2024 The Country Mile (48 Hour) Race Report

Last Updated on April 9, 2024 by Heather Hart, ACSM EP, CSCS

I believe that a common thread among all successful ultrarunners is an unwavering confidence in themselves – whether they outwardly recognize that or not. Because frankly, there is no way a person can toe the line of something as wildly overwhelming as a 100 or 200 mile race unless deep down they fully believe that they are capable of accomplishing such a massive feat and reaching the finish line.

Any cracks in confidence, any mentions of “if I finish” vs. “when I finish”, allow the tiniest bit of self-doubt to infiltrate. And much like a hotspot or blister left ignored, once that doubt enters it will continue to grow exponentially over the course of the race until it’s screaming so loud it cannot be ignored.

You can’t let doubt in, period. You HAVE to believe that you can, and will, do what you set out to do.

But that confidence in one’s self doesn’t happen overnight. In my case, it took endless failed 100 mile attempts and DNF’s before I began to realize that I am, in fact, capable of doing some really hard things. Once I crossed that threshold, it was almost as if I became a new athlete…a new person, even. Sure, sometimes race finishes weren’t very pretty, but I got them done, and found myself less and less intimidated by the task at hand, whether it was a 100 mile ultra or a multi-day expedition race.

The problem with the confidence, though, is that sometimes it can be misplaced. Sometimes you have to remind yourself that just because you CAN do something doesn’t mean that you SHOULD do it (or that it’s in any way a good idea).

And that was the theme of my 2024 Country Mile 48 Hour race.

Preface:

I mentioned in a previous post that I had decided make my return to ultra running and the 100 mile distance by signing up for the Yeti 100 in September of 2024. With a full 9.5 months to train, this seemed like a very reasonable decision.

But since then, I may have fast tracked that return by throwing in a second 100 miler with a questionable training timeline because as it turns out that’s just the kind of person I am.

Old habits die hard, what can I say.

The evolution of me signing up for the Yeti 100 Washington version – a race that is in (checks calendar) a mere 12 weeks – went a little something like this:

1. On January 1st, I signed up for the Virginia version of the Yeti 100, which will be held in September of 2024. Simultaneously, I convinced my good friend Raquel, who is now living in Colorado, to sign up for the Washington version, which is being held in June. She signs up.
2. A month later, she mentioned needing to find a pacer.
3. I volunteer to pace her.
4. She looks at the race rules, finds out you can have pacers starting at around the the 50 mile mark, and asks me if I’ll pace for the entire second half of the race. I tell her it will be a stretch to get in 50 mile shape by then, but I’ll totally do it.
5. Raquel convinces me quickly to just train for the whole damn thing.
6. I sign up for the 100.
7. I buy a plane ticket.
8. Here we are.

Now, Geoff and I had signed up for the 2024 version of The Country Mile 48 hour race at some point late last year. This race is almost like a family reunion of sorts, giving us the opportunity to see endless South Carolina ultra running friends, as well as cheer on and support a number of clients. Neither of us had any intention of necessarily racing the event, but we wanted to secure our spots to be there nonetheless.

Fast forward to April, and I’m 9 weeks into a 21 week (admittedly rushed) 100 mile training plan. In addition to the last 9 weeks of running that have gone smoothly, I’m coming off of a 72 hour adventure race, a 100 mile gravel race, and a strong & fast 12 hour adventure race. I’m feeling amazingly strong (thank you, multi-sport training), confident, and most importantly, happy. I figure Country Mile will be the perfect opportunity to test my legs.

The Country Mile 48 Hour Race Report

The Country Mile consists of a 3.1 (ish) mile looped course through a strawberry and sunflower farm in Upstate South Carolina (Marietta, to be exact). It sounds idyllic, but the reality is that in early April, neither are in bloom quite yet. So instead, 350 runners spend 48 hours running up and down dusty dirt roads with zero shade and plentiful wind…the kind of wind that likes to destroy unsuspecting pop-up canopy tents.

Nevertheless, it’s beautiful in its own right, and the atmosphere of this particular group simply cannot be beat. I give it a 10 out of 10, or 5 yelp stars, however you want to spin it, I highly recommend this race.

