Can’t wait/can wait for the next one.

mile race. I have run 50-mile races and have enjoyed them (for the

most part). I have always told the kids I coach in cross-country that they can, and should, double their mileage. If I could complete a 50-mile race, I guess it was time to take my own advice and go for the 100-mile run. I started to train, and train, and train. One week prior to the race, I asked Paul if he wanted to run the 100 miles with me. He said that he “might as well’’ because he was training for Grandma’s Marathon. There was no hesitation in his voice. He was totally confident. I knew he wanted to do it. Paul had completed a 50K race in the spring and was in great shape. We assembled a crew that would support us during the race, which was expected to last

Jenny and Paul Marietta before the start of the Kettle Moraine 100.

between 24 and 30 hours. Our crew consisted of my cousin Luke and his girlfriend, Lacy. In my heart, I knew I was ready for this.

Jenny, who had been training diligently all winter, spent many days peppering me to take on the challenge of a 100-mile race. I could see myself doing that . . . in a few years, so I told her “I would like to do that someday.” What I saw as simply contemplating the future, Jenny saw as a commitment. She sprinted to the computer and registered me for my first 100-mile race . . . five days before the actual race. I was not out of shape; in fact, I felt that I was in pretty good shape. I was training hard to run a 2:50 at Grandma’s Marathon, which was only three weeks away. Although the trepidation was more than apparent in my voice, I figured what the hell, might as well try. [had run a 50-miler with Jenny the year before on short notice with little ultra training, and that turned out OK.

We headed to Wisconsin on Friday afternoon. We ate dinner together and then checked into the motel. It was my first and last stay at a Super 8. We had two double beds, four adults, and tons of running gear—not much room, but we made it work. I slept like a baby. Paul watched a movie (Twilight) on Lacy’s iPhone. He seemed relaxed.

I could not relax. The hotel we stayed at had some suspicious bedding and incredibly lumpy beds. We ordered pizza and spicy buffalo wings. I had intense anxiety and fear that I would not be able to finish the run. I couldn’t sleep. I would move from the bed to the floor and then back to the lumpy bed again. I woke up woefully underrested.

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A Jenny prepares for the race the night before in the hotel room.

Early the next morning, Luke and Lacy drove Paul and me to the start of the race. We listened to the course briefing at 5:40 a.m. We had drop bags at four locations on the course. The drop bags held shoes, food, a change of clothes, Band-Aids, New-Skin, and duct tape. Paul and I had never seen the course before, and we were very excited to take it all in.

I sat silently on a bench putting as much petroleum-based products as I could on my feet. How could I possibly finish this race? I tried to hide my anxiety as I retreated from others on my lonely bench. Although I knew my fears were not unique, I still felt isolated. The race started, and we were off. It is interesting how posturing happens at this point in a race. Conversations always go down the road of what races, times, training, and so forth that the other person has done. It is the sizing-up time. Is this person faster or slower than me? Can we run together? It is a crowded field of people “instant dating” for a running partner.

The race was pretty crowded for the first 10 miles. The trail was wide, so it was manageable. At mile eight, the buffalo wings Paul had the night before caught up with him, and he had to take a detour through the woods—dining the night before a 100-mile race had not been a wise choice. I told you so, I thought as I watched him leave.

Around mile six, I was feeling very uncomfortable. My stomach was doing circles, and I knew I was about to pay the price for the buffalo wings the night before. I ran off to the woods. Oh, the humanity. As I hobbled out of the woods, Jenny gave me a look that was a combination of both anger and resentment. When we reached the next aid station, Jenny started having stomach problems. She stayed on the porta-potty for close to 15 minutes. J told you so.

Paul lubes up his feet before the start of the race.

Courtesy of Jenny/Paul Marietta

‘ ov WA ie Rees Me

A Jenny and Paul arrive at mile 31, where they see their crew for the first time.

Our crew members met us at mile 31.4 for the first time, and it was fun to have them there. They had two chairs set out for us and a towel on the ground so we could change shoes. At this point, I was feeling pretty darn good. I was able to eat lots of pudding and some other snacks. Paul, on the other hand, was not happy. He told jokes about his pain and made everyone at the Scuppernong aid station laugh. He already had many blisters on his feet and said he would prefer to finish the 100K race instead of 100 miles. I told him to take it one mile at a time. It was hard to see him struggle.

We then had a long slog through beautiful prairie, but it was deceptive how much energy the grass was taking out of our legs. We were fortunate for the cloud cover and cool weather. Looking out over the wetland prairie, I felt distant yet completely connected to my surroundings. We made it to the Scuppernong aid station at the 50K point. It was the first time we had people there to crew us. Luke and Lacy had set out chairs and towels. I was grateful for their help. I made jokes of my misery. Underneath the laughter was regret. I took my shoes off for the first time and found blisters near the toe tips. It was going to be a long day.

We hooked up with some other people in the race. Our new companions made the next 10 miles go by pretty fast. It was nice getting to know other people out on the trails. At this point, Paul’s mood lifted. We looked forward

ny/Paul Marietta

<4 Mile 56 near the Bluff aid station.

to our pace runners (my dad and friend Jenny Johnson) joining us for the night portion of the race.

