Knowing something is hard and doing something that is hard are not the same thing.
 
On July 15-16 I ran the Vermont 100, a race I’ve wanted to do for several years. It was hard. It was far. It was painful at times. It was incredible.
 
Established in 1989, the Vermont 100 is among the four oldest 100-mile races in the country and is part of the Grand Slam of Ultrarunning. The course covers 68 miles of rolling dirt roads, 30 miles of trails, and two miles of pavement. It’s considered a fairly runnable 100, but with more than 15,000 feet of elevation gain it’s not flat.
 
There’s a 30-hour cutoff, although the top runners complete the race in half that. My goal was to finish in less than 30 hours and earn my first 100-miler finisher’s buckle.
 
At 4 a.m. I lined up in a dark Vermont field with more than 350 other headlamp-wearing runners. In addition to managing acute pre-race anxiety, I hadn’t run a single mile in nearly three weeks due to shin pain.
 
What had seemed like a minor shin splint had progressed, despite rest. I was convinced I was out of the race the week before when, on a tearful hike, sharp pains shot up my left leg with every step. Thankfully, I’d been cleared to run Vermont by my sports doctor, albeit with caveats and the risk of a stress fracture. While I didn’t know if my leg would hold up or literally crack, I was going to take this chance.
 
The race started and after a few miles of panic-inducing twinges my shin was forgotten. In the way of ultras and life, things change and you move on.
 
The field spread out as we left the initial trails for dirt roads. I ran. I walked steeper hills and tried to keep things easy. The sun came up.
 
Vermont is the only 100 with a simultaneous horse ride. Horses with cheery riders passed me on the dirt roads. I passed some on a steeper trail. After 21 miles I came to the first of eight handler aid stations and saw my crew, husband Dave and coach/friend Brendan Gilpatrick.
 
Aid stations require a mental shift. You’ve been running along alone, passing or being passed by the occasional runner, and suddenly you enter a hubbub of activity—food, drink, ice, crews, runners, medical checks—and you need to focus, attend to your needs, and move along.
 
I was extremely grateful to have Dave and Brendan as my crew. When you’re tired and sore, it helps to have people who you trust and who understand you. They systematically made sure I stayed on top of my food and hydration plan. They outfitted me with a full pack and new socks, clothes, and gear as needed. They kept me focused on what was coming up. They did all this and said nice things while kicking me out of each aid station.