I have been trying to get to 50 miles now for the better part of three years, and something has always derailed that plan. I trained basically the entire plan in 2020 for a solo fifty, only to step off the trail on my last big 32 mile training run and twist my ankle, which derailed that attempt. 2021 found me mired in the Covid times and I just didn’t really do much of anything. I ramped up again in 2022, eventually completing the Jackals. With that fitness, I’d planned to go up and do Tunnel Hill 50, but right after the Jackals I got Covid and it took me the better part of the rest of that year to just build fitness back. I was determined 2023 was going to be my year.
I scoured Ultra Signup and Run Signup for a race that looked approachable for me and eventually I found the Pistol Ultra series. With a paved path and 20 hour time limit, I was on board! I *knew* I could finish it in 20 hours without feeling like I was against a time limit the entire run. Time limits are always something I think about, being a back-of-the-packer, especially the first time I run a distance. I don’t want to be stressed into running through an aid station when I really should have taken a minute to check everything out because I’m stressed about time. Plus, I had no idea how long 50 miles was realistically going to take me. I’d only ever run 50K a couple of times before, and nothing beyond that. 50 miles was the great unknown. Training commenced.
About a week into training, I went over to the race website to check something and noticed a fact I’d missed when signing up: this race didn’t start until 8pm. OOOPS. The entire race would be run over night. I figured it would be good training for an eventual 100 and put the thought out of my mind as best I could.
In the weeks leading up to the race, I began obsessively checking the weather, as one does. Two weeks out, it looked pretty good. The lows were generally in the mid-forties. It looked like it might rain, but not a lot. I could handle that. Over the next two weeks of checking I watched the low dip down, down, down, until it was sitting at 23. Yes, 23 degrees F. What was I going to do? Let me give you an aside here– I have terrible circulation and always have. As such, I have trouble regulating my body temperature on a normal day. I once got mild hypothermia at our local marathon when it was 44 and raining. This was not looking good. I went into damage control mode. I read up on everything I could about running in the cold, I pulled every piece of wool gear I had into my race bag, including some pieces I went and bought. I went through the plan with my crew (shoutout to Drew and Stacy for enduring with me out there!)– if it was wet, it was going to have to come off and be replaced and I was going to have to eat a lot.
Finally the day of the race arrived and we stepped out into the evening air. It wasn’t all that chilly yet and I’d hoped to get in a faster loop first just to get it out of the way before the cold set in. We set up a make-shift aid area so that I could grab what I needed and off I went to wait the start. After some brief announcements, we were off! The night was actually not that chilly and I decided to get some miles chewed. I found quickly that the course’s temperature was place specific. The five mile out and back took us past a duck pond (complete with some lake-effect winds), through a cute little glade that really did look like Disney World (by the time I thought to take a picture, it was morning, and the spell was broken), through the town of Maryville, TN, though a lovely city park, then back to start. I found the duck pond and little Disney glade were COLD, the town and city park felt a little warmer and were sheltered from the wind. Needless to say when I came screaming into the start from the first loop, I was soaking wet from sweat. I changed out my hat which was the worst and decided to just let my wool shirt do its thing. (Wool doesn’t lose insulation power from being wet.) Off I went on the second loop.
By this point, the temperature was cooling down. The way out went about like the first, but the way back was COLD. The wind picked up and it felt like a dagger. It cut through my insulated tights and my hips started to lock up. Nothing I could do about it at the time, but I knew I’d have to add more clothes when I got back around. The wind cut through my jacket, but the wool shirt did what it was supposed to and while I was cold, I wasn’t shivering. I decided then that to survive, I’d have to slow it down to a pace I could reasonably run without getting soaked in sweat. I slowed down a bit. When I got back to Stacy and Drew, I put on my insulated running skirt over my tights, refilled and got back out there.
Loop three was absolute torture. It was the dead of night, the temperature had plummeted, the wind felt like it was out to get me personally. My nose began to run uncontrollably and I eventually rubbed it raw. Here it was; I was going to have to get through it somehow. I slowed waaaay down. I was still moving ok, but all of my muscles were just seized from the cold. I started seeing folks in a bad way all around me. I knew I had to keep my core temp up and keep moving as best I could. I began to doubt myself and my ability to finish this thing. When I hit the turn around point on the third lap, I took some pictures: the little park looks so peaceful, but at that moment it felt like everything was trying to kill me.
I wasn’t shivering, which was good, but I was miserable. On my way back toward the start, I saw a bathroom and figured I should make use of it. Miracle of miracles, it was HEATED. I took much longer there than I should have, and then stopped each loop after for a little mid-loop pick-me-up. I ran on back, grabbed stuff for my next loop, grabbed Drew (he paced me for the fourth loop), and hit the aid station tent to warm up a little in the warming tent and get some chicken broth.
