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VT100k 2018: The race that finally happened.

VT100k 2018: The race that finally happened.
28 Jul

Well I’m finally coming down off the high of the VT100k so I guess its time to get my adventure down on (digital) paper.  The weekend went off without a single hitch and I still can’t believe the amazing time I had, considering the difficulty of this course. With that being said, let’s get down to the details.


We left CT for the Green Mountain State on Friday afternoon, picking up Liz on the way.  We went directly to Harpoon Brewery to meet up with Tammy and Kenny and a few of their friends from the Trail Monsters.  Now I don’t suggest that everyone start a huge race weekend with beer and pub food (wait…what am I talking about???) but we couldn’t resist the urge to visit this local brewery, especially since it was only about 10 minutes from our rental house.  While most of us had burgers with our brews, one of Tammy’s group decided that chili was a great idea.  Thank goodness he was running the 100 miler because I really didn’t want to be behind him on the trail the next day.  Hopefully things didn’t go south for him (see what I did there?).  We also met Samantha and Sean there (the last two members of my crew team).


Our group left Harpoon and headed to our rental.  Now, the listing had described this as a gem in the woods with a beautiful view.  What an understatement this turned out to be!!!!  The house had everything we needed and more, including an awesome fire pit and sheep to serenade us.  While Sean spoke to the sheep, we unloaded the car and investigated the rest of the house.  It was cozy and inviting, with beautiful hand-made wool blankets on the couches and bird feeders and flower gardens right outside the windows.  We quickly unpacked and then headed to bib pickup and the runner meeting.  This was pretty uneventful, as we had been through it a few times now.  Once we left there, we headed to Quechee for dinner and then returned to the house.  We packed for the following day, relaxed for a while, and then hit the rack for our 6am wake up.


Race morning arrived with better weather than had been predicted.  We got to the venue plenty early so we could see Amy (the RD), check in with all the awesome folks we knew who were running the 100k, and then chill until gun time. It’s always fun to chat to first-timers and veterans alike, as they all have new stories to tell.   It wasn’t long before we heard the timer yell “ten minutes to start time!!” and that always send butterflies through my stomach. I love this race.  And knowing how ready I was this year, I was jonesing to get out on the course and give it the beat-down.  The ten-second countdown began, the air horn fired, and we were off up the road.

The first 9 miles of the race are fairly easy.  After the initial ¾ of a mile of uphill, most of the next section is rolling to downhill, so I’m usually trucking right along until I get to Camp Ten Bear the first time.  I had the honor of running a few miles with Kyle, a VI runner and RD Amy (his guide for the first 9 miles).  We chatted and ran and eventually I let them go, as they were doing a pace that was a bit too much for me at this point in the race.  I had told my crew that I planned to at least change socks and re-fill my hydration bladder at every crew spot, so they had everything ready for me when I came blasting into CTB.  They were incredibly efficient and I was able to do what I needed to do and head back out on the course within about 5 minutes.  One crew station down, 5 more to go.

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The next 11 miles are a mix of rolling to uphill, culminating in a 2-mile climb up to the Margaritaville aid station.  I cruised along for the first couple of miles, knowing that it was waiting for me – Agony Hill.  This lovely stretch of the course is a one-mile climb starting on dirt road and ending on rugged jeep trail.  For the previous two years, this hill has been my nemesis – forcing me to stop and catch my breath or turn around and walk backwards when my calves and hamstrings were screaming.  Not this year, Agony Hill.  I’ve been training for you.  All those Wachusett hill repeats I’d done had given me the legs and the lungs to beat this one into submission, and I climbed all the way to the top without stopping. I was so dang proud of myself that I started singing as I ran the flat section to the next aid station.  And then I proceeded to run/walk the climb to Margaritaville.  Well, this race was going quite according to plan.


I spent a little bit of time at this crew spot, as I had overheated a bit on the climb and I knew I still had more climbing to go before starting the downhill trek back to Camp Ten Bear.  I took a few minutes to just sit and enjoy the atmosphere while I chowed down on fruit and Coke.  I finally changed my socks, laced back up, and headed back down the trail.

