On my recent three-week business trip to Korea, in addition to working and traveling and helping my parents pack and move into a new apartment, I could not dismiss training for the upcoming 50K at the Prairie Spirit Trail, by Timer Guys, on March 30, 2019, thanks to a Facebook invitation from an old ultrarunning friend. This distance, the shortest of four in the event, would cover three Kansas cities of Ottawa, Princeton, and Richmond, although the latter two should not be categorized as cities. Because of ultrafine dust that polluted all of Korea for a couple of weeks, I wore an air-filter mask and could not even contemplate running outside; thus, I focused on maintaining, rather than improving, my fitness by cross-training indoors and ran outdoors almost daily upon return to Nebraska for the two weeks prior to my first race in my 30s.
I drove over six hours from Kearney, Nebraska, to Ottawa, Kansas, in nonstop powerful rain until I arrived in my destination the day before and then for whatever reason, unsurprisingly, managed only forty-five minutes of sleep; sleep deprivation has never affected my running, but I still felt irate. 50K participants attended a mandatory meeting at 7:30 AM, thirty minutes after which commenced the race. The weather channel forecast heavy thunderstorms for three consecutive days leading up to and in the morning of the event; however, soon before we lined outside, the rain turned into snow, about which nobody complained because nobody preferred rain that creates mud, what concerned me most about the course, to cute snow flurries. (We still faced both snow and rain incessantly and a bit of mud.)
As my body copes more efficiently with the cold than heat, I knew setting a new personal record (PR) from last summer would be likely and humbly hoped for a sub-6:30:00 finish. Despite the vicious headwind for half the race, which forced me to scream (and maybe curse) at one point, I found myself being able to maintain my initial pace far longer than I thought I was capable of, and around seventeen miles in, I realized I could not only conquer but absolutely crush my goal as long as I did not bonk drastically. I desired to make the most of this rare opportunity and almost refused to walk, only taking two uber-short breaks of half a mile combined; in spite of the physical pain and eventual slowing of the pace, I pushed and pushed, constantly praying to and conversing with my Father and searching for various ways to motivate me and make me feel happy, including reminding myself the pain will not always get worse, as ultramarathon legend David Horton would say, and imagining ordering a hot Starbucks coffee to go on my way back home. When my 26.2-mile split shattered my past marathon PR by over fifteen minutes, I impatiently wondered what my finish time will be. The feels-like temperature must have remained below freezing for most of the race, and my body vividly felt the wet cold. Miserable, I thought about taking one more walking break towards the final four miles to garner more energy to end strongly, but a brief moment of worrying if I got lost on the trail, seeing no runner in proximity, increased my heart rate and utterly woke me up, allowing me to carry on running.
With my right index finger pointing to the sky as I said in my feeble voice, “Thank You, Lord,” I crossed the finish line of 31.24 miles, according to my Garmin, in 5:29:33, smashing my previous 50K PR by an hour and ten minutes. God answered every one of my prayers for this weekend, and I acknowledge this miraculous performance could not have happened without His providing me with strength, endurance, perseverance, and mental toughness, especially considering my limited training. Thank You, Jesus!