Ultramarathon Recap Part Two: from 9am to 9pm

When last we met, I had taken you through the first twelve hours of my ultramarathon.

Now, let me take you through the rest.



This is when I became an ultramarathoner. BOOM.

Immediately upon receiving that news I sat down and put a band aid on my first noticeable blister. And, whoops, noticed the rest. I also switched socks.



The only one actually hurting me was the one on the side of my heel, so I just ignored the rest. I decided to be smart and play with the EMTs. They put a bit of moleskin over the blister, so I tested that out.

I also had the pleasure of talking to Sophia, who I had met the day before, and who was ready to run.



But first she wanted to make me a cheering poster! I'm the one in the dress/cape on the right.



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"April found a weary girl & we fed and paced her, then raced her."

She's the one in the middle. She didn't eat breakfast, then ran 5 miles. Tisk tisk. We got her a banana, walked with her, then she got her energy back, and somehow I raced her for a quarter lap, which about killed me.



The moleskin wasn't doing much for my blister, so I replaced it with one of my bandaids again.



I beat up some guy in a dinosaur costume.



He terrified Sophia. =(



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No idea why I was slacking so hard. I assume April inspired me (as well as all the kids who were there at that point), and I just motored through.

According to the time stamp on my pictures, I ate some corned beef.



It was delicious.



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Here is where I took a 45 minute nap. I did not mean to. I stopped, just to give myself a little break, and then I was lying down. And then I was waking up. Whoops.

April took off at the end of the hour. She was awesome to come out so far so early, and she definitely helped push me to run.

I think she made me put on sun screen, too, which would explain why I look so pale in this picture.



My blister was bothering me more. I drank half a cup of the most awful coffee I have ever had in my life. Good times.

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I am an excellent foot artist. Can't you tell?

At this point I had matching heel blisters. YAY.

My friend Mike, who ran both my marathons with me, showed up to cheer me on/gimp with me. Sky decided he should stop telling stories and start running.

According to the time stamp, THIS happened:



When this is how I really felt:



Sky also administered another "are you crazy" test. I kept passing, so the tests couldn't have been that good.



Since we were taking pictures (a welcome break from the limping I'd been doing), I posed with my amazing husband.



Sophia came back after her soccer game. That kid LOVED me.



So the husband and I ran a lap with her.



I was pretty sad to see her go. Awesome kid. I had a great time with her.



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The blisters became too much to bear, so I stopped by the EMT tent.

45 minutes, I shit you not, to tape me up properly. Part of it was the head guy was using it as a teaching tool, because, hello, blisters. But, they did an amazing job, and my legs needed the rest.











While I was getting my blisters taped up, Eve and Brian showed up. And they were nice enough to wait around. YAY.

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Sky and Seth left.



Mike left.



I ate a baby hamburger (you can really see in this picture how the sun screen never fully absorbed into my face. Either that or I am very, very unwell).





At this point I decided my goal was 50 miles. It seemed doable. My blisters still hurt, but they weren't hurting worse, so that was a good thing.

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Misha showed up, and for a brief moment I had an entourage walking with me.



Then I decided to crank some miles out, so Eve and I would jog a lap and walk a lap. This lasted for maybe a mile or two, but it was really, really exhausting at this point.

My blisters still hurt. =(

Eve and Brian took off.



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Finally, the moment I had been waiting for for 20 hours. My back started to hurt, probably from standing for so damn long. Ug.

At this point I couldn't pry my wedding ring off my finger. I only noticed because normally I twirl it around my finger absentmindedly, but it was stuck on there like glue.

The EMTs were getting a little playful/bored at this point, so they rigged up their speakers and started playing different songs as people ran buy. The Rocky Theme was one, but my favorite was when they danced to Thriller. Sadly, my camera only caught the tail end.



Can you see why I loved these guys?

The scenery:



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"Put on hat" (it was getting cold)
"took two Tylenol (Thanks Mike)" (the first pain killers I took the whole time)
"Summer Glau is deformed" (it's true)

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One of the other runners, Sal, was counting down laps. he KNEW his goal. Two back to back marathons. What a goal! So, I adopted it as my own, pretty much as soon as I hit 50 miles.

Marla and Andrew arrived, which was awesome, because I needed them. Moving forward was hard.



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So, here's how the final hour went down:

I had what I thought was an accurate lap count in my head. I counted down each lap I needed, which was pretty much the only thing that kept me going.

I finished my final lap with about 30 minutes to spare. The EMTs all got up and walked my final lap with me. It was awesome. I felt like a rock star. A very, very tired rock star.

A few minutes later the count came back. I was one off. I didn't know what to do. So, I started crying. My husband grabbed my arm, and we walked that final lap.

And as we finished it, they said I should do one more lap, just to be sure. I didn't have anything in me, but, I got that one more lap in.

And I finished. And I cried.



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The race was done, but we were two hours from home, and my cheer squad was hungry.

I quickly (well, as quickly as I could) changed into fleece pajama pants and slippers. We drove to a restaurant about a mile away. I hobbled into the bathroom and changed into a clean, dry shirt and a giant sweatshirt. I shuffled out to the table, and sat down.

Nothing on the menu looked appealing. The idea of food sickened me. And I was ravenous. I ordered an iced tea and a blt.

I made it two bites in, stared off into space for a few minutes, then went out to the car to sleep.

I drifted in and out of sleep in the parking lot, and on the drive home.

Once home I cowered in the shower and curled up in bed.

And hour later I was curled up around the toilet, puking up everything in my stomach, and then trying to puke up more. My whole body hurt so much already, this was just awful, so much pain.

After, I curled back up into bed. "I'm so sorry," I kept repeating to my husband. "I never want to feel this way again."

That night I slept so poorly. Finally, around 9am, resigned to the fact that I just wasn't going to sleep/back to sleep, I got out of bed and hobbled into the living room. I still felt awful. I wasn't sure if I was going to throw up again.

I curled up on the couch. I only managed an hour of playing on the internet before sleep overcame me. I slept for eight blissful hours on the couch.

I woke up, watched three hours of tv, ate a piece of toast, and slept for another 12 hours.

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And that is truly where the ultramarathon story ends, not at the finish line, which was crossed with tears and whimper, but in the survival of the aftershocks.

Those 36 hours after crossing the finish line are what dance in my mind when I toy with thoughts of trying this again.