like it would burst with each step. The reality of ultra racing settled in as I had no option but to run through it. There would be no time to glide on my skis or rest on my bike on a downhill. I had to run each step back. The downhill no longer seemed appealing and neither did the climb.
Approached the final Aid station, I was seriously considering stopping the race. It was 26.2 miles: a marathon, a good day for most people. But then along Todd Lake Road my very good friends, Chris and Mollie, serendipitously drove past in their truck and started cheering for me! Mollie reached through the side door window and gave me a hug and about 10 high 5’s and Chris yelled at me to keep going. I grabbed 3 oranges at the aid station plus some ice cold water from a volunteer and decided to finish.
Leaving the final Aid station, I did my first power walk up a hill and then I had a zigzag effort to run down a very narrow horse trail. I could see that runners ahead of me were forced to do a similar side-to-size effort. My angles were aching, my feet were burning, and my legs felt like lead, but I took each step one at a time. Heading toward Dutchman flats I could sense the finish, but I refused to let myself get ahead of the next step knowing that it would only exasperate the pain if I was expecting it to end sooner that it would. Finally I hit Century Drive and was into my final mile. I looked over my shoulder and saw an older lady catching up to me. My male ego kicked in as I didn’t wanted to be ‘chicked’ (passed by a female) for the first time during the race and I gave it my last gas to the finish. I held of my chaser!
The finish line never looked so blessed. Like a mirage in the desert, my body didn’t realize that I was done. With some congrats from the previous finishers and a commemorative mug in hand, I wobbled to the food table and realized that I was done. I grabbed some watermelon and felt dizzy. I went from leaning on the table to sitting on the table to sitting on the ground and finally to lying flat on my back on the parking lot asphalt for about 20 minutes as my body tried to stability. I was done in every way possible!
When I sat up next, I looked around and saw the many warriors that had completed the adventure. I felt like one of the Spartan in the movie 300. I was one of the finished ones! They congratulated me and I did them. Making eye contact with the runners was enough to pass the mutual respect and honor for the common achievement. We had gone beyond mind, body and spirit into a zone that only ultra runners can know by experiencing 4-5 hours of mountain trail running with pain as our only steady companion!
Then the recovery for the next adventure began…