I’m always surprised at how deceptively tough the descent back to CTB is.  After some rolling to downhill dirt road, the course follows a rugged Jeep trail for quite a while before popping back out on the dirt road a couple of miles from the aid station.  While it is downhill, the footing is tricky and the legs were getting fatigued.  At least this year it was dry – mud adds to the fun but it also adds to the difficulty.  I’m still fairly new to this level of ultrarunning so I’m less appreciative of the extra challenges that are brought on by mud than some of my trail buddies are.  I kept glancing at my watch to see if I was still on pace, and I was dancing dangerously close to my self-imposed time cutoff of 15 hours.  I pushed as hard as I could up the last hill and charged back into Camp Ten Bear, knowing that I would be accompanied for the rest of the race once I got there.

Arriving at CTB the second time is like running into a giant party, because now a lot of the 100 milers have joined us and there are runners coming into the aid station from two directions.  It can also get pretty confusing if you haven’t done the race before.  I witnessed two runners go out the wrong way and have to retrace their steps back to the aid station and get on the right trail out.  Luckily we had this down to a science, so I raced in, changed my shirt, socks and shoes while Liz filled my pack, got some food, and Samantha and I were off towards Spirit of 76.  Ahead of us was nemesis #2: Heartbreak Hill.

me and Samantha Vt 2018

I was able to climb Heartbreak without much issue, only stopping a couple of times to catch my breath.  This section of trail was partially unfamiliar to me.  The race committee had to re-route part of the trail to accommodate for local logging so I told Samantha we were in uncharted territory somewhere after Heartbreak Hill.  She took this information in stride and we continued to pick our way down the trail.  When we got to the new section, we slowed down.  I mean WAY down.  Loggers had left the trail strewn with branches and bark and the footing was rocky and loose.  I moved along as best I could but I was getting very fatigued.  My spirits were still high, though, because I knew I was still going as fast as I could and I wasn’t too far off from where I wanted to be. By the time we dropped down to the road that led to 76, I was about 10 minutes behind my pace but I didn’t care. The race was unfolding so well, and despite being tired I still felt really good.

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Coming up the hill to 76 we were met by an aid station volunteer, and he asked me who I was and where I was from.  Samantha also told him that I was on pace to do a two hour PR. He proceeded to announce my arrival with his booming voice, adding the tidbit that Samantha had shared. Everyone along the sides of the road and at the aid station cheered, and I was in tears.  When you’re this deep in an ultra, emotions are right at the surface and it doesn’t take much to bring them out.  I had a little cry and then set about the business of again changing my socks while someone filled my pack, enjoying the yummy fruit smoothie the volunteers had made for me, and just taking in the moment.  I had 23 miles to go, and I was ready to tackle them. Riding the high of the welcome I’d gotten, I headed down yet another new section of trail, now with Liz in tow.


Liz and I have run many miles together.  She knows when to push and when to just let me be.  Often we ran in silence, just enjoying the time and saving our energy for the climbing.  Fortunately this section had a lot of downhill, and Liz took full advantage of it.  We passed several runners and spent very little time at the aid stations.  When we crested the hill at the end of Bryant Rd, a sight I had never before seen greeted me:  the start/finish area in the daylight.  It had always been dark by the time I got here.  This was yet another boost to my confidence, and we flew down the hill to the Cowshed aid station.  Here we fueled up on Ramen and Coke and took off.  We had less than 5 miles to Bill’s, and we wanted to try to get there before we had to turn the headlamps on.


We just missed our mark, having to use our headlamps for the last mile or so on the climb up to Bill’s.  We started searching the sides of the driveway, which was where my husband had always met me at this aid station.  We didn’t see him, but Liz tried to calm me by reminding me that he was getting ready for his pacing duties and maybe he was just back at the barn. We got all the way down the driveway, and I searched the aid station for my crew and came up empty-handed.  Panic set in.  Liz and the volunteers tried to reassure me that I could just go on with her. Just as I was about it crack, I saw Joe. He had missed us on the driveway because, well, we were unexpected.  Liz had helped me make up the 15 minutes I’d lost between CTB and 76.  Holy crap I might still make my goal, I thought.  I opted not to change my socks or shoes because my feet felt good and I didn’t want to waste the time.


Then I remembered the horrific hills out of this aid station and knew I didn’t want to wreck myself and not be able to finish strong. It was here that I decided that I was just going to keep moving, not worry about the time on the clock, and enjoy the rest of this ride.  I had been looking forward to this section all day.  My husband and I don’t get to run much together anymore because of a chronic injury that he sustained years ago.  It really meant a lot to him to do this, and I know the pain he would have to endure to get it done.  I made a silent vow to give him my very best, as little as that might be at this point, and we grabbed some final snacks and headed out on the last 11 miles.  I knew that we had some fairly flat stuff before hitting the last obnoxious hills, and I did what I could to keep moving along. Joe kept inching ahead of me, and I kept calling him back.  I knew how much he wanted me to get my time goal, but I just didn’t have anything left in my legs for the technical trails and the slippery fields.  I did manage to power hike up Hunt Rd at a pretty good clip and felt good about that, but I knew I was losing a lot of time.  I kept telling myself, “just get to Polly’s and you’ll be almost home.”  I nearly wept when we finally saw the signs that Polly’s was just ahead.


