The rollercoaster to the finish: FKT Double SCAR, pt 4/4

I was moving so slowly leaving Newfound Gap. Was I even moving? I was searching and mostly listening for running water. I had run out of water a few miles prior to my disgusting but much-needed bathroom floor nap, and my water search continued on for a long 3 more miles. The effects of dehydration (while pushing myself like this) began to compound seriously. There were so many wet spots on the ground, so there had to be a source nearby. I kept slowing down to look left and right, but my headlamp’s vantage point was useless through the thick undergrowth, leaving me desperately hunting without success. The 1 mm of water glistening underneath my feet taunted me in the pitch-black of night in my death-like stupor.  

Night #2, 4:30 am

Eventually… I found a spring 3 miles south of Newfound Gap. I plopped down and filled up. I couldn’t believe I had only made it 3 miles and needed another break to rest my mind from the night and to reset from the frustration of running out of water and not finding it more easily. While I sat there, I tuned into my day 3 game plan. 

An alarm came on and told me it was time to begin ramping up the caffeine! It was still dark, but I began to tell myself it was early morning instead of night. After some tired math, at this rate, I was looking at being out there for a third night. I HAD to speed up in such a massive way if I stood a chance at chipping away at my projected finish time… (sometime around midnight now if I was lucky). I didn’t want to be out there in the dark AGAIN! The thought was too devastating and lit a little fire under my booty. I was DETERMINED to finish before darkness!

Day 3:

Daybreak came after the long water stop break, but it wasn’t sunny. It was still pretty dark in the thick forest. While climbing up Mt. Collins and Kowohi (previously known as “Clingman’s Dome” and the tallest point on the entire Appalachian Trail), I knew my final bail out spot at the top was approaching. THIS would be my end point. I dug deep into my brain’s arsenal and instinctively decided it was officially time to play the nausea card. 

If I couldn’t put fuel in my system, I couldn’t continue. It would be too dangerous. Eating was becoming increasingly challenging. My body was revolting against carbs, sugar, and salt. The mere thought of a PB&J, quesadilla, Bobo’s Bar, Fig Bar… blegh! I could go the rest of the year without another gram of carbohydrate or something sweet. I ate half a Maurten gel with caffeine and determined I hate the taste of caffeine. My tongue began to have sores on it from the salt tabs I had been sucking on. “I can’t keep anything down,” I messaged, as I neared my bail out exit ramp for the parking lot at the summit. But my satellite phone (Garmin InReach) takes many minutes or hours to send a message, and by the time the message got to Chap, and I got a reply, I was long beyond that particular invented crisis and onto a different part of my rollercoaster ride.

I had some weather (occasional rain spurts) climbing on the summits of Mt. Collins and Kowohi, and I was THRILLED to use my umbrella! Honestly, whipping out my pink umbrella was so comforting somehow! I felt like I had shelter, or a home. Also, the caffeine started to do its caffeine thing, and my mood began to swing again for the better. Yes rain! Yes umbrella! Yes highest point! Yes Double SCAR! 

I charged my headlamps halfway because I knew I was going to finish this thing, but probably in the dark. I couldn’t commit to charging the headlamps fully, because I refused to let my brain believe I could be out there a full third night. 

I was slipping and sliding on roots and rocks and reflecting on just how technical the Appalachian Trail is! NOTHING prepares you for the AT except for the AT. In what world did I think that 400 miles on the AZT would prepare me for this?! No, no, no. I felt clumsier in the technical terrain than I would have liked, but my caffeinated mindset wasn’t phased by my slips.

Day 3: 6:32 am

Mile 112…Uncharted territory…

I began feeling good! Wait, I wasn’t feeling “good.” I was emerging from a portal and becoming a new person! I began the descent after Kowohi, 112 miles into this thing, when suddenly, I realized I felt like ME again! 

This trail DID still have something to teach me! A lot of things!

