Shibamata 100K: On finishing 2nd

If you want a happy feel-good race report, skip this one, and read the previous post.

I'm a stickler for details, and I tend to dwell on things. But, I need to move past last weekend, so I'm going to write the story how it happened, because I can't tell it any other way. And then I'm not going to talk about it or stew any more.  Because right now it's driving me fucking crazy. And I'm sick of answering the question, "How was the race?"

Meghan said to just say we tied, because we tried to, and no one can read the Japanese results anyway. That's not exactly true. The results are out there. So what do I say when people ask me, "So, did you win?" Answering that question in any form is complicated. I can say I was second, but that doesn't tell the story. I can't say that I tied for the win, because the race results indicate differently, and the race organizers have confirmed (after I complained) that Meghan was the winner. Not that the people I'm telling would know, or really care, but I do. So, while I'd like to just write that the Shibamata 100K was a great experience and finishing hand-in-hand with my friend and mentor was really special, I don't feel that way. At all. Yes, I mentioned I tend to dwell on things and can be a bit petty, as writing this would indicate. But I went to Tokyo to race, and would not have suggested a tie had I had any idea I would have finished second in the process. It's one thing to be outrun for second, but I wasn't outrun. I've happily been outrun by Meghan many times. If Meghan had outrun me, I would have graciously stood beside my friend on the podium. But instead I stewed. I had run slower than I would have in the second half and waited on a few occasions while Meghan used the bathroom, so that we could run and finish together. And to not call a tie a tie, which the race organizers refuse to do even though we finished hand-in-hand clearly intending to tie, is complete bullshit. For whatever reason the results really mattered to me.

The race started at 8 a.m. and we went out at a good pace (averaged 7:12 for the first 50K). We came through the marathon split around 3:08, and the 50K around 3:44. I felt good, physically, the harder part of the race was mental, and I was bored more than anything else.  It was warm and sunny for the first 5 hours (probably 75 by 1 p.m.) until some cloud cover rolled in. My stomach felt good all day, and besides a pee-break in the first half, I never needed to stop. I did feel a bit water-logged at times, but I was able to get gels down throughout, and just stopped drinking whenever I started to feel sloshy.

At some point after the midway point, I assumed that Meghan and I were not going to be challenged (out-and-back nature of course made it easy to see the competition), so I suggested we finish together. The course was flat and tedious, and company for the last half sounded much more appealing than going it alone. Plus we'd made the journey over together, had shared the experience together, along with many others, and it would mean a lot to tie. So I suggested it. And we did. Well, at least we crossed the finish line hand-in-hand.

Lessons learned:

If I learned anything this past weekend, it's that I'm really freaking competitive, and I took an option this past weekend that I probably wouldn't consider again after the experience on Saturday. I wanted to win that race. Or tie with my friend for the win. If I'd known that my suggestion to tie was impossible because of a timing system, I would have raced the second half and pushed the pace.

Never try to tie when there is chip timing and a culture you're unfamiliar with involved. At least not unless you're willing to accept second place graciously.  I was not.

Run your own race. Had I run my own race in the second half and finished second, I would have no one to blame but myself.

Saturday reinforced that while I love running for the US team in the World 100K, a flat road 100K is not actually a race that I would opt to do very often (once a year is enough). Prior to the race, the idea of an out-and-back actually sounded more interesting than a loop, but for a 100K road race, a loop format now makes a lot of sense--easier aid, better crowd support.  Of course an out-and-back through a more varied landscape or a more heavily populated area might not be so bad. Based off of my reaction to the results, I won't be invited back, but I'm OK with that. It's not the type of race that calls to me. It's no UTMB.

Running 100K on roads reinforced that I would rather race 100K on trails any day of the week. The course was fairly brutal--45K out and 45K back and then 5K out and 5K back along a flat bike path.  I'm from flat open spaces, and there's a reason I live and run in Oregon.

A shot from the race course.  Not a single spot of shade (well, a highway underpass or two, which also resulted in the only hills on course). 