The race features a 6:00 pm start on Friday night, and continues until 6:00 pm on Sunday evening. I made the drive from Myrtle Beach to Marietta early Friday morning, arriving around 12:30 pm. I set up my aid station table and tent, and spent the rest of the afternoon hydrating, constantly lathering myself in sunscreen, and catching up with so many old friends I haven’t seen in a while, as I’ve been busy galavanting* among the adventure racing world.

(*by “galavanting”, I clearly mean trekking through thigh deep pluff mud or spending 8 hours in a canoe in the Gulf of Mexico, and such. )

As is the nature of ultrarunners, many asked what my plans were for the race. I told them all that my “A” goal was to cover 50 miles, a requirement for both the Yeti WA & VA races. While I’ve done countless 50-100 mile races before, none have been within the last 2 year window.

But I joked – perhaps with more seriousness than I realized at the time – that since my husband decided to not accompany me to this race, I was left “unsupervised” and therefore “not responsible” for what I may do after that 50 mile mark. I’d earned a 100 mile buckle on this very course back in 2021, and I felt like an even stronger athlete now than I could have imagined back then. I wanted to see if I could do it. Hell, I BELIEVED I could do it, there was no doubt in my mind.

My confidence was temporarily getting the best of me.

Laps 1 – 6 (approximately miles 0-18 ish)

We line up for the start at 6:00 pm, and once race director Matt Hammersmith says go, everyone takes off. And believe it or not, I start running at a very reasonable, easy zone 1-2 effort. Despite misplaced lofty goals of “we’ll see what happens after 50 miles”, I still recognize that I still need to approach this race with a lot of caution.

In fact, I choose to do a 3:00 run / 2:00 walk right from the start, again with the intention that this may end up being a multi-day event for me. I also take this opportunity to work on my fueling strategy, taking in a single SIS GO gel at the top of the hour, and a serving of PROBAR Bolt chews at the 30 minute mark, every hour.

(That’s 180 calories /44g carbohydrates per hour, for those keeping score.)

And so, for the first 18 miles, I casually run and walk my way around the farm…and I feel fucking AMAZING….for now.

Laps 7 -10 (approximately miles 19-31)

My longest run in the past nearly 2 years has been a whopping 15 miles. I’ve certainly spent more “time on feet” than that, though. Most recently, we covered a 50K trek while absolutely sleep deprived in the middle of a 72 hour adventure race back in February. Nevertheless, my most recent long run in a LONG time has been 15 miles.

And around 20 miles into this race, I felt that.

Specifically, I felt it in my feet, ankles, and my right shin. My cardiovascular fitness felt strong and my energy levels were great. But my skeletal system immediately began to feel the effects of the LACK of specificity in my training. All of the gravel racing and hours in the gym and Alp du Zwift climbs in the world do not compensate for the lack of specific training when it comes to a high impact sport like running.

I continued to run and walk my way to the 50K mark through the dark, extremely aware of the fact that when I was running I was experiencing was a bit more than discomfort…it was pain. A sharp pain that jested in the “fuck around and find out” sort of way.

But for once in my stubborn, ego driven, hard headed athlete life, I didn’t want to find out.

It was time to reevaluate.

Laps 11-17 (approximately miles 31-53)

Without any hesitation at all I ditched the harebrained, and let’s be honest, completely unreasonable idea that I would try and earn a buckle this weekend. COULD I spend the next 40 hours walking endless circles to prove a point? Sure. But would it help me reach my Yeti Washington goal?

Not a fucking chance.

Further, I decide to turn this 50 miler into more of a split training weekend rather than one single bout of running.

It’s around midnight, and I text my husband to let him know I’m going to bed and I’m going to try and sleep until around 5 or 6 am. I’ll get up, finish the last 20 miles in more of a “back to back long run” approach.

How foolish of me to think that I’d sleep.

Hell, just the previous day I was jokingly bragging to friends about how I had hit an all time “no sleep PR”, going nearly 41 hours without sleep during our February adventure race. The truth was, I didn’t TRY to go 41 hours without sleep, I simply couldn’t get my brain nor body to fall asleep during the numerous naps our team stopped to take.

And Country Mile would prove to be no different.

