D.N.F.

For the past six months, I’ve been steadily increasing my weekly mileage and participating in increasingly longer races in hopes of preparing myself for a run at the Western States 100-mile Endurance Run (WS100) in 2008. In order to gain entry to the WS100, a runner must first complete a 50-mile qualifying race within a specified time. Last weekend, I traveled to Wisconsin to attempt my first 50-miler, the Ice Age Trail 50 (http://www.iceagetrail50.com). However, if you look up the results, my name won’t show up. Rather than successfully qualifying for the WS100, I experienced the 3 letters that all enduance athletes have told me looms in the background of every single race: DNF (i.e., “Did Not Finish”).

I have never been more prepared for a race of this magnitude. Along with the months of training, I have spent hours researching the physiology, nutrition, and mental preparedness required to do well at the ultra-distance. I even prepared a detailed race plan which laid out how many calories of food and ounces of fluid I needed to consume between each aid station and exactly what speed I should run at each segment of the course.

The race-day weather forecast was perfect. After leaving the starting line, the first 10-miles were on a cross-country skiing trail. The course was soft, wide, and with just enough hills to keep things interesting. My split times were right with my plan and I was feeling great.

After 10-miles, the course turned onto a portion of the Ice Age Trail in the Southern Unit of the Kettle-Moraine State Forest. The trail was now single-track with many more hills. The course went through dense pine forests, open meadows, and wetlands. The hills were challenging but not too overwhelming. The experience of running in that environment was almost surreal and I was enjoying every minute of it.

Just before the 15-mile mark, I was scrambling on the downhill of a somewhat technical portion of trail. I was moving pretty fast, but the footing seemed stable enough. However, just as I was about to turn a corner, I heard a loud crack as my left foot hit the ground and found myself lying in the brush just off the trail. My foot had turned and the pain made it clear that I had just sprained my ankle.

I injured my left ankle about four years ago during a camping trip in Colorado. Since I started running, I have re-injured it at least three more times. I was hoping this time it was minor and I would be able to continue. At first, I said to myself, “I’m done”. However, I got up and started walking with hopes that I would be able to work through it. I told myself, “I didn’t work this long and travel all this distance to stop now.”

For the next 5-miles, I did a lot of walking and slow jogging to see if the pain would subside. I found that I could almost manage on flat ground, but the hills and rocks were unbearable. My ankle was simply too weak to support my own weight for 30 more miles on a course this technical. At the 20-mile mark, my family was waiting to cheer me on, however, it was there that I officially dropped out of the race.

The process of turning in my timing chip and collecting my drop bags was a painful one. I realize now that this is one of those times when no matter how much you prepare, something unexpected can always happen. Now I just need to focus on working through this injury and getting prepared to try again later this year.

Moving on from DNF #1,

- Patrick