Here I was going to drop my pack, change into a long sleeve shirt, and take my handheld for the last 4.5 miles.  I was dying to get the pack off, as my back and shoulders had tightened up miles ago.  I did some easy stretching and sat down for a couple of minutes while I drank a Coke and had some aid station chow.  They had a whole spread of food, including waffles, drumsticks, sandwiches, and soups. I didn’t eat too much as I wanted to get going and get finished.  Samantha and Liz sent us off down the trail and headed back to the finish line to wait for us.


The first couple of miles out of the aid station are very hilly as the course climbs back into Windsor.  This was the only time I hit a low spot that day.  I desperately wanted to run, and all I could do was slowly hike up the hills and silently (ok, not so silently) swear.  I cried, feeling like I’d let everyone down.  Joe had none of it.  He assured me several times that he’d never been prouder of me, and that I had run my best all day and couldn’t complain about that.  Of course he was right, and I quickly turned my thoughts around and focused on getting the final miles done.  When I saw the two miles to go sign, I glanced at my watch and did some mental math.  I said to Joe, “I don’t think I can make it under 16 hours.”  He told me to just do the best I could and not worry about it. When the 1.5 miles to go sign came into view, something in my mind switched.  I suddenly decided that I really couldn’t let that 16-hour mark go. Even though I’d originally wanted sub 15, a sub 16 hour would be a HUGE personal best for me on this course.  I put my game face on and ran as hard as I could, glancing at my watch every few minutes.


When we finally reached the last section of single track with a half mile to go, I looked down at my watch to see a black face.  It had finally died.  I had thought I could make it with the battery I had left, so I hadn’t worried when I dropped my pack at Polly’s (and the charger with it).  Oh well, I said to myself.  Just keep trucking.  Whatever the time is, it is.  Suddenly we saw the milk jugs lit by glow sticks, and I knew we were really close. Then I heard the finish line.  I reached out to grab Joe’s hand, and together we ran up the last hill and crossed under the banner.  Shock registered on Amy’s, Liz’s, and Samantha’s faces because we were very unexpected.  Unbeknownst to me, the finish line had a monitor that showed the runners’ split times and anticipated finish time.  Because I had run that last section so hard, we finished 40 minutes before my expected arrival time and surprised everyone.  Amy shouted at me, “You finished in 15:51!!!!” and I threw my arms around her.  I had run a 97-minute PR.  I almost couldn’t believe it.

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As I walked to the med tent ahead of everyone, tears flowed down my face.  I had finally run the race I always knew I had in me.  I had emptied the tank almost perfectly, and raced every single mile to the best of my ability.  I savored this moment by myself because I knew that even though my crew had been instrumental in my race, it was me that had run those 62 miles.  I felt I owed it to myself to enjoy this time in silent gratitude, blessed to have a body that can run this crazy distance and still come out on the other side.  I’ve never been so filled with peace and deep satisfaction.


We wrapped up and piled into the car for the ride back to the rental, where Sean had stayed behind because he’d had work to do. Imagine my surprise when we were greeted at 2:30 in the morning with a roaring fire in the pit, and cold beer ready to be drunk. The entire day had been incredibly amazing, and this was the perfect ending.  We all sat around and talked about everything that had happened, filling Sean in on the details of the race.  When I finally fell into bed about 4am, I slept better than I ever have after an ultra.


Words just can’t express my gratitude to everyone involved in this year’s VT100k.  I am humbled. I have the most amazing people in my life.  People who truly care about my success.  People who will go above and beyond the call of duty to make sure I have everything I need. People who refuse to let me quit. People who love me.  And people who inspire me to be better every time I set foot on a trail.  Without you, I would not be able to fulfill these crazy dreams.  There are just too many angels to name, so I will not even try – but you know who you are.  Because of you all, the journey continues.


Vermont 100 mile – I’m coming for you.