Despite the fact that I hadn’t had any form of caffeine since lunchtime on Friday, my brain was wired and refused to shut down. I tossed and turned in my tent, unable to fall asleep. I had changed out of my running clothes into merino wool top and tights, and crawled into a quality, sub-zero Marmot sleeping bag, yet I was still shivering incessantly. The temperatures had dropped into the low 30’s and the biting wind put an extra chill in the air that I could not shake.

So, after about 3 hours I did what only made the most sense at the time: I changed back into my running clothes, put my sneakers back on, and got back on the course.

It only took about a tenth of a mile into loop number 11 for me to resign to the fact that I would be walking the next 20 miles. And once again, I was pleased – and I’ll admit, kind of shocked – to realize how quickly and positively I accepted this change in plans.

Previous ultra-Heather would have immediately felt frustrated, expecting my mind to be able to overpower the not-so-silent pleading of an under-trained body, and being upset when it couldn’t.

Previous ultra-Heather would have been full of disparaging thoughts. I would have berated myself with an endless string of stinging words, such as “you should have never taken time off of running” or even “you don’t deserve to be here”.

Previous ultra-Heather would have probably pushed on anyway, risking all of my future goals simply to appease my ego in this very moment.

But I didn’t. None of these things happened.

Instead of comparing my current self to those who were still flying by me at an impressive running pace, I looked at them as motivation to continue training smart, so I too could still feel comfortable running 10+ hours into a race.

I’ve done it before, and I know without a doubt I can – and will – do it again.

Instead of being mad at my body for not doing what I “wanted”, I remembered how fucking strong I’ve gotten on the bike, and how just a few weeks ago I was the one leaving competitors in the dust. To everything there is a season, and I just happen to be in a different season right now…and that’s perfectly acceptable.

Instead of any of these things, I held my head high and started walking, and reveled in the fact that it was much, much warmer out here than it was in my tent.

And I was happy.

The sun eventually came up and everyone began to shed headlamps and layers. At some point, I hopped in step with a Facebook friend named Sally, and spent a few loops chatting away with her and getting to know her. The miles passed quickly.

Before I knew it, we had finished 16 loops. How far had I gone? I wasn’t exactly sure. While in the barn that acted as the start/finish line, I asked Sally to do the math for me. “49.6 miles” she said.

Race director Matt overheard the distance, looked at his watch, and said to me enthusiastically “49 miles? You have plenty of time to earn a buckle!”

I replied without skipping a beat “No, I don’t have 100 miles in me today.” It wasn’t said with doubt or defeat, but rather with the emotional maturity (fucking finally) and confidence of an athlete who has bigger goals on the horizon. An athlete who, for once in her entire running history, was going to make a wise decision.

No one argued with me or tried to convince me otherwise.

But, as they say, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, and 49.6 miles wasn’t the 50 I had set out to do…I had one more loop to go. I covered the last 3.1 miles, and handed in my timing chip, satisfied with what I had done.

Epilogue:

I spend the rest of the afternoon and early evening chatting with friends and eating real, hot, solid food. Around 6 pm the exhaustion of the last 24 hours (and the fact that I hadn’t slept in nearly 36 hours) catches up to me. I excuse myself, head over to my car, crawl inside the back where I’ve set up sleeping bag (not risking another freezing night in the tent) and pass out.

When I finally wake up at 4:00 am the next morning, my mind immediately checks in with itself to see if I’m feeling any regret in having ended my race when I did. I look out on the field to see dozens of headlamps bobbing across the race course, athletes still pushing hard to reach their goals. Rather than feel any sting of jealousy or remorse, I feel nothing but content in my decision.

There have been a lot of things in my life, particularly over the past few years, that have painstakingly taught me to be patient. Situations I have found myself in that have taught me to trust the process, and more importantly, to ENJOY the process. And I won’t lie, it’s not always easy, especially with an impulsive, ADHD riddled brain like mine.

But I keep flashing back to what a professor of mine once said during a strength and conditioning lecture: “true discipline in training is having the ability to know when to NOT do something.”

And in this particular case, choosing to NOT do something has not only left me feeling strong and healthy (as opposed to exhausted and potentially injured, ruining future training), it helped boost my confidence as an athlete. Which if we’re being honest, has shocked the hell out of me.

5 Yelp stars. I highly recommend it.

I can’t wait to see what comes next.