MT Madness: The Moon

By Rae Hedlund

The moon isn’t much to see by in the woods at night. It’s hardly enough to keep you from falling on your face with every step, and that task is made more difficult when you’ve been on your feet for 45 miles. Add to this blindness an injured leg that won’t flex at the ankle, pregnancy hormones, and some exhaustion, and it sounds like an absolute recipe for disaster.

After I had Maverick, the first slow mile I ran was done without walking, because I didn’t want my younger sister to see me walk. That day, walking felt like quitting. On September 19^th, every step felt like a victory. Some invisible force (be it stubbornness, the hidden belief that I could finish, or the people who never doubted this) was pulling me, step by painful step, to the end of what felt like the Longest Day.

Feeling strong, silly, and hungry hitting the DRC AS at mile 20!

There is a similarity between that first-ever mile and this first-ever 50: support. My first 25-mile lap had gone off rather nicely: I had a groove, enjoyed my music, and loved getting to every AS. Heck, the start of my second loop was enjoyable, too! I had the incredible Stacy Allen with me and I was thankful for the constant company, easy conversation, and words of encouragement; those first miles with Stacy were easy and fun, just two friends running, no concerns in mind. That was the first nine miles. Everything after that, it was pretty obvious to me that her presence was helping keep me going, because getting to the AS following these first two was much more challenging. I had to turn on my music to really keep myself moving, didn’t talk as much, and cried. When we got to the AS, that feeling of relief washed over me and I cried more. I had met the people at this AS only once before race day, but I was so thankful to see them!

All the miles after that second aid station have a sort of fog surrounding them; the mental battles that were waged during these miles were done with the help of Stacy, more than she realizes. Everything is so muddled, but I know that her presence behind me kept me moving, and helped me to remember that I really was okay.What I can tell you is, I did a lot of crying—I sobbed, sniffled, and laughed at myself for crying so much. At one point, I stopped because the laugh-cry was so out of hand, and I nearly slid down a ravine, so it’s a really good thing Stacy was there to save my life!

Once I had finally pulled myself back together enough to keep moving, Stacy and I set off again. I was so determined to get to the DRC AS! Though I knew people at the AS prior to DRC’s masterpiece, they weren’t my DRC peeps, and I needed those truly familiar faces. I needed them to tell me I was okay, that I really could make it through this; I needed to soak up their belief that I could finish this, even with the injury to my leg.

Just as the previous miles had been, these were a struggle. Five miles seems small in the span of such a race, but so much goes into them. I felt like I had given everything, that I didn’t have much left; I was emotionally drained. Coming up to the DRC AS was another cry-fest. Andy had already finished and was there with comforting words,while Mark worked on getting me out of my pack. Meg and Stacey were ready with whatever food I needed while Frank snapped pics, and everyone said exactly the right thing. These people had heard me question my abilities over the past few months, had heard about my good/bad/ugly runs, and had assured me again and again that this was possible. Where my confidence had wavered, theirs had been solid. It’s amazing to be a part of a community so supportive.

Me and the World's Best Pacer <3

So many miles with Stacy and I didn’t know what to say to her besides a weak “Thank you.” Seriously, I had no words for the woman who had followed my crazy ass for 20 miles- laaaame! I was in a lot of pain, but was just so happy to see all my friends! Meghan had been planning on pacing my final five, but where I was emotionally/physically, I had this feeling I needed my husband with me. There were points throughout my training where I told Mark I would understand if he didn’t want to be there, that I’d have the support of enough friends to be okay, and I’ve never been so thankful that he ignored me and came to support me despite this.

After enough time at the AS to gather myself, Mark & I headed out. I was hobbling. When we set out, we thought we were good on lights. It didn’t seem too long after the sun had set that our flashlight went out. Our backup light didn’t have as much juice as we expected. The moon isn’t much to see by in the woods at night.

Runners passed, one guy was nice enough to stick with us for a bit, but I told him he should keep going because we were so slow. I begged, cried, and pleaded with Mark to let me be done; I have a feeling it reminded him of helping me get through labor. We paused frequently as I tried to conquer the pain. Everyone kept saying we had two more miles, two more miles... two more miles... It was during this time that Shari came up with another runner she was bringing in to the finish. After promising to return (and letting me cry), they headed off and we were in the dark once again. Soon, though, a runner for the hundo came along who was using two lights, and he willingly gave us his flashlight. He was truly our angel!

With a light in our hands again, we could surely finish, right?! Five miles drags on when you’re limping, but Shari was back with us after a while and had unintentionally brought another with her- the race sweeper had followed her, not sure why she had gone backwards on the course. These two people (angels) helped me find the strength to keep moving. Our little group of four moved at a pathetically slow pace, and I cried when I started seeing the glow sticks that signified we were nearing the end!

There is nothing quite like crossing a finish line. No matter the distance, I’ve always shed tears at the end of a race, and this one was certainly no exception. Having completely bonked at my marathon, I couldn’t help but think of the first word I’d said after that: “That was really fucking hard.” I think it’s fair to say the exact same thing about this race; Mark Twain did its best to chew me up and spit me out, but that made my finish all the more satisfying. The number of people who can’t believe I ran this race (or any race, for that matter!) pregnant doesn’t surprise me, but what does surprise me is that I never considered not running it. Even if I couldn’t acknowledge it all the time, there was a part of me that knew I could, at the very least, limp across that finish line. I finished, I won a hard-fought battle, and I’m so thankful for all the support I got along the way.

So many finish line hugs!

I'm pretty sure I said, "Give me that damn thing!"

Honestly, through all the struggles, I find I that I can’t say I won’t do it again. My body is capable of so much more than I ever knew!