I climbed out of my chrysalis and spread my baby butterfly wings and soared. Like actually. I sprinted. All out. Both the ups and downs. Every bit of trail was mine to devour. I felt completely disconnected from my body vessel, and I was flying. I have no clue how a tired toe didn’t snag a root or a rock and how I stayed upright for a few hours of full-out ecstasy. It was like the “rally” before actual death. My incredible surge of energy and drug-like giddiness left me smiling, and I felt one with nature, lost in the present moment. Running free. 

Maybe some of us need a 107-mile warm-up (in running and in life). Ever since I left the spring at the base before the Mt. Collins climb, I’d been moving in a new way. As I raced through a dewy morning meadow, completely unable to see the ground, feeling the trail with my senses, I felt like I had never run faster before in my whole life! I didn’t know my legs knew how to move so quickly and effortlessly. 

My spirit was finally released from my physical body, and I was blissed out, numb to sensations that had been ailing me. The knee pain I had been trying to ignore for the previous 36 hours was suddenly gone, and my pack felt noticeably lighter (wearing my rain jacket also made for one less thing in the pack, distributing the weight in a gentler manner). 

I was having a full-out conversation with The Great Universe:

“Set Jacqueline free! Let her be free! Release her. Let Jacqueline fly! Jackie has been doing a great job all these years, but now it is time to leave her behind and let Jacqueline reign your body.” I greeted Jacqueline and released Jackie, no longer carrying the weight she had wrestled with for so many miles and years. 

AHHHHH! I get my lessons! Jackie was reliving her roles from her past. The first 107 miles of trail represented 12 years of a relationship that choked her nearly to death. Jackie was tortured on this trail 7 years ago when she thru-hiked it, suffocating in a marriage she couldn’t save, battling freezing temperatures and surviving day to day. Jackie had been stuck. Jackie didn’t feel like herself back then and unknowingly let herself gradually erode for 12 whole years. That was a LONG time to try and try and try and flail and become a faint echo of the girl she once was on the inside. 

Stuck, not feeling like herself, buried in a mess that kept getting worse… was this the avalanche and the first 107-mile slog-fest? Or the relationship? It was both! The trail up until this point represented two parallel lines (the literal one and the figurative one from my past).

I didn’t die though. I didn’t die in the avalanche or when I was feeling scared in my marriage. I became stronger instead. I didn’t lose myself even if I didn’t feel like me a lot of the time. I was still always in there. But Jackie had taught herself to try to control outcomes to make herself feel safe. I had been checking my watch and doing math and planning and scheming escape routes for what felt like an eternity. I was amplifying crises because I didn’t know how to really let my ego get out of the way. I was so consumed with trying to set a “respectable” FKT or save a marriage that I forgot to look for a life vest.

AT LAST! The trail did indeed have other lessons in store for me, and I had to play it all out to get here to fully appreciate the feeling of flying. Was flying cheating? I mean, my body just did whatever it wanted, and I let it. Jacqueline quit trying to tell my body what to do. Jackie would have told my body to conserve a bit more on those steep inclines because I was still 38 miles out, but Jacqueline let my feet move freely, however she wanted. Jacqueline felt like me.

Experiencing euphoria like this in ultra running is almost inevitable. I’ve encountered it in pretty much every effort. But to race “well,” I’ve always known to keep everything zipped up and in control. The tears aren’t supposed to come out until after the finish line. The highs and lows are absolutely coming for you, but the goal has always been to manage them, dampen them, not let them take me over, and definitely not give in to them. My brain knew this while I was out there freefalling into a golden field of sparkles, but Jacqueline intentionally decided not to control things anymore. I let myself fully indulge. I KNEW this would likely have consequences, but I didn’t care. And to be fair, I let myself cave to my fear emotions 1,000% when I was trapped in the avalanche on night one, so just let me have these moments of carefree fuck-it-all joy. I did. I let myself have it. And in doing so, I knew it wouldn’t last (because it never ever does).

