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.”