The positives:
I'm fit. We ran 7:50 (7:50:31 and 32, to be exact) and I felt like I could have run 10 minutes faster if I'd run my own race in the second half. It was a hot day--sunny, windy and exposed--and the aid situation wasn't ideal in terms of speedy racing (had to stop to get aid/fill bottles instead of running through aid stations, like at worlds), so I was pleased with where I am fitness-wise on that course with those conditions. I ran 10 miles Tuesday night and my legs felt OK, so I hope that means I'm recovering quickly and in time to get some good WS training in before tapering.

I had no issues except that my hamstrings/butt got pretty tight. But I felt strong, and didn't have any major physical issues. Well, my feet got pretty trashed, but blisters are more of a problem once you're finished. They didn't affect my race.

I got to finish hand-in-hand and cross the line "together" with my friend and mentor. I just wish that I wasn't so hung up on the results such that I could enjoy that detail.

The finish.

I learned a lot about myself. Most of the things I learned are not positive things--I have my share of personality flaws, and this race exposed them. It was a lesson in what I need to work on. An example being the fact that I know exactly what happened and how the race unfolded and what the intent was, and just because the race results don't indicate that drives me nuts. Also, I could have graciously accepted the decision and made a much better impression, but I didn't.  Instead, I complained. And it looked especially bad because I, the one who finished second, was the one questioning the results. I could go on, but I feel bad enough about myself as it is. All races teach you something, but this one revealed more than I wanted to see.

Podium shot. I had no idea of the results until we were called up on stage.  My face = "are you fucking kidding me?" Photo by Mikio Miyazoe.

The Orhangazi 80K: A weekend of meatballs and kaymak

I had very few expectations heading into the Orhangazi 80K in Turkey. I'd just raced Lake Sonoma the weekend prior, and the week in between wasn't great in terms of recovery. It included: a post-Sonoma photo shoot in high winds and unseasonally cold temps while running strides for 13 hours, 3 flights, a barge ride, and a car trip (all told totaling a couple of days worth of travel).  So I was a little startled when I saw a tweet from the Iznik Ultra congratulating me on my Sonoma race and saying they were "excited to see my talent" the following week in Iznik. That comment made me a bit nervous, as I would be running on tired legs and not planning to "display any talent."

At some point in the last few years irunfar.com published a story on trail running in Turkey. Last year, before I headed to Istanbul for a work trip, I contacted the author of the story to ask about where to run, and to see if anyone might want to meet up for a weekend run. This resulted in me being picked up from my hotel at 4:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning to go run in the Belgrad Forest with 5 guys.  A colleague expressed concern as to whether this was safe—going to run in the dark forest with a group of strangers (all male). I assured them it was totally legit--ultrarunners are ultrarunners the world around--although I think my colleague was skeptical. However, I was right, the guys were great, and we enjoyed a nice long run on muddy trails, followed by arguably one of my favorite meals of 2012--a post-run breakfast where I was introduced to Turkish crack (kaymak--pictured below). 

I always meant to blog about that morning on the trails with my new Turkish running friends, but I flew home the next day, and as a result of that flight ended up with DVT in my right calf, which resulted in a pulmonary embolism and 3-day hospital stay that overshadowed my lovely Turkish trail running experience. Recovery and stressing about whether I could run at Worlds became my primary focus. However, through email, FB and DailyMile, I kept in touch with my new friends, and one of them (Aykut) emailed me when he read on my blog that I would be visiting Istanbul again for work. I wrote back with the dates, and apologized for not being able to run  the Iznik Ultras, which were happening the weekend I arrived, because I was racing Lake Sonoma 50 the weekend prior. He wrote back within minutes, explaining an itinerary that would make it work--I could simply adjust my schedule to arrive 2 days earlier, and I could opt for the 42K, taking into account that I would have just raced Sonoma. This suddenly sounded like a grand idea, except the thought of a 42K after a 50 miler sounded horrible (too short and fast), so I told him I’d prefer the 75K, which I could treat as a slow suffer-fest and recovery slog. With a rapid exchange of emails, and approval from work, I had committed myself.

