Eloise Bend

On my parents' land, also known as Marathon Mountain, they have many trails and fields and all of these trails and fields have names.  One Christmas my sister and I thought it would be fun to make road signs with all the names on them and since then every time they blaze a new trail it not only gets a name, but a sign.  

Most of these trails and fields are named after family.  There are a few that are not such as Spotted Fawn Trail and Locke Field (named after John Locke), but most are named after their kids and their kids' kids.  There is a Janie Way (me) and a Jason Path (husband) and now, on what has been "No Name Trail" for the longest time, there is an Eloise Bend.  Mom and Dad purchased the sign and while we were there this past Saturday, they hung it and we took pictures of this momentous occasion.  

Mom and Dad hanging the sign.

Eloise looks on

Me and my girl on her trail

Grandpod and Gran with me and baby E

The fam

The trail

And our first walk down Eloise Bend

And I think you'll agree, on this lovely fall day, this is a beautiful trail!

It will be a wonderful day when little E can run helther skelter down her very own trail!  I hope she loves it and I look forward to our many adventures on Marathon Mountain.

My First Fifty, Part III or I Could Be a Stunt Double

I'm not sure if it was the fervent prayers of my mom who had seen how I was struggling, the ibuprofen, the good fuel of the honey stinger bars in my system, or the simple fact that I was rejuvenated by those who loved me, but my pain subsided considerably and I felt ready to tackle this thing once again.  I still believed I would get cut at the next hard cutoff, which was mile 37.5, but I felt better trying for it anyway.  Now that quitting was no longer an option, my outlook improved significantly.

Jason and I ran on.  We were both tired, and I knew he was suffering, but he would not talk about it.  Instead we talked about Chance being a good trail dog.  We talked about road running versus trail running. We talked about all kinds of non-running related topics, and I enjoyed the quiet conversation as we ran through the woods together. At one beautiful spot I said, "We should come here sometime to see this."

"We are here now seeing this," he replied sensibly. 

"I know, but I'd like to come just to see this," I said.  We had seen several families and hikers enjoying the woods, creeks, waterfalls and beautiful weather.  I will confess, I spent many a weary moment wishing to trade places with them.

We were running along a nice, smooth bit of trail when it happened.  I was chatting away, enjoying the rhythm of simply running and feeling better when I tripped on something (a small stump Jason later told me) and went flying.  I landed on both knees, but my right knee took the brunt of the fall as I slid until I slammed my left shoulder into the trunk of a tree.  I uttered one loud "UH!" when I hit the ground, and when I came to a stop I was sure my knee had shattered into a million pieces.

A girl we had just passed asked if she should tell someone at the next aid station.  I nodded yes, but then shook my head no as Jason said we would be able to make it.  I sat up, holding my knee with my eyes squeezed shut as I tried to breathe.  Eventually I straightened it out.  Then I stood up.  It wasn't shattered into a million pieces after all.  As I held on to the tree trying to shake it off, I looked at Jason and said, "Just call me Grace," and then I started to walk.

Both knees were bloody, and my shoulder was throbbing, but I was able to start running again.

"Obviously I cannot talk and run trails," I said to Jason once we were moving.

"Well, just be careful," he replied.  I usually respond to that statement by telling him my middle name is "Careful" but I'd just proven that to be incorrect.  We joked about the great sound effect I made and how it sounded like something from the movies.  I was relieved that my knee was in one piece and it would live to run another day.

We reached the next aid station at mile 32, and I sampled just about everything there was to eat as Jason quickly refilled our water bottles.  As we ran, I made a decision.  The next aid station would be mile 37.5 and if they did not cut me, I was going to keep running.  The exhausted, throbbing, bleeding part of me welcomed the idea of being cut.  The rest of me (and maybe even that part too) wanted to finish the race.

Mom and Dad were at that aid station and their eyes got wide when they saw my knees.  An aid station worker wrote down my number, looked me dead in the eye and said, "You doing okay?  You've got 4.9 miles to your next aid station."  And there it was.  I was 20 minutes ahead of the cutoff and cleared to keep running. 

