Coldwater Rumble Race Report

As you may have noticed in the quick update last Sunday, my day at the Coldwater Rumble 52 miler ended earlier than anticipated, when I had to bow out of the race after my first lap.  Although I was bummed about not being able to complete the full distance, I still enjoyed the majority of my time in the race, and I wanted to share some of my experiences and thoughts about it.

The day started early when my alarm went off at 4:45am.  After a quick shower (I figured at least I would start the day smelling nice), I ate, dressed, grabbed my starting line crew (my Dad and his girlfriend Risa - who drove in from LA the night before) and headed out.  The race was held at Estrella Mountain Park on the southwest side of Phoenix, directly behind Phoenix International Raceway, which hosts the two NASCAR races that come to town each year.  After a quick stop at Starbucks, we made it to the park at 6:45am and caught the start of the 100 mile distance at 7am (100 miles?  Those people are really crazy).

Really, Starbucks?
Do we need to encourage this?

After a quick bathroom stop, I geared up at the car and grabbed my drop bag to take to the designated spot.*  Chris never ended up using a few of his Ironman gear bags, and since they were good sized and pretty heavy duty, they were perfect for drop bag duty. 

Yes, I chose the one that reads, “Run Special Needs.”

It seemed appropriate.

After another bathroom stop, I stepped into the starting corral with just a few minutes until my 7:30am start.  The Race Director gave us a short briefing (“follow the orange spotted flags, not the white and blue ones that say ‘WRONG WAY’ in giant letters”) that apparently included a quiz to make sure we’d read the maps of the course:

Race Director:  On Loop One, you’ll go right at the 6.2 mile sign, and then on Loop Two, you’ll go left…

Crowd (in unison):  Noooooooo…

Race Director:  Just kidding!  On Loop One and Two, you’ll go right at the 6.2 mile sign, and then on Loop Three, you’ll go left…

Since I tend to be a slower trail runner (I hadn’t done an event this long, so I wanted to be conservative on the first lap), I put myself near the back of the pack (of like 50 people – it was a small race).  I hugged Dad and Risa, we counted down from ten, and we were off! 

Dad and Risa, extremely good sports, particularly this early in the morning.

The first seven or so miles of the race were great; the trail had some ups and downs without too much elevation gain, the footing was stable and free of the large boulders that can be hard to navigate, and the landing was hard packed but not overly tough.  I followed my hydration and nutrition plan, and I was moving along at faster than my anticipated pace but not so fast that I was worried about maintaining it.  I went through the Coldwater aid station at mile 4.5 and ditched my gloves in my drop bag; I had planned to wear arm warmers on my first few miles as well as gloves, but since the temperature at starting was 55 or so (not 45, as I’d experienced in training), I didn’t really need the extra insulation.

Around mile 5, things started to climb a bit, but still not too extreme.  I followed my plan of hiking the ups, running the downs, and doing 5/1 alternating run/walks for the flatter areas.  At mile 7, we hit the sand.  Part of the Pedersen trail in the park is 3-4 miles of sand that stretches all the way across the trail and is about 8-12 inches deep in places.  This stuff is murder to run in; you slip and slide all over the place, and last year, I remember turning my ankle a few times in it.  Thankfully, none of that happened this year, but it was still a tough slog through this part of the course.  As I was running gingerly through this area, a lady running the 52K (which is roughly 32 miles) passed me and said, “just imagine you're on the beach!”  It made me laugh, and I really appreciated her finding the levity in the situation.

Another aid station (the Pedersen station) was set up just after mile 11, and I took a moment to sit in a chair and empty the sand out of my shoes while I was there.  I also begged a Band-Aid off the medical volunteer there, since I had a hangnail that was driving me insane every time I had to adjust my runderoos** (I realize how ridiculous this is).  She laughed and was happy to help me out.  After a bathroom break (there were port-o-lets at each aid station which meant no more than 1.5-2 hours between potential bathrooms - ah, sweet bliss), I was back out on the course and moving along once more.

Around mile 13, I started to feel a little odd, but the day was starting to heat up (it ended up being in the high 70s that day; although the day started overcast, the clouds had since burned off, and the sun was out in full force), so I figured it was related to this.  I tried to really be conscious of my fluid intake to avoid dehydration.  My stomach started to cramp, but I knew in another few miles, I had the Coldwater aid station port-o-lets again, so I could “take care of business” there.  I came back through Coldwater just before mile 17, grabbed my gloves (figuring I’d drop them with my team at the start/finish line as I looped through), some Gatorade gel chomps, pretzels, and M&Ms out of my drop bag, hit the ‘let, then continued on.

At mile 17, I knew things were not going well.  My stomach cramps, alleviated for a few moments in the aid station bathroom, came back in force, and I started to feel nauseated.  I slowed down to a walk and fought off the dry heaves for the next few miles.  I thought maybe I had too much fluid sloshing around in my stomach, so I nibbled on a few pretzel sticks, which were the least offensive food I had with me.  No dice.  Have you ever tried something and your stomach immediately went, “you will want to be ceasing this NOW?”  Yeah, that.  I tried an M&M (seriously, one M&M.  I think it was blue).  Still no bueno.  I knew I probably needed to eat something else, but I was afraid of pushing my stomach too far and losing everything I’d ingested so far.  I knew if I did toss my cookies, I’d put myself at even a greater risk of dehydration (not to mention I’d probably freak out my family, friends, and the medical staff of the race).