I arrived in Istanbul on Thursday afternoon, after a long 20 plus hours of travel.  I'd been home in Portland all of about 36 hours between returning from the long Lake Sonoma weekend, and that included a long work day, with a bonus visit at work from USADA for my second drug test in 6 weeks, and enough time to squeeze in an iron IV drip Wednesday morning before heading to the airport. I was toast when I arrived in Turkey, but I managed to stay awake long enough to eat dinner. Aykut, Caner (RD extraordinaire) and friends had graciously attended to all of the details of my trip to Iznik. Bright and early the next morning, I was picked up at my hotel to head to the ferry for the trip to Iznik.  Iznik is located only about 90 km SE from Istanbul, but part of that 90 km is across the Gulf of Izmit, so the trip to Iznik includes a ferry ride, followed by an hour drive.

One of the carrots that Aykut had used to get me to agree to run the race was that Iznik had the best meatballs in the world. I'm going to have to agree with Aykut on this one, and we made our first of many meatball stops shortly after getting into town Friday before noon. Meatballs were followed by race check-in, mandatory gear check, and some down-time in the park drinking Turkish coffee with last year's group and meeting some new friends.  Feeling antsy, I opted to get in a quick shake-out run before dinner as the 2 days of travel had me feeling tight and in need of some movement. I felt incredibly uncoordinated during my short 3-mile run along the lake, and things hurt, in general.  To top it off, I managed to face plant on concrete, losing a good chunk of skin from my left palm and knee. Not looking good. I lost enough skin that I was a little worried about falling again the next day.

There was a pre-race pasta feed later that night, and I was surprised by the attention I received. I was interviewed on camera, and had several people come up and ask me to pose with them in pictures. People seemed genuinely excited to have me there racing. I wanted to interject at least a few times, "Don't be disappointed, because I'm not planning to race!" I really wasn't trying to sandbag; I was tired.

The route around the lake, passing up into the hills to the south, and along the lake to the north, it's got a little bit of everything.

In its second year, the Iznik Ultras offered 3 distances: 42K (Mountain Marathon), 80K (Orhangazi Ultra), and 130K (Iznik Ultra) (last year’s inaugural version offered two distances: 60K and 130K). All 3 distances start at the same time together in the center of the town of Iznik and follow the same route, with the 130K completely encircling Lake Iznik. The 42K stops in the village of Narlica, which is the fourth check point in both the 80K and 130K. The 80K follows the 130K course until 75K, and then turns off and adds 5K to finish in the town of Oranghazi (the 80K was slated to be a 75K until just a couple of weeks before the race, when it was changed so that it would finish in the town plaza in Orhangazi, adding on 5K).  And the 130K completes the loop around the lake, finishing where it started in Iznik. There were around 220 starters spread across the 3 races.

With friends, Kerem and Aykut, at the start. The token self portrait. I was absolutely not nervous, which almost never happens. I guess racing a 50 miler the week prior helps calm nerves. Photo by me (obviously).

The race starts in the center of Iznik, and runs through town and out one of the three town "gates". Excuse the butchered and very short history lesson, but the town of Iznik was formerly known as Nicaea and some important points in its history include its stint as the interim capitol of the Byzantine Empire (1204-1261) and it's where the Nicene Creed (church goers) was written (325). The ancient town was surrounded by a 10 m wall, which still exists, at least in part, and the only way into and out of the city was through 3 gates on the land-bound sides of town. The race route leads you south through one of these historic gates, and within a couple of miles, heads up into the hills around Iznik.

Heading out of Iznik through the historic gates of town before we head up into the hills. Race photo.

The 80K includes about 6000 feet of elevation gain, and while this doesn't sound like much, it's all within the first 60K, as the last 20K is pretty much flat (as is the rest of the 130K race).  So, for both the 80K and 130K, almost all of the elevation change is within the first 60K. The course is a nice mix of single track, double track, and gravel road, with some pavement mixed in, too. I think the course is challenging in that all the climbing is done initially, and then when you are the most tired, you hit the flats where you feel like you should be pushing the pace.  Add in a bit of mud, and the course is not one to taken lightly.  It's definitely a very runnable course, and with the exception of bits of the first long climb (red), the first section of the second big climb (green section after 42K), and the shoe sucking mud portion (from 60-63K--see picture below) I ran nearly all of it. 