Jason continued to run with me, but as the miles wore on, he was finding it harder and harder to hide his discomfort. He eventually admitted that his feet were hurting pretty badly, and I knew the terrain was not helping matters. The hills at this point were brutal and there were many rocky sections over which we had to scramble.  As we neared the next aid station, I begged him to drop. I did not want him to suffer any more because of me or to be too sore to run the next week.  He did not want to leave me alone in the woods, but I told him I was at a much better place now and I could do it.  Finally he agreed to stop and go with Mom and Dad.

So my amazing husband, who had planned on a 15-20 miler that day, ended up running 42 miles on seriously tough terrain.  When we finally reached the next aid station, Mom asked if she could run with me, but I told her no.  She had been training hard to qualify for the Boston Marathon and was growing strong and fast.  I did not want her to ruin all of that by getting hurt on those trails.  I took out my ipod shuffle that had been tucked in the pocket of my water bottle.  I hadn't used it until now because the trails were so narrow and I needed to hear if people wanted to pass, but at this point there were few of us left on the trails.  I flipped it to "The Battle" from the Gladiator Soundtrack and took off.

I ran like a woman possessed.  I had 5.4 miles until the next aid station and then only 2.6 more to complete the race. The finish line would close at 7:00 p.m. which was when it would be dark. The sunlight occasionally blinded me as it made its decent through the trees. I kept my eyes on the trail before me as I ran uphill, scaling cliff-side rocks, scrambling over technical sections, racing the setting of the sun.  I wondered who this girl was running through the woods like this and where this energy had come from...if it was real energy at all.

I watched for the ribbons that were guiding my way on the trails.  Eventually I began to see the glow sticks from early that morning.  I ran along the ledges where I'd seen the first glimpses of the sunrise as I raced the sunset to the finish.  I was almost brought to tears again, as I heard voices at the approaching aid station, but for an entirely different reason this time.  I knew without a doubt I would complete the race and with that realization came a gratefulness I cannot describe.  I was amazed, humbled, grateful, empowered, determined...and grateful again.  I thanked God for getting me all this way.  For the song that became my mantra.  For the people in my life.  For whatever ability He had given me to help me get to this point.

And there was Mom, standing near a ledge waiting for me.  "Wow, you got here a lot faster than I thought you would," she said.  "I ran most of the way," I replied, out of breath.  She asked again if she could run with me the remaining 2.6 miles, promising to be careful, and I said yes.  I required very little from the aid station at this point.  Jason handed me a cup of cold water and I was off again...for the last time.

While having Mom with me was fun, and I enjoyed showing her (and seeing myself) what I had traversed in the darkness that morning, these 2.6 miles seemed like an eternity.  We caught up to a guy who was running with his platoon, and only he and another out of the 7 who signed up would be finishing.  We talked with him on and off, but he and I were both distracted by how badly we wanted to see that finish line.  My adrenaline from the 5.4 miler was wearing off and a strong weariness was replacing it.

Finally, I scaled my 10,000th hill and saw the trees clear into a field.  The most beautiful finish line I had ever seen was there, along with Dad and Jason cheering for me.  The announcer had to run back to his post to read off my number to the sparse crowd still milling about.  "Here is number 101, better known as....Jane Reneau!  Congratulations, Jane!"  I smiled as I crossed and a photographer took my picture.  I received a medal around my neck and the tightest hug from Jason as he told me how proud he was.

I could not believe it.  I did it.  I completed the North Face Endurance Challenge Gore-Tex 50 Mile Trail Run in 13 hours and 51 minutes.  I was 90th out of 94 finishers.  A total of 124 runners had started the race, which meant 30 had dropped or been cut.

It was the most wonderful feeling in the world.  I was bloody, bruised and beaten by the day, but in the end the goal had been accomplished.  I cannot claim my own strength as the reason, however.  I think we know from where my strength came, and I shall forever be grateful to the husband who stayed by my side, to my parents who showed up at just the right moment, to my friends and family who sent prayers my way that day.  And, most importantly, to the One who has blessed me with all of it.

My First Fifty, Part II or Love Conquers All

Once the light of day had arrived, I felt like the race had really begun.  The miles began to pass by a little more quickly, although not as quickly as I would have liked.  Now that I could see, I would glance at my watch when it told me I had completed another mile, and my pace was around a 13 or 14 minute pace.  I thought I should have been running faster than that, but the trails were way more technical than I had imagined and the hills were unending.  I began to get annoyed with this.  There was no way to get into a rhythm of any sort because every time I started to, I hit a rocky section or a steep hill.  I have heard from other ultra runners that hills are not worth running because they burn up your energy too quickly, and so I walked many of them.

