The Fog

I don’t even know if I’m climbing right now.  All I know is what’s 2 feet in front of my face and not a step beyond it.  It’s dark and it’s raining but honestly everything just seems like a dream.  The rain mixed with the fog and its distortion of headlamps has turned everything into a glittery haze and it’s becoming a blur.

This is not a typical race report and I won’t be outlining nutrition plans and what worked or what didn’t.  Instead I’m going to tell you a little story about giving up control when you can’t see what’s coming.  A love letter and a lesson taught from the smothering fog of the Grindstone 100. 

It only took about 45 minutes for the sun to completely disappear on the course and be replaced by various lamps as we started making our way UP one of the first and toughest climbs.  I was prepared for the darkness that a night start would bring.  I had multiple lamps and batteries and wasn’t going to let that turn into an excuse.  It didn’t take long to realize how different this race was going to be.  After we started climbing for a few minutes, it hit me that I couldn’t really see or even feel if we were going up and I DEFINITELY couldn’t tell for how long. People around me kept saying, “is this the start of the big climb?” and I thought, how do they even know we’re climbing?  That may seem silly but I’m not kidding when I say you couldn’t see a thing.  The fog began to fill up the trail and turned the views into a bizarre blend of orange and gray.  It was shortly after that when I realized I was unaware of what was on either side of me. Was I running on a mountainside single-track with sharp drops-off down a cliff? Or is this a back-country trail, surrounded by a thick forest? Who knows but after a few chilling moments of feeling wet and very windy gusts, I assumed I was cliff-side with nothing there to catch me.  That’s about the time I decided to stop playing that guessing game and shift my mind to something else.  My lights.  Ok.  So I’ve got this rotation of headlamps and waist lamps and they’re amazing and they’re working like a charm (at least this was in my brain at the time, when in reality there was no way to really see anything clearly but I was sure I had mastered this like an art form).  I was clicking on the headlamp when the rain would stop, and then switch to the waist light when the showers would roll in again.  It gave me something to focus on for a while and that system seemed to work just fine.  There was also the inability to really see anyone on this part of the course.  Many times you make friends during 100 miles and encounter the same people but when you start in darkness it’s hard to recognize anyone when all you can see is the backs of their shoes.  That created a different sort of solitude that I’d never felt in a race.   It was odd but as the night went on, it was almost a comfort.  I was alone.  Everything I needed at that very moment was right in front of my face.  I couldn’t worry about the next 2 miles or even ½ mile. And honestly who cared.  The climbs were relentless and the descents were rocky and slick.  The end.  The goal was to keep moving safely until the sun came up.  As we all made our way up and down and all around the mountainsides, I lost track of time and was completely unaware of when the sunrise was coming. I was totally lost in the moment and it was honestly perfect. 

My eyes were blurry and exhausted and I was covered in mud but that’s when I saw it.  A sliver of light between the trees.  I was on my way up to Reddish Knob, which is near the turnaround point and major milestone for the day.  Everything was about to change.  I’m not going to lie, I cried when the sun came up, even if my sunrise view was blown by the dense fog, that smothered us up there like a blanket.  But daylight brought a new energy and new excitement and I was really ready to race.

While the fog and darkness were physically and mentally draining, they’d given me a gift that night in the ability to only focus on exactly what I could see.  So, I made a deal with myself to treat the rest of the day the very same way.  There’s a phrase about 100 mile racing and it’s that “you live an entire life in one day.”  The highs and the lows and all the problems in between.  The distance teaches you what will break you but also how you can overcome and endure things as a version of you, you never thought you’d be.  I went on to finish that gorgeous race and had a pretty awesome day, but I truly believe that foggy night, taught me a life lesson I won’t soon forget.  You can’t control it.  You can’t change it.  And just like life, no matter how hard to try to work against it, at a certain point you take a deep breath, put your head down…and just go.

Busting a Rut

It’s easy to get comfortable.  Doing the same things you’ve always done…over and over.  We’re creatures of habit after all.  We all do it and it’s usually because it’s the path of least resistance… or less thought.  You run the exact same route, day after or day, eat the same foods, see the same people, think the same things… you see how this can trickle down to everything else in your life without a second thought.  But, what happens when you wake up one morning and that old routine you once loved so much wasn’t what you really wanted at all?  In fact, the thought of it actually makes you sick.  That sounds dramatic, right? However, I’m pretty sure every person reading this right now has felt the exact same way. 

Example – I don’t always listen to music when I run but when I do, I set these different playlists for certain runs.  I love taking the time to pick the perfect songs and make the music flow exactly how I’d like it to be. I love those playlists and I’ll hit certain parts of a run and that specific song will come on and it’s like I expected it.  That’s my jam!  I knew it was going to be the thing to serenade me to the top of that hill…..   and then, at some point over a period of time, that song makes me want to scream.  “Ugh..I hate this song! You’re the worst One Republic! If I hear this again, I’m just going to lay down in the middle of my run and cry!”  Ok, that may be a little dramatic, but you get the point.  What happens next? I take my headphones off.  I leave them at home for the next several weeks. 

That’s a small example but it can make or break your runs.  It can challenge you, just like getting off the roads if you’re a roadie.  Heading for more hills if you’re always looking for the fastest, flattest course you can find.  The goal of this blog is to help you think about ways to become more mentally tough and one way is to step out of your comfort zone.  Let go of that control.  Find the things that scare you and then just sit there...just wait there until you’re not afraid any more.  That’s when the magic happens. That’s when real change takes place.  Yes, it might be uncomfortable or difficult at first but that’s the beauty of busting a rut.  It’s getting through it and seeing what’s waiting for you on the other side.