So, at the start I hung back while lining up, but once the race began, moved up to the front and ran with the lead guys out of town. There was a group of 5 of us by the time we headed up the first climb, and I ran with a couple of the guys before letting them go. I might have misunderstood what one of them said to me, but my take on it was that he had been excited to run with the world champion, but that I was moving a little too slow, so he was going to go on ahead and to have a nice day.  Again, my understanding of his message might be a bit off.  So, as we climbed up a windy road, I could see them ahead for a while, but then they were soon out of site.

Just after passing the first checkpoint at 13 km I could see a good portion of the upcoming climb along a gravel road and there was no one in site. This would become a common theme. I couldn't figure out how those guys got so far ahead of me, being that I could see for several minutes ahead of me. Alas, it didn't matter much, as they were dudes, and I had no idea of in what race they were even entered. It did give me something to chase, because while I don't necessarily feel the need to race against the men, it was nice to have some targets up ahead to try to catch and maybe for some company down the road. I was impressed by how much ground they'd put on me being that I was actually feeling pretty good, and moving really well. But I also wasn't sure where the course went, so maybe it turned off the endless road that I could see into the distance. Heading into the race, I'd been a little nervous about following the course, as there wasn't much of a map with directions, but the course was impeccably well marked with white ribbons, and never went more than a couple hundred meters without seeing one. The turns were very clearly indicated, and would be hard to miss, unless you zoned out for a while.

Heading down towards the first check point. Race photo.

The course continued to roll along for several miles up top with nice gradual ups and downs that were all very runnable. We passed by locals out tending their flocks, and with green views of the surrounding hills and farms, it was scenic. A phone had been part of the mandatory gear list, so I stopped to snap a few photos along the way, regretting the fact that I didn't get one of some of the adorable couples out tending their flocks, or of the crowd of women and girls cheering for us in one village.  There were people out along the way and they gave a nod or shout of encouragement.

The views from above. Photo: me.

I hadn't seen anyone since the first climb when the guys ran away from me, and there was no one behind me either, so I pretty much ran alone until we started to come down off of the first climb, and a guy in black caught up to me.  We nodded and high-fived, and it was quickly apparent that I didn't speak Turkish and he didn't speak much English. We continued to run together through the aid station and started to descend together down to the checkpoint that would be the 42K finish.  The descent lasted for a few miles, and at some point he fell back, and I never saw him again.  He was my only company all day. I would later learn that he was in the 42K, and was the eventual winner of the 42K race.

We passed through several small quaint villages, and there were more folks cruising around on tractors then cars.  Photo: me.

The long descent drops you onto the asphalt where you start to climb back into the town where the 42K finishes. Coke was sounding really appealing, so I downed a couple glass of coke, and continued up out of town, on what I had been warned was the tougher of the two climbs.  It was a welcome relief to hike for a bit, so I took advantage of the steep climb to refuel (gummy critters and a gel) and recover a bit.  After a couple of miles the climb starts to level off, and becomes runnable again. About this time, I started to hear gun shots, which freaked me out a bit. I came around a bend in the road and a police officer was wandering towards me talking on his phone. Passing him, I continued to hear gun shots, which continued to freak me out, especially as I was running right towards them, but being that the police man didn't seem to care that I ran by him towards the gun shots, I figured I wasn't about to die. I reasoned that police men around the world would not let you run directly into a group of thugs prepared to pummel you with bullets. Rounding the next bend was a group of police men shooting at nothing into the air. At least I wasn't going to die, but the adrenalin was flowing by this point.

Heading through a check point mid-race. The race had a nifty system where you wore little plastic "keys" that you inserted into the boxes on the table. Like a timing chip, but without the mat (also used mats at other aid stations). Photo by Aysin Ozer Baskir

The payoff to the second big climb, was a really nice long descent (about 10K worth) down to the 60K check point. I was feeling surprisingly good, and my legs felt relatively great for 60K into a race the week after an 80K. Coke was still sounding good, so I downed another 2 or 3 glass of coke in my re-usable cup, a hunk of cheese which the aid station man, confused by my insistence on only coke, encouraged me to take. The cheese was delicious, and for the next several kilometers I lamented the fact that I hadn't grabbed more cheese.

