Back of the Pack Story by Patrick McHenry

Tue, Oct 15, 2013 at 9:54 AM

I first saw her on the out-and-back section - around 34 miles for me, 16 for her, as she was running in the 50K. I was on the way out and she was on the way back, about a mile ahead of me on the course. She was one of those runners in an ultra that you can’t help but wonder at and be inspired by at the same time.

Very heavy. Looked nothing like a runner. Not yet, anyway. You wondered how she was ever going to make it, but at the same time marveled at the heart that got her out there. You know something of that kind of determination yourself - maybe.

Or maybe not.

It took me about four miles to catch her. It was on Bare Hill - the last huge climb on the course. I saw her plodding up the steep pitch ahead of me and slowly, but inexorably closed the gap (plodding not much more impressively myself at that point). As I approached she turned around and started walking backward up the hill.

“You got this!” I said. “Just get to the top of this hill and it’s mostly flat or downhill from there.”

“No,” she replied, sounding nearly in tears, “I’m done. My blisters are so bad, and I’m nauseous.”

“Do you have anyone helping you?” (Looking back over my shoulder at her by this time.)

“No.”

“The aid station is just up ahead. Why don’t you see if they can do anything for your feet?”

Part of me really wishes I was a more giving person at this point. Part of me wanted to just say the hell with my race and my selfish goals and really try to help this woman. Instead I kept chugging. I was relieved a few yards later when I saw a runner crew parked along the side of the road getting out of their vehicle and moving to see if they could help her - heard them begin asking her what they could do as I moved on out of earshot.

I went on and finished my race. It was hard. I had done it. I was happy. But even in the rush of another success and even in the exhaustion of recovery part of me kept wondering what had happened to that poor hurting woman on the hill.

Finally last night some of the race photos were posted. I downloaded the ones of me, looked at a bunch of others - then I looked in vain for her among the last of the finish photos. She was not there. I went back and spotted her in the earlier photos from just after the 50K start. In those pictures she is moving with strength and purpose, a smile on her face. Bib #49.

Opening the 50K results, I scrolled down to the end. There it was - last line - bib #49, 9:11:43. She came in just after the 9-hour cut-off, after the finish photographer had already left, or it had just gotten too dark for decent pictures. This was her first ultra.

I almost let out a whoop in the middle of the night in my family room!

I picture her coming through the gate, hurting, spent - few people around, maybe no friends or family to cheer for her - and again, I wonder why I am not a bigger person. Why couldn’t I have waited for her? Maybe gone back down the course to look for her to offer aid and more encouragement?

I just hope that somehow, some way, she reads this and at least knows how much she inspired me.

Pat