For those interested, I tried to mentally keep track of food and hydration:

Approx 120 oz of Skratch Sport Hydration (various flavors)

Approx 24 oz of Coke

4 bags of Skratch Matcha Green Tea Chews

8 oz V-8

Frozen grapes, watermelon, and oranges (unknown amount)

Salted potatoes (unknown amount)

Approx 8 oz of Ramen (broth and noodles)

Cheese quesadillas and avocado wraps (unknown amount)


A lot of water!!


Vermont 100k, take two (no guts, no glory)

Vermont 100k, take two (no guts, no glory)
27 Jul

“There are only two options regarding commitment;                                                            you’re either in or you’re out.”                                                                                                            ~ Pat Riley

This was the second year for me at the VT100k. This year’s race was held on July 15-16, 2017. I had been counting down the days since registration back in January and everything I did was focused on my goal race. I had cleaned up my diet, followed my training plan, and put together my stellar crew. Everything was in place and ready. But as they say, the best laid plans of mice and men…..


We arrived in Vermont on Friday afternoon and went right to our rental to meet my pacer Dean. He had driven in from Quebec and we all wanted a bit of time to unpack, unwind, and chill for a little while before heading off to the race venue for packet pickup and dinner. Once we had all my gear set up and packed the way I wanted it, we hopped in the car and headed to Silver Hill.


Thanks to Mother Nature and her delivery of a very wet spring and summer in Vermont, Silver Hill meadow was, well, a bit soggy. The race committee had to do some rearranging to get all the horse trailers, campers, and crew members cars parked without being swallowed up by all the mud. Since I was running late (there’s a big surprise) and we were stuck in a long line of cars all trying to get into one tiny field, so Dean and I hopped out of the car and walked down to the tent area while Joe got the car parked.


It didn’t take long to start seeing familiar faces. We met up with Laura, Eric and Caitlin and we all headed over to get our bibs. On the way I ran into Kim, Krista, and Astrid and saw a bunch of my Strider peeps. Steve LaBranche was running the second leg of his Grand Slam adventure, so I wished him well (while secretly thinking he was nuts).


After bib pickup and a perfunctory medical check, we all grabbed seats under the tent for the runner meeting. I knew Hal Koerner was at the race and I practically gave myself whiplash trying to find him for the whole hour we were at the meeting. No such luck. When the meeting ended we remembered that we had to get dinner tickets for my crew so we went over to the merchandise area only to be told the dinner was sold out. Well ok then. Off we went in search of dinner, and we ended up at a fantastic restaurant by Quechee Gorge. Bellies full, we headed back to our rental to chill out and try to get some sleep. I was full of excitement but slept really well.


Arriving back at Silver Hill at 8am on Saturday, I thought about what it meant for me to be there. Such a historic race. Such amazing athletes. Did I really belong here? Would I finish? Yes, I’d completed the race last year but nothing in the ultra world is ever guaranteed. Some days the race goes flawless. Some days, well, it doesn’t. Which would it be today?


Amy (VT100’s esteemed race director) sent us up the road at 9:01am. I had a plan in place to finish in under 15 hours, thus giving me a qualifying time to enter the 100 mile race next year. I had all my splits calculated and had a list of times that I had to arrive at each aid station in order to stay under that time. I remembered that the front half of the race is the easiest for me because it included most of the dirt roads. With this in mind, I tried to bank some time and arrived at Lillian’s aid station 15 minutes ahead of time. I quickly filled my water bottles and split, keeping to my plan of not spending much time at the aid stations.


Up the road a bit, we entered the woods for the first time. I heard a voice behind me say, “nice job, keep up the good work!” and I immediately knew who it was. As the runner passed me I replied, “hey, I know you!! Get after it, Hal!!” I had just gotten a verbal high-five from my idol. Did you know that ultra runners have groupies?


I came into Camp Ten Bear for the first time at 11am, again 15 minutes ahead of time. Sweet, I’m keeping that nice little cushion, I thought. I switched out my water bottles, grabbed some food, got a nice cool down from the sponge bucket, and headed up the hill out of the aid station. I would not see my crew again until Margaritaville, which was at the end of a two-mile uphill climb.


Before that, however, I had to deal with two adversaries: Havoc Hill, and Agony Hill. Yep, they are both as bad as they sound. Agony Hill starts will a steep dirt road and ends with a rugged trail – both sections about ¾ of a mile long. Myself and three other runners spend the road section walking 10 steps facing forward and then 10 steps facing backwards. As I did last year, I thought to myself “I can’t imagine the 100 milers doing this after 55 miles.”, because it was all I could do to get it done after running 15. With Agony Hill finally behind me I could focus on getting up to the 20-mile aid station and my crew.