The 3K section after the 60K checkpoint was hands down, my least favorite portion of the course. I'd heard stories of the mud the prior year, but this year the course was in pretty good shape, and the mud on the first 60K had been minimal. Shoes had gotten wet a few places, but it wasn't bad. The 3K section was shoe sucking mud, which was hard to walk through, and running really wasn't much of an option for parts. So, I slogged, fearing that the rest of the course would be like this.  It did run through olive groves, which at least added some interest besides the mud factor. At some point late in my slog, a motorcycle passed and I figured out the secret to getting through this section--the grass to the sides, although the grass was pretty boggy, as well. 3K of muck isn't bad though, and it did eventually end, and was even so kind to end at a river crossing, so all of the muck was quickly washed away.

The shoe-sucking mud section although this photo does not do it justice.  Luckily  this section was only 3K, because it involved a lot of walking and navigation around large shoe-sucking sections. I lost my shoe once. The white thing you can see hanging from a tree (olive trees) is the flagging. The course was marked exceptionally well. Not sure how people got off course, but they did, and some even complained. Some things are universal.  Photo: me.

The payoff to getting through the muck was some lovely running alongside the lake. Even though the day was overcast, there were still some nice views of the distant hills across the lake. I appreciated having my iPhone along to take pictures, which helped me to swear less under my breath at the mandatory gear list, and weight of the pack I'd been lugging around all day.  The part of me that was the most tired during the race was definitely my back, as it's still early in the season, and my UTMB gear-hauling runs haven't yet begun.

The view along the lake around 15K from the finish. Photo: me.

The last 17K were pretty uneventful. I was getting tired of running, but it was flat, so I felt like I should run, and saw running as the quickest way to the finish line and to stop running.  The route takes you along the lake on a dirt road, and eventually onto pavement for a few K, before running along another dirt road right along the lake. The 75K aid station finally appeared, and the turn-off into the town of Orghangazi for the 80K finish. The last 5K was interesting, as it was a last-minute add-on in order to get us to the town center to finish, and took us on road, through "yards", down side streets, under a busy highway, and eventually onto a main street down town. There was a good crowd gathered at the finish, and I had an escort for parts of it, along with some boys that ran in the final couple of blocks ringing cowbells.

When I finished, I asked how many people had finished before me and was surprised to find out that I'd not only finished first overall, but had come through all of the checkpoints in first, as well--even that first one at 13K. The 4 guys that had taken off on the first climb all missed an early turn, and had lost 10 minutes or so wandering around, and were all entered in the 42K regardless. No wonder I never saw them. The guy who had caught up to me on the downhill around km 27 or so was one of those first 4 guys who'd gotten lost and ended up winning the 42K. In hindsight, I finished far enough ahead of the 2nd woman (and 1st guy) that I could have relaxed and not pushed the pace, but not knowing where anyone else is in the field, it's hard to know when to relax. For all I knew, there was someone 5 minutes behind me. I didn't necessarily understand what was being said to me throughout the day along the course. I also felt great (relatively speaking) all day, and while I was running hard, felt good, and didn't feel like I left it all out there. I finished in 7:13, which I'm definitely happy with, especially after running an 8:04 at Sonoma the weekend prior. The courses were very different, but both challenging, and I loved both of them for different reasons. Iznik was different though, in that unlike during most races when at some point at a low point I find myself asking myself what the heck I'm doing out there, I never questioned why I was out there racing during Iznik. I had fun the entire way and loved the experience.

Finishing in Orhangazi.  Race photograph.

I made a few new friends who were practicing their English on me. We didn't get much past "My name is..." but we tried. Photo from my phone.

With new friends Alessia and Sirin. The women's podium in the 80K. Photo from my phone.

Coraline acting as translator post-race. Photo by TC Serkan Baslams (?). 

A fun video that was produced (I pop up several times):



I wanted to see all of my friends finish, so I hung out at the finish for several hours, which I really enjoyed. Coraline was working at the finish, and kept me company and acted as translator, which was very sweet of her. My friends all eventually finished, so we departed for Iznik in time to see Aykut and Elena finish the 130K, as well.  Post-run celebrations consisted of another trip to the meatball restaurant and several desserts with kaymak topping.  I was in heaven.