Eventually, however, I got tired of stopping to walk and I started to run up the shorter ones.  Up, down, up down, rocks, roots, up, down.

And then the 50k runners began to catch up to me.  They had started their race 2 hours after the 50 mile, and when I reached mile 20, they were on mile 14.  Many were very polite about passing, but I could tell some just wanted me out of their way.  I usually obliged, but this too interfered with any sort of rhythm or cadence to my running.  I became more aggravated with each stop.

At one point a man ran up behind me and commented on the breeze that was passing through.  I agreed with him about how good it felt, and as we talked I realized how nice it was to have company.  I asked if he needed to get by and he said not yet, that hills gave him trouble (we were running up one as we talked).  Before I could respond I tripped and fell hard on my left hip.  Just as before, I hopped up quickly and kept running.  I was embarrassed once again, but the man said it happens to everyone and that it really hurts.  I rubbed my hip as I agreed.  It had really hurt.

Much to my dismay, he did eventually pass me.  I continued running, singing my mantra in my mind and trying to convince myself I was not in over my head.  Not only was my hip still aching from the fall, the pain had moved down to my knee and it was getting harder to bend it.  I knew this was not a good place to be at mile 22, and I was worried. 

Things took an instant turn for the better when I reached the aid station at mile 23 and saw the face of Jason Reneau.  He too had started the race, but only to get in a good run and then cheer for me.  I signed him up when I signed up, but he had been taking some time off and had no intention of running more than around 15 to 20 miles.  So he thought.

He asked me how I was and I said okay.  He told me he was finished running, and I looked at him, eyes wide and pleading and said, "Can you go with me?"  Without hesitation he said yes, told the aid station workers he would be running on with me, refilled his water bottle and off we went.

It was so good to see him, that I talked his ear off for the first few miles.  I told him of every fall and how I felt.  By this point I was hurting very badly and I was getting discouraged.  I did not understand why it was so hard.  The Dizzy Fifties 40 mile had not been anything like this, and I had trained much harder for this race.

This section of the race was probably the most beautiful. We crossed several creeks multiple times and it looked like we were in some foreign jungle instead of the mountains of Georgia.  The rushing water, the rock formations, the lush ferns all around - I tried to focus solely on the beauty and not on the pain, but it was getting harder to ignore.

I did not see how I could do 25 more miles feeling like I did, and I knew I was going to have to drop.  When this realization hit me, disappointment came like a rush and as hard as I tried not to, I began to cry.  Now, crying and running do not go together because doing the two at the same time make it hard to breathe.  I started to make all sorts of strange snorts and sniffs as I tried to hold it in, and Jason, who was running behind me figured it out.

"Babe, don't cry." he said so sweetly it only made things worse.  I had worked so hard.  I had trained and planned and pushed when I was exhausted.  The early mornings, the hills, the heat, the long runs, the excitement.  And all for what, 28 miles and a DNF?  I could not believe I had worked so hard for nothing.  I tried to get myself together before I got to the aid station.  I did not want to blubber like a silly girl when I told them I was finished.

As despair and doubt wrapped themselves around me, I looked up to see a familiar gray head sticking out of the trees in front of me.  Surely that couldn't be...it was!  It was my mom!  She began cheering and when I reached her, she already knew the state of things.  She put her arm around me and asked how I was.  "Not so good," I said.

Jason and I had reached Aid Station # 5 at mile 28 and I had a gear bag waiting on me, along with my wonderful parents who had shown up to surprise me.  As I stood there planning to quit, trying not to cry, Jason looked at me and said with his voice shaking just a little that he could not let me quit.

"We won't make the cutoff now," I said.

"So we will run until they tell us to stop." he replied.

He then wasted no time.  He fished out the clean socks and tank top from my gear bag and handed them to me.  Mom handed me my honey stinger bar squares and some ibuprofen.  I ate while she pinned my number on my clean shirt and Jason changed his socks.  Jason refilled our water bottles as I hugged my parents and off we went. As we started running I asked Jason how he felt.  He said it did not matter, this was about me. 

