Singing to the Finish

 

Before running my first 50K ultra, I asked my coach if she had any tips for making it through long stretches alone in the woods after the 20-something mile mark. She told me to try singing, so that’s what I did. 

This kicked in early - at the start line I was already singing Queen “We Are the Champions.” A pretty good one to start. Maybe it was the excitement of the moment, and also because I needed a little fight in me after not having been able to run for two weeks before the race due to a nagging tight calf. At the start of the race, a running friend had told me to just "finish this freakin’ thing," even if I had to walk. So yeah, “we’ll keep on fighting ‘til the end.”

After about 6 miles, the calf pain stopped, and by that time, Queen had long left my head. I was feeling good and confident I was going to finish the race. I ran and fueled for the next few hours, and remembered all the times I had run these same trails over the summer. I remembered the different conversations I’d had with runners from my Trail Monsters family as I ran past different spots. I remembered learning about someone’s sister as I ran on Tryon, and sharing views on politics with someone else as we ran down the Snowmobile trail. I remembered the different places we’d stopped to pee. Even when you run alone, you are never alone. 

But around mile 20, I needed a song. Bon Jovi “Livin’ on a Prayer” crept up, but I was way more than halfway there, so that wasn’t working for me. Bon was followed by an inexplicable medley of ‘80s Hair Bands - Whitesnake - “And I've made up my mind, I ain't wasting no more time” - Poison - “Don't need nothin' but a good time” - Twisted Sister - “I wanna rock!” Hair Bands for miles! 

I don’t listen to music while running, unless I’m on a boring road run but, if I do, I gravitate toward the mellow side of things - Whiskeytown, Iron & Wine, Son Volt. Sometimes at the end of a long day, if I need a jolt of energy, I’ll turn to Dropkick Murphys. But Hair Metal, never! Hair Bands remind me of the worst period of my life -  my teenage years - moving to Gorham, Maine, from Paris, France, in 1984 when I was 13 years old, not knowing a word of English and being an outcast for the next four years. 

Maybe after 25 miles of running alone in the woods, I was reclaiming the power of those hell years - getting past those memories. And the more I sang, the funnier it seemed, the lighter I felt. 

With four miles to the finish line, the only thing left singing were my IT Bands. But by then, I didn’t need a song. The work had been done - grateful for every minute of it, every song, and all I needed was to “just go on and on, and on, and on.” 

Coming of Age at 50

I will tell you this: I wish this running life could have happened 30 years ago. But here we are. I came to running early this year - the last year in my 40s. Before this, my only athletic endeavor consisted of a short time playing soccer when I was 11 through 13, and much of that time consisted of sitting on the bench, because I just wasn’t very good. I have never been athletic (doctors liked to describe me as ‘frail’). I spent the better part of my 20s and 30s drinking, smoking, reading and writing, and occasionally doing a little yoga. From time to time, we would go on short hikes. I remember many years ago hiking Mount Washington and bursting into tears because it was “so hard.” I want to smack that girl right now! As a wise woman once said: Harden the fuck up!

It’s strange to become a “serious” trail runner just as you’re about to turn 50, especially if you’ve never been anything but a very average, non-athletic woman. It feels like you’re coming of age just as you ‘re entering the second part of your life. It feels odd, sort of like going in reverse. And it feels counter-intuitive to have lofty goals for a sport whose windows of opportunity become a little smaller as you get older. 

I am surrounded by a group of ultra-runners who are still peaking in their 50s, 60s and beyond, and I am so, so inspired by their achievements and who they are as human beings (I do believe that ultra-running makes you a better person - and I’m only half joking). I am reminded, however, of our different experiences - most have a lifetime of running under their 100-miler belt buckles. 

Still, I ran my first 50K a few months ago, and I can’t remember the last time I felt more acutely that I was exactly where I needed to be. And, yes, I want to run a 50-miler and I probably also want to run a 100-miler, and I hope my body can take me there. But I also feel like time is short and running out, and there is so much more running I want to do. Because in truth I don’t just want to run one 50-miler or one 100-miler, I want a lifetime to run as much as I want.

But here we are. The beginning of a new journey in the middle of my life journey. I know that to stay joyful in this adventure is not to look back at all the things I could have done or didn’t do, but to look forward at all the possibilities that lie ahead. And because I am coming of age in my middle age, I am making this up as I go along. I’m excited, kind of giddy really (like the teenage girl that comes out to play when I am running - a Buffy the Vampire Slayer kind of teenage girl!). After all, this discovery is a gift that’s filled holes I didn’t know were there, and I am forever grateful for every running moment that’s in front of me.