Linda Barton-Robbins Pt. 2

Fat Dog 120 - Canada's Most Scenic Ultra-Marathon

By InnerVoice

August 26^th, 2016

Pre-RACE

As I head into Fat Dog 120, I am doing a lot of self-talk. It’s an emotional time. Reed, my baby boy is turning one. He‘s growing up and turning into less of a baby and more of a little kid. I‘m about to end my yearlong maternity leave and go back to work. I love my job as a librarian, so I’m excited. And I know little Reed will love daycare. Still, I‘m going to miss being with him all day. He’ll be learning new things and I won‘t always be the first one to see it any more. At the same time, this race is a celebration of being a new person as a mother. I‘m showing Reed, and myself, that I am stronger now than I’ve ever been. I will probably cry and maybe for miles and miles, but my love for him, and for my family, will be what keeps me moving.

When I look back at that last sentence, I realize I could be talking about the race or I could be talking about my every day.

I was nervous.

Fat Dog 120 was the celebration I wanted. I was nervous. The last 100 miler I did was two years ago and although my body had responded well to the 50k and 50 mile races I’d already done, you just never know what might happen. 100 miles is far and this was 20 miles farther; and at the last minute another 2 miles was added to the course!

Gary, Roxy, Reed, our good friend Dianna and I traveled out to Manning Park for the race briefing the day before the race. We, of course, tried to pack too much into the day and it got hectic, but once the briefing was done and we got to our hotel room, I relaxed. And then, Reed decided he didn’t want to go to bed. He was amped from the day and the room was warm. I got him to sleep, but he was unsettled and wiggled all night, effectively killing any restful sleep I wanted to get. There was nothing I could do about it, so in the morning I got up and we just got going. I felt tired and emotional. I wouldn’t let anyone else carry Reed and I kept squishing him closely to me. I told him I’d miss him, but I’d see him soon. When the race began, I left him Gary‘s arms and when I looked back for the final, he was clapping for everyone.

As soon as I hit the trails, all my anxiety drifted away and it was simply time to get moving. And that‘s what I did. I kept moving. I had simple goals. Keep moving forward. Take care of myself if problems arose. Stay positive. Finish.

Being parents is the hardest thing Gary and I have ever done.

For the first 41 miles, I ran with other racers here and there. We’d chat away a few miles, but I was mostly on my own. I had a pretty deep low about 25k in. The lack of sleep from the night before hit me and it was difficult not to think ahead to what it might feel like at mile 50, mile 80, or mile 110. I slowed down and ate more and decided to be all smiles going into the aid station at mile 18. In the aid station, I drew upon the energy from the volunteers and friends there crewing for other people. I said yes to every offer of cola and pickles (ultra-runners eat like pregnant people) and started to pump breast milk. It seemed to take forever, so I decided to try to walk and pump at the same time, which didn’t go so well. It leaked and dribbled down my leg and made a sticky mess. I gave up and stood for a bit until I was actually done and then shoved the pump into my pack.

When I got to mile 41, things had been going well and I was eager to pick up my first pacer, Gary. I got in, sat down, and started nursing Reed who latched right on. We scrambled to grab supplies for me because my drop bag was nowhere to be found. Once we had everything sorted, I handed Reed back to Dianna who calmed him when he fussed and then Gary and I made our way back onto the trail. As we left Gary said, “Hold my hand.” This was the first sign that we were about to have a lovely night together.

Being parents is the hardest thing Gary and I have ever done. Parenthood makes for long days and it’s hard to balance everything, and we very rarely get time to ourselves. At the end of each day, it’s all we can do to plop on our couch and watch something on TV before we collapse into bed. We spent about 14 hours together having an adventurous date night. We ran into a friend who is a mother of two who was pacing someone else. We mentioned how lucky we were to get so much time together without our kid and she smiled, nodded and said, “I totally get it.” All night we cracked jokes, giggled and moved forward. We thought we were hilarious, but I know if I tried to relay anything to anyone else, they wouldn’t understand what was so funny. At the night’s darkest, we turned our headlamps off and spotted meteors. Gary pointed out eyes he saw across a field and assured me he‘d protect me from whatever it was. We held hands some more. When it was getting close to sunrise, the sleep monsters started biting and Gary kept me positive. But later, as we began to close in on mile 80, the monsters’ bites were deeper and he could tell that I was going to need some rest. I am pretty sure I slept through a few miles of running.

Once my troop showed up, it was time to go.

At mile 80, I was to pick up my second pacer, Rich. I was so tired I was honestly kind of relieved when we realized that Rich, Dianna and Reed hadn’t gotten to the aid station yet. Someone handed me a smoothie, which I obediently drank and I was put down to rest on a cot in the middle of all the race mayhem. I didn’t exactly sleep, but I closed my eyes and listened to everything going on around me. I’ll admit, I really enjoyed resting there on my own without having to worry about anyone or anything else.

Once my troop showed up, it was time to go. Reed was sleeping in the truck, so I breast pumped again and handed off a bag of milk to Dianna. We got all of my stuff together and collectively admired Rich’s tights, which were neon and every animal print imaginable. “Name that animal!” I’d purposely chosen to have Rich do the second leg of pacing rather than the first because I felt there was too much going on emotionally for me—Reed turning a year, going into daycare, me going back to work, etc. With Gary, I can be more vulnerable and I worried I wouldn’t be able to keep it together. Rich is farther removed from everything. It seemed to work out well. Rich is a goofball to say the least. He kept me laughing with the weird noises he likes to make. We chatted about “stuff and things and feelings and emotions.” He kept me moving, even when I’d find a frog that was absolutely fascinating and needed to be stared at for as long as possible. When I would start to rev up to cry, he’d say, “Not yet.” It was all I needed.

I have love in my life that keeps me going every single day.

I felt like I stayed pretty strong for the rest of the race. Eating was tedious, but I knew it had to be done. We came up with a reward system for climbing. Every 500 feet up, I could eat some chocolate covered coffee beans. It kept the sleep monsters at bay. They didn‘t really rear their heads again until the final 8 miles and by that point, it was just that I wanted to be done and back with my family. Those last 8 miles were ugly; too much climbing and way too many rocks, but whatever. I had to get through them. I was able to run, or what felt like running, the final few miles. When we saw the finish arch lit up across Lightning Lake, Rich called out with his “ugh.” I heard Gary call, “Linda?” “Yes!” I saw his headlamp coming toward me and both Rich and Gary ran me to the finish line where I finally got to cry. I hugged everyone. I kissed Gary. Dianna was there with Reed asleep in her arms and I kissed his sleeping head.

It was everything I wanted and I met all my goals. It was beautiful out there and I felt strong and supported by the village around me. I love my people. I love my trail family and my true family. I love that I get to do these things. I have a support system that allows me to find the time to train and friendships to keep me grounded and also buoyed when I need it. I have love in my life that keeps me going every single day.