I know for a fact I would not have finished the race that day without the love and support of my husband, my mom, and my dad during that pivotal moment.  At my lowest, they were there and they knew exactly what to do.  This was a turning point in the race that changed the outcome, and I am at a loss for words to express how much it meant to me. The love of these people helped me shake off my weariness and doubt, and run the race I came to run that day.

It was going to get a bit worse before it got better, but I did not know that.  All I knew was that I was loved by some incredible people, and somehow that gave me the strength to keep running.

My First Fifty, Part I or The Woods Were Lovely Dark and Deep...

I've heard it said that ignorance is bliss, and in many cases I think it is true.  In the case of my 50 miler, however, ignorance was the pleasant unawareness of the trails and trials that were to come. As I look at my pre-race planning and pictures, I chuckle to myself.  I look at the girl standing next to the Franklin D. Roosevelt State Park sign the day before the race, smiling for the camera and think, "she has no idea what she is about to experience."

I wish there was a way, dear reader, to explain it all adequately with words.  I did, in fact, complete the North Face Endurance Challenge Gore-Tex 50 Mile Trail Run.  I experienced the entire gambit of emotions and physical exertion within this 50 mile adventure, and it is hard to believe they all occurred within one race!  I ran in darkness, I ran in the light.  I climbed, I hiked, I crossed creeks and scaled cliff-side rocks. I fell hard, I bled, I cried, I laughed, I loved, I questioned, I doubted... It was amazing and wonderful and terrible and hard and empowering all at the same time. 

So let's begin at the beginning, shall we?

The alarm clock went off at 3:00 a.m. which was 2:00 a.m. on my personal clock.  I opened my sleepy eyes and thought, "it is time."  After months of training, planning, thinking, hoping, and praying, race day had arrived and I would see if I had what it took to go the distance.

As Jason and I got dressed and checked our gear drop bags one last time, I downed some hotel room coffee and munched a granola bar.  I knew I needed to eat, but the adrenaline was pumping and my nervousness made it difficult to do so.  At 3:50 we drove to the parking lot where the shuttle buses would take us to the start.  Once we arrived at the race site, we gave our gear bags to the volunteers and stood around the heating towers, shivering in the morning cold as we waited for the race to start.

A few minutes before 5:00 a.m. the announcer called us to the start line and Dean Karnazes gave us a few words of encouragement/warning before we started our race.   I turned on my headlamp, kissed Jason 3 times for luck and prepared myself to begin my 50 mile journey.

We ran around a field and then bottle necked at the trail head.  Once on the trail, our way was guided by the occasional glow stick, for which I was very grateful.  My headlamp was not very bright compared to what the more seasoned trail runners around me were wearing, and many times I ran off of the light of others.  Until they passed me, that is.

Despite never having run in the dark on trails before, I enjoyed myself for a time.  It was almost like some sort of midnight vigil as I looked down the hill to see the line of head lamps leading the way.  It reminded me of the evening nature hikes at summer camp when we guided ourselves with flashlights through the woods to the bonfire.  I had no idea how much time had passed or what my surroundings looked like.  All I could see was the small patch of trail in front of me and the light of the runners ahead or behind me.  The beeping of my watch to signal another mile completed was my only measurement of time or distance.

I did not mind running slowly in the darkness because I knew I had a long way to go. I took my time and tried to be careful as I crossed creeks and watched for sharp bends in the trail.  A few times I got off course, but a glow stick would guide me quickly back.

The first glitch came shortly after mile 3 when I rolled my right ankle, falling hard on my left knee.  The guy behind me said "You okay, hon?" and I replied that I was as I jumped up and continued running.  I limped for a few steps willing my ankle to be okay and eventually it obeyed.  I worried it would cause me trouble and had a brief moment of panic, but the pain subsided after a few more miles and did not make itself known again.

It wasn't too long after that first fall that I took another, with my right leg slipping down the side of the hill we were running along.  This was getting embarrassing.  I was not hurt by this second fall so I hopped up once again and kept moving.  At this point I began to long for the light so that I could run more confidently.

After 5 miles we reached the first aid station.  I did not stop for long there, but showed my race number to a volunteer and kept moving.  Since most of the other runners did stop, I found myself alone for a while.  At first I liked it because it meant I was not holding up other runners behind me.  The trails were very narrow and passing was tricky.  But then being alone in the woods became slightly...eerie.  The only things I could see were the glow sticks directing my way.  Like floating strings of light in the blackness, they hung from tree limbs and trunks.  I occasionally heard other runners ahead or behind me, but I could not see them.

