Raccoon Trapping 101

I am currently seeking shelter under a tree before the Fort Worth Tri- Half Ironman. It is about to be cancelled due to weather, but I don’t know that yet. I am thinking about Jessy.

Did you do any writing today? 

What race report are you up too? 

When will you finish Rocky?

Jessy has been waiting patiently (or more accurately, impatiently) for my race report of Rocky Raccoon. I had to be ready. Fully processed and able impart some meaning for what I put my mind and body through, and I had not yet found that. I needed what happened out there in those woods to mean more than the belt buckle and cool medal. I wanted more from that race than a few more stories for my collection.

A lot has happened since then. I got ultra sounds on my heels and feet, revealing the mystery of why everything hurt. I travelled solo in mine and Jessy’s new truck to North Carolina and ran a 50k on a cool island. The whole family camped and Jessy did her first triathlon. We grew as a couple, the kids and I’s relationship deepened, my cat got and was cured of fleas. 

Through all that, I still was not ready to put onto paper and into the world my story. And I am not sure why, but this morning while wearing a wetsuit and sitting under a tree where a storm of apocalyptic proportions blew over head, watching athletes seek shelter in portajohns and kick the timing crew out from their cozy tents, I realized I was ready.

So, with no further ado, here is what happened at Rocky Raccoon 100 miler:

It is dark. I recognize the glow of light at the crest of the hill marking the start/finish and the pitstop that will bring me more food, change of clothes, and where my partner and pacer, Jessy await me. The last three miles were rough. Not only was the sloshy, muddy ground wearing me thin, step by step, but on the first loop my numb, swollen hands had ceased to work well enough to open the zippers on my bag and nothing but negative thoughts were flooding my brain. 

When I signed up for this race in July, I felt invincible. Since then, little seeds of self doubt, anxiety, and sadness had taken root and grown. Those stems and branches of negativity now clogged my arterial pathways and the day’s rain was the perfect personification of how I felt as a runner. Not just now, after 16 hours of straight running, lost nutrition and unforgiving precipitation, but as I stood on the start line, before the gun even went off.

There was a hill to climb to finish this loop. My right hip flexor reminded me, quite rudely, that it did not appreciate upward decent, so I climbed slowly. Part of me wanted to sob and part celebrate, I was about to start my final loop! 75 miles complete! There was joy in that fact, but also knowledge that the final loop still included a fourth full marathon to run. 

My troubled hip flexor started acting up around mile 70, which I had predicted and spent much of the last 5 miles in a steady hike, readying myself to move when I had a fresh pacer to help me out. When Jessy joined me, for the next 25 miles, we laughed and smiled. I also ached and screamed. But together we moved and though it took nine hours to complete that final 25, we finished. She pulled me across the line one final time to receive a shiny belt buckle and Fourth Place finisher medal for the National 100 Mile Trail Championship.

Backtrack to sixteen hours before reaching that hill, I was standing under our teams pop up canopy with Dale Cougat, Sean Sessions, Carl Hiline, Nicole Berglund, and Kim Johnson, our crew members and family, and several other runners were milling about. I checked my drop bag, texted Jessy one last time, checked and rechecked every article of clothing on my body and in my bag, then made my way to the starter tunnel. 

We began our run in the dark, and I moved at a comfortable pace. I took in the elegant look of the trees through the twilight, decorated with garlands of moss and everything a sparkle from dew. I was chilly, but not cold, the trail crowded, but not impassible. 

About ten miles in, I couldn’t decide how to eat. I wanted more than the Tailwind in my bottle, but less than the peanut butter sandwiches packed in my bag. Taking my pack off was frustrating as rain continually drizzled around me. The trail was never lonely because, though ten miles in, this was still early on in a 100 mile foot race and runners seemed to be around every bend in the trail. 

I craved solitude and a solid run, but was instead rewarded with swollen hands, a hungry stomach, and legs that felt more akin to the wooden parody at the end of a marionette’s string than to the powerful pistons I had spent the last year training. 

Around mile 20, I finally fell into a groove. I found some solitude and felt like my body belonged to me. The trail environment gained nostalgia in my brain as I thought about the Georgia woods I used to roam as a child. I finished the first loop in five hours and thirty minutes. I was perfectly on schedule and felt great. My hands were loosening up, the sun was peaking through clouds. 

