We've all seen countless pictures of trail races where sweaty, dirt-encrusted men and women emerge from a tree-line to sprint (or more usually, trudge quickly) to the finish line. I write this because, as much as I enjoyed participating in the Hawk 100 event over the weekend, I did not take any pictures. So you'll have to use your imaginations (unless you've been on the Clinton North Shore trails where the race is held), and simply picture everyone as sweaty, dirty, and tired.
After helping lay out the course's Bunker Hill and Goodwin Loop sections (the only adjoining open, grassy, hilly expanses in the run), on Friday, I returned to the race at 1 a.m. on Sunday to pace a buddy who was running the full 100 miles (there were 50 and 26.2 mile races occurring simultaneously as well). I had agreed to meet him for the fourth 25 mile loop of his run and make sure he finished with a good time.
My friend, Paul, is pretty good at undertaking major challenges, having sailed the Pacific (and Atlantic) solo on many occasions in a 26' boat, and having hiked alone across the Himalayas. He has also run many 50 mile and 100 kilometer ultras. So I wasn't too worried about his ability to finish the Hawk 100. We are both members of the club that was putting on the event. He had also been training on the course for over a month - knocking out 30 mile runs on a regular basis.
So I showed up at the start/finish line to await his arrival as he completed his third 25 mile lap. Around 3:30 am, he came in. He looked better than most (and slightly worse than some) of the other runners who still had a lap to go. After an unusually long break of 15 minutes (he changed shoes and socks, and ate a veggie burger and a cup of bean soup), we took off into the darkness.
He and I had both completed a marathon on the same course last year, and we both have run the trails many times. So it wasn't an unknown entity. Still, running trails at night is an interesting experience - as the world around you shrinks down to only that which is visible in the beam of your headlamp. I had brought a Petzl headlamp. I also had grabbed the ridiculously bright, rechargeable Light And Motion headlight from my mountain bike. I clamped the lightweight dynamo around my index finger and used it whenever I really needed to see what was coming up.
The hours of running in darkness were spent in easy conversation. Paul was lucid even though he'd been up and running for just over 20 hours. We chugged into the aid station at Land's End (4-5-ish miles in), filled our bottles and hydration packs, and had more soup - a potato chili made by ultra-runner, Gary Henry. We then set off for a 6.5 mile segment that traced the edge of the lake and then took us to a switchback-filled hilly section of the course called Cactus Ridge (yes - there are nopale cactus on the ridge). The sky lightened before we arrived at the West End aid station, situated near the far end of the course. Paul was a bit tired - as one could imagine he would be.
Food now became the only fuel he had. All other stores seemed to be gone. I had him take grapes, crackers, and gel packs from the station so that he could eat whenever his energy flagged. We hit Bunker Hill and the Goodwin Loop and cruised through the two sections at one of the faster paces of the day, Paul led, and seemed to get his mojo back, with the food intake and the light of day lifting his spirits. Since I hadn't been racing for 24 + hours at that point, I was able to really enjoy the vistas of the lake and countryside that Bunker Hill provided. The air was cool and the sun shone bright in a cloudless sky. Bunker Hill and Goodwin were my favorite portions of the run. I felt lucky to be outside running in such a beautiful place.
After passing the aid station that serves as the entrance and exit to Bunker Hill again, we got down to the business of finding a way to finish the final 12 miles of the Hawk 100 mile race. The plan was to run/jog/walk 2-3 miles until Paul's food energy depleted, and then stop for 2-3 minutes while he ate and recharged for the next round. I let him lead when he was moving at a good pace. When he wasn't, I led and talked him on - pointing out easy places on the rocky, hilly trail to pick up speed.
When we arrived back at the Land's End aid station (which is situated at a junction of the 2 trails we were running - one longer and one shorter), it signified that there were only 6.5 miles left to go. We took a little longer than we had at West End (around 7 minutes), and then set off for the final push.
It wasn't exactly a slog. We ran a bit (actually we had one of the fastest miles of the day between mile 95-96), and I talked to Paul about how close we were getting. I offered calculations that would put us in way under the time limit. I kept all talk positive and upbeat - as I had for the whole run. It was a pretty good, but short-lived, portion of the run.
After taking a break with just under 4 miles to go, Paul announced that the food he was ingesting had stopped giving him any noticeable energy. He felt entirely depleted. I told him to take a GU gel shot (we'd been using Hammer Nutrition's banana-flavor, but had run out), which he did. After about five more minutes he still had no energy. I was leading - walking/jogging as quickly as I could to keep him going.
I could tell he wanted to stop for a break, but told him that if food wasn't going to work, stopping to rest would end up being a negative as his muscles and joints would stiffen (which they had been doing each time we stopped). This made starting up more difficult each time as he needed to walk a hundred yards or so before his legs gained enough range-of motion to run. I knew I had to now turn to the Well of Cliche. I told him that the mental and physical place he was in was where 100 mile-finishers are made. If it was easy, everyone would do it. When food no longer works, guts are all you have left to run on.
I said all this with conviction. While I have no idea how someone runs 100 miles (I have not done it myself), I do know that I have finished my (much shorter) ultra runs with nothing left in the tank but sheer will and determination to reach the end. And you know what? Paul seemed to agree with my assessment. I led. He followed - going to some depth in his mind and body that I did not want to contemplate.
As we approached the end of the trail, I stopped and told him that I wanted him to take the lead and run across the final field to the finish. And he did. Watching from the sideline as I peeled off, I actually had tears in my eyes. We had just run slightly less than a marathon together on a difficult course. I had done my job as pacer, and he had gotten his 100 miles.
Afterwards, as we sat eating veggie burgers, Paul paid me a couple of ultimate compliments for a pacer. He said that he couldn't have done it without me - certainly not in the time that we completed the last circuit. And lastly, he said that he thought the Hawk 100 was less 'his race' than it was 'our race'. Not at all true. But I really have to say that I appreciate the sentiment.
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