Lake to Ocean 100K - 2022 "My Happy Place"

Some places capture your heart and never let go.  Magical places where unicorns sip champagne and rainbows lead to actual pots of gold.  The Lake to Ocean Trail in South Florida will always be one of those special places for me.  Only good things happen for me there, only and always good things.

The 2022 “summer edition” of Jeff Stephens’ Lake to Ocean 100K was to be my eighth start since its inception in 2014, I’ve never missed toeing the line here. A 62-mile battle from the eastern shore of Lake Okeechobee through a loosely connected string of wild and largely untouched places to Hobe Sound Beach on the Atlantic. But it came within a hair's breadth of not happening this year. My 81-mile DNF at the Keys 100 two weeks again took an unusual toll on me. Massive fatigue, bloated limbs, and ear-splitting headaches plagued me for 10 days afterward. For several days I thought I might have a liver failure in process due to miscommunication with a nurse over lab results. Then my doctor tentatively misdiagnosed rhabdomyolysis. Stubbornly, I clung to the thought of starting, even if it meant dropping at the west guardrail into Dupuis 3 miles from the start. Finally, on the drive south I got the call from the doctor, rhabdo was definitively ruled out in my latest bloodwork. More likely it was some hyponatremia and significant heat stress from trying to run too fast (for me anyway) from Key Largo to Key West.

The plan was to run easy, stay well within my limits, pair with Andy Mathews, and “enjoy the day”.  The first 15 miles through Dupuis went just as planned, we ran comfortably in unseasonably cool and pleasant conditions as an almost tropical storm rolled in the day and night before the race and through race morning.  We discussed careers, told stupid jokes, and met CJ from the South Florida water district also running the race.  We were pretty close to the back of the pack and just taking our time.   Despite all of the rain, Dupuis was dry as was the beginning of Corbett.  But shortly after the first aid station at Powerline, things begin to change.  Andy started to suffer, and I realized I felt good.  Really good.  Better than I had felt the past two weeks by far.  We talked it out, and 18 miles in, I took off.  With the course this dry, I felt like I could motor and maybe post a really good time…   Wrong. 

By mile 19, the trail started to show water on it.  Not bad, nothing much more than a foot or ankle-deep, but enough to slow me down.  I came into the second aid station at Grade Road optimistic the terrain on the other side of the shell road would be drier.  Wrong again.  200 yards into the third leg, I caught Kailynn Violette and we pushed each other through the next 18 exceptionally wet and difficult miles together.  2022 was supposed to be the first dry year at L20 in some time, the weather had not dropped much rain this spring.  But the storm had dropped an immense amount of water over the past 36 hours and everything was suddenly flooded. We traipsed through water ankle-deep, shin-deep, knee-deep, and occasionally thigh-deep.  It was difficult going all the way to the 31-mile mark and the third aid station.  And then it got worse in Hungryland with long stretches of deep water.  The sun came out, the perceived temperature rose and things got even tougher.  A couple of miles into the equally wet Loxahatchee Slough, Kailynn’s knee began to slow her down and I forged ahead alone. 

With no company to converse with, I turned my entire focus onto the course in front of me and forged ahead as fast as I could.  Which is not saying much while trying to run in shallow water.  The beauty of the course is astounding, the wildlife everywhere.    The top ten highlights:

1. 15” baby gator we spotted in the canal in Hungryland.  This was a rare day through L2O without seeing any big gators.
2. Millions upon millions of minnows created ripples along the surface as they scattered before my splashing through the water.
3. Some type of fat orange-reddish fish I could not identify, I saw several along the edge of the trail.
4. The exceptionally large crawfish bowed up when he saw me, thrusting his pincers as high up in the air as he could, looking as large as possible.  He was NOT backing down as I skirted by.
5. Not 5 minutes later a decent size crab did the same thing, except he scuttled sideways letting me pass unchecked.
6. Midway through Loxahatchee Slough, I was slowly running in ankle-deep water, focused on following the trail through the grass.  Coming the other way down the flooded trail was a 2 ½ foot water moccasin in beautiful brown and black and yellow. It was headed straight at me in a typical serpentine locomotion swim, I assume hunting minnows.  When it saw me, it quickly curled into a striking position with its head 6 inches out of the water.  Fortuitously, I stopped even quicker, roughly 4 feet short of his position.  Threat abated, it turned and swam off into the grass along the side.   That encounter kept my adrenalin high for a good bit as I contemplated where Jeff would have to send the EMTs to get me if the outcome had been different. 
7. I was making my way through nearly equally wet Jonathon Dickinson Park as dusk approached and the tree frogs began their evening chorus.  A single tree frog can be loud, hundreds of frogs make an incredulous sound as they seek sexual partners for the night.   I laughed to myself as I imagined I was in a giant singles bar for tree frogs, with all of them calling out, “Look at me!  I am THE one for tonight!!"
8. As darkness set in I saw a runner sitting on the ground 100’ ahead of me, their headlamp shining red back at me.  Or so I thought.  Suddenly the runner stood up smoothly – and then soared through the night air.  It was some kind of bird with huge eyes reflecting red in my headlamp. 
9. Finally, still in JD, leopard frogs out and about for the night began crossing the trail, leaping into my path repeatedly.  I nearly fell several times trying to avoid an inadvertent Squish.
10. The only thing I didn’t see were the unicorns, but I know they were out there.