Loop 4 dipped down even colder, but Drew was with me, so it didn’t feel as bad. He was actually able to pace me on his bike, so that was a fun thing about this race. By this point, I had dropped down into a death march. Every muscle in my body felt like it was frozen in place. My rice krispie treats were frozen (did you know they can freeze? because I didn’t…). Chomping down on them was like eating brittle glass. My gels had ice crystals in them, my bottles had ice crystals in them (thankfully they didn’t freeze solid). Everything was cold and frozen. I took more time at aid stations, warming up by the fires they had going, eating chicken soup, chicken broth, drinking hot water (which is a miracle when you are cold!), anything I could do to keep the shivers away and keep my core temp up. When Drew and I returned from the fourth loop, I thought that was it. I had begun to shiver. Stacy and Drew asked me what the matter was and I said I was just cold. I went up to the start line aid station and a woman dressed in a lighted unicorn outfit was hyping up everyone. She fist bumped me as I came in and said, “You did it, baby! The hard part is over! Look over there, that’s the sun. When you get out of the warming tent the sun will be up!”
The warming tent was beginning to look like triage at a battlefield. Everywhere folks were on cots wrapped up in space blankets and regular blankets, folks were moaning and shivering, people were just desperately trying to get warm. I met two men in the tent and we commiserated on the bleak conditions. We were each on our last loop. We sat for several minutes until the propane went out on us and one of them said, “Well, I guess that a sign. Thanks, universe.” We all got up to gear up and get out on that last loop. The music was back on as I made my way out, quiet hours now over, the sun was coming up. The unicorn woman yelled over to me, “How many more laps.” I yelled back, “This is my last one! Next time I’ll see you on the other side!” (The finishers chute). “Yeah, baby!” she yelled back, “Go get it!” And with the revitalization of the sun, I ran.
It was a slow, shuffling kind of run, but I was determined. I grimly set my face, grimaced through the pain, and ran with everything I had left toward the turn-around. The sun helped, but it was still bitterly cold. I ran into the 2.6 mile aid station and warmed up for a bit. One of the volunteers asked “How are you doing.” “Cold,” I replied. He said, “Well that makes sense, it’s 26 degrees right now!” (The feels-like temp was a balmy 16.) I chatted with the folks wrapped up burrito-style trying to stave off hypothermia, listened to stories of hallucinations, drank some chicken broth and pickle juice and got back out there. I marveled at how different the course looked during the day. I hadn’t realized what had been all around me because I’d been running solely in the dark. I had to take extra time at the road crossings because cars were back! No more plowing on ahead because it was 3:30 in the morning. A little after the turn around, I met the two men I’d met back in the warming tent. We were trudging up a hill the race directors had aptly named “Heartbreak Hill.” One of them said, “Fancy meeting you here. You come here often?” “I do,” I replied, “Five times as a matter of fact.” The other man piped up “Ten times for me.” We both commiserated. “I never want to see this hill again,” he said, and we enthusiastically agreed.
We walked for a good while until I felt that I could run some more, so I said my goodbyes and shuffled off into the distance. When I hit the mid-point aid station again, I couldn’t believe it. I grabbed one last pickle juice, high-fived some folks, and was off. Against all odds, I had staved off disaster. I was going to make it. Through the sore, tense muscles, I picked up the pace as much as I dared and ran my way on into the finish. When I saw the finish line, I teared up and was full on crying when I crossed it. I went into the tent to get my medal and a woman stopped me to ask my name and age. She said hang on just a minute. When she finished shuffling through some papers, she turned to me and said, “Congratulations! You placed second in your age group.” Now my addled brain did not comprehend so I burst out, “WHAT?” She said, “Yeah, you did! Good job!” And I started full on bawling. She said, “Don’t cry! You’ll make me cry!” and took me over to get some pictures. I was still crying. I cried as we got into the car and began making our way home. Shortly after we got on the interstate, I got a call. I answered.
It was the lady from the finish line saying there had been a mistake and she was sorry. (This was on speaker phone thankfully, because my calorie-deficient brain did not understand.) I thought she said that she had made a mistake and I was actually third place in my age group and not second. I was like, “Oh, that’s fine. Thank you!” She wanted us to come back and Drew said, “We’ll turn around right now.” I was a little confused after we hung up. I asked Drew, “Why did you say we’d turn around? They could have mailed it, I’m sure!” He was like, “No way, I want to see you get it!” I was confused and said, “Get a lesser place?” Then Drew understood that I hadn’t. He said, “No, Haley. You got third place female…of the entire race!” “WHAT?!?!” I shouted and started to cry again. We turned abound and picked up my plaque and took some more pictures. I was still confused as to what had just happened.
I certainly learned a lot during the course of this race. I can handle a lot more than I thought I could. Certainly the resilience of the human body was on full display. To have the fortitude and mental endurance to withstand suffering and come out the other side smiling is just a miracle to behold. When the sun hits after a night out on the lonely road, it just hits differently. No matter how deep and dark the night, the sunshine will always be back to greet you, and what a glorious sight it is to behold.
Tales from the Back of the Pack 