Since the course started to gain elevation through miles 17-19, I just strolled along, contemplating the mysteries of the universe and trying not to yurp.  Around mile 19, a gradual downhill slope appeared, so I took the opportunity to try a slow jog; that didn’t feel too great either (still the stomach thing plus a little dizziness), and I had to face the hard realization that my day on the course was probably over. 

Since the race route was set up in three laps – a 20 mile loop, the same 20 mile loop, and then a 12 mile loop – many spectators were set up near the start/finish line, so they could see their runners multiple times during the event.  Chris was planning the same thing, and by 10am, he was there set up with our little blue camping canopy, grilling brats, drinking beer, and hanging out with our buddies Jake, Erin and Steve, and Coach Luis with his kiddos, Dom and Mila. 

Olsen base camp

I knew that these folks were going to be there along with our friend Sara Murphy, whom we call Murph.  As I descended the trail to the start/finish area, I saw a little blue Mini Cooper driving into the parking lot, and I figured it was Murph.  She got out of the car, gathered up Herky, her yellow lab, and greeted me enthusiastically.  I believe she got more than she bargained for…

Murph:  AMY!  HI!

Me (sobbing): MUUUUURPH!  I’vebeendryheavingandIdon’tfeelgoodandIcan’tfinishandI’msosorryand (pause for an intake of breath) WAAAAAAAAAAH!

Murph (because she’s awesome, she’s not fazed by this at all): Ah, it’s okay!  Here’s a hug!

Herky (jumps on me and demands attention, thinking): Hi new person!  You smell AMAZING!  I give you several thousand dog kisses!

Murph, Herky, and I

It’s hard to feel sad around a lab

I came around the corner and saw the rest of my support crew who were being totally amazing.  Erin and Steve even made me a sign!

It’s in our garage now, in a place of honor

As the support squad noticed I was crying, they quieted down a bit, and Chris came out to meet me and assess the damage.  Apparently, this exchange occurred while I was walking toward the canopy:

Jake:  There’s Amy!  I’ll take some pictures!  Wait…I think she’s crying…should I take pictures?

Chris:  Oh…yeah, she is.  Well, take maybe one.  She’ll probably want it for her blog.

Damn straight I did.

I wanted to record my official 20 mile finish time, so I strolled up to the start/finish line and let my timing chip beep properly.  I then made my way back to my subdued support area.  I can’t thank my team enough for all their encouragement and assurances that even though I didn’t run 52 miles that day, I still did 20 and that was awesome.  Chris got me one of the bottles of Cytomax I prepared ahead of time, Herky gave me more kisses, and Coach Luis tried to get me to eat a hot dog and go back out on the course.***  I thought about re-entering the race for around 30 minutes, but ultimately, I was done.  I changed into my post-race clothes, stuffed the gross ones in a plastic bag, and enjoyed a few hours of hanging out at base camp with my wonderful husband and friends.

Chris and Jake

They made sure to wear matching shirts, so I could find them easily

Erin and Steve with some random smelly person

Overall, I was bummed about the way things turned out, and I’ve thought about the situation a lot since then.  I’ve tried to analyze what happened, but I haven’t really come to any firm conclusions.  It might have been the heat, it might have been something I ate the night before or during the race, it might have been not getting enough sleep the night before, or it just might not have been my day.  As a Type A, ultra planner type person, the last one scares me most of all, since I can’t do a darn thing about it.  At this time, I’m not really sure if I’ll attempt another 50 miler, but I really did enjoy most of time on the run at Estrella.

One last story – before I changed into my post-race clothes, I realized I should check in with the Race Director and let him know I was going to DNF (Did Not Finish).  Aravaipa takes safety seriously, so I knew that if I didn’t check in soon (at an aid station or somewhere), they were going to come looking for me, and it wasn’t fair to have their volunteers running around in a panic if they couldn’t find me.  When I told the Director I wasn’t finishing and handed him my race number, he pulled out a clipboard and jotted down my race number and name.  I noticed I was the 5^th or 6^th person on the list at the time, and other notes were written down, like “fall around mile 9” and “knee problems.”  The Director asked me what happened and if I needed medical attention.  I assured him I was okay and could move under my own power; I mentioned that I had the dry heaves and felt it wasn’t safe to continue.  Guess what went in the column underneath “knee?”  That’s right…“Dry Heaves.”

Later!

Amy

* One of the aid stations on the course allowed the use of drop bags.  Drop bags are bags (some provided by participants, others by the race) which you can use to stash extra gear, snacks, and other supplies you might need during the race itself.  The drop bag location was at the Coldwater aid station - mile 4.5 of each lap which was also 3.3 miles from the end of the lap, given the way the course looped around.  I stocked mine with extra gels, pretzels sticks, M&Ms, Kleenex, and baby wipes.  You generally place the bags in a designated spot at the start/finish line, and the race volunteers take them to the aid station for you.

** Running underwear = runderoos in our house.  I’m telling you this because I am a LADY, goddamnit.

*** Which should surprise absolutely no one who knows him.  When I told my friends Taira and Danielle about this at work on Monday, they both went, “of course he did.”