I checked my phone as a reward while refilling my pack after I completed the first loop. Camra and Liz, both crew members for other runners were kind and helpful to me. There were some encouraging messages from Jessy in my inbox. Off I ran, excited to see her soon. Wanting so badly to make her proud. 

But I wasn’t. 

Around mile 30, Dale caught up to me. The drizzly rain returned and I was frustrated. I felt like I couldn’t move and though I ate and drank on schedule, I felt drained. I shared my feelings and he expressed that everyone dealt with the same conditions. We as runners must accept and move on. He joked that he had to fly to catch up with me, but I felt angry. Why did he feel the need to catch me at all?

He came from a place of wanting to help, to try to jest and inspire, but I just felt like bricks were slowly being removed from my wall of strength. I wanted to be lighthearted with him, but my morter was too worn and my brain, a slush.

I reached a group of three runners. They asked if the guy with the shaved head found me. I said yes, and when Dale caught up with all of us again, we all ran together. They recounted how Dale had initially passed us trying to find his friend, Fireball Kelli, who was probably flying forward somewhere far ahead. 

The guys also joined in that they felt lucky to catch me, as I seemed to be moving with a great stride and look solid. Internally, I wanted to tell these people to stop chasing me. Stop saying I was a good runner and just let me be whatever runner I was going to be. I was on this journey to find myself and everyone seemed to want to tell me who I was. Who I needed to be.

This frustration stems from a long and troubled past in which fellow athletes constantly seemed to berate my success and coaches failed to hid their disappointment that I wanted less rigorous training and better life/sport balance.

I moved ahead of these runners and as we turned past a winding, root filled stretch onto a long treelined straightaway, I watched as Dale strided on forward, past me, and away. 

Despite all this, I stumbled in from my second lap feeling proud. I had regained some energy and Jessy was at the Pop up waiting for me!! She quickly updated me on tales from her day. She went to Zumba with her mom, the kids did the one mile fun run, and everyone was supportive of my efforts in the race. Seeing her gave me more sunshine and radiance than every foot fall, cloud break, and downhill cascade from the day combined. 

JESSY:

Kelli Fucking Coleman. 

I sat back and watched your mental spiral from “champion king tool ego-ist runner” to lower than low after the DNF at Brazos Bend 100. You can run this distance. Your stupid muscley awesome body can make it happen. But please please please let go of whatever thoughts may keep you down. 

Kelli Fucking Coleman. 

We have been through a lot lately. 

I wonder if you’re mad at me? You’re busy running and all yea… but your phone has been off all day and usually you check it a few times at least.

I hope you’re enjoying your run. I know how important this is for you…. 

And that’s when I saw you down the hill, recognizing your stride before I did you in the overcast light! You looked great and you seemed so happy to see me! I told you about the day and tried to be so happy for you! Your face is smiling, but I can tell it’s been a rough day so far.. 

KELLI:

Jessy… my thoughts were now flooded with Jessy. I wanted her to be proud of me… 

This race is so bitter sweet because she had a DNF in it the year before. She had a fractured hip and was already pushing her body just for starting. She made an incredible distance with such an injury and prove so much mental toughness, but not finishing a race is very emotionally taxing. I wanted her to join me for the third loop, but I knew the fourth would be my hardest, as it would be through the night. I knew that if I had her for one loop, I wouldn’t want to leave her for the last. She offered to go with me. I declined. 

I hope she is proud of me.

JESSY:

I should sleep in the truck. Can I sleep in the truck? I can’t believe we got this truck. Should I have gone with her? Is she okay? She is fine. Sleep in the truck. 

This fucking truck. 

Oh god, she’s mad at me.

Kelli Fucking Coleman. 

I can’t sleep in the truck.

KELLI:

Jessy… And Aiden. And Eden. But these past few weeks, mostly Aiden. In December, after several long and hard weeks of disruptions turned to violence at home and at school, coupled with a broken window, loss of all privileges and several complete meltdowns, we had Aiden hospitalized. It was hard for me. It was a culmination of unimaginable pain and grief for Jessy. 

I was a new parent, a new step parent, and my life was completely rocked, flipped and turned 7,000 degrees by a nine year old with the wisdom of a 90 year old and a rage that no one knew how to handle. I loved him and I loved her and nothing would shake that, but damn, he sure did try. 