But I needed this high, and I wanted to see it all the way through…I had just figured out why I was out there! Jacqueline was reborn, and she was pure. She wasn’t broken. She was whole. She wasn’t trudging through life or this trail like she was swimming in molasses anymore. She was flying, untethered and untouched. She was and is me. And always has been. I was grateful to find her out there and let her take over.

As I was bursting and leaping gratuitously over roots and rocks, I approached a group of female hikers. “Are you Sprout? Are you doing the Double SCAR FKT right now?” they asked me. I smiled, “Yes!” They burst into claps and cheers for me. Wow! Witnesses! I was so glad they saw me running, and I wasn’t sitting on the side of the trail in a puddle of self-pity or doubt. They must have read my trail log entry I wrote on day 1 (two days ago now!) at the shelter nearby. I guess context clues helped them, too, since I had a running vest (and was actually running!). Tears began welling up as I passed the second set of the group of women cheering for me. I graciously exhaled, “Thank you! Thank you!” as the tears dribbled out of the corner of my eyes. They will never know the impact that little moment of cheer had on me. Don’t let cheer go unnoticed. And if you can, cheer someone else on whenever you think of it. Because you never know what darkness someone has been going through and how significant a simple “woohoo!” can be for someone. 

A message came in from Chap: “Heading to the finish!” That perilous word: “finish.” I was going to finish! I was close! And by somehow warping through the 4th dimension, I had made up time! SO much time! If I could keep this up and keep pounding the caffeine, maybe I could even finish in the daylight! It was in the realm of possibilities, but I would need to keep speeding up and not lose this momentum.

My number one motivator became getting to the finish. The sooner I’m done, the sooner I don't have to eat another flavorless ziplock bag of rehydrated mashed potatoes (which at this point, was the only thing I could get down). I could SLEEP if I just finish! Finishing in daylight feels maybe somewhat respectable?

My nausea worsened as the caffeine intake progressed. I had shoveled more than 8k calories into my system since the start and hadn’t had a BM yet. Now, my brain had been pulled to the future (“the finish”), and I started thinking about how I could fast and give my gut some reprieve and sleep for days if I could hurry up and finish! Maybe I wouldn’t need any more dirt naps!

By mile 117 (30 miles left), I began making a list of all the lessons I’d learned on trail, and all the things I was grateful for…as if I was nearly finished… 30 miles felt so doable. I was taking a bow, and the rest would just be a victory lap. I began to think I was moments away from being finished.

By mile 119 (8:58 AM), the finish mindset had run its course, and I was beginning to feel tired of the steep climbs. They started to feel hard. Very hard. But I was still moving. Only 28 miles left!

The warning sign on my emptying gas tank came on at mile 125, 11:21 AM (only 22 miles left). The fatigue began to trump everything. I just had those beautiful downhills and a few hours of real running, but maybe I should have just kept things steady. But I just let it all go. I set her free. I didn’t want her to run like that, but the body just ran. Now, I was out of breath on the steep inclines, and my stomach ailments were getting louder. I kept telling myself I was so close! But maybe I shouldn’t have celebrated so early. I still had four more big climbs… 

The climbs in this section were STEEP! I caved and lay down for dirt nap #5 at 11:56 AM. I was still so fatigued after awaking.

Always be wary in ultras of when you feel good. Because you will come crashing down just as hard.

I was fading. I began talking into the selfie camera for entertainment, comfort, and company, but mostly to try to keep myself awake and trick myself into seeming lucid. I kept forgetting what I was saying mid-sentence. I was forgetting a lot. I was forgetting words and my own thoughts. My stomach hurt. It hurt to eat. I kept getting confused. Every time I looked at the FarOut app to check my location it would put my location way off route and I would get scared I was somehow off trail and lost. Eventually the GPS would locate me, or I would see a white blaze, but in the long moments of apprehension I was worried I somehow took a wrong turn.