We started running with three guys who were all wearing the color red. We called them the “Red Team”—original, I know. One of them was an older gentleman from Utah who was very kind and encouraging. The second of the three was quick witted and could not let any comment pass without adding his own punch line. Their ringleader was aman whose gregarious personality dominated most of the conversation. He started flirting with Jenny. I was right there! My already fragile ego continued to fall apart. He actually challenged me to a push-up contest when the race was done. Who does that?

When we got to mile 62, 100K racers crossed their finish line. They were done, and we had 38 more miles to go in the middle of the night. At mile 62, we were happy to see my dad and Jenny Johnson. We changed shorts and fueled up as best we could. They helped Paul with his feet and sent us back out on the trail. Paul did not give up. He could have ended it right there.

Once we made it back to the start line at 62 miles, the sun had started to set. We had our headlamps out, and we were able to pick up a pacer. Jenny’s friend was there in full gear ready to do her best to support us. Jenny’s father, Alan, was also there along with Luke and Lacy. Their support was humbling. As we continued, I knew that I could not keep up. I retreated to a quiet place in my mind. I was not supporting my wife at all as I had hoped. I was actually hindering her from doing her best. This realization was devastating.

Earlier in the race, we got to know a fellow runner named Todd. He was fun to run with and joined us and our pacer for the next leg of the race. My friend Jenny said that it was like running with a bunch of drunks. We had a blast. I could not believe how much fun I was having. As it began to get dark, we threw on our headlamps. It was about 50 degrees with a slight overcast.

KETTLE MORAIN a a 4

Jenny and Paul at the 100K mark, before heading back out for the last 38 miles.

Night had fallen, and Jenny and her friend Jenny were looking strong. We all knew what needed to be done, but nobody said anything. I muttered under my breath to Jenny, “Leave me behind.” She didn’t hear me. What I knew was coming, came. It went unstated, but I was being left behind. Whatever wind I had in my sails was now gone.

Two miles before we hit the Bluff aid station, Jenny Johnson and I separated from Paul and Todd. I was feeling good, so I thought it was best to keep on running. It did not occur to me what was happening. I was leaving him behind. When I got to the aid station, I tried to eat, but nothing tasted good. Despite the crew’s efforts, I could not or would not eat. I plodded on with a sinking sensation in my heart.

Todd and I walked to the next aid station and on into the middle of the night. The blisters, the muscles, and the crushed ego all led to a slow trot. I was at a pace where even Todd had to move ahead. I was alone, in the middle of the woods, in the middle of the night, after 70 miles and 18 hours of running. I broke down. I was awash in self-pity. I loathed myself for my many shortcomings, not as arunner but as a person. I reflected on my failings as a husband, father, son, and friend.

As the night wore on, my enthusiasm began to wane but not because I was tired or sore. I was sad. I kept thinking about Paul. I stopped cold in the middle of the trail and sobbed. I was swimming in my own tears. I got him

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A Jenny fuels up at 100K while waiting for her pacer. Paul is wondering why he is going out for 38 more miles.

into this mess. He is doing this for me, and now he is hurt and alone. At one point, I shouted, “He is going to divorce me!” I missed him, and I hurt for him.

I had a moment of lucidity where I willed myself to pick up my pace and walk. In doing this, I could feel the fog lift. With the pain ever present and my emotions kept only slightly at bay, I walked faster and faster. I thought of Jenny, and I started to move again.

I pulled myself together and continued to run. There were hills, rocks, and roots. It was the middle of the night, so it was hard to see and to keep good foot placement. We met my dad, Luke, and Lacy at the next aid station. They tried to get me to eat. I did not want to take any food. I was tired, it was very late, and I had already run 77 miles. I choked down a cup of broth, and then I moved on. My cousin Luke was now going to run with me for the next section of the race.

Once we got to the Rice Lake aid station, no one from our crew was there. I sat down and then went to the bathroom. I almost fell asleep on the toilet because I was so tired. After I had sat down for a while and gotten my water bottles refilled, Lacy approached us. She said that my dad had gone the last eight miles with Paul because he was hurting and needed the support as well.

Lhobbled into the aid station where Jenny’s father and her friend were waiting for me. Jenny was now running with her cousin Luke. The excuses were on the tip of my tongue, but they didn’t come out. Al went to work on my feet right away. He put moleskin on my feet and told me they weren’t too bad. I must have looked like hell because Al insisted that he run the next section with me to Rice Lake. I knew this was hard for him because he was there for his daughter, not me. To

Courtesy of Jenny/Paul Marietta

motivate me, he talked of times in his life when he had quit and the regrets that followed. As he talked of his struggles, it became clear that he was not about to give up on me. We had had our disagreements in the past, some larger than others. Yet as we ran side by side, I wondered Have I changed? Has he changed? The answer, I imagine, lies in the middle. It was genuine, intense, and eye opening. I was very grateful.