The final aid station just past Riverbend Park is known as “The Zoo”.   My daughter Rebecca has become quite an expert as a crew in the past several years.  She got me refueled and resupplied for the final 15-mile push, she was money all day long.  Mark Cudak was also there having come back from stringing a rope across the flooded, swift-moving, and chest-deep Hobe Creek crossing.   Mark good-naturedly re-enacted the infamous Vaseline handshake from 2014 (a story for another day).  

I headed out hoping for drier conditions only to find miles more of the wet trail to plod through.  I had the oddest notion as the trail crossed under the Florida Turnpike and I-95 and then parallels it north for a couple of miles.  Just a few hundred yards to my left, semis barreled down the pavement, drivers rolled along in their air-conditioned cars, oblivious to what myself and two dozen other intrepid souls were attempting in plain view from the interstate.  Trudging along the trail on tired legs, and wet feet, sharing the trail equitably (and with the crawfish, crab & snake, not so equitably) with a variety of wildlife; I may have well been on another planet as those gas and electric fueled travelers.  The dichotomy was striking. 

Finally, with about 6 miles to go, the course dried up and I could smell the finish.   I put in some strong miles to close it out with the traditional plunge into the Atlantic Ocean, 15 hours, 56 minutes after I started.  I earned a 7th coveted finisher’s buoy and if you include the Just Survive 125M races, my 9th successful leap into the ocean.  I wish I could adequately describe the positive feeling of those final hours on the course.  Lake to Ocean is a stiff test on any given day and had been particularly difficult this year with close to half the trail underwater.  But there had never been a single moment in the day where I faltered or questioned my ability to push through.  I have had so much success, and so many joys here, there was never a doubt in my mind about how it would turn out.  It remains one of my happiest places on earth.  

Jeff is starting a “winter edition” of L2O this year on Halloween weekend.  There is no doubt about where I will be on the morning of October 29.  I can’t wait.  

Lake To Ocean 100K, June 5, 2021: Reservoir

 The Lake to Ocean 100K has long been my favorite race and this year just cemented that feeling further.  It was an unexpectedly wonderful experience given I came into the race with very low expectations. 

 I have been battling a hip injury all spring which has become progressively worse until the orthopedist told me to take 6 weeks off running and do physical therapy.  This came as a huge disappointment as I had spent months ramping up mileage to be ready for the Wickham 200 which I was now forced to miss.  But nothing was going to prevent me from toeing the line on the shore of Lake Okeechobee yesterday.  Andy Mathews and I are the only two runners to start every year of the race, and we kept the streak alive for #7 in 2021. 

 

I set my goals really low.  My C goal was to make it to where the trail enters Dupuis Reserve at the 3 mile mark.  If my hip was already acting up, I would call Becca and have her pick me up and call it a day.  B Goal was to make it to the first aid station, Powerline, 15 miles and drop there if the hip had become a problem.  The “A” goal was to nursemaid my hip through 62 slow miles all the way to Hobe Sound Beach and collect my 6th buoy (the L2O finisher’s award) and remain one ahead of Ron Hines who I knew was a lock to finish and earn his 5th.    In fact, Ronnie ran strong all day and was first overall male. 

 

I intentionally walked out of start and positioned myself at the back of the pack.  I could not afford to run at the front with the leaders, not even for a mile.  I was convinced keeping a very slow but steady pace was the only way to keep my hip in check and make it to the finish.  Within half a mile I was in step Ariel Bernstein and Andy.  A few minutes later we gathered up Mark Cudak and Brad Lombardi and the 5 of us moseyed around the dirt roads and entered Dupuis Reserve amidst a lively conversation.  Ariel soon pulled ahead, and I learned later, that through a well-executed race strategy she passed every single other runner to become the first female overall winner at L2O.  A stellar performance. 

 The four men stayed together through mile 6, all hanging back for their own reasons, but then began to separate.  Brad and I shared a couple more miles together in Dupuis, but I then ran alone for most of the rest of the race.  Coming up on mile 10 I was focusing on keeping my posture upright and eyes up on the orange blazes on the trees. Luckily, I heard an odd hissing and looked down just in time to see a 9-10 foot gator laying across the trail a few paces in front of me.  It did not take me long to see and use the hastily devised workaround through the grass the 12 runners before me had blazed.  I did stop long enough to get some decent video of the monster hissing at me, agitated by the steady stream of humans who had interrupted his morning. 