My mind had been playing tricks on me. During night 2, I had cool hallucinations of beautiful faces in the moss on the rocks. Sine them, I had been seeing trail signs at imaginary trail junctions that were not there, so the fear of being off trail kept resurfacing. I also was consistently seeing snakes, but they were just the roots on the ground. Occasionally the snakes scared me because there were so many of them, but mostly I was so tired I just existed alongside my imaginary snake-ridden pathway without much fear. Fatigue quiets fear and apathy sets in. I would have given anything to have the fear and adrenaline of night one again.

I was barely walking in a straight line. On a cliffy ridge section, I stepped my left foot off trail, and it went all the way down! Luckily, I caught myself, but I was anxious to get down from the ridgeline. There is a lot of climbing still. My lungs were so tired. They burned as my breathing became shallow and jittery.

My body was legitimately shutting down. My mouth had imploded with sores all over my tongue and inner cheeks due to my body’s stressed state from 48+ hours of exertion + excessive steroid inhalants + salt tabs I was sucking on, causing a change in the pH balance and ecosystem of my mouth (Glossitis and oral aphthae and possible Thrush). This made eating any of my fast energy foods like my Cliff chews or anything sweet (bars) extremely painful, so I was reduced to chips and mashed potatoes and forced the flavorless Maurten gels down whenever I could. I was having major tooth sensitivity from gum recession from stress and dehydration on the right side of my mouth. So I now kept all chewing and drinking to the left side of my mouth.

My body was protesting, and I didn’t know how to cheat it anymore. I was trying to call on strength I don’t even know about to keep taking one more step. I just wanted to be done. Right. Here.

I was 20 miles to the finish! 

I thought about the hundreds of 20-mile long runs I have run in my life in Austin and elsewhere. “It's just a Saturday morning,” I told myself. But suddenly, the inevitable came, and I crashed and burned. I was out of water again. “It’s okay, just take a break at the next water source,” I told myself. “You’re almost there!” But I couldn't move or think or keep my eyelids open at all. I was 0.3 miles away from the spring where I needed to fill up with water, but I could not make it. I tried to

will myself to sleepwalk to just get there, but I collapsed into a dirt nap.

0.3 miles… the equivalent of about one lap around the track. I didn’t have a single step left.

1:07 PM

Drit Nap #6

I took a 12-minute dirt nap only a little over an hour after my last one. I had heart palpitations from the caffeine, and I felt my body shutting down. The yeast infection (thrush) in my mouth became so extremely bothersome. Yeast lives off of carbs and sugar (which is also what I needed to live off of to get off the mountain). 20 miles felt impossibly far. I wanted to throw up.

I couldn’t muster the strength to stand up. I couldn't turn the autopilot switch on to use that tiny recovery nap to ignite the engine again. I was planted to the ground, stuck, like I was quickly growing roots. My brain was offline. My body too. My spirit was far, far away. I think it flew away and left me here like a corpse. This would be my new home. I didn’t know what else to do this time. I realized I needed to continuously increase my caffeine intake until I ran out of it. But caffeine wasn’t helping me move off the ground to get to water, and I started to wilt and give up. I had run out of ideas. I cried into my phone camera, “I don’t think I can make it.”

After a short meltdown, the trees whispered an idea to help me. Mother Nature, in her infinite wisdom, somehow managed to communicate with a near corpse and reminded me that my bestie, Lillian, had sent me an audio file to listen to during D-SCAR. I had saved it “for when I really needed it,” but had completely forgotten about it until this moment. It was time to push “play” on Lily’s voice memo and at least be comforted by her voice as I felt my roots pull me into the dirt.

“Hey beautiful." (sobbing now…)

“I just wanted to remind you that I’m here. I’m allllways here.” (Mind blown. Because she actually is ALWAYS here. Always with me).