We started to pass those who had made the turn and were on their way back. They were close to finishing, yet there was no thrill of victory in their eyes. They looked down, sore, and tired. Most did not say a word as they passed us by. It was not lack of support, simply a lack of energy. It was a surreal experience, as if I were running in a dream.

The journey to the next aid station was over extremely technical terrain. Al continued to push me to go a little faster. Soon I was running through some sections while walking through others. At this point, I began to see runners make their return journey. And then I saw her. Jenny was on her return. I wanted to both apologize and congratulate her at the same time. I did neither. She just hugged me, and for a moment, time stood still. She was in pain, too, but seemed in good spirits. Luke took over where Al had left off so he could run the final leg with his daughter. The technical descents were killing my legs. Luke would walk ahead of me, and I would take the weight off my legs by pressing down on his shoulders. Once again, I was reminded of his good heart and amazing strength. I was able to run through some of the sections with Luke’s encouragement.

After running 27 miles with me, Jenny Johnson’s journey was coming to an end. Then I saw my dad. He was cheering me on while getting ready to take me to the finish line. I said good-bye to my friend and continued the race. The last eight miles were awesome. The finish was in sight as the sun began to rise. I imagined walking through the finish line; however, my dad was not about to let that happen. He pushed me because he knew I could run it in.

Luke took a break and would join me later on the trail. The sky was starting to turn from dark black to gray. The birds were so loud that it was almost as if they were cheering me on. I didn’t see a single person for the next two hours. Looking back at this eight-mile section, I was somewhat void of emotion. I was dead tired and found myself occasionally in a trance where I did not remember the few seconds before. I would start running and try to count to 30. Then I would take a break and repeat. Then I spotted a few runners ahead in the distance. I wanted to catch up. I did not want to be alone anymore. Then I saw Luke and Jenny Johnson. They were waiting for me, to help me make it through the last eight miles. Someone’s cell phone rang. Jenny had finished the race.

It was my goal to finish the race in less than 30 hours so I could say I did it before the cutoff. Of 133 runners who started the race, my finish time of 24:37 put me 47th overall and third of all the women. I made my goal, and I knew at that moment that I would do this again. This was not my last 100mile run. I stood for a really long time because I was scared to sit down in fear of not being able to get up. Paul was still running, and we did not expect him in for a couple of hours more. I needed to clean myself off, but we had already checked out of the motel. I asked the race director where I could shower. Someone overheard our conversation and said he was waiting for his runners to finish the race and it would be a while, so we could go and use his hotel shower. It is not often you are able to shower in a stranger’s hotel room. After we were done, we went back to the race to cheer Paul through the finish line. I wondered how soon I could register both Paul and me for another 100-mile race. A week or two?

I just wanted to be done. We were making pretty good time. At mile 97, I really started to run. I couldn’t feel my feet any more, so maintaining a fast pace wasn’t hard. According to Luke, who was constantly playing with the GPS on his iPhone, I put in two miles at about a 7:30 pace. I am not sure it was that fast, but I went for it. I think the idea of being done was the greatest motivation I had had in some time. Upon finishing, I shouted to the heavens, “Never again.” I am glad I accomplished the race. However, never again.

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A Paul kicks it in at the end of the race to finish in 26:45.

Epilogues

After the 100-mile race, I felt like I was in heaven. It was hands down my biggest accomplishment. I raced a couple of weeks later with my cousin and had to pretend to be happy over his first marathon. I sensed a letdown. I needed an ultra! I signed up for a 50K and ran it with a good friend who is a little younger than me. Someone at an aid station referred to me as “her mother.” I thought I looked pretty good, but maybe it got me thinking of something more important than running.

Paul and I decided the next event in our lives would be to have a third child because we enjoy being parents to Emma and Makena so much. I ran my last ultra of the year in October, when I was barely pregnant. My first ultra of 2010 was also in October, three months after my healthy baby boy, Miles, was born. I have run 10 ultras since Miles was born, but I have not had the time to do another 100-mile race. I am itching to do one again soon.

Following the 100-mile debacle, I started to feel that I could walk about seven days later. At 14 days, I decided to go for a qualifying time at Grandma’s even though I knew the likelihood of breaking 3:00 was small. I went for it. I ran up front with the “quiet” group—or better put, the ones who have been training to break this mark for years and have no time for casual conversation. I have to admit, I made sure to mention my previous accomplishment, and I wore it like a badge of honor. Near mile 17, where we turn onto the main road into Duluth, I started fading . .. fast. Rather than begrudge this, I made the most of it. By mile 24, I had gone through three beers and did a full flip into the kiddie pool near fraternity row. (Those who have run Grandma’s know exactly what I mean.) I stumbled my way into the finish around 3:29 but with a smile on my face.

My whole summer was pretty much spent after those two races in the early season. I attempted to regain form for mountain biking, and it finally came around well by the fall. I still run, and I think about running another 100-miler someday. However, I have much more respect for the distance. If I ever do it again, I think I might train for it. )/\-.

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