 I came into Powerline feeling really good.  My hip was holding up and I was running halfway decently.  It was very weird coming into the aid station though.  In every previous year, I had come in amongst the lead pack and there would be 2 dozen cars and numerous crew cheering everyone on.  This time, running towards the back, I came into a ghost town.  4 cars and 4 or 5 people including my daughter Becca who was crewing me.  I got myself together and headed out for the 7 mile leg to the back entrance of JW Corbett. 

 

The 9 mile third leg of the course, through the heart of JW Corbett is wickedly difficult.  Twisty, winding, rooty, uneven ground in the midst of a sauna has laid runners low again and again.   At about the 25 mile mark, my left toe caught a root causing a shiver of pain up my bad left hip and I tumbled to the ground clumsily.  This was exactly the event I had been trying to avoid, anything that aggravated the hip to a pain point that might mean worse damage.  I walked the next mile trying to shake it off.  I made several attempts to break back into a jog, but each time I told myself the hip hurt too much.   By now, the heat and humidity was beginning to cook me.  The lack of running the past 5 weeks was painfully obvious in how weak my quads were beginning to feel.  I told myself, this was it, I was done.  This was the smart decision I had promised myself I would make if it arrived.   I decided to walk the next 4 miles to the entrance of Corbett where Becca was waiting and drop the race at the halfway point.  I decided I had just enough time walking in to listen to the end of the audiobook I have been reading the past week. 

 

Five years ago, Andy had convinced me to try the audiobook version of “The Boys in the Boat”, a story about the University of Washington 8 oar rowing team that rowed for gold in the 1936 Berlin Olympics.  It is a fantastic story of courage, fortitude and persistence; qualities I think carry over to ultrarunning.  I remembered driving down the road, pounding my fist on the dashboard as the boys competed in races leading to the Olympics.  A week ago I had decided to pull it out again very nearly finished it on my Friday drive to Jupiter.   

 

One of the highlights of the book are the quotes at the start of each chapter from George Yeomans Pocock, a leading designer of racing shells in the early 20th century and integral to the University of Washington’s success.  His quotes are fantastic motivation pieces and I found inspirational.  As each one was read, I would mentally translate rowing to ultrarunning and find the meaning in it for me.  Chapter 17 ended with the boys sitting in their boat at the start line of the gold medal race in Berlin with all the odds stacked against them.  I knew Chapter 18 would be a blow by blow of the race itself and I was eager to hear it.  But first, it led with another Pocock quote: 

 

“Men as fit as you, when your everyday strength is gone, can draw on a mysterious  reservoir of power far greater.  Then it is that you can reach for the stars.  That is the way champions are made.” 

 

That struck me with the weight of an anvil.  I immediately broke into tears and my chest heaved.  It was as if George Pocock had reached across 85 years of time and was speaking directly to me.  I have what it takes to push past this injury, I have what it takes to keep moving in this heat.  I will keep running and I will jump into the Atlantic Ocean before midnight.  I found my reservoir and I used it.  And with that, I was running again.  As the boys charged past the German and Italian boats to the finish line in front of 75,000 fans and Adolph Hitler, I yelled profanities and invective at the Fuehrer with no one else within a mile of me to hear it. 

 

I came into the aid station, told the story and halfway broke up again.  I took my time as RD Jeff Stephens, Andrea Moxey, Amy Mathews and Becca put me back together.  I made good time through Hungryland and at Beeline Highway picked up Leo Acosta questing after his first buoy.  We ran about 3 miles into Loxahatchee Slough together, but separated soon after that.  There were a million active snakes in Loxahatchee including a black racer who guessed wrong on which way I was going and inadvertently cruised over my foot and between my legs as I ran by.  The resulting high-pitched scream was decidedly un-manly.   

 Becca was absolute money as my crew all day, she has been doing this for close to 10 years now and pretty much an expert.  She met me at the final aid station, “The Zoo” just past Riverbend Park and put me together one more time as I got race updates on the leaders hours ahead of me.  I had over 5 hours to cover the last 15+ miles and knew I could just about walk the whole segment and still make the 18-hour cutoff.  But I kept pushing forward as best I could.  I crossed A1A ahead of schedule and ran most of the last couple miles to break 17 hours.  I trotted down the sand and stepped into the ocean at 16 hours, 53 minutes.   Jeff hugged me by the surf and told me he had already put a red buoy in a box for me, the last color in the collection.  A spot on the shelf awaits and I hope to see a new color in 2022. 

 

This was my worst finishing time at L2O by several hours, in absolutely ideal running conditions (by L2O standards), but I am every bit as proud of this finish as any of them.   It served as a reminder for me of what a great metaphor ultrarunning is for life, something I have treasured since my first 100M in Vermont nearly 13 years ago.    I return to “real” life Monday, knowing I have what it takes to push through all the obstacles and challenges life may throw at me.  And if things get really rough, I still have the Pocock Reservoir to draw upon.