Misfits of the Mountain Lakes 100

Listened to on repeat after the race:

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The origin of 'Misfits'

Running big solo adventures is 100% my jam. Depending on the route, it pulls on my experience in endurance sport, my mountaineering education, my thru hiking and fastpacking experience, and it allows me to center myself in my deep need for solitude. Introversion and self-sufficiency are super powers on solo adventures.

There aren't a lot of spaces that I feel like I am completely in the fold of belonging. Ultra running within the more traditional bounds of the culture (i.e. racing) is a space where I sit on the periphery, bouncing in and out of formal events as I have capacity to handle their energy. Whereas I set out on solo adventures jazzed and full of excitement for the possibility; racing tends to fill me with a great deal of anxiety at a start line. All of the stimulation of the crowd, the feeling of the excitement of others pushing in on me, and struggling to feel my own pace as I try not to be affected by those around me; it often feels like "too much" until the crowd thins as it strings out along a course. I always feel like a bit of a misfit when I'm at these events. My attire fits somewhere between ultra runner and thru hiker, I pull into myself before a race to protect my energy, and I have to force myself to talk to others after most of my training has found me living in my own head.

The 'why'

This year I decided to use the Mountain Lakes 100 race as a reason to move through the grief of losing Eure (E), the dog of my heart. I put the event on my calendar when E was in her final season and I gently started training as a way to cherish and bond with my younger pup, Huck. This race wasn't added to my calendar to question what was possible - it was added as a life line to get me through losing the greatest love of my life.

Mountain Lakes 100 Photos by Full Send Media

Let's race

As the Mountain Lakes 100 started, I ran through my body check to determine that I felt 'ok'. Having recently made it through a multi-year low energy availability downturn due to Stress Induced Iron Dysregulation, an 'ok' feeling is a very good thing. There was no denying that a race is a stressor for me and I have not had the same physical tolerance for emotional stress since the pandemic. I ran within myself for the first segment, nailing nutrition/hydration to my plan for 12 miles.

At the first aid station (AS), which looped back to the race start, I panicked. I was surrounded by a crowd, I wasn't sure what to ask for at the aid station after years of solo adventuring, and I didn't accurately assess the amount of water still in my bottles. I left the AS with only ~700ml of water and ran dry half way through the next 10+ mile segment. Running dry meant that I was dry-mouth sucking down the nutrition that I could and building a recovery plan in my mind for the next aid station. Had I known how much flubbing my nutrition/electrolytes had affected me at this point, I would've taken more time at the next aid station to recover. Unfortunately, I tend to bounce out of the hype of aid stations (this one was BLASTING music...as if every ultra runner wants to be bombarded with stimulus), like a bat outta hell. My mood soured like a toddler on a sugar crash as nausea set in. I kept ticking away miles spot on my target pace at a nominal perceived effort.

As I rolled into the mile 42 aid station, I was in an extremely bad emotional patch... not to mention that I was struggling to eat/drink/move without feeling the need to hurl. A friend of a friend, helped me problem solve (in reality, Dana (more on her coaching services here) was the amazing human who gently proposed ideas as I struggled) a few ideas to recover at the mile 42 aid station. I actually left this aid station running my fastest splits of the race, which matches my historical race experience of running my strongest from miles 30-70. On the climb up to the furthest out aid station at mile 54, my training absolutely shined and I, feeling like absolute garbage, passed over 15 runners without running beyond my nominal perceived effort. Unfortunately, big steps up and down started to come with a narrowing of my vision in this segment. Had I been on a solo adventure, this indicator would've triggered a firm decision to end my journey - to play it safe. I decided to make the same judgement call in this race. I had nothing to prove on this day and the risk of passing out, alone on trail, was not worth the potential reward of another 100-mile finish.

The mile 54 aid station was a party

Rolling into the mile 54 AS, with my body still feeling sound and CAPABLE, I found myself sliding into a state of pure euphoria despite ending my race. Although I couldn't name the source of this emotion at the time, I leaned into the feelings that overtook me, riding the joy and pulling others into conversation. An hour after I ended my race, an acquaintance (who I quickly added to my friend-dating list) rolled into the AS with her partner, having made a similar decision to mine. The party escalated, the AS volunteers were supportive and fun, and almost everyone joined in the conversation as unofficial libations were supplied.

Winning looks different on everyone

When I look back at this race, my main takeaway is that I've made it far enough through the long, dark tunnel of a lack of physical capability and extreme mental grief to finally be 'able' live out these BIG physically-aligned goals. I have no doubt that this understanding, even before it was named, brought on my euphoria. For the first time since 2018, the weight of inability was lifted and capability was proven, understood, and believed. Yes, I flubbed my nutrition/hydration/electrolytes and lacked the recent experience to realize the severity of the issue and problem-solve it within the race timeline. That said, I absolutely succeeded in honoring my 'why'. This year, I survived the death of E, the keeper of my heart. I stacked the deck appropriately to honor our love in a space (solo adventuring with movement to guide my thoughts) that inspired me to look forward to the possibility of future.

In other words: "Fuck, yeah! Season done! I'm excited to continue moving forward!"

A few words on Go Beyond Racing

Go Beyond is a small business run by a lovely couple, Renee & Todd, who are working to preserve the low key, underground-sport magic that I first fell in love with in ultra running back in the day. This course is limited to a smaller race field at 150 people by a legacy permit that is intended to honor the precious space the course runs along, the Pacific Crest Trail. They decided not to provide real-time runner tracking online, which made me, someone who cherishes the space to have my own experience, feel more safe/secure/honored. This race was also set up in a way that allowed me to take it on solo, which is my preference. That said, I am not amused that pacers were allowed to "mule" for their runners. This creates a different experience for those who race with others pulling the literal carried weight of pack contents. No, I wasn't racing for awards, but I do prefer to know we are all in this together for the same gauntlet.

One of the positive changes I've seen in the sport since I started racing over a decade ago is that the expectation was set with a verbal statement of welcoming and directive to keep our minority communities safe on this day. The LGBQTIA+ community proudly made themselves known and were present. I cannot speak to the experience provided but it feels good to see this intention of progress in acceptance. Trail maintenance, which used to commonly be required as the price of entry for 100-milers, was also still on the docket for participation. As someone who walked this country from border to border on the Pacific Crest Trail, I firmly believe that access to our wilderness, which is predominantly championed by volunteers, is a privilege that should be honored. The land we ran along was also honored for its original stewards, another move, however small, that feels right.

Finally, I believe that the fun, inclusive space held by Go Beyond and their legacy of adding value to the trail running community is a big part of what led to having fantastic race volunteers. This race is priced an an accessible level that blows my mind when I look at the THOUSANDS of dollars spent on racing events with more hype. This would not be possible if Go Beyond was not able to inspire volunteers to show up and had so many lovely people not stepped up to facilitate this day. Thank you to everyone who was a part of the 2024 ML100 experience.