2021 Uwharrie 100 - "Simply Unrelenting"
A Pacing Story about a Beautiful Connection and a First Time 100-mile Finish
Mid-way into her 28th hour of racing I was given the humbling opportunity to pace Carlita Farmer for her 5th and final 20.5 mile loop of the Uwharrie (URE) 100 mile trail race - an event so tough even 100M veterans often shy away from. For Carlita, it was her first ever attempt at the distance. Pacing Carlita wasn’t actually in either of our original plans but yielded an outcome so incredible it was just meant to be. Her husband, DeMarion was planning to pace her for the last THREE 20.5-mile laps, for his own 100k distance as training for his upcoming 100-miler, but after 40+ miles it was decided a ‘fresh’ set of company was needed. My intentions were to pace another friend of mine through his 100 mile finish, but unfortunately he had to drop out early before welcoming lap 5. I was ready and prepared for my task at-hand, but lets first take some time to acknowledge what all occurred on my end in the previous ~20 hours leading up to the moment Carlita and I began - on what would eventually become the most sought-after finish I’ve ever seen.
I had agreed to pace my friend Dalat for his 3rd and final lap of the URE 100k the night before - yes, that means volunteering to pace TWO of these crazy loops within the race weekend, but I was also preparing for an upcoming event and 40 miles here would be an excellent way to round off the training week. I began with Dalat around 3:15pm and paced him running hard around the iconic URE figure-8 loop. He and I wrapped up the lap just before 9pm for a sub-15 hour finish earning him 6th overall. Congrats Dalat, what an amazing finish!
Perhaps what any ‘normal’ person would do after running 5.5 hours into the night knowing another 20-mile lap of pacing awaited the next morning would be to set up camp, get some rest and recover. But ultrarunners are NOT normal. Crazy, irrational ideas stemming from those who run ultras can only be understood by other, crazy like-minded ultra runners. So naturally, ‘rest’ and ‘recovery’ were not exactly what I had planned for the rest of my evening; I was engulfed in too much excitement of the other ongoing race. The 100-mile runners would continue through the entire night so volunteers are needed to help keep them going. These aid station volunteers, aka runner’s life support, are vital to getting participants through the second half of a 100, and my plan was to do just that.
I drove down a few miles to Cross Roads Aid - the middle crossover point of the figure-8 loop and proceeded to help cook, aid, support, and progress runners all through the night. There’s something so special about helping runners - more like glazed-face roaming souls - that are so battered, abused, tired, and borderline cognitively dysfunctional, hobble into an AS to eat food, setting up cots for them to nap or help them change shoes, and then watch them fade back into the night with bit more energy to tackle the next section of the course. It’s motivating. It’s humbling and inspiring, and a greater boost to my own over-night mental stamina then guzzling a coke or sipping a coffee. Most of everyone that comes through are complete strangers yet receive the same level of care as a best friend would - more on this later1. I got to see everybody pass by about every 10 miles and watch their race unfold bit by bit, the good, the bad and even the DNF’s, when no matter what measures are taken, their race ends prematurely and without a finisher’s buckle.
Early into the morning of day 2, Carlita and DeMarion strolled through sucked free of their ever-glowing smiles. If you’ve ever seen them at an event (or frankly at any time ever) you’d understand how infectious and uplifting their smiles are, so when they came through stripped of them, I knew something was wrong. Carlita was inevitably was just completely exhausted and mentally drained. I knew she had enough time before the next intermediate cutoff point so I opened a cot by the fire and set a 20 minute timer so she could rest.
This is when we realized DeMarion wouldn’t pace her for lap #5. She needed someone fresh and ready - me, who had already run 5+ hours the previous night, and then had also been awake and on my feet the entire night volunteering. But none of that mattered to me. In that moment, when I realized Carlita needed help for her last lap, and I was available, it didn’t matter I also had been awake for nearly 24 hours straight, I WAS going to do this even if it meant collapsing into a fetal corpse right along with her, but only AFTER we crossed the finish line. Carlita and DeMarion woke and went off to run the last ~5 miles of the 4th loop and I packed up my things to meet them at start/finish.
I had one job; get her through one last lap before the 6pm cutoff - no other options existed.
“I WILL do this, she IS going to finish”
I so firmly guaranteed to DeMarion and the 5 other friends surrounding us before we took off. She wanted to stop but we wouldn’t let her.
We shuffled, we ran, we hiked and we persisted. Mile by mile, hour by hour. Every single step was one never to be repeated. This was the last lap. Every time she brought up quitting I shot that idea down faster then she could even articulate all the words. Distracting conversations about anything and everything kept us true to the ultimate ultra-running mantra:
“Just Keep Moving.”
We were making decent time but around her 87th mile - during some of the toughest sections of this course - she’d given up and lost all desire to continue. I finally agreed to let her sit. First on a rock, then laying down on a fallen tree and then once more to soak her feet. We quickly lost all the time we ‘banked’ and were now well behind cut-off pace. The math just didn’t work out in our favor. In her mind she was dropping at the next aid station, and I agreed.
