When you lose your way -Ancient Oaks 100 Miler 2020

To say that 2020 has been difficult is putting it gently. This year has forced us to adapt and reinvent on a continuous basis, go deep within, find our reasons for being, strive for clarify as to what matters to us, push forward, and stay positive. Not too dissimilar from the sentiments ultrarunners confront when running 100 miles. So, in December, when Race Director Mike Melton told us that Ancient Oaks 100 was a go, I adapted my schedule to include a trip to the  Enchanted Forest in Titusville, FL, the weekend prior to Christmas, to run Ancient Oaks’ 3.46-mile course 29 times. While I have a love/hate relationship with the course – the roots suck, the sand sucks; the oak trees, lush landscape, and the solitude of the course are soothing and freeing – what I crave about this race is the camaraderie. I’m not sure if the race is an auld lang syne of sorts, or if it’s the sheer torture of going round and round and seeing your comrades again and again, but if you are lucky enough to have participated in this event, the excitement and joy it brings are palpable.

Unlike other years when this race typically is my fourth or fifth 100 miler of the year, due to Covid-19 race cancelations, it was my second 100 miler of the year, with my first being back in January at Long Haul 100, long before Covid-19 was part of our daily vocabulary. While my body didn’t have the fatigue it normally has by December, I was fatigued, nonetheless. The pandemic has taken a toll on all of us – mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. And yet, I wanted to be out there running, at a safe distance, amongst friends. I craved the emptiness and subsequent fullness that ultras bring. While so much has shifted this year, I’m amazed that so much has stayed the same: when I landed in Florida on Friday, I was tired, trying to wrap up my work week, and needed to get organized for the race. Saturday morning arrived, and somehow, I missed the race start because I was in the bathroom when it began. Then, I was running, with nothing else to do for the next two days.

Ancient Oaks was founded by the late Stu Gelman back in 1999 and taken over by Race Director Mike Melton in 2009; Melton maintained the by invitation-only race policy, and the kept the race free of charge, but upped the field of 20-25 runners to 60 runners. The course consists of a 3.46-mile loop that starts off on asphalt pavement, moves into sand and grass two-track, a short section of concrete path, a section of twisty, rooty single-track trail, three boardwalk sections, a short bridge, a sharp 15-foot hill, and some sections of loose sand until you are back at the start/finish area. AO requires commitment and focus. It takes drive to keep going as you pass your car in the parking lot 28 times along the way, which provides 28 opportunities to quit. The course demands that runners keep eyes glued to the ground in sections to keep from falling, but even being careful, I body slammed twice due to tripping on roots.

The first 15 miles, I struggled with myself in a way that made my heart race and my head hurt. Everything from everyone is a better runner than me, to your injury is too painful to keep going, to I’m done with ultras, to why am I doing this, to I’m tired of being tired and showing up at races exhausted from work and thinking something magical will happen cluttered my brain. It took patience and kindness to talk myself through and out of my funk and find a reason to keep going. I remembered my favorite mantra why not me? as in why couldn’t I succeed at the race, and then there were the commitments I made to myself, too. I promised myself that if I’m going to keep running ultras, instead of working nonstop pre-race and showing up exhausted and depleted, I’m going to rest as much as I can the week prior to a race. Success requires preparation.

My reason to keep going was clear: races enable me to reflect, ground, and often, reinvent. Races compel me to ask myself questions: how do I feel? What is okay and what is a problem – in the race, and in my life. What am I going to do about my problems? Can I keep going – and will I? They force me to be with myself in a way that is both painful and redemptive; and mostly, they provide me with the space and time to find my way – emotionally, mentally, and physically, too.

Once my pity party passed, I laughed a lot, I was present, and I really saw the giant ancient oak trees, the lush greenery, the leaves scattering the bridges. About 20 miles in, the best magic one could ask for occurred: everything was okay for a long while. Some 50+ miles, I was caught up in movement. Nothing hurt too bad, I was tired then awake; I wasn’t ready to call it quits at the race or with ultramarathons in general. My mind and heart opened, and as a result, the course was beautiful, peaceful, exactly what I needed to sort through all that floated in my ether. This, for me, is the magic of ultramarathons. The ability to be, to suffer, to smile, to love it all – to live my life with intention, with commitment, and a desire to keep going. Sometimes, if we are lucky in a race, everything clicks, and we lose the miles while our heart, breath, and movement align. Something like, I am, I am, I am….

