Antelope Island 50K and On Being Vulnerable...Again

Antelope Island 50K and On Being Vulnerable...Again

It was not much more than a month after my first 50K along the Oregon Coast in October, 2015 and just two months after my 50th birthday that I was sitting inside a Panera Bread store in Canton, Connecticut, so close to where my passion for running had started in 1980. An email came across my laptop from the race directors announcing the Antelope Island 50K, just north of Salt Lake City where I was living. I had visited the island once prior to taking a college friend to the airport, but not enough to truly “know” it.

As I was leaving on that mid-February day I photographed one of the bisons that was standing alone outside of its herd and to this day, it is one of my favorite photos with the back drop of the snow capped mountains. Fond memories of that scenery inspired me to register for my second 50K just weeks after my first 50K and within two weeks of completing three legs and 21 miles in my a Ragnar Relay with 11 other college classmates. I simply loved to run and it was becoming evident, the longer the better and being vulnerable was also becoming my nature.

The day came and I had planned to go alone; no running partners to chat with before, during or after. I wanted to challenge myself and see how I could improve my time over my Oregon Coast 50K that had been grueling due to excruciating weather conditions, fierce winds and torrential rains like I had never encountered in my life. I had proven I could overcome being vulnerable and now I had to the courage to actually enjoy the experience.

The entry fee was also relatively affordable, $73 included a t-shirt, four aid stations, and a finish line mug for the finish line chili, even with a choice of buffalo or vegetarian. It was completely worth it to have the day running in the open space, alone in nature with a few other crazy runners, and not home alone raking leaves or shoveling snow. It was my idea of bliss. Pure bliss.

My iPhone map App suggested the drive was 81 miles and nearly two hours. I made sure to leave sufficient time to get there so as to reduce my usual stress.  Just as I had set my alarm for 4:30am earlier in the summer to attempt to run as much of the Kings Peak Trail (the highest peak in Utah) in a day as I could, I knew I could easily get up at 5:30 and leave by 5:45am for my journey to Antelope Island.

With a full mug of coffee and half a bagel in hand, I was already racing out the door. I had reached out to my reliable neighbors to take care of my Jack Russell for the day so that was one less worry on my plate. As one can imagine, those early morning drives are so peaceful with little traffic and listening to Sirius Satellite music. As I reached the exit for Antelope Island, glimmers of light started to appear in the sky and always wanting to record these moments, I pulled off the causeway to capture them, but for whom, always for me and for me to reflect back on my experiences.
I started to pass through the entry point which was unguarded so early in the morning and looked over my left shoulder to notice a rest area with a painted buffalo sculpture. I did a U-Turn and met some women who told me I had to register a few hundred yards earlier in a different parking lot. I turned around and parked, standing in line I met Kevin who was there with his girlfriend who would be supporting him, not accompanying him on the run. We chatted briefly before picking up our numbers, then I was on my way another four miles or so to the race parking and starting line.

I am so used to more competitive races where I might have arrived the night before, eaten more protein, checked the course map more accurately, checked my clothing and so much more, but that day was about being out there in nature, enjoying the scenery, the sounds, the smells and less about my minute per mile splits. I usually warm up, retie my laces over and over again, figure out the right clothes to wear, but there I was with some trail running shoes I had bought on sale, cropped tights instead of shorts, and four layers of clothes that were way too heavy even from the start. I did not want to be cold and so I ran with all of that for the first six miles and stopped to take at least ten photos, including a herd of antelope and a bison just before the six mile aid station.

I was on my own and I loved it. I didn’t have to prove anything to anyone but me and I could take the day off from emails and phone messages and best of all, raking leaves. There were no mile markers that day, no splits, just aid stations at miles 6, 14, 20 and 23, just like the Oregon coast trail run. There was inspiring and encouraging support from countless volunteers. I dropped two heavy layers and my ski hat at the first aid station and felt immediately lighter and free to run and be in nature.

Since this was only my second 50K, I was out there for myself to prove that I still had it in me to plod along and yes, secretly my inner core wanted to beat my time from the October race result which had been hindered by terrible weather conditions, but it was certainly not my reason for running on that particular day.

Brene Brown’s Daring Greatly had been inspiring me in recent weeks to have the courage to experience vulnerability. As we get older we get complacent; we get set in our ways. We like to have structure and predicability. Not me. As I was getting older, I was gaining more spontaneity. Being vulnerable is a scary concept, but it is the only way to push limits and set goals and live a life worth living.

I have since modified a quote from Wallace Stegner after this experience on Antelope Island in November, 2015: Being out in nature is the best idea we have for healing past pains, moving forward, showing resilience and testing our boundaries. “Our national and state parks and public lands, are absolutely American, absolutely democratic and reflect our very best.”

Running out there on Antelope Island, I could leave everything behind. The only thing I needed was my own mind to wander and my determination. On that day, I thought over and over again about the recent bombing in France and what could I do as one person. It was time to make a difference not just in my own thinking and my own actions, but for the good of others. My authentic self came roaring alive on that day, and I have now become an advocate for our national parks and public lands and have since written and published three children’s books about our national parks.