So far, everything seemed to be going well. My feet felt good, my body was holding up, I was following my nutrition and hydration plan, and I wasn’t hanging around the aid stations. Somewhere just before the climb to Margaritaville my GPS had a seizure, and now I had no idea where I was for mileage. I would have to just judge it by aid stations now (I would eventually end up with 75 miles on my watch, with a couple of 29-second miles LOL). Needless to say, the climb seemed to go on forever, especially now that I didn’t know the passing miles. When I finally arrived, I found that I was now down to a 5-minute cushion on my time. Oh well. Maybe I could make some time back up on the way back to Camp Ten Bear, since most of it would be downhill. I again switched out my water bottles, grabbed some food, kissed my husband, and fired off back down the road again.

Unfortunately there was no time to be made up for me. Most of the double track trail that led back to Camp Ten Bear was muddy and rocky. I was starting to feel fatigued so I had to be careful on the uneven footing. I knew the course well enough that I had a good handle on where I was – and that elusive 15 hour pace was slipping more and more. When I finally made the left-hand turn to head back to CTB I knew I was way behind and made the decision there that I would just do the best I could with the rest of the day, figuring I could at least get close to 16 hours.


I came into CTB now 10 minutes behind my pace and told my crew of my new plan. It was here that I made a crucial mistake. I chose to switch my socks because my feet were wet from dumping water on myself and from sweating. I had started the day with my usual Injinji socks, but I knew that to get another pair of those onto wet feet would take an act of Congress, so instead I chose a different pair. This decision would soon come back to bite me and cause the second half of my race to be a real test of my guts and pain tolerance.


Luckily CTB was where I could pick up my pacer, Dean. I knew he would keep me focused, and I was looking forward to some constant company. I had spent most of the first 30 miles running alone. So off we headed to what should have been the last gnarly climb of the day – Heartbreak Hill. However, difficulty level is definitely tied to fatigue and so this would not, in fact, be the last gnarly climb for me.

(photo credit: Ben Kimball, Northeast Photography)

The backside of Heartbreak Hill is a long, meandering, usually buffed out downhill single-track trail section. This year, for whatever reason, the horses had really chopped this section up. I was not able to put my feet in the middle and had to have my feet up on the sides of the now hollowed-out, rocky trail. This, in combination with the socks that I think didn’t stay in place as well as the Injinjis, started a rapid downward spiral of burgeoning blisters.


By the time we got to Spirit of 76 aid station I was really hurting. I decided to change my shoes, hoping that would help alleviate the problem. Why, at this stage, I didn’t have the medical team address my blisters I have no idea. I chalk it up to being stubborn and stupid and wanting to just keep moving forward. So after a shoe change, a shirt change (I was soaked and getting cold as the sun was going down) and bottle change, Dean and I set off again, but my heart really wasn’t in it anymore.


We arrived at Bill’s (mile 51) at a time that would still give me around a 16-hour finish. However, I was now dealing with PF in both feet, an angry Achilles, and blisters on both feet – as well as a very battered soul. I felt so incredibly beat up. Several times on the last section I had tried to run and couldn’t – my feet were that painful. I knew that the last 11 miles were almost all trail, except for two steep uphill road sections. I had no desire to finish this race, but I couldn’t imagine dropping out at this point. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be in this pain anymore. Both my husband and Dean told me that I could get through this section in just a couple of hours, so I followed Dean back out of the aid station and onto the trail.


The trail sections were unbelievably painful. Every uneven step sent searing pain through the blistered areas. I prayed for a road section. Then, the road section caused the PF to flair and my feet screamed. I couldn’t do anything but shuffle, and even then I had to stop every few hundred meters and roll my feet to the sides to take the pressure off the bottoms. I cried. I swore. I yelled. I just wanted the pain to stop. We reached a section of mud and I just crumbled. I could do nothing but hang onto Dean’s arm, trudge forward, and scream with every step. I had resolved in my mind that I might actually drop at the 59-mile aid station.


