Teanaway Magic
There are certain places that grab you instantly. Missoula was one, when I went to look at colleges, the Methow was another, when I went to a race and instantly decided I must live here, and a little slice of the cascades, the Teanaway, was another. Getting to the startling of the Teanaway Country 100 was a few years in the making for me, as life had other plans, regardless of a race on my calendar. I kept at it, though, and last year made it to Salmon la Sac to start the 100 that long-time running friend and former co-worker Brian Morrison spent so much time creating.
Along the way, I couldn't get over how challenging the terrain was, but also how beautiful. After a mix of technical, classic PNW rooty trails and jeep road for the first 18 miles, we entered the alpine. It was a perfectly clear early fall day, and the foliage was just starting to turn in the hight country, offering splashes of red and orange against the green leaves and trees, and the granite rock.
Mind you, I had already decided I was going to drop from the race. My head wasn’t in it and I didn’t know what I was doing out there. I planned on meeting my crew at mile 28 and being done for the day. I went up to Lake Ann, and over into Esmerelda Basin, excited to see my crew and end the day. I’d already done 10,000 ft. of climbing, and I figured there was no possible way I’d be able to retrace my steps late in the race. As I entered the aid station to get some food and stop, Sam wouldn’t have any of it. “You can’t stop now.” There’s something truly amazing about having a husband who knows you so well that he knows exactly what I’m going to say, and knows when I am being silly. In the moment, however, it’s very annoying. “But I want to stop. I have it all figured out-my pacers can help Eric and Laura.” He would have none of it. “You can’t stop now. Doing 50+ miles would be a decent day.” I was not going to be able to convince him otherwise, and he was right, there wasn’t actually anything wrong. Then, I saw Gwen. There are several people in the Ultrarunning community who I’ve always admired, and Gwen is one of them. She smiled when she saw me, and instantly I felt better. She was crewing another running friend, and when I told her I wanted to drop, she smiled again. “Of course you want to drop. This is a really hard race. But you can’t drop now. There aren’t any mountain 100s like this and you have to see more of the course.” Well, that was that. I couldn’t not do what Gwen said. Before I knew it I was out of there, starting the huge climb up the south facing slope.
Up and over another mountain, and down to my crew again, this time around mile 50. My friends were all there to run me into the aid station. They ignored me when I said I was quitting, and that I’m sorry they spent their weekend helping, only to not be needed. We got to the van, and I sat down. Sam handed me cup o’ noodles and asked if I wanted coffee. “I don’t need coffee because I’m quitting.” He ignored me too, and told me to just sit for a few minutes. The rest is kind of a blur, but I do remember asking myself why I was drinking the coffee that was handed to me when I was quitting. Before I knew it I was leaving with a refilled pack with my friend and first pacer, Becca.
Somewhere in that 14 mile section the magic came in. Instead of dreading the remaining miles, I couldn’t wait to show my other friends the crazy terrain. I went through the next aid station and picked up Liz for the next section of the run. It was a long climb, but even though she’s one of my best friends, our schedules hadn’t aligned for a while and it was awesome to catch up, under a brilliant starry night. We chatted away, and despite wanting to curl up and sleep anywhere, I felt pretty good. As we approached the top of the climb, I asked for a little three minute dirt nap. Liz obliged, and set a timer: it was a glorious three minutes. We started down the other side, doing my favorite thing-running downhill, until the tops of both feet started killing me. It was a familiar pain, but one that I also know isn’t soft tissue. My high arches don’t absorb shock well and I’d been warned before to work on my foot mobility to lessen the pressure on the bones, ie not get a stress fracture. I instantly sank. I did not want to sacrifice my bones to finish a race, so I knew my time out here was over. Before the race started I told my crew that the only reason that would be ok for me to quit was if my foot started to really bother me. In addition to my normal weakness there, I had sprained a ligament earlier in the summer when I hyperextended my foot going over a tree.
More than that, though, we had awful forest fires all around my house, and I made the conscious decision to not add stress by trying traveling the state to fine clean air. When they started in June I basically figured that the race was out. Instead, winds shifted after several weeks and I thought it was a possibility. Yes, I had just had a foot injury that kept me out, and then many weeks of not training due to the air quality, but why not give it a shot? So there I was, crying as I approached the next aid station, at mile 68 miles, knowing I needed to stop.
Gwen and Brian were right: it’s an awesome race. There aren’t mountain races like this out here, and I can’t wait to go back to finish it. Sixty-eight miles took me almost 24 hours! There’s a 50k option now, and while I’m committed to the 100 miler, the name of the race, the Teenyway, is almost worth changing for. If you’re interested in either race, here’s the registration link, and you can be part of what will surely be a classic. We’ll be organizing a training weekend in the Methow specifically for the race, too, so if you’re interested in that, let me know!
