5 Minute Read, 2 Minute Video
After rowing solo across the Atlantic Ocean, it seemed impossible to find another endurance challenge that could match those 1 million oar-strokes that were taken in between Africa and South America. How can you compare a 70-day experience with a 30+ hour run?
It’s difficult to compare such different journeys but I do know that I felt more physically depleted during the 137.8-mile run across Maine than during any of the 70-days rowing the Atlantic. Had the run route been 1 mile longer and I might have been crawling to the finish!
The run was fun. Until, it wasn’t.
It got fun again. And then, it wasn’t again.
And then, I was on the side of the road ripping and throwing grass like a crazy person. I hit a low unlike any I had before, and with only 5 miles until the finish.
But, let’s start from the beginning. Maine is a beautiful state for a run. Running across it meant that I was engulfed by thick green forests & mountains, keeping me feeling inspired along the way. It was incredibly remote without a stop sign or stoplight until well over 100 miles into the journey.
The very first 20 miles were so remote that there was no cell reception, with more moose than humans. A series of interconnected ponds dotted the route called the Chain of Ponds, all serene and unique to the next. Wondering what I might see around the next curve in the road or beyond the next climb kept me going.
Around mile 40 I hit my first “wall” going through Sugarloaf Mountain in the Carrabassett Valley. Before the thought could even grow about how big this challenge truly was, I had Danielle and Jason from Starting Line Maine find me just to cheer me on. This was no small feat. Danielle had busted her jaw from a cycling accident – (stitches & everything!) – and she and her husband still made that effort to cheer me on my way.
The first half of the run went by like clockwork. I was trucking along without too many setbacks or reasons to stop aside from a roadside stop to get the blood moving back up from my ankles,
The “real run” began once the sun set. This is when anything, and everything can happen. The blisters, the chaffing, the sore….everything. Kathleen, my dear friend and running buddy from Portland, joined me as I was reaching the 90-mile mark. The fatigue was really starting to set in. Something as simple as running in a straight line was something that took focus and effort.
Surprises continued to bring energy to the journey, with new friends & pacers making the sacrifice to drive hours away to meet on those lonely dark roads and help pass the miles. Somewhere around mile 110 is when I had my first hallucination, thinking that a cheetah was peering out at me from the woods. Quite possibly the biggest surprise was when I was my Uncle Pat from Ohio. Like the cheetah, I thought I was hallucinating. This. Was. Real!
By 11AM on Sunday morning I was an hour away from the finish with 5 miles to go. I felt done. The music no longer lifted my spirits. The caffeine and endorphins could no longer masked the unbearable throbbing in my ankles. The scenery that kept me feeling energized and rejuvenated in the beginning of the journey, now seemed like a trap of endless dark forest that I could never escape. The miles could not pass soon enough and the road felt like it was becoming longer. I was aware of every ache and pain that I had been trying to block out.
It was then that I officially entered the biggest meltdown in endurance challenges after over a decade of them. If you were a fly on a wall, here’s what you’d see: I am crying and shouting nonsense in sheer exhaustion and delirium. Words and tears are not enough for me to express my frustration. That’s when instead of running, I am ripping grass with my bare hands and throwing it to the wind like a crazy person.
I wanted to find my limit. My mind and body had found it at mile 132.
My dear friend, Arabelle, is front-row witness to my meltdown. She was with me from the very start, driving alongside during the entire journey as my one-person support crew, meeting up with me every 5 miles. She made sure that I had the fuel to keep me going, and took care of my every need even if that meant popping blisters and borrowing her lucky run socks. Arabelle was there long before the start. She was there when my head was clouded with fears and doubts that I was taking on more than my mind and body could handle to attempt this feat. I knew, no matter what she would be there.
Arabelle patiently waits for her moment to intervene. I saw the problem, she offered a solution. She is a living example that “Shared joy is a double joy; shared sorrow is half sorrow.”
She would run with me.
In those first few steps she is running with me, she is sharing her own meltdown moments like mine. The miles got easier and I am once again surprised when a pack of runners & friends from church join the run. Suddenly, I am feeling like a real-life Forrest Gump and I have several dozen runners to take those final few miles of the 137.8-mile journey, with even more joining by vehicle to cheer me on until reaching the final step. The final stretch is before me, and was all downhill to Porter’s Landing, a small launch area and public water access point with a rickety pier leading to the ocean.
The pier is in front of me and my shoes, sunnies, and hat are thrown off as soon as my first foot touches the pier. I wonder if this is a good idea, but the excitement is too strong, and with Arabelle by my side, there is only one thing left to do.
JUMP!
We are joined by others and the excitement was alive in all of us.
LOOK how far we can go!
LOOK how far faith can take us!
LOOK how many people can get clean water!
So many reasons to be grateful, walking away from one adventure and moving on to the next. But before running ahead of myself, thanks.
You reading this very blog is deserving of some thanks. Thanks to everyone who joined me virtually & in person to make this possible & fun. Thanks for following my journey and believing in me and the cause I ran for. And praise God for giving me the strength to continue on, and protecting my every step.
You don’t have to run across Maine to realize it, but you. Yes, you. Can do big things.
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