“And being in your pocket is such a great place to be because you do such incredible things. And you’re doing an incredible thing right now.” (Okay, if you say so). My body, disconnected from my brain and spirit, heard her and started making moves from the little spot on the ground where I thought I would live out the rest of my days, 20 miles from Fontana Dam Trailhead.

“Every bit of strength and expansion you create for yourself, I get to have it too.” (I miraculously start to have some life now, without thinking about it; I am standing!)

“When you accomplish something like this, I feel like, “What’s possible for me?! It takes the ceiling off for my life. You’re removing a ceiling for all people when you set a record. You’re going to set a new bar! And someone is going to be inspired by you to break your bar! How incredible is that!” I laugh with her through my tears.

“Someone else’s feat of courage and strength wouldn’t be able to reach that bar if they weren’t following in your footsteps and standing on your shoulders.” (Pack on, time to remember why I’m here, yes). She yanked me out of my dirt pile pity home and reminded me I have girls and women to inspire by setting a record for them to aspire to and go out and break someday!

“And you have my strength, lightheartedness, courage, grit, love for pain, capacity to keep going even when it maybe seems crazy to someone else and an irrational but truthful knowing that you have more.” (I do. I have more. I have just enough to make it 0.3 to get more water. I need water. Move to water. I have more. I have more. I’m shuffling. Baby steps).

“There is an invisible source you can always draw from.” (Facts. This woman is blowing my mind out here, and her words are literally causing my body to move against my will).

“I’m imagining you pulling in everything you need from the air, skipping from rock to rock, dancing your way through this trail, like a child playing in a creek bed. Your youthful adventurous spirit always has more energy, like the child who doesn’t want to go to bed, ‘I want to live more! I don’t want to miss out on the night! I don’t want to miss out on a moment of my life!’” …(oh this woman knows me. She’s known me for 35 years, and I do hate missing out on a moment of life. I’ve always been a night owl, and prior to this effort, I thought this was my edge. I had been so grateful when I ran R5 in the Grand Canyon that I got to experience that majestic place at all hours of the day AND night. Not missing a single moment. She’s reminding me of myself again. Who I had found again only 20 miles ago, who I am, and always have been. I might not be skipping and dancing anymore, but hearing the words made my feet move. I’m walking. I’m moving. I’m even smiling while crying).

“Keeping your own cadence allows the current of life to settle you into a rhythm. You don’t need to know the rhythm or understand it; it carries your body for you.”  (I felt like a puppet as my feet moved automatically to the rhythm of her words).

Her words were like a perfect score to my movement, and as I progressed, she began repeating phrases and mantras to help me not only walk, but find a stride again. Her voice is carrying my body for me. The trail is carrying me to water.

“the present moment 

the present moment

present moment

the now

the now

the now

You place your feet just right 

just right

just right

right next step

the next step

the next step

the present moment”

“Trust in your strength, trust in your joy. You have fun when it's hard and you suck the marrow out of it. It's a reminder that all feelings are good feelings. It means you’re alive. It means: 

I’m here.

I’m here. 

I’m here.”

“Every place where my foot lands is where I am. 

I’m alive with my breath. 

I’m alive with this step.”

“All you have to do is be here. The ONLY job you have is to stay present. To be here. The only task you have is to breathe and take the next step …and the next step… and the next step…”

And those next steps brought me to the water source!

Oh Lily. Hearing your voice brought me back. It brought me out of my own demise and helped me literally find footing again. You picked me up off the ground and carried me with your words, love, and strength, like you have many other times in my life. This human connection revived me. I can only imagine what the subliminal effects of doing efforts like this, supported with pacers and crew, might be like. Unsupported efforts, when you're so far gone, are like being on a different planet. And then, the simple idea of companionship through a voice memo forced my physical vessel into submission, to keep trying to survive.