When we arrived there, I was barely walking. I shuffled over to the table and asked the volunteer to fill my bottles. She said “ok” and took them out of my hands. Somewhere in the back of my foggy brain, I recognized the voice but couldn’t dredge up the energy to put it together. Then the other volunteer spoke and I said, “oh!! I know you guys!!” Crystal and Jesse. I had met them at Jay Peak a couple of years ago. Since then, they have completed numerous ridiculous races such as the Georgia Death Race and the Infinitus 100 miler. Crap, I couldn’t quit now. I whined that my feet were just mangled, hoping for just a tiny bit of sympathy. What I got was Crystal giving me back my full bottles, Jesse turning me towards the road and pointing towards it saying, “get back out there and finish this thing!!”  I was so reluctant to leave that aid station. I knew that was my last viable chance to drop. After this, I was in it no matter what. No cell service, no more manned aid stations, and it was after midnight so I wouldn’t be knocking on anyone’s door. It was only 3 miles to the finish, but it could have been a hundred for as bad as I felt. I really didn’t want to go. But Crystal, Jesse, and Dean wouldn’t let me give up.


Those last three miles are kind of a blur. I know I was whining. I know I was crying. I know I was swearing and screaming. I’m mortified of my behavior, but I was just in so much pain. When we finally got to the finish line, I broke down completely. I can still remember Amy’s face, the look of concern she had, as she held me up and handed me off to Joe. Nothing else mattered except getting to the medical tent, getting my shoes off, and getting off my feet. I was so upset that I couldn’t revel in finishing 62 miles. I couldn’t celebrate the fact that I had finished in 17 hours and 13 minutes (a 40 minute course PR for me).  All I could do was cry. I hadn’t even come close to my goal time – neither of them. I was devastated.


I managed to get a few hours of sleep before going back to the awards ceremony the next day. We didn’t stick around, though. I grabbed my ceremonial horseshoe and headed back to the rental. I was just so shattered. I’ve never been in a low for 11 miles before, and I didn’t know how to handle it. After napping and eating for most of the day, the fog finally cleared and I thought about the enormity of running for 62 miles. It didn’t matter the time on the clock or the mental state I had been in at the end. I had finished my 2nd 100k, and that was quite an accomplishment. I had also cycled my first 100k in late June, so I had hit that goal – to cycle and run a 100k within 4 weeks of each other. That’s pretty badass, and I’m glad I finally realized it.

I’m still planning on running Ghost Train 100 in October. If I finish it within the 30-hour cutoff, I will get my qualifying time for the VT100. However, I think I’m going to do the 100k again. I really want that 15-hour finish time, and, well, the 100k course and I have some unfinished business to attend to.


As usual I need to give a big shout out to my husband Joe for his unwavering support and for being the best crew chief ever; to my pacer, Dean, for putting up with a stupid amount of whining, tears, and temper tantrums for that last 11 miles; to Crystal and Jesse for getting me back on the course when it would have been so easy for me to quit; to Amy, for her continual encouragement in my quest for that elusive qualifier; and of course to Debbie, for getting me to Vermont to begin with – twice.



VT100k – The road to hell and back begins with a single dream

21 Jul

About a year ago I decided I wanted to run the VT100k. I had ridden the Moonlight in VT 50 several times and I thought that knowing a bit about the course and the terrain might be advantageous in my first race of this distance. Turns out that knowing the terrain and actually RUNNING it were two very different things.


My friend Laura and I signed up about 5 minutes after registration opened in January – and then the fun began. Since I had never run more than the 50k distance, I thought it might be prudent to get some expert training and advice. That training and advice came in the form of Deb Livingston. She’s a bit of a legend in my neck of the woods (ok, in my mind she is) and has run too many ultras to count. Under her watchful eye I prepared for the hills and heat that accompany the VT100k. By early July I felt ready and anxious to test myself on what was sure to be an amazing adventure.


I arrived in VT on Friday with my husband/crew chief Joe, my pacers Wendy and Dean, and Laura and her crew. We checked in, got our bibs, and did a quick weigh in (I was at 130, which was just what I expected to see after the massive amounts of food and water I’d been consuming in the past week), and then did a bit of shopping in the VT100 on-site store (call it a bit of taper madness). At the runner meeting we learned that we would not be required to do mandatory weigh-ins and med checks at the medical stations as in years past. I was a bit worried that I’d have to rely on my own assessment of my condition, but what the heck – how hard could it be? After the meeting we took a walk to see the last ¼ mile of trail and the finish line. I was itching to get the race underway.

