It was mile 60.2 of the Mogollon 100, 2022 at the Washington Park AS. Mason had just spent the last two aid stations throwing up next to the front of the car out of ear shot of everyone around. It was cold, dark, and we were about 2 1/2- 3 hours behind schedule- which was fine but definitely didn’t help with me trying to scrap the bottom of my cup any further to push him forward. Prior to his arrival, I awoke in a panic as I had fallen asleep in the car. Note to self, don’t ever say “I’ll just close my eyes for a minute while I wait.” …TWO hours later {in your best SpongeBob voice} I spastically popped up from my “minute” nap, hitting my knees on the steering wheel, while my head goes all exorcist attempting to see if Mason had arrived.
I rolled my body out of the car frantically trying to get my hat and mittens on. I start panning the scene. I found, who I thought was Mason, and started blindly crewing him. I scurried up to him asking him what he needed, smiling and acting like a pro. Here I am, matching his speed and trying to keep up like a nascar pit crew. I’m asking him all the normal questions and acting like everything is great. It wasn’t until his lack of response to my sarcasm that it made me looked up. “Oh hey!” I said with a smile on my face. He laughed and with a very confused voice said “Hi?”. I said “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I thought you were my runner!” We exchanged an awkward laugh and I pointed him to the trailhead. As the slight moment of embarassment wore off, out of the darkness appeared Mason.I scanned his face longer than usual to ensure I wasn’t crewing some other random runner again. Everyone looks the same at night- don’t judge me!
I got him back to the car, smiled and said “how ya doing?” and from there, the back and forth discussion of stopping starting to come to a close.
“Are you sure you can’t keep going?…GREAT! Let’s get outta here.” That was what I said to him as he laid down and melted into the back of our rental car, pale and trying to drink or eat anything that would stay in his stomach. I knew I had broken the cardinal rule that crew teams are supposed to avoid; allowing the runner to decide his DNF status- without a fight. I didn’t care. I wanted to be done. I was crewing solo and honestly, traveling around this Mogollion rim alone at night was like watching a scary movie play out in real life. Anyone who has crewed this race knows exactly what I’m talking about. To not sound dramatic, I’ll prove my point. At the Pinchot AS, I sat on a log and chatted with a few other women that were waiting for their runners. One women was with her daughter who cried halfway to this aid station because she was having the feeling that their car was slipping towards the edge of the cliff because of the crazy, windy, washboard roads. I had another girl tell me she got lost on her way to a previous AS. She had a 1/4 of a tank left in her tiny sedan, the sun was setting and had no cell phone service to let anyone know to tell her runner she wasn’t going to be there to meet him. As she sat on the side of the road, sobbing, by the grace of God (whether you believe in him or not, at that point you’ll take anything!) out of the darkness, two random hunters stumbled upon her and stopped to see if she was okay. She gave them the run down and eventually gave her all the information on where to go and how to get back in track. (See! It’s not just me!)
Mason had just crushed that crazy, insane Ouray100 race 8 weeks prior and physically he felt fine but he just couldn’t get his stomach in check. We haven’t ever really had this problem so it was a conundrum on how to get a grip. We were both frustrated and so quick to throw in the towel. It wasn’t a good combo between either of us to find the ‘desire’ to move on. I think the hardest part of it all was knowing that I wouldn’t see him for the next 30 miles. Rumor had it that it was taking some runners 10-12 hours to complete this section and after hearing that, it changed both our attitudes. If there was a place to call it quits, this was it. This is where we realized that we were both defeated; mentally and physically.
“I should have finished. I could have finished” mumbled by EVERY Ultra runner after logging a DNF. The guilt that comes with DNF’ing is powerful. It’s a learning opportunity and I can guarantee that he won’t let it go down that easy again. Run, learn and move on.