Javelina Jundred Recap

Opening Up to Discomfort and Doing What Matters

Greetings from Javelina.

I was laughing and giggling at the ridiculousness of my situation. I’ve come eight-one miles. and for the most part I felt fine, I was hydrated, fueled well, I felt comfortable in the heat and sun, I felt comfortable in the cold and dark…but my calves were tight, painful knots of searing hate. Straightening my legs required maximum effort and four-letter words.

After taking a short recovery from Lead Challenge, I dove into one of the best run training blocks I’ve had in years, I was maximumly prepared for this race. I put in a three-day camp onsite at McDowell Mountain Regional Park in Arizona, I had weeks of high-volume training interspersed with long steady state efforts on similar terrain, and I heat trained. I didn’t have a single niggle during training, why should the race be different?

I noticed problems as early as my shake out run on Friday morning, my calves were unusually tight. Standing in line at the packet pick up a short while later my calves were cramping. Cramping after a three-mile run?! What the heck?!

The only thing I could think of is that I was sitting far too long the day before driving from Colorado to Arizona – a thirteen-hour car ride, with short stops for gas and bathroom. Something I encourage my own athletes not to do.

Problems picked up again a few miles into the race as the calves slowly tightened. My left foot became numb and tingly. I’ve run with tight calves before and knew that that’d probably loosen up. While the numbness disappeared the calves never relaxed. Gradually, mile after mile, the problem worsened. At mile seventy I was reduced to a walk. At mile eighty-one I made the decision to sit down thinking that giving them a break would help.

I couldn’t get back up.

My pacer and other CTS coaches tried to help. I was locked in place. While the clock was ticking, I set a limit of 3am to go or not go. While in place another CTS Coach came through – Patrick McGlade, a physical therapist and firefighter. He massaged the legs lightly and felt there wasn’t any severe damage, they were swollen and tight, for sure, but nothing obvious that could prevent me from moving.

If I could get up and get moving again, I could probably get to the finish. Patrick was pacing a CTS athlete, and I could tag along – my pacer had left to move the car closer thinking I was done. In fact, arrangements were being made to transport me to the car.

Patrick levered me up, had me slowly weight both legs, shifting back and forth. Pain shooting from my Achilles through my hamstring. My legs were taught messes.  I could barely stand…but I was. Then Patrick had me move forward, I almost fell over, but… I was moving forward.

And it clicked.

It didn’t take much coercing, either DNF and walk off the course or get cut-off trying.  I grabbed my water bottle, two gels and headed out into the dark desert night, Patrick and his athlete went far ahead, I acknowledged that “I’ve got this” and didn’t look back. I was alone in the dark shuffling and hiking forward. Not at all what I wanted – but what I could do.

Step-by-step. Gel after gel, sipping water bottles, stopping briefly at aid stations. Moving forward. Doing what mattered. The sun rose. Night became day. The temperature increased into the nineties.  I didn’t slow down anymore; I just moved at a consistent pace with barely stopping. I’d never get up again if I sat. I finished the race earning a belt buckle in twenty-eight hours fifteen minutes, well ahead of the thirty-hour cut-off.

Here’s what I did mentally to finish.

Unhook and Open Up.

Headed off into the night. Photo Courtesy of Shad Mika

While I didn’t realize it at the time, I was hooked on the thought I couldn’t move, I was in pain, I was also tired and fatigued, things that could play into how our mind perceives pain, and it’s the minds job is to protect us. It’s going to tell us to stop and rest.

When Patrick helped me get up and said, ‘it likely won’t get worse.’ I was able to unhook or defuse from the thought – “I can’t” quickly. I had to open up to the discomfort at this time – moving was going to hurt, it was going to be frustratingly slow, opening up and accepting this became easy – the thought never occurred to me afterwards to stop or sit down.

Focusing on What Matters

Once I unhooked my entire focus was on what mattered – the action of moving forward, the action of taking a gel or food every half hour and sipping on water and staying cool when in warmed up. That was it. Walk, eat, drink. Stay cool. That’s what mattered. My thoughts never lingered on ‘I can’t” or “this hurts” it was simply – move forward.

Connecting Helps

Sometimes simple reassurance as well as tough love is what’s needed.

“You’re fine. Let’s get going.”  

There was reassurance I was okay and had the ability.

‘Unhook.’ Refocus on what mattered.

Connecting with good people sometimes is all that’s needed. While my pacer and other coaches were helpful it took a different level of reassuring my mind that I wasn’t going to break. I may or may not finish, but I could move forward. This is one of the most powerful pieces of putting together a well thought out team for a race. Who is reassuring? Who may give you some tough love when it’s really needed?

Lessons

Heading to the finish. Photo Courtesy of Shad Mika

The mistake I made was sitting down. Sitting down, while comfortable, opened the door to a situation that would worsen. Because I sat down, I had time to hook onto the thought ‘I can’t.’  Being late at night, tired and fatigued all played into it. Notice when you’re getting hooked on those thoughts – this hurts, “I can’t move my legs (like I want too)” Name it – I’m noticing that my calves are fatigued and sore. Notice and name the story that you’re telling yourself – “here’s the I’m injured story; I can’t do this story.”

Bring it front and center.

Reset.

Get into your body.

Here, I could do some leg swings, maybe some dynamic stretches for my calves, flexing them at an aid station, get something warm to drink and solid to eat. Deep breath. Refocus on what matters. Move forward. Give your own mind and body the reassurance that it’s safe.

Yes, sometimes there’s an injury that will prevent that, crepitus in your leg, and searing grinding pain is probably a good sign to stop, peeing blood, may be another sign that something just ain’t right. But if you can rule the bad stuff out, do it. Take care of your body. Then move forward and do what matters.