There was nothing for it, however, but to keep running.  I felt myself losing confidence and I tried to talk myself out of it.  Because the darkness of the trails reminded me of camp, a song from my summer camp days also came to mind, and it became my mantra for much of the race. An oldie, but a goody, it goes like this:

"I've got confidence, uh huh
My Lord is gonna see me through.
No matter what the case may be,
My Lord, my Lord is gonna fix it for me."

It was a song I sang in elementary school and beyond, and I have no idea why that song of so many I know came to mind, but the words were somehow perfect.  I repeated them over and over and over again until I believed what I sang in my mind.

Around mile 8 I glanced up and thought the sky had grown a bit lighter.  I followed the trail to a rocky ledge where a volunteer stood with a flashlight to warn runners that it was very narrow there.  As I continued running along the edge of the mountain, I saw a bright red line across the horizon and realized the sun was finally making its appearance.  My heart rejoiced and I stood there for a moment watching the sun come up over the mountains surrounding me.  It seemed to me I was at the perfect spot at the perfect time.

As the light continued to grow in brightness, I took my headlamp in my hand and picked up my pace.  I felt energized by the sunlight and ready to make up any time I had lost in the darkness.  I could finally see and I was ready to run.

Ultra Running Ultra Fiascos

I suppose not all trips and races on which Jason and I embark are going to be the best ever.  This weekend, we took a short trip to Memphis to run the Bartlett Park 50k, leaving on Friday afternoon and coming home Saturday after the race.

I have never been so glad to be home!  Let me explain:

First of all, I usually book hotels online and I am usually pretty good at choosing them.  I've stayed in a Baymont before so I thought that was a good choice and it was on the race website as a hotel close to Bartlett Park.  I don't know much about Memphis, and I'm sure there are much better areas than where we were, but this was not one of those areas.  It was old, run down, and sketchy.  The hotel was the same.  All we needed was sleep, however, and that is all we did.  (Or tried to do with the neighbors watching TV at high volume).

The next morning we checked out and walked outside into a hot and humid morning.  It was going to be a hot day, but I figured we would be in the shade of the woods most of the time so it would not be too bad.  I had my water bottle and intended to drink plenty and take my time on what I was approaching as a long training run.

The race was small and the optional distances were the 50k, 40 mile or 50 mile.  Christy, a friend from Huntsville, was out there to do the 50 mile, and I was glad I would have a buddy on the course.

The race began with a short 2 mile loop and then those running the 50k would run four 7.4 mile loops.   There were two aid stations out on the course, and runners passed them 3 times.  I ran alone for a while until Christy caught up to me.  We talked and met a girl named Jessica who was a hoot.  She was 46, but looked 25 and she had never run an ultra before.  She had questions about everything and was nervous about her ability to complete the distance, but from her training and energy level, I knew she'd have no trouble.  She left Christy and I somewhere around mile 11, I think.

I knew something wasn't right.  My legs would not get into a comfortable rhythm.  I thought around mile 2 that I just needed to warm up, but when they felt the same at mile 8, I wondered how I would do 31 miles feeling this way.  I kept moving, however, enjoying the conversation with Christy, which kept my mind off how I felt.

When we reached the first loop, a volunteer told me that mine and Jason's number's were switched and that she was really confused when he ran through with the number for "Jane."  We laughed about it and she said he was in first place.  I was not surprised by this.

Around mile 14 (21 for him) Jason caught up to us.  He said, "I think I am done."  I asked why and he said he had missed the 2nd aid station twice.  This was a tricky part of the course.  It was an out-and-back path to an aid station off the main trail loop, but the signage around it was very confusing.  The only reason I did not pass it as well was because Christy had run the course the year before and knew it was a mandatory part of the course, not just an aid station there if you needed it.  Jason, being by himself on the run, passed it by because he had not needed aid yet.

We suggested he could go through again and run the aid station twice to make up what he missed, and he did, but he told the race director to pull him from the results.  He told me it would have made him mad if someone beat him by running a different course, and he did not think it was fair.  So Jason completed his 31 miles, but his heart was no longer in it and he was not having the greatest day either with the heat, dehydration, and lack of recent trail running experience

Around mile 16, I came to the parking lot after my second 7.4 mile loop and I wanted to quit.  I sat down in the parking lot next to Jason as he changed shoes, and told him that everything hurt.  It felt silly, however, to come all this way to run 16 miles, so I decided even if I did not run the entire 31, I was at least doing one more loop.  Jason was doing his last loop as well and that encouraged me to keep running.