“But we still have to get there, so let’s just GET THERE!”
As quickly as we arrived into the next aid, around mile 92, I looked at Carlita and pointed back down the trail. “GO.” Glazed-faced and stunned at the firmness of my directive, the look on her face screamed “this is not what we agreed on, I’m dropping out here remember?” all without peeping a sound. I yelled back.
“Look, we don’t have time to argue, GO!”
I never succumbed to thoughts of defeat, remember NO other options existed then getting her across the finish line, even if we collapsed together once we got there. It was the oath I swore to myself upon accepting this position, and Carlita wasn’t going to let me break it.
The overwhelming support and motivation from Dan (the RD) at this aid station, the few other runners we passed on the course, her husband and their kids via my phone calls to him and my pure stubbornness relit that dying flame within her and she took off - and I mean running these next few miles FASTER than my time with Dalat for the 100k. Absolutely incredible.
Hand-in-hand we conquered every hill and every remaining step. I lead and she chased.
“NEVER LOOSE SIGHT CARLITA!”
Then she lead and I pushed.
“We need to run now. WE NEED TO GO.”
To demand so much out of somebody who has already given SO MUCH is not easy. Fighting cutoffs makes this job harder then figuring how to get all sand from one side of an hour glass to the other in only 45 minutes, and then do it four times over. I monitored and checked my watch like the most strict and harsh HR timekeeper we’ve all been employed by at some point in our lives.
3pm turned to 4pm, and 4pm turned to 5pm all in what felt like the fastest 30 minutes of your favorite television show - minus all the commercials. There we were thrust into “the Golden Hour” and not like the magnificent glowing light show of pretty red, orange and yellow hues we’re treated with as the sun sinks into the horizon. No. The Golden Hour of a race is when shit gets real. There’s no more playing around. 60-minutes is all the time that remains between you and the end to be awarded with a finish. Otherwise it’s a 100-mile long DNF - probably the worst type of incomplete status’ out there. Your brain tries to comprehend everything that’s occurred over the previous 35+ hours of racing so far and how heartbreaking it would be to come in late. It tries to convince it’s human host to move faster and to push harder but the body is since past it’s limit and retaliating hard.
We crossed over the iconic '“big bridge” for the final time, one of the last trail landmarks that represent our proximity to the end like diminishing mile-notations displayed from your GPS on that unbearably long drive home.
“My watch just hit 100”
I overheard Carlita mention in the most cheerful voice I had heard from her in hours. I congratulated her with a hug.
“Lets finish this. Just a little bit more. You got it.”
The Uwharrie course is actually +/-102.5 miles, one of the many curses here designed to break you.
I knew we were closing in but loosing time, and I’d be lying if I said I retained the same confidence as I so exuberantly possessed at the start of this lap. Truth was, I was doubtful we’d make it before cutoff too - that we had just lost too much time too long ago and ‘making up time’ was impossible at a race of this magnitude. But for a pacer to convey signs of such negativity - intentional or otherwise - is like an elementary school councilor telling their students to ‘just give up on your dreams.’ I was going to squeeze out every single bit of strength Carlita had left whether the time took us past 6pm or not.
“I know you have it in you Carlita. I KNOW you have a little bit more to give. You just have to find it and show it to me.”
We pressed on…
“You can hate me now Carlita, but you’re gonna love me for it later.”
We pressed on…
“We HAVE to run Carlita. We HAVE to move!”
We pressed on…
Carlita crossed the finish line at 5:45pm, Sunday October 24th, as 3rd place female and after 35 hours 45 minutes and 33 seconds since the race began; I couldn’t be mor excited for her. To finish this event is phenomenal, to do so with less than 15 minutes to spare, well that’s purely astonishing and the truest display of grit, determination and perseverance I think I’ve ever witnessed.
Thank you Carlita. Thank you for trusting me, for letting me be a part of it, for accepting the food when I made you eat, for not quitting, for smiling when I tried making you laugh, for pushing yourself when you thought you had nothing left, and for ultimately crossing that finish line - that was truly remarkable. Congratulations!
I think it’s important to add to this incredible story that while it may appear as if Carlita and I had been best of friends for years leading up to this race, that we already knew how to ‘make it work’ and that we’ve done this type of stuff together many times before, in reality, that couldn’t be more from the truth. Carlita, DeMarion and I actually NEVER had even met prior to this day. We had ‘heard’ of each other through mutual friends and other connections, but we were still perfect strangers prior to this entire ordeal.
I’m writing this not to detract from the beautiful connection we gained with this experience, but to further emphasize the true essence of ultra-endurance trail running. It’s a community where selflessness is common-core, where people of all backgrounds, experience, and wisdom come together to help each other no matter what. When nothing else matters but to help someone get from point A to point B; whatever it takes. In those final 7 hours of Carlita’s race, we had morphed from complete strangers to best of friends and this singular interaction would serve as the kickstart of nearly an entire year so far of other amazing trail races, crewing/pacing opportunities, and finish line celebrations, and I couldn’t be happier any other way.
Your time is coming in October and I’ll be there to witness it.