When I got to the spring, I realized how hot I was. I took off my clothes and washed them and creek-bathed. Newly baptized, I had water and caffeine, and for the first time ALL TRAIL I finally had my first BM (diarrhea). But once the flood gates opened, it was a dangerous place to be. I took some Pepto to stave off the urgency and keep things as calm as one can at 130 miles. I probably spent way too long at the spring, but I had lost all sense of time. I was overheated, dehydrated, and severely sleep-deprived. 

I continued pushing more caffeine.

The last 20 miles were a hazy blur, but they were not a complete death march. I gave every step and every little climb or descent everything I had. I ran as much as I could and found a new layer of existence. I don’t have words for how hard these last miles were. The caffeine kept me alert enough to do the things I had planned on doing and to keep finding the next step.

I felt like I was running in zone 3-4 effort-wise. I looked at my watch and saw 14-15 min/mile pace pretty regularly. I became obsessed with desperately trying to hang on to 14-minute miles like my life depended on it. I don’t have much experience running at this pace, but I remembered doing a trail run with Madeline, and we ran at this pace. I visualized her running, effortless and with a nice strong cadence. 14-minute miles. Hold on.

I was able to hold on for a while. I dug deeper and deeper. I was talking to myself out loud with every little climb. “Come on! Come on! dig! more!” I looked forward to the climbs because I could just march and plop my feet down without much thought or control. The uphills were a respite for my brain, and I enjoyed them. The majority of the last 20 miles were downhill, which fatigued me mentally so much. Downhill running requires finesse and concentration and was basically just “controlled falling” at this point. How did I not fall on my face?!

8 miles left. 

I can’t! This is it. This is where I end the suffering. Dirt nap, rinse, repeat. Finish in the daylight! 

I refused to charge my headlamp again. I needed music. I needed my phone. I would rather sleep in the night than use my headlamp again. I turned my Garmin InReach to have more frequent pings (which would drain the battery, but I didn’t care). I imagined my family watching my GPS dot move to the finish. Making the GPS tracking more frequent made me feel less alone somehow. I couldn’t allow myself to conserve anything anymore. I needed to use everything I had: savory food whenever I had an inkling, all the caffeine, all the battery. I threw EVERYTHING at those mountains. 

6:16 PM

"Don’t have energy to talk to the camera or keep my eyes open. Leaving everything out here. I’m taking all my power from this with me. I hope someone comes out here and crushes this record. Being awake hurts. But I'm going to make it. Never in my life would I ever imagine I would push myself so hard to hold on to a 14-15 min/mile pace."

3.5 miles left. 

I sat on a Smoky Mountain rock step on the steep switchbacks down to the trailhead and took some breaths. Could I breathe? Breathing required focus. Inhale. Do it. Exhale. I needed sleep. Caffeine couldn't make me not sleep anymore. The sleep deprivation hurt like all my bones were broken in my entire body, including my skull and face bones. My body was shutting down in every way. I found some more food and caffeine and kept pushing more, more, more. The sleep deprivation made it impossible to have authority over my physical being anymore. I couldn’t will myself to make the movements needed anymore. I wanted to quit. I wanted to just lay down and sleep through the night and just finish in the morning. I could just do that. This tired trope of just wanting to quit never got old and still had such a stronghold until the bitter end.

Miraculously, fear of a third night somehow pulled me off the ground, and I began “running” again. I became irrationally and deathly afraid of a third night. I needed to finish in daylight, and my fight-or-flight response somehow cut through my sleep deprivation amid minor caffeine spikes. I tried to keep my eyes open, but I definitely couldn’t. Those switchbacks are not smooth. They are technical and steep and muddy, and I have no idea how I didn’t fall during one of my downhill run/walk naps.

FINALLY, lo and behold, I got to the trailhead! PAVEMENT! Smooth pavement! I didn’t care that it was downhill because I could plop my feet on the ground without thinking about pavement. I could relax my brain and my form a bit, and I did. My spirits began to lift, but my closed-eye moments lengthened because… pavement!