During the night, it rained. I was cold and chilled. I changed clothes a few times to try to keep dry. Running comrade William “Chip” Corley and I took three 15-minute naps, each of which took about 10-15 minutes to set up for (note to self: wasting time changing clothes and sleeping costs you at an ultra). I ate. Another anomaly for me. I actually had an appetite, although I wasn’t able to eat more than a few bites at a time – some crackers, some pretzels, some Pringles. And soda. I drank lots of Coca Cola, which is my fuel of choice at ultras.

Lap 22, approximately 75 miles in, I told Chip, who had accompanied me throughout, to move forward. I knew he would knock out his last seven laps fast and easy, and I wanted him to get his race done. I was ready to be alone and battle it out. I knew around loop 23 it would be hard for me to make the cutoff, and did my best to make up time, but I also resolved myself to the fact that I was going to finish regardless of time. I was going to run 100 miles because that was what I came out to AO to do, and anything less was simply less.

Then there was lap 28, when the depth of this year hit me hard, and I started to cry. It was the first time since the pandemic began and I got sick and eventually better, and watched so many of my dreams for 2020 fade, and all of our lives shifted, that I really let lose. Somehow being out there in the silence, the clock ticking as I put in the miles, the early-day breeze enveloping me as the warmth of the day began to overcome the chill, I felt safe and peaceful enough inside to release. For that alone – along with thousands of other moments – the race was one of my favorite events ever. I felt grounded within myself, and when I was done with my long cry, I felt serene and lucky to be out there running in the Enchanted Forest.

It was also during that 28^th loop that I felt a deep gratitude for the volunteers. I am always amazed that race after race, so many amazing people come out to help the runners. Like all of us, the volunteers lead busy lives and likely have plenty to do on the weekend prior to Christmas. Volunteers are simply amazing. They are the angels of ultras – the hands that reach out to us and take care of us when we feel good and/or miserable, make us smile, console us when we are down and out. They are the lifeline of ultras, and we are so fortunate they show up race after race.

I’ve grown up and into myself the last decade of running ultras. I’ve mourned the loss of my mom, but also found solid footing, and while I don’t think you ever stop mourning a parent, I have made peace with my loss on the trails and roads. I have made so many new friends who have become critical in my life; I’ve learned so much more about myself than I ever thought possible. I know my gimmicks, my moods, and what brings me peace, too. I know what it means to keep going when all I want to do is stop. I know what it means to push forward and how in retrospect, I am always so grateful for that granite within me that whispers, keep going. I have learned about excuses and the how in the end, we are stuck with ourselves, for better or worse, and how the sooner we learn to like ourselves, the sooner we can truly love others.

I have lost my way so many times over the years. I was done with races, done with the manic packing in the midst of a work week, showing up, starting to run tired or injured or just not in the mood. But somewhere along the miles, I always come back to myself and the realization that being outside for long periods of time, moving my body, soothes me in ways I don’t completely comprehend until I’m somewhere in the middle. When I am moving and there are hours ahead of me, I feel free, alive, complete. Like I’m nowhere and somewhere and exactly where I need to be, all at once.

The last lap, number 29, the course markers were taken down. After going round and round for 28 times, somehow, without the arrows marking the course, I didn’t know exactly which way to go. A couple out for a Sunday afternoon hike on the trail tried to help me with a map on the course, and then I found Dan Melton, the RD’s son and assistant, who pointed out the way. After momentary frustration, I was laughing, and I realized it was going to be okay – everything. How perfect to be trying to beat a cutoff and to get lost on a course I had just traveled for the last 31+ hours. And in that softness, I found my way, and brought it home to the finish. Twelve minutes too late for an official finish, but I reached the finish line, nonetheless. It was so reflective of this year: we may lose our way, but we are never far from where we need to go as long as we push forward and don’t give up hope. As long as we keep believing, anything is possible.

In a year when there have been so many cancelations and disappointments, there has also been so much hope and love and goodness. Pushing through at AO reminded me that I’m capable of moving past and beyond adversity; it reminded me that finishing what I start brings me completion, faith in persistence, and a renewed sense of wonder of what I’m capable of if I believe in myself and get out of my own way. For me, these are perhaps the best gifts as we venture into 2021.