“The mind can go farther than the body wants to.” 

A phrase known by most ultra runners, though not entirely accurate as the mind is a part of the body and both are parts of the human.  But separating the two into distinct vehicles helps us understand their specialties.  One isn’t more important than the other, and both need to work together to make the woman move.  

Anxiety is like that too, made up of mental-fabrication and reality. As a person who has had anxieties all her life, mainly surrounding who she is and how she appears, my anxieties have often felt insurmountable.  But over time I’ve understood how to separate instinct from the reality before me, and find a solution to move forward.  

The first 12

The SRT is an unsupported race, 30 miles with three checkpoints and no aid stations.  It is up to the runner to follow the correct course, being guided by an occasional SRT disk nailed to a tree. Runners also needed to carry food, a water filter, and anything else needed during the day.

At this year’s pre-race briefing, the Race Director made some extra announcements and called me in as being the only runner that would be barefoot. There was a round of applause that I didn’t really know what to do with. But even without the announce, I’m pretty easy to spot—no shoes on my feet and I have a transgender pride flag pinned to my pack.

Being surrounded by so many 30-milers at the start I was able to make quite a few friends, chatting about the course, my trans flag, and of course about being barefoot. But conversations were short lived as I took off down the first gentle decent on a windy bit of single-track.  This was very reminiscent of the Bicentennial Trail on Mount Wachusett, a route that I had done just a week before. But by mile 10 I could feel the consequences of going fast, in my unhappy hip flexors.

While not having aid stations, at mile 12 I found a group of people under a tent for my first of three checkpoints. As soon as I spotted them my anxieties took hold.  I was encountering the first people that day who weren’t runners. And my mind started racing…

Do I look like a runner?

Am I saying the right thing? 

Am I going to be hated for being “different?” 

The flight instinct wants me to get away before something “bad” happens. 

But then I remember to separate mind and body, what’s instinct and what’s the reality. I am not in danger–these people are here to make sure I am doing well. Separate the two, and the instinct calms down.  I slowed down picked my head up, and said hello.  There was an immediate a calm when I spotted the woman behind the desk smiling. She asked for my bib number, I told her and kept running.

Errors

I should have stopped for longer though, my joints were tight and needed a break. My running form became sloppy, I wasn’t picking up my feet. And at mile 16 all of those things came to a head when I slammed the ball of my right foot into a rock! NBD, I thought—I’ve done it before without consequence. But a few hundred yards down the trail I could feel a tingling in that foot and caught site of blood completely covering my last three toes.

Shit! Immediately I stopped and pulled out the first aid kit.  

Step 1, stop the bleeding! 

As I sat other runners passed me.  Everyone was nice enough to ask if I help, but in either pride or anxiety (probably the latter) I shook my head so as to handle this on my own. One of the first commented on my trans flag, and how there should be more representation in sports.  But that was information I couldn’t deal with at that moment, except to know he accepted me.  

There was too much blood in the way to actually see the cut. I sat there thinking about how amateur I was for hitting a rock, and how stupid I was at not checking my first aid kit before venturing out. While I had the basics and some extra—I had NO medical tape.

Step 2, get to safety.

Upon stopping the bleeding I wrapped a small piece of bandage around the gauze and set out again, at least to the next checkpoint—but those few miles took forever! I could feel the wound opening with every step, and I still didn’t know the extent of damage I had done. As I walked I fretted about… 

What was the damage to my foot?

How was I going to get back?

Is this serious enough that I need stitches?

Is my health insurance going to be covered in another state?

What the fuck am I going to do???

Just after mile 17 was the next checkpoint. My anxiety of being out of place tried to push its way in—but was quickly squashed with the reality that I was in a safe place and had more important things to do.  Pulled over and unwrapped everything. I found that one of my calluses had separated from the foot bed. At this point I thought about dropping. I mean how was I going to continue with a cut on the bottom of my foot—every bit of debris will find it’s way in with each step I take.  I didn’t need an infection along with everything else. 

In that moment of considering giving up I could hear the voice of a fictitious smug ultra runner saying, “this is why we wear shoes.” As if the shoe-wearing runner has never found themselves struggling down a gentle slope after turning an ankle.  There was once a runner that said (in response to my bare feet), “we’ve evolved beyond needing to be barefoot,” which says much more about his grasp of the english language than his knowledge of being barefoot in sports.

It was these real and fictional conversations that drove me to find an actual solution to my problem. Putting my mind to work to solve a body problem. The gauze roll came out as did Band-Aids, alcohol pads, scissors, and the full Ace bandage roll with clips.

Step 3: Let’s find a solution!

I peeled back the callus and gently pulled out any debris with the blunt end of the scissors which I sterilized with an alcohol pad. A water bottle on my pack allowed me to irrigate and clean the wound. Then two band-aids over the cut and gauze wrapped around my toes and mid foot. Finally the Ace bandage wrapped around the my fore-foot, mid foot, and ankle. I sat for a minute to see how everything felt and then I knew—I was could get this done!

The next 6 miles were lessons in figuring out how I could run the fastest with my injury. Not surprisingly, the pain I was feeling in my hip flexors went away—I was way more focused on the right foot.

At the last checkpoint I rewrapped the bandage, and used one of my bib’s safety pins to secure it, texted my wife, and set to it once more.

Misgender, not Mr. Gender

The last 5 miles had us going around Bonticou Crag, and then down into some woods before hitting the rail trail in Rosendale. While walking the carriage road around the crag I could hear a pair of racers behind me. One person said to his companion, “oh there’s the barefoot guy!” 

Already feeling down due to injury, I cringed at the word “guy.” I’m a non-binary person and I don’t like being called a guy or referred to as a man—even though I heard it from almost every male person this day. Misgendering is real and gender is important. Even the unintended mistake feels gut-wrenching as it reinforces the anxiety of “not fitting the part.” Lady, woman, person – those all describe me better than man or guy.

I believe there was a response from his running companion correcting him. Soon he passed me and said, “you are an impressive individual.” I smiled at not being called a “guy.”

Getting past the crag and heading into the woods, I was largely alone again. A few people passed me, I passed them again at some point—it was a game of leap frog until finally seeing the Rosendale trestle, an old railroad bridge converted to a pedestrian walkway. Leap frog was done, five of us walked hundreds of feet in the air above the city of Rosendale on the bridge. Knowing we were almost done we stuck in a little pack together all the way to the finish line! So amazing and satisfying!

My final time was 10 hours 46 minutes, 1.5 hours faster than last time! 3200 feet of elevation gain, and 5000 feet of descent. 

The reason I love doing these ultra events is to stretch my mental abilities. By surviving jarring events such as slicing open my foot in the middle of an unsupported ultra, I can put those skills to work when I’m face with the real anxieties that are part of my life.