I hallucinated my friends Madeline and Nick and a white dog that was actually a rock. Wow! What a cool surprise! I can’t believe they came here to cheer me on at my finish! I waved, and I didn’t realize it wasn’t them until I was much closer. It helped me, though. It made me feel supported for some steps. Then, I saw the dam! The finish!

Run girl run! Look like you’re running! Move your arms and your feet. Pretend to run, and maybe it will be running! The inner vibe was right, the caffeine was right, and I RAN! 

64 hours 34 minutes 51 seconds, first woman ever to run Double SCAR unsupported (setting a new FKT).

2d 16h 34m 30s

I became the first woman to complete Double SCAR unsupported, setting the FKT.

• 147.8 miles

• 37,152 feet elevation gain (for reference, the Cocodona 250 has 38,791' gain with 102 more miles...)

• Best mile: 12:09 min/mi (the last one!)

• I beat the first two men's FKTs

I arrived at Fontana Dam to a welcome party of Chap and Hops (fellow thru hikers), and I somehow had a decent stride at the end. I don’t know how I didn’t fall, as the steep and technical descent was brutal. I finished relatively unscathed! AND in the daylight! Thank you, Chap, for being nearby during my whole effort and for not letting me quit too easily, reminding me of my goals, and planning my finish line. I don’t know what I would have done if I had finished and no one had been there.

My feet were blister-free! I spent a good hour taping them meticulously the night before I started, and I never took my shoes or socks off while I was out there. Yes, they got soaked, and the terrain was steep, but somehow, my feet looked normal! (A few weeks later, 5 of my toenails became loose and I eventually lost them, but it was a delayed effect).

I had a nearly impossible time sleeping. (WHAT?!) I was so wired on caffeine, and my body had essentially trained itself to not sleep. I had to sleep-train afterward because it took me a few weeks to have back-to-back REM cycles again. In the aftermath, my sleep was also MASSIVELY impacted by my lung inflammation and inability to breathe while lying down. I had to sleep sitting up as my chest and lungs were in tremendous pain. I felt like someone was pressing down on my chest, and I would cough hysterically for nights on end. 

I made a Teledoc appointment the day after D-SCAR to address my ailments and somehow managed to meet with students a few days later.

Two weeks later…

My body is mostly back to normal, and my finicky lungs only act up occasionally. My whole-body flare-up (from the obvious stress of the event) resulted in 10 nights of taking Benadryl, and that has finally begun to subside. My knee inflammation seems to have waned significantly, and my brain fog is beginning to clear more and more each day (although tough to feel totally out of the woods when I’m still taking antihistamines). Each day a new little ailment shows up and then disappears. From my right pinky toenail to my left glut, lower back, a headache, or general leg fatigue and cramps, my body has recovered fairly remarkably. My mouth is finally totally back to normal, and I feel I came out the other side of Double SCAR in decent shape, all things considered. 

Extreme sleep deprivation is the scariest thing I have experienced. Saying the words doesn't have the right punch. Bloody wounds, heat stroke, hypothermia, bear encounters, broken bones, extreme nausea or vomit, literally every ailment I have ever endured or challenge encountered don’t cumulatively add up to the physical pain of extreme sleep deprivation. 

Not sleeping for 72 hours is not okay, and I do not think it is admirable. I do not endorse going this long without a REM cycle.

I began to feel like maybe my FKT wasn’t something to be admired and maybe I don’t want to have it as a bar for others to crush as they test their strength and courage. What I did resulted in months of brain fog that severely impacted my mental health and overall well-being, and it was hard for me to imagine writing my blog posts or feeling proud of my achievement, which is why it has taken 11 months to finally publish my thoughts.

Months later…

A part of me wants to go out and beat my own record, because I know I can. I want to implement all the lessons I’ve learned and do it better. Maybe not get lost this time and DEFINITELY sleep more during the event if I’m on pace for over 60 hours. I cannot emphasize how wrecked sleep deprivation made me and how I am still on edge about not getting enough sleep. I bail on commitments preemptively if I think there is a chance my sleep could be compromised. I’m definitely a little traumatized and protective of my sleep and have avoided scheduling things in the mornings in case I need to sleep.

