This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life … 31 miles with over 10,000 feet of elevation change and more than 30 stream crossings. The last 6 miles were a blur of tears, snot and a determination unlike anything I have ever felt before. I believe I would have crawled those last miles if I could not have run and walked.

But I digress. Let me tell you the whole story …

Friday night we enjoy our regular pre-race meal of sashimi and a very early curtain call. But sleep does not come easily. I think I am too nervous for much rest. The alarm goes off at 4:15am so we can dress, and make the trek to Capon Valley, about 20 miles west of Winchester, VA. It is still dark when we hit the road. The full moon hangs low in the sky, magnificently beautiful. Ancient customs held traditional ceremony of release at the height of the full moon. So between this and the fact that I have begun my menstrual cycle, I know the day is going to be a powerful release for me. I feel anxious and nervous.

We arrive, get checked in and listen to the pre-race announcements. Finally, at 7am, we are off, beginning the first mile of an incredible trail run. I begin to feel better. I feel my nerves settle and my body fall into a rhythm that is immediately soothing.

To give you some perspective, if you were to run the annual Pikes Peak marathon in Manitou Springs, CO, which goes from the base of the mountain to the peak and back down, you would cover LESS elevation change than we did on this course.

Even so, this trail is a sensual delight. The volume of rain that drenched the region in the last 8 days has made the earth moist and fragrant. I actually expect to encounter much more mud and gloppy sections of the the trail to slog through. But most of the course is smooth and entirely runnable. The frequent creek crossings are wonderfully refreshing and beautiful. The water is clear and cool, soothing our tired feet and sore muscles. The views that peek through the trees at the tops of the massive hill climbs are beautiful.

Most of the trail runs through private properties, heavily wooded paths accented with dogwood trees in full bloom. We cross a few fields which are surrounded by sweeping views of the valley. I feel as if I am running through a fairy tale. I smell blossoming plants, and feel the energy of the trees. Friendly, enthusiastic volunteers greet and care for us at aid stations every 4-6 miles. They have prepared delicious peanut butter sandwiches and offer wonderful treats at every stop.

At mile 20 I began to feel a couple of blisters forming. I stop to patch up my sore toes. In spite of the TLC I offer my feet, as we climb another long, steep hill after the 4th aid station, I can tell I am starting to unravel. My vision begins to tunnel a bit and I feel wobbly. I continue to drink water, popping another salt caplet, more Advil and another secret weapon, dark-chocolate covered coffee beans.

Beyond the 5th aid station, I crack open and begin to cry. I don’t even know where all these feelings are coming from. The volume of emotion that bubbles up is almost overwhelming. Brian stops to check in with me. I tell him to keep moving. I am afraid if I stop that I will lay down and sob myself into oblivion.

As we come up to the 6th and final aid station, I find I have no control over my emotions. I want to somehow tuck this in so I don’t alarm the volunteers or embarrass myself. But this is beyond what I can manage. As much as I am able, I tell the concerned aid station helpers that I am OK. Brian’s reassurance is more convincing than mine, I am certain. Less than 4 miles to go … I want to finish!

The determination to get to the end is tremendous. When the finish line is in sight, that is all I can see. I am vaguely aware of the other Loudoun Road Runners cheering and clapping, celebrating this victory with us. I hear Brian tell me we are there and congratulating me on finishing my very first ultra-marathon, and we cross that line. I bend over, putting my hands on my knees and really sob.

I have seen other runners with this look on their faces … this look of pain, raw emotion and other things I have not understood before today. Now I know what I’ve seen in their faces for I am overcome with it myself. I am hurting, raw and empty. And I am also full, so very FULL, standing here trying to take in what I have just accomplished.

My friend Phil comes over, greeting me with a tremendous smile and hugs me to congratulate me. It is such a good feeling! The other Loudoun Road Runners are clapping for me, smiling and shouting their congratulations. I get wonderful hugs and smiles. I turn to Brian and hug him tightly. We did it! I did it! In my head I hear my factory workers break into a screaming chant, “WEDIDIT, WEDIDIT, WEDIDIT!!!!!!!!” There are no words to describe this. While I am sure that I will be really happy when I finish other runs, today feels really special and precious. Some people have told me that I am crazy for doing this. In this moment I can feel such amazement at what I have been able to do, that I simply feel ALIVE. I silently give immediate and powerful thanks for this gift, for this day, for the opportunity and for these wonderful people with whom I can share it.

Boy, am I gonna sleep good tonight.