by Angie Woolman
It is April 24, the date of my mid-taper long run before the Miwok 100K. My fantastic online coach, Ellie Greenwood, has suggested a race-specific climb requirement of 2,800 feet as part of the recipe. With her advice in mind, I find some real rollers to fill my 15 miles. About half way through, I am cruising down a fire trail, but fail to notice a big stick, just lying in my path like a wooden snake. The stick catches my left shoe and that knee wrenches inward. In a painful and halted silence, my brain cannot take in what has happened. The long walk back to the car breeds worry. I don’t know exactly what the injury is, but it feels like a lot is at stake.
The diagnosis is an MCL sprain. My sports chiropractor and I joke about it being the same incapacitating injury—on the same day—as Stephen Curry’s (Game 4: Warriors vs. Rockets). I smile as I get taped up. Is there a sense of camaraderie with others who get injured, even if it’s with a superstar? Well, yes.
I’ve only recently become a Warriors fan, and I’ve come to truly admire the players’ athleticism, skill, and team cohesiveness. Since Curry’s injury parallels my own, I find myself rooting for his return to the court as much as I wish for my ability to race Miwok in two weeks. I cross-train, get treatment, and reassess. I diligently check the weather forecasts for race day, hoping to avoid the muddy mayhem I met at Way Too Cool 50K in March. I consult wise Ellie; she emphasizes that it is my personal decision to race or not. My knee and I decide: if it rains, no race.
As it happened, May 7th—race day at last—was to have light to heavy rain. I find myself at the 5:00 a.m. start in Stinson Beach anyway. I try to hold two main goals: to protect my knee, and to qualify for the Western States 100-Mile lottery. I mentally review the racing strategies that I have used in the nine years I have been running. Do not get lost! Keep my form, run the tangents, and execute my natural turnover. Ellie has encouraged me to race on effort and feel, while using the metrics on my wrist. I have followed her training regimen, practiced fueling, hydrating and regulating my body temperature. My knee will tell me when it has had enough.
Full of hope and good nerves, I head off mid-pack, feeling no pain. As we round a curve on Cardiac Hill, 3.5 miles later, we hear a glorious bagpipe serenade. Champion bagpiper Fred Payne, thank you for an unforgettable beginning. Master race organizer Tia Bodington welcomes her runners to the mountain at sunrise.
I am in control and focused. But by mile 10, I feel my inner knee, and begin to use the pain scale assessment. It is a 1.5 at this time. By 25 miles, although I am happy to trot in 35 minutes under the cutoff, my discomfort is up to a 3. I stop and with the help of a dear friend and ultra coach Lisa Felder, I retape my knee. I don’t like to stop at aid stations, but this is a must.
Disarmingly beautiful views of the Pacific Ocean, the Golden Gate Bridge, and the old-growth redwoods tease me with their grandeur, but I must keep my eyes on the trail. Certain terrain is easier on this knee. Going uphill is good, downhill is bad. On Bolinas Ridge Coastal Trail, and in horizontal wind and rain, I run with clods of mud stuck to my shoes. I ignore the pain as I freewheel downhill for 1.5 steady miles to meet my pacer at mile 50. My shivering pacer-husband has run 13 miles up from Stinson Beach, and has waited in the cold and wet.
My pain scale is at 5 where it stays, because now a second pacer, “Captain Consequence” comes out of the shadows. She has been there all along, encouraging me to lessen the consequences of racing too hard. But now she is in cahoots with the rest of my leg as an invisible cast develops around my knee. She says, “That cute pink kinesio tape is not doin’ shit!” She makes me want to swear too, because I am a f-ing tired old lady forced to a walk, even on flat terrain. My hubby and “Captain Consequence” have heard it all. Now I am jogging again, through ankle-high puddles where wooden snake sticks can live. When my shoe finds a stick, I disempower it with expletives. The casted knee can’t bend much, so I stiff-leg the last downhill, 2.2 miles on the technical Matt Davis trail. It seems like a hundred runners are passing us. I just hope that half of them are pacers.
My two pacers disappear as I arrive at the finish. This old lady is prancing like a storybook unicorn with a shiny flowing mane! Even the stiffness is gone for the last few strides. In this dreamscape colored by happiness, gratitude, and pride, no memory of the painful challenges exist. Tia is there congratulating her finishers. She asked me about the rain. I think I might have said, “What rain?”
Tia’s life experience makes her a perfect match for this race directing gig… from growing up in Marin County, to ultra racing internationally, to earning an MBA. In an email, she writes, “I do enjoy the complexity of Miwok – following the government regulations and the laws of physics while working to create a safe and thrilling challenge for all participants. I work to make Miwok ‘new’ school, rather than old school, by analyzing where the sport is going and putting Miwok at the forefront of best practices, while retaining the feel of an historic ultra.”
There were consequences to racing injured. In addition to my MCL strain, I’ve inflamed the medial two muscles of my hamstring. So my coach, my chiro, and I decide that I will not compete this summer. I have given up my spot on the 2016 USA Olympic Basketball Team in Rio to rest my knee.