Jessy and I had sat and talked many times about strategies for Rocky. She helped me develop a nutrition plan and a mileage guide. She was familiar with the course and advised me on things to be aware of, to plan for and plan around. But only a couple days before the race, we finally touched on the more real facts: I needed to try very hard to stay positive during this race. If I let my mental state falter, that would be a much greater defeat and more difficult deficit than thirst, hunger, exhaustion or any physical ache. 

But now, the sun lowered behind the horizon, the dark settled in, and I missed my partner. I wanted her with me. I regretted not taking her. I was a hurt and lonely girl, missing her rock, waiting on sandy ground.

I reached the East Gate aide station and saw my friend Andy. He was standing there with a fresh beer in his hand and greeted me warmly. I smiled, grateful for the warmth and when he offered me a sip of his beer, I chugged the whole thing.

I moved on into the now deepening night. This section of the course was a muddy and puddle covered jeep trail. My shoes retained gray and gritty water with every step. I thought of Jessy’s smile. I wished things had been different. I wished I was better. I wished I was running faster. I wished my hip didn’t hurt and that I wasn’t so cold. That my feet felt better and my legs looser. 

I ate goldfish with no joy and chewed dry peanut butter, my only hope to not gag. 

I reached the Damnation aide station and was cold and tired. I tried to ask a volunteer about milage, because I was confused on the math in my tired state. My speech came out slurred and he made me sit down. He brought cups of broth and coffee and said he would not let me leave until both were finished. I appreciated the care, but knew I would feel no relief until I laid my eyes on her.

JESSY:

I love the trail community. Everyone helps everyone because the races are hard and empathy is abundant. I met and chatted with Catra Corbett who was pacing a 14 year old to his first 100 and watched various crews aide runners in and out of the start finish. 

But let’s be clear, while I love most trail runners I do not love them when they are whining or being mean to their crew. Your hip hurts? You’re uncomfortable? Okay. It’s a hundred mile race, you’re gonna hurt. 

But…. I hope she is okay. Should I get ready now?

She is kind of running late. I should get ready now. Just in case. 

I’m getting ready.

*places red bull, fireball, chocolate covered espresso beans, and trail mix in bag*

Where the fuck is she? 

I’m ready. 

KELLI:

I plodded up the hill. My hip hurt. My foot hurts. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. She is there, she is there, she is there. Run there run there run there! Nope. Ouch. My bricks were quickly crumbling to dust. 

JESSY:

We are moving, then we are not moving. We are moving, then we are not moving. Cool. Time on feet right? We will get these damn miles in, and she will hate it, but I will get her there. 

“Come on! *claps three times* Cooommmmmeeeee on! *claps three times*

God.. this is how I called the 17 year old, red headed, teenager who was assigned to help us bushwhack Rough Creek. He was horribly out of shape and a rather worthless worker. We laughed about it for weeks. And now it is how I call my injured crying partner. Is it okay to keep calling her like this? Hope so!

KELLI:

I’m crying. I don’t want her to know. She is calling me like a dog. Ugh. Everything hurts. I’ll tell her and get it out and we can just keep moving.

“Jessy, it’s my hip. My right leg just won’t lift anymore. I am not quite dragging it yet, but this sucks.”

“Okay.”

“….” 

“Well keep moving. Cooome on….”

“Stop clapping at me.”

We moved through the Nature Center and she regaled me with tales of the day. I was excited to hear about the kids and her mom. Her mom is not an athlete and Jessy is not a basic white girl, yet today they had both done Zumba and a trail run. The joy when two roads meet…. 

I told her of my day. I wanted to whine and moan about the weather but she redirected. I wanted to tell her how much I hurt, but she refused to let me. Every shattered brick I handed her, she shoved away and put back. Soon, my wall was being rebuilt. The bricks didn’t look the same, but they were reforming into something strong. 

JESSY:

I have done one hundo, but I would like to mention that I have a lot of 50 milers under my belt and I can pace! I am jolly and delightful as fuck and can get it done! She kept dragging, so I kept pulling and here we are. I am yelling at her like a teenaged ginger and she is suddenly citing some weird mantra about her feet. She wants some repeat words, I’ll give her some repeat words. This is what I do. Support.