bib and check in

Saturday morning arrived warm and sunny, just as predicted. Luckily the weather gods were kind – it was only projected to reach the mid 80’s and not the mid 90’s as earlier forecasts had warned. Laura and I checked in at the start line and began awaiting the countdown to the unknown. We got a great picture of us with our crew and race director Amy Rusiecki moments before she sent us off up the road (yes, the race starts with a cruel ½ mile uphill section).

start line

The first 9.3 miles literally flew by. We were cruising along at a great pace, keeping the heart rate low, and arrived at Camp 10 Bear for the first time in 1 hour 50 minutes – well ahead of the time we expected to finish that section. Most of the early miles are hard-packed dirt roads, so it’s relatively easy to run. We filled our water bottles, cruised the aid station food as well as scarfing down pickles and Coke from our crews’ coolers, and set off on the next section. We would be seeing our crew again at Margaritaville, which was only a short 11.5 miles away. Lulled into false security by the way we had been running, we charged up the hill and out of Camp 10 Bear.


Reality slammed us in the face in the form of Agony Hill, a rugged, steep, mile-long uphill. Hands on knees, a struggle to keep going, and lots of profanity is the only way I can describe it. Now I had done a lot of hill training in the weeks leading up to this race, but absolutely nothing had prepared me for this. All I kept thinking was how I couldn’t imagine the 100 milers doing this hill after already running almost 50 miles. Laura and I had done the Mt Greylock half marathon a few weeks previous and I remembered telling her how nothing in VT could be this bad. Boy, was I WRONG about that!!! We got through it and hoped that that was the worst of it. Yeah, it wasn’t.


We arrived at the Margaritaville aid station still in good spirits, despite the uphill grind, and overheard a volunteer saying that we were the only runners in the past 30 or so to come into the aid station at a run. That made me feel good, knowing that we were going strong at mile 21. Again we refilled our water, stuffed ourselves at the food table, and got some much-appreciated encouragement from our crew. Laura needed to attend to a nasty brewing blister on her heel, so I took some time to just soak up the atmosphere and enjoy the moment. With Laura’s foot taken care of (or so we thought), we grabbed a few more snacks and headed back out on the course.


The next section was a mix of easy running and some long, steep uphills, again on hard-packed dirt roads. We were still running the pace that were hoping to be doing, about 2 hours ahead of the cut-off. The heat was starting to take its toll and we were doing our best to keep cool by filling our buffs with ice at the aid stations, taking salt tabs every hour or so, and drinking a lot of water. We talked about how awesome it was to be such an historic course. We were rewarded at the top of the grinding hills with breathtaking views. And we discussed how much easier it was going to be to run when the sun started to go down. Little did we know that the hardest sections of the course were yet to come.


It was about this point that Laura’s foot became a problem again. She came to a stop on a hill and told me that she couldn’t go on. Another runner behind us asked what was wrong and how he could help. Explaining that she had a horrid blister on her heel, he promptly took off his pack and whipped out a tube of Krazy glue. Laura took off her shoe and sock and we peeled back the bandage, horrified to see skin come off with it. This kind runner reassured us both that it would be fine, and then he proceeded to cover the whole area with glue and lay the bandage back down. He told her to wait a few minutes and then try to move on, and he headed off down the road. Within a half mile Laura was much more comfortable and we set our sights on the next crew station, about 5 miles away.


Coming into Camp 10 Bear the second time was a little chaotic. It’s a steep, speedy downhill to the aid station and we came flying in like we were on fire, hoping to see our crew waiting for us. While there were plenty of volunteers clamoring to get us what we needed, we scanned the crowded aid station for our crew and came up empty. Two fellow Shenipsit Striders, Steve and Sean, saw my slightly panicked expression and immediately asked what they could do. When I mentioned that my crew was missing, as well as my pacer, they took off to find them. Steve came flying back over saying that they were on the other side of the aid station and were on their way. And the Striders had BACON!!! Nice, crispy, delicious bacon. My friend Wendy was geared up and ready to go for her 18 mile pacer duty, so after we ate and drank our fill we were off again.


A half-mile or so from the aid station we were faced with Heartbreak Hill. Ugh. Another steep, technical hill. Ok, I know we’re in VT, but I swear there was way more uphill than downhill!!! Grinding up that hill I kept thinking to myself, “where is this downhill section that I was told about???” Eventually we found it and enjoyed a long stretch of road that was, in fact, mostly downhill (peppered with some steep uphill spots, of course). We soon began seeing some odd signs, and I was certain I was hallucinating. “Brownies ahead?” “Carrot cake?” “Flour girls?” Oh my sweet heavens, those signs actually existed and guided us to an amazing aid station with all kinds of baked goodies and my new favorite food – frozen grapes. Best. Food. Ever. Until the Ramen noodles a few miles later….

