The GPS on her phone tells us where to go, and after an hour, we end up in the race director, Dale's home. There are people walking around drinking coffee, a couple bodies on the floor sleeping, and a few waiting to use the bathrooms. At first, it's hard to wrap my head around what is going on. I'm used to hanging out pre-race at Peak Performance or by some outdoor shelter close to the start of the race. Here we are though, crammed into a stranger's house in the middle of Brainard (where?), NE, and this old house is alive with people waiting to run this race.
Race starts at 7:30. I wear a jacket because it's overcast, chilly, windy, and it's misting. Underneath I have my TNB t-shirt, arm warmers, and gloves. I'm wearing my North Face shorts, yellow Runners Room cap, $40 Sugoi compression socks, and Adrenaline ASR GTX, which are actually Brooks test shoes. I have a hand-held bottle of water, the pocket has a stick of Burt's Bees chapstick. I'm good to go.
The van is stocked. We have bottles of water, a pot of coffee, bags of ice, Powerade Zero, 4 PB&J sandwiches, dried mangos, ginger chunks, trail mix, bananas, fruit snacks, Snickers, pretzels, and Twizzlers. There are 3 pairs of socks and shoes, towels, lots of clothes, first aid, and then all my post-race necessities. Amy and Bruce figure she can crew for the both of us, so he throws his stuff in the back.
Both Bruce and I start off mid-pack, and we complete the first 3 miles in less than 30 minutes. It feels too easy, which is not a good sign - I went out too fast. By the time I get to Amy around Mile 5, I have a an inch of dirt stuck to the bottom of my treads. I cut some of the dirt off, empty a few rocks out of my shoes, shed the jacket, and take off.
I slow the pace down, feeling some stomach discomfort, and stop at the rest room in Loma. Miles 8-11 are the slowest most painful miles. Luckily, I am solo because I step off course a few times in hope of finding some relief. As much as it sucks, I am grateful for the vegetation and cover. I can't blame anything or anyone. These things happen, and I remind myself that this is just part of the "experience". This is race day and anything can, and will happen.
Amy is at Mile 11 and as I run up to her she hands me the knife (for the dirt, of course). She's got all the doors open and she's ready to serve. I share with her my disgusting dilemmas. She's a pro and handles me like she's done this a million times before, never phased and extremely encouraging, totally chill, funny, and not patronizing. Someone along the way makes a comment to me, about what a great friend I have in Amy. I agree.
The most difficult part of the race isn't the many, short, steep hills, but the accumulation of mud from the dirt roads in this wet weather. My legs feel as though they are stuck in 3-5lbs of concrete blocks and at other times, I'm in 5" heels of mud. My calves begin to cramp as I wonder how to get the mud off my shoes. Even worse, however, is when the mud comes off only on the one shoe, leaving my legs uneven length, which makes for a pretty funny looking (and feeling) gait. It's totally ridiculous. I can't help but laugh at myself.
I am in good company around Mile 16 and a runner shouts "Half way!" We get on a gravel bike path that reminds me of the Wabash Trace. It is sweet on the feet, straight, and flat.
I am not sure what happens, but time flies and miles pass while I run the foot hills of dirt and gravel back to Loma. I see Amy a few times, and each time she offers me food and updates me on Bruce's progress. So I am surprised when I see him at Mile 23 when I stop to fill up my water bottle and shove a generic oatmeal cookie in my mouth. We continue on together, power-walking the steep uphills and running the downhills, navigating our way through Timber Point (which has spectacular views), and spotting Amy through the dense fog up ahead.
Things are still bearable and comfortable until my Garmin beeps and I see that we have traveled 31 miles. I'm prepared to go the 32ish miles, but I begin to panic when I do a 360 and all I see around this trail are fields. I hang on and keep it together. We get off the path and we're back on the streets of the booming metropolis of Brainard. My spine and low back receive a surge of pain with every foot fall - this surface is going to kill me. I need this race to be over. Things start to unravel and I fear that Bruce is about to witness a Jody meltdown, one that will lead to him never wanting to associate with me again.
And then...
Out of the fog, I see a white cap and bright green vest. It's Amy and she's right where I need to be. I run towards her. The only time I take my eyes off her is to read the bank sign. It flashes 1:45 and then 50F.
I hang a right into the garage, read the stopwatch, and write my time down. I'm done!
A huge thank you to Amy for being my crew, handler, photographer, driver, and friend. Without her, this would not have gone over so smoothly...and there would have been an extreme lack of cow bell. We all need smart people in our lives to make our stupid ideas less stupid. She's my smart person.
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My official time was 6:10:45, making my average pace 11:13/mile. My average moving pace was 10:32.
Further Garmin data reveals that there were 22 minutes where I was not moving. During this time I was either in a public rest room, squatting in a cornfield, relieving myself a soybean field, or rummaging through the van looking for ibuprofen, Endurolytes, Tums, and wet wipes. This is sad, but true. On a positive note, I suffered all my GI troubles in the first 10 miles and was able to recover.
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