What do you have?

Two feet.

Where are they?

Underneath me.

Where are you moving?

Forward.

Okay! Again!

We reach the Farside Aide station and that suuuuuccccked. First off, Kelli fucking “the champion” Coleman is hanging on by a mental thread, reciting her weird mantra, I am telling delightful stories but she is talking about her hip and we are both agreeing that out and back’s are awful and we should never do this again while both fully realizing we will be back next year. 

When we reach the aide station, I am greeted by a question, “Jessy?” I recognize the gait before the face or voice as a guy I met while volunteering at a race back in Oklahoma. Who does that?! We then chat with this mansplaining guy who wants to teach Kelli what a hip flexor is (she knows) and me, how to stretch one, (duh.)

While this serious act of patriarchy continues in the background two other runners approach as this new paternal hero asks how I know Kelli. 

“Are you sisters?”

“Uh no.. She is my partner.”

Here, one of the new runners, who was apparently close by over the course of the last several miles begins laughing, “Ooohhh, That’s why you let her talk to you like that!”

KELLI:

I’m laughing in my head about the fact that other runners are laughing at Jessy’s antics and the fact that I know she is silently boiling over the mansplaining volunteer who tried to teach me how to stretch. But I am also very tired and very sad.

I was about 12 miles from having completed my first 100 miler. I was overwhelmed and the next thing I knew…

JESSY:

Oh my god she is asleep! I am taking a picture!

KELLI:

I woke up to Jessy, gently nudging me, rose, and again we moved. Running was a thing of the past. I openly cried out as we climbed away from the turnaround. Fun ripples of roots over rocks were now places where I had to stop dead and consider my steps. I could no longer lift my right leg at all and my left foot had begun swelling due to my compensating stride. Movement was slow and I was angry. Jessy became this weird genie, producing wonders as the sun began to rise and shroud the woods with light. 

First, she began my mantra, seemingly when I most needed it. 

What do you have?

Two feet!

Where are they?

Underneath me!

Where are they going?

Nowhere, everything sucks and I am dying and I hurt and you hate me and I’ll never run again because the world is a horrible place….

….

…

Where are you moving?

Forward.

I heard a bird chirp a cheerful morning tune… And hated it.

She gave me a red bull.

Dew rose from the ground, creating a beautiful glow in the trees, I hated that too.

She gave me a shot of whiskey. She also rolled her eyes at me a lot.

She stayed on my nutrition and made sure I was hydrated. When she gave me a sandwich, then watched me eat two bites. 

I threw it in the woods. She made me eat something else.

She held my hand when we crossed wooden bridges, walked in silence and waited without jest when I needed a minute to shout my weakness into the void. She knew my pain, and I appreciated her empathy. 

We crossed the final wooden overpass before making a slight turn on the trail and seeing a straight shot of pine covered trail before leading up to the final ascent before crossing the finish line. We moved toward this apex of the race and Jessy told me, no matter what, you are gonna run across that finish line. 

I hurt. I hurt so bad, but her words were golden truth and I had no choice but to follow. We had caught up to another pacer and runner in this final mile stretch. As Jessy sent me forward, I heard her and the other pacer from behind,

JESSY:

“Who’s got the faster Turtle?!”

We met these other runners so close to the finish and they seemed to be in the same weird repeating mantra phase we were in. When I heard him shout this after our dueling, hurt runners, I had to laugh. These were our people. 

We both had supported runners through near unbeatable odds but all that matters is the smile when they cross the line.

KELLI:

I loved Jessy and hated myself for the majority of 100 miles run on foot through the wooded and wild sections of Huntsville State Park. I am not proud of my finish. I was not the hero of this story. My brick wall is still being rebuilt from mortar and dust. 

BUT since this adventure, I have learned that I can not control everything, I can not be anything other than myself. Foundations can be rebuilt. 

Since my time in those woods, working through those miles, I started to train again, but only after some time. I signed up for some other races, with support from Jessy. I have grown as a person and we have grown in our relationship. 

I like to think I am now a better role model for Aiden and a better rock for Eden. I want to continue my path towards being a better human. 

And on that path, one thing is for sure. The best person I know will always be a few steps ahead, calling me forward.