But with enough distance from D-SCAR, the lessons I learned out there, and my newfound appreciation for SLEEP(!), I’ve begun to chew on “what’s next” (and no, it's not another D-SCAR encore!). I’m curious to go further to safely be in the zone of “sleep required,” putting me neatly in fast-packing zone (but I’m worried I will still be sleep deprived). I had the opportunity to sell one of my running vests when I got home, and I didn’t. I guess I’m not ready to retire. 

10 months later…

Health-wise, I learned I am nearly out of iron reserves and likely have been for many months. The massive fatigue and brain fog from lack of iron has had me crashing out daily. It has made it challenging to keep up with my writing or do anything “extra” since I’ve been trying to pour from an empty cup. But the lab results have given me some relief because now I have an answer for why I’ve been so tired and foggy and crashy.

Thank you to all who support my wild ideas and to those who read my stories. Writing about my experiences helps me digest and process my life, so I do it for myself. But I also enjoy the art of storytelling and the act of publishing my narratives helps me refine my writing and connect with my community.

I am now proud of my Double SCAR feat. It wasn’t how I wanted it to go, but I’m proud of myself for not quitting, and I’m proud of myself for leaving every last drop out there. I have learned a lot about myself and I continue to take on challenges and smile at life's ups and downs, knowing none of it will last, and my ONLY job is to be right here, in this moment, right now, alive.

Here is my list of mile 117 lessons learned:

1. Every time I’m close to a bailout point, the urge to quit is overwhelming. Maybe choose routes with no bailout spots.

2. Sleep bank the week before, mandatory. Especially the night before and two nights before. IT MATTERS. I got 6 hours and 4.5 hours respectively from travel and getting ready, and starting at a deficit makes for a very tough go at a multi-day endeavor.

3. Tape feet! I haven’t had issues. I know the tape is sliding around in there, but I haven’t looked.

4. Having support even when doing “unsupported” efforts is very important (critical).

5. Running makes my stomach sloshy.

6. Nausea and sloshy tummy don’t kill me (!!! mind blown). 

7. I was insecure about battery reserve for electronics (phone, Garmin InReach, headlamps x2). Next time, I would take a larger power bank (this one is 10k aMh). Running out of battery would be devastating.

8. Don’t do “chores” at night. Or when it's cold, which is also at night. Ex: my headlamp died at night while I was filtering water. Got out my other headlamp and I tried to charge my dead headlamp, and lost the cord on the ground with my gloved hands. Trying to find the cord in the misty dead of night with a headlamp on a trail was like looking for a needle in a haystack (the cord looked like roots and sticks). I wasted a lot of time at the water stop searching for the cord I dropped… I definitely could have just waited until daylight to charge the second headlamp. Somehow, I found it. Phew. I also accidentally dropped a glove at some point during night 2, so I used an extra sock on my other hand as a glove replacement (I had two extra pairs of socks with me).

9. Come up with a different funnel system for mixing powders. The funnel for pouring powder into my water bottle is a timesuck nightmare. But the powders are the two sources of fuel I never became sick of, so I need to troubleshoot that better and not mess with the funnel in the dark.

10. Braids are the least-tangly option in such a humid environment for a three-day effort, but those braids keep getting stuck in my zippers, tangled with my bottle straws, and everything. They’re annoying. I wish I had done my hair differently.

11. Pack powders in better Ziploc baggies because I’ve had multiple baggies come somewhat undone, and now the inside of my pack is covered in sticky, smelly soup and chocolate ‘smoothie’ powder.

12. Pretty fabulous I don’t use caffeine in regular life because it's definitely helping me move today… If I finish this, I’m going to be proud of pushing through all the hurt.