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Warning: hills ahead. Profile created using GPS Visualizer.
I knew I was in for trouble at Pack Monadnock when, last week at Sleepy Hollow, a fellow runner commented that Pack Monadnock is her favorite mountain race because it is all uphill—all 10 miles of it. We were running uphill at the time she said this, so I had neither the oxygen to spare nor the clarity of mind to ask her to explain that nonsense (both that such a race exists and that she would prefer to run up), but I filed it away. Thinking that surely this could not be the case, I sought out the course description and, sure enough, there it was in black and white.
All through last week, as I prepared for (translation: dreaded) the race, I looked at the description many times over, trying not to be overwhelmed by the distance, never mind the uphill nature of all those miles. It did not escape my attention that this challenge would also be falling on Mother’s Day. My honest reaction was “how fitting.” You see, I have four children and have given birth naturally to all of them. Each labor was long and hard and all “uphill.” However, each time I did it, and it was totally worth it. I made up my mind to approach the race as I would labor. Now forgive me if this comparison seems a bit indulgent, but I did run to the top of mountain on Mother’s Day, so indulge me.
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Emily (right) with her friend Kim after the race.
Typically, labor moves forward in four stages: early labor, active labor, transition, and pushing. As you enter each stage the force and weight of it can seem overwhelming. However, it does no good to fight the pain or try to get away from it. You have to accept it and learn to move with it. When you do, what seemed unbearable at the start somehow becomes more bearable. However, the rhythm you find cannot last forever. Eventually a new stage will come and, with it, the fear and uncertainty of a newer, more intense pain. Each stage requires a new effort and a renewed commitment to stick with it. What comes next does not matter, only what you have to deal with right now.
My feelings were much different going into this race than before Sleepy Hollow. First of all, I was not alone. My friend Kim was with me, so she and I fought off nerves with typical sarcasm and self-deprecating jokes while we waited at the start. Also, I was not afraid the way that I was at Sleepy Hollow. Nervous, yes, but not afraid. I knew I could do it—I just didn’t want to. I knew it would be a hard day and I just wanted it to be over.
I told Kim my strategy before the start. We were going to run this race in stages and only worry about one stage at a time. She has also had three children and works as a doula helping other women give birth, so she got the comparison and was game to give it a try.
We took off nice and easy in the first leg and started up a paved hill that would be about a mile long. It was more than a gradual incline, but certainly not obscenely steep. I tried not to think about where the end would be and simply stood up tall, dropped my shoulders down, and shortened my stride just like my coach always tells me to. I was feeling a bit stiff and heavy, like I always do when I start running, but the climb was not terrible and I reached the top before feeling like I was going to die. From there, the road leveled out and then mostly rolled up and down, some pavement and some gravel, for the next two miles. I tried to enjoy the sun and the breeze and think no further than the first three miles. This would be my early labor stage where I would get warmed up and ready to go.
At about mile three, I reached the first aid station. Looking ahead up the next big climb I knew I was entering stage two: active labor. For me, mile three tends to be where I am loosened up and ready to work a little harder, so this was good timing, and, despite the climb, I had a lot of energy. I knew there was a lot more climbing in store for me so I wanted to make good time while making sure I saved something for later. Kim and I realized that on the hills we could walk almost as fast as we could run, but walking breaks gave us enough energy to really push when it was time to run again. This became our strategy for the rest of the race—run on flats and downhills and do intervals up the steeper climbs. It really worked for us and helped us to keep from getting too tired while keeping a good pace. We even passed a few people on some of the steeper climbs.
We were pushing harder now and working at thinking no further than mile six. Back and forth we would encourage each other forward. The sun was starting to beat down a little more now, and I was getting hot and thirsty. I was carrying water, but by mile five I needed something more. Thankfully I had packed a small bottle of the “elixir of life.” This is a mixture of water, honey, lemon, and sea salt. It tastes great and it gives quick energy and hydration when you need it. Coincidentally, my sister and midwife gives it to her laboring moms when they need it. It was just the thing I needed at the halfway point.
At mile six the third stage began: transition. Transition can be the most overwhelming stage of labor since the pain both intensifies and comes at you more quickly. It is commonly the point at which panic can set in. I did not know how appropriate this comparison would be until I actually reached mile seven. Miles seven to nine were rough, full of steep hills, hot sun, and a downwind strong enough to push you back a bit and make you lose your breath.
Mile seven had us back on gravel road and climbing once again. We were using our interval strategy when suddenly my heart started to race and pound in my throat. My legs felt absolutely fine and my breathing was challenged but under control so I tried to ignore it, but it just got worse. Kim noticed I was struggling and when I told her she said she was feeling a little bit of the same thing so we slowed down for a minute and tried to relax, but every time I tried to pick up the pace even a little bit it would happen again. This was frustrating to say the least. Up to this point we had been making good time and my legs were still ready to work. I knew we were in the last stage before the final push and I just wanted to move.
As we walked over the crest of a hill I had a moment when my heart was racing and I could not breathe and I began to panic a little bit. Kim saved me. She gave me the permission I would not give myself to slow down for the few moments that my body needed to adjust.
This time not only restored me physically, it also allowed me to remember to stay present in the stage that I was in and accept it for what it was. I stopped thinking about what was next and how fast I was or was not going and did what my body needed right then. As we reached the end of the gravel road and turned onto the highway toward mile eight, my heart calmed down, my breathing was restored, and it was time to push up the last climb before the fourth and final stage. I was renewed and was able to help Kim the way that she had helped me. Up we climbed against the wind as cars zoomed by.
As we crested the top of the hill we turned right and headed into the fourth and final stage of the race: pushing. What remained was the final 1.3-mile climb that was as steep or steeper than the Mount Washington auto road. The thing about the pushing stage of labor is that you know that you are almost done, but it is hard and exhausting and you are never sure which push will be the final one. That is exactly what this last and final climb was like. It was horrible!
As we hiked up, grimacing and swearing, those that had already crossed the finish line were walking down all smiles saying we were “almost there.” Somehow as we turned each corner that was never true. We knew it had to be true one of these times but the steepness had a way of convincing even an otherwise rational person that this race actually had no end. Up we climbed, pushing and pulling one another, until finally we saw a familiar face. Lovely Gianina (aka SNAPacidotic) was there with her camera assuring us that this time we were actually almost there. Kim and I held hands in the air and smiled for the camera while we “ran” up and around the corner to finally cross the finish line at 2:14:25.
Done! There really was a top and we had made it. I would like to be able to say that, just like after a long and difficult labor, I saw my beautiful children and proud husband. But alas, we had finished so much faster than we expected that we beat them to the finish line and did not see them until we crossed paths going back down that evil 1.3 miles to the parking lot. On paper the walk back down to the parking lot did not sound so bad. In reality I just wanted to lie down and roll to the bottom.
Overall it was a lovely course with beautiful views. It was well-organized, well-marked, and had encouraging people at each aid station. It was also long, hard, and all uphill. Would I do it again? Well, it was worth the effort and I am glad that I did it. I know from having my babies that I will hold on to the sense of accomplishment as the memory of the pain fades away. So, if the metaphor holds true, eventually I will probably be foolish enough to do it again.
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