By now it was getting dark and we switched on our headlamps. The cooler weather definitely lifted our spirits and we pushed on towards Bill’s aid station at mile 50. Seeing my husband waiting for me was such a blessing. By now I was beyond tired, my feet were stinging from the downhill pounding on the hard dirt roads, and I was ravenous. I weighed in (just for kicks, since we didn’t have to pass a med check) and was happy to see I was at 132. No cause for worry there. I cruised the aid station food and was overjoyed to see the Ramen noodles. Taking a cup, I decided to sit down and get off my painful feet for a few minutes. Of course you know what happened next. The flash from my phone awaked me as Joe took a picture of me napping. I actually think that quick catnap did wonders, as I quickly got up and finished my soup and was ready to get back on the and my soup at BillsMy friend Dean was now pacing us, and I hoped he knew what he was in for. Two very tired, sometimes cranky, swearing, staggering girls. There was a lot of trail in this section of the race and I knew that the two worst hills on the entire course were yet to come. Laura’s heel had become a problem again, so we took our time getting through rooty trails and slick fields, and got a beautiful view of Mt Ascutney for our troubles. Soon after that we began to hear rumbles of thunder. Rut-roh. Rain I can handle. Lightning? No thanks!! Praying that it would hold off, we kept pushing towards Polly’s aid station and our last chance to see our crew before the finish line. Less than a half mile from Polly’s the skies opened up, drenching us. I was shaking uncontrollably within a few minutes because I was already so depleted. Joe found us a few hundred yards up the road and got us into the aid station where we got more warm food and some dry clothes.


We waited in the garage at Polly’s for the rain to subside. I dropped my hydration vest and opted to go with a handheld for the last few miles, and I was shocked at how stiff and tired my shoulders were. I hadn’t noticed it until I took off my vest. I did some stretching and Joe rubbed my back for a bit, and then it was time to kick the rest of this course’s ass and get across that famous finish line. I got one last hug and then the three of us set back out on the road.


Time seemed completely suspended throughout the entire race. I had no idea what time it was, how much time had passed, or even if it was the same day. I marveled at how good I felt when Laura said, “hey, do you know its almost 3am?” I swore it couldn’t be that late (or that early, depending on how you wanted to look at it). Distance also seems warped. Sometimes the miles passed quickly, and other times they seemed to go on for an eternity. Unfortunately, this was one of those times where a single mile felt like 10. We walked and ran and walked and ran. Polly’s is less than 5 miles from the finish line, but I felt like we had been running forever. When we came to the “1 mile to go” sign, I almost cried. Seriously? We STILL had another mile? I even remember saying to Dean, “I can’t do another mile!!” His response was NOT the sympathetic one I wanted. He basically told me to suck it up, that my mind was just lying to me. At that moment I hated his guts, but in the end he was right. Of course right at that moment the rain started again, and the trail quickly turned to slick mud. With less than a half mile to go, I told him to go on ahead and tell Joe we were almost there.


Now, I have never walked a finish line and I had no intention of this one being my first. But the trail was so slippery and we were so fatigued that I was afraid to do anything more than a slow walk. Luckily the trail levels out with a few hundred yards to go, so I looked at Laura and said, “let’s rock this thing!” and we painfully started to run. Seeing the lights of the finish line and hearing people clapping and encouraging us was more than my weakened body and mind could take. I barely got into the chute before I started to cry. Amy, the race director, was there to meet us and I fell into her arms and just sobbed. A year of training, preparation, anticipation, dreams, and hard work had paid off. I had finished my first 100k in 17 hours and 52 minutes, and even though I was physically shattered, I was emotionally so high that I didn’t think I’d ever come down.


With Joe holding me up, we made our way to the med tent and got some food before we headed back to our rental house. I looked around at all the runners, volunteers, crew members, pacers, friends and family and thought about what I had done. It was so surreal. And I can’t wait to get back there and do it all again. Thank you to my husband Joe, for being the most amazing crew chief and for supporting me the entire journey; to Laura for logging all the training miles with me and for enduring my almost constant string of profanities as the night wore on; and to Wendy and Dean for being the best pacers ever and keeping us going with the jokes and encouragement. I love you all more than words can express. I’m glad you were all a part of this magical experience. On to the next!!!