It was hard.  I had lost Christy after Jason caught up to us, and she looked so strong, I knew I would not be able to catch her.  My legs ached so badly, and I had no idea why.  My feet and knees hurt as well, but it was just a side note compared to the ache running down my legs.  I was thirsty, but had a stomach full of liquid and while I knew I should eat something, it was the last thing I wanted.  But I ran on, taking walk breaks at the slightest hint of an incline and running (or shuffling) once the trail flattened out again.

Despite all of that, I managed to have a good time.  Everyone out there was so nice, both the runners and the volunteers, and I met a lot of really great people while running.  Right after I started my 3rd loop, a girl named Sarah caught up to me.  Jessica had already told us about Sarah, so I knew a little bit about her.  She was a very experienced ultra runner and marathoner and had her watch set to go off every 20 minutes to remind her to drink.  She'd had a dehydration scare a few years ago, and did not want to experience that again.  She told me about her four kids and I told her about my husband and my mom.  I love talking about Jason and the time seemed to go by a little faster as I was distracted from my discomfort.

After 3 miles, however, I could not keep her any longer.  I was alone again until a man named Chuck passed me.  He asked how I was and I said fine and he went on.  He came back a few minutes later, however, and said he was going to make sure I got to the next aid station.  I wasn't feeling that bad, but I thought it was very nice and was grateful for the company.  He asked me my name and when I told him it was Jane, he said he knew many beautiful girls named Jane and I was holding the torch for that name well.  I said thank you, but I was thinking, you are obviously not really looking.  My legs were covered in trail dust turned to mud from my own sweat, my shorts had grown another size because they were sodden with my sweat, my face was covered in salt from my sweat...and I was sweaty. 

Chuck and I got to the aid station and I left him behind after eating a few potato chips and getting a water refill.  The thought of anything sweet made me sick, so it was salt and water for me.  At this point, I knew it would not be too much longer before I would finish my third loop.  It had been sprinkling on and off during the morning, but now it was steadily raining, although little of it got through the canopy of trees overhead.  The sound was extremely pleasant and the temperature had cooled considerably, and I did not mind my last, slow miles alone.

When I finally emerged into the parking lot once more, I saw Jason and we walked to the aid station to tell the volunteers keeping track of loops that I was finished.  Another runner in front of me was doing the same.  As I went back to the car and squatted down to stretch, I thought this is pretty miserable.  It was still raining, I was soaked and muddy, tired and aching all over.  Still, there was nothing for it but to try to make the situation better.  Jason and I went to a water bucket and washed the mud off of our legs.  I changed into dry clothes behind our car door and toweled off as best I could in the drizzle.  Then we went home.

Despite the fact that I had just experienced my first DNF (unless you count the 5k in middle school when I got lost and was too embarrassed to cross the finish line) I really did not feel too bad about quitting.  Doing one more loop would have been awful, and while I was currently hurting, I knew I had not done any real damage.  To continue running might have, however, and that was simply not worth it to me.  I had completed 23 miles and I chalked it up to a good long run with lots of trail practice.  For that day it would have to be enough.

I was concerned, however, about what this meant for my 50 mile trail run coming up.  Was I in over my head or was this just a bad day?  Could I still be prepared for a 50 mile run despite not completing 31 miles?  Maybe I wasn't cut out for this trail running thing...

All I can do in response to these questions is to continue to train, attempt the 50 miler and see.  I have some time left to improve my fitness, and hopefully the temperatures will be cooler in October than they were for the 50k.

As for Jason and I, we are both fine after a good night's rest in our very own bed and some good food in our bellies.  We got home, took a much needed shower (which was utterly blissful) and then went to get our pup from the Rudolph's before stopping by Smokey's BBQ to get the traditional post-race BBQ sandwich. 

As the stiffness works its way out of my muscles (with the help of Kim's wonderful hands this afternoon), it is time to plan the remainder of my training.  It is time to focus on what I believe will get me ready for the longest run I've ever attempted.  And then there is nothing to do but start running...and see.