MT Madness: What I Learned at MT

By Meghan McCarrick

How much gear can I fit in this truck? What am I forgetting?  Ugh, I wish I had packed this in tubs.  Obviously, I will need to stop at Walmart.   Ok, pulling out of the driveway, what is that noise??  What is he yelling??  OMG, I forgot my duffle.  Hmm…he said he put it in the cab already, that means that all the bananas and apples are still in the house, too.  I am never going to get on the road.  Ok, on the road…with my clothes this time.  Shoot, I need to stop for ice…like now.  I hope I remember the directions to Berryman.   Of course I do.  …maybe I should check.

To me, aid stationing translated to bring ALL the things and then bring duplicates of all the things.  THEN, find your clearheadedness once the race begins.  So, with all of the things in the truck, I pulled onto 44 to head down to one of my favorite Missouri spots to spend the weekend watching some of my favorite DRC peeps running at the 4th Annual Mark Twain Endurance Races.  I knew how to encourage hydrating and fueling, I knew how to cheerlead, I am comfortable helping dress a wound, but there was an area for which I was unprepared: pushing runners into believing in themselves, especially when they have willingly fallen prey to their own excuses.  I even had warning that there was some concern over our inexperience in dealing with hundred mile runners, but I figured we could handle anything thrown at us, especially with the clearheadedness.

Plenty of people roll into a 20 (or 45 or 70 or 95) mile aid station looking like dog crap, that’s no surprise.  Racing, especially on trails, is really no joke.  It is typically easy enough to encourage a little eating, drinking, filling up packs and then giving a quick kick in the pants to get a runner back out there and moving.  Sometimes you meet someone like “Power Nap”, who literally passes out in the chair, then pops back up and heads right back to the trail.  Or someone like “Santa”, who drops in, tells you his running history, talks about family, has some tea, then strolls to the finish knowing he’ll miss cut off, but isn’t willing to throw in the towel.  Occasionally, a runner needs some company and trail angels like Shari willingly walk with them to the finish.  Lots of times, people want to stop, and that is understandable.  They hurt.  They are exhausted.  They have lost focus.  Every OTHER time, we got them warmed up and heading back toward their goal.  Except for one time.

It was my turn to grab a snooze.  It was probably around 1:30 in the morning and though I doubted I could sleep, I climbed in the tent and covered myself with 2 quilts, and I tried.  I heard a runner approach, had some major FOMO, but squeezed my eyes shut and ignored it.  About 20 minutes later, I heard conversation with the same runner.  I shot up in “bed” (we’re gonna use that term loosely), popped on my shoes, and jumped out to see why in the world he was still there.   I walked over to the fire and one of the top male contenders in the 100 was sitting comfortably with no clear intention of leaving anytime soon.  I asked what was going on, he lazily chewed on a piece of pizza and mentioned lots of muscles, all lower leg, achilles, soleus, some ankle stuff, but he was pretty calm. I brought over a roller and he made a excruciating moan as I ran it up the inside of that lower leg.  But, c’mon, this is at 70 miles, plus he’s been sitting!  I tried getting him to stretch, he wouldn’t budge, he said he would try to walk to the next aid station… eventually, still making no move to get up.  I texted the volunteers and RD there and told them quickly what was going on.  I had noticed this runner was dehydrated earlier in the day and he had already admitted that he traveled a little too quickly his first 25 mile lap.  So, I offered to hike it out with him, knowing the guys we’d meet weren’t going to let him quit when I got him to home base.  I said we’ll just walk and if you feel like running, I will try to keep up.  It’ll be fun!  And then I said it with a bit harder voice, get your ass up.  Well, sometimes that works.  In this case, he tried and nearly fell over.  He cramped up and had to hold onto the chair.  I can’t be sure, but I think he had probably been sitting for 30 minutes, taking all that time to decide he was dropping out.  And that is what he wanted…a lift back.  I texted the start again and said to expect us.  We drove up the little wooded passage to the road and I kept prying to see if I could just turn around and we’d at least try to walk there. Every time he put on an anguished face or groaned, or grabbed at his leg.  I let guilt get to me and stopped questioning his decision.  We pulled up, he got out—a little more agilely than I expected—and within 10 minutes was walking with only a slight limp in flip flops back to his car.  I had looked at this guy as vulnerable and needing help and really having an injury that wouldn’t let him complete this race.  I TOTALLY GOT PLAYED.   And my inexperience totally screwed this guy's chances.

                                                                                                 

When performing a difficult task, our brain gives us all the reasons we need to just stop.  Our brain is doing its job; this is self-preservation.  The purpose of these ultra distance races is to challenge those excuses by maintaining the belief that the task can be endured. Sometimes, even a seasoned athlete, when tired, disillusioned, and in pain, loses sight and needs the reminder that unless there is a real injury, the excuses are ignorable.  Instead of pushing perseverance, which we talk about all the time in DRC, I allowed a runner to give his excuses power.  I have spent a lot of time thinking about that DNF. What I learned at MT is that it isn’t only about the gear or food or morale at an aid station.  I learned that the responsibility of preserving or restoring belief might momentarily fall in volunteer hands.  In the future, if those hands are mine, I am confident that I will recognize and focus on what is necessary to convince every runner to continue.   So, because of what I learned at MT, don’t plan to cut out from an aid station that I’m manning unless you are missing limb…even then, you’ll have to find a whole new level of energy to convince me you can't keep going.

Congratulations to all of you DRCers that ran MT this year, it was such a huge honor to be there in support of you guys!

Meg McC is first and foremost an active DRC member.  She is an avid runner when she isn't injured and an enthusiastic volunteer when she is.  The Berryman Trail is near and dear to her heart and she loves an opportunity to spend a weekend there, especially during a weekend with a SLUG Ultra.