Sunday included a 10K race, followed by the awards ceremony. For those into race medals, the medal for Iznik is worth the trip alone--it's a hand-painted tile made in Iznik (Iznik is know for its ceramics), and the podium awards included a beautiful framed hand-painted tile that is both unique and beautiful. And before heading out of town, we hit the meatball restaurant one final time for one final round of meatballs and kaymak-themed deserts.

It's hard to go back to reality after a fun race weekend away, but the reality of Monday morning was there much too soon, and I was back to real life and co-facilitating a training for 40 Mercy Corps staff on USG grant rules and regulations. This was actually the real reason I was in Turkey.  But in addition to work, the rest of the week included a number of additional meet-ups with my running buddies Kerem, Aykut, Caner and Ilgaz for runs along the Bosphorus, in the Belgrad forest, more post-run breakfasts and kaymak, and a night out in Istanbul.

Taken during a sunrise run along the Bosphorus. Photo: me.

Ultra runners around the world are just awesome.  The community there took me in, and made me feel like one of the family, and I was truly bummed to leave.  I became reacquainted with friends from last year, and made many new ones. It was really hard to go home and leave these guys when it was time to go. Runners around the world are a unique bunch, and it's always a community that's easy to enter into as a visitor, but my Turkish running buddies are not just running buddies, but good friends, and I could have stayed indefinitely. Many thanks to my friends Aykut, Caner, Ilgaz and Kerem who served as awesome hosts, and took me under their wing(s).  I appreciated all of their efforts to make me feel at home. And to Caner, the RD, who puts on a top-notch event; I was honored to be invited to participate.  I'll hope to come back soon, and in the meantime, to meet up with all of you to run again.  See you at UTMB!

Ah, kaymak. Dreaming of our next encounter. 

Enjoying beers in Istanbul with Ilgaz and Caner, RD extraordinaire. 

Saturday run in the Belgrad Forest, the week after the race. Kerem, Elena, Aykut and Caner. Someone forgot to give Aykut the memo on what to wear.

It seems my body reacts very strongly to leaving Turkey, as well, and I’m now 0-2 flying home from Istanbul. No DVT this time, but this trip I managed to faint mid-flight in my seat, and while I was passed out, peed my pants. That was embarrassing. And humbling. Which after all the attention that was paid to me my week in Turkey was probably a good way to shrink my ego back to appropriate size. When I faint, I tend to pass out for at least a few seconds, and the Dutch guy next to me was looking fairly freaked out when I came to. I ended up laid out in the galley with an oxygen tank, a doctor and a crew of concerned flight attendants.  Thanks to the dear Delta flight attendant who loaned me her yoga pants. Wetting yourself 5 hours into a 10 hour flight is awkward, at best.  Also embarrassingly, it was a scene from a movie that caused me to faint (a bloody scene in The Impossible).  I wanted to finish the movie, but couldn't risk another fainting episode, because I wasn't sure if I would find anyone to loan me a second pair of pants.

If you find yourself in Turkey in April, I highly recommend this one.  Or better yet, find a way to get yourself to Turkey in April. 

Lake Sonoma 50: a wee bit after the fact

The last month has been a whirlwind, and has left me feeling very fortunate, a bit nostalgic, pretty fit, and short on time to write about it.  This past weekend was the first one at home in over a month, and looking ahead, the summer and fall will continue at a somewhat frenetic pace.  Sadly, Portland has been having the type of spring that you never want to miss a day of--sunny and warm--almost too much sun for my liking, but as much as I like the rain, I can't say that I actually dislike the sun. I just like to be contrary.  Flying back from Turkey a couple of weeks ago into Portland and again last Sunday from Illinois I was so happy to be home. Flying over the Pacific Northwest--past Mt. Hood, along the Columbia River Gorge, and over the very green landscape into PDX-- makes me realize how very lucky I am to live in a place that I love.  But I'm also lucky to be able to get out frequently and see other places in the world that I love to visit--most recently to California for the Lake Sonoma 50, on to Istanbul, Turkey for work with a stop first at Lake Iznik for the Orhangazi 80K, and then last weekend back to Monmouth, Illinois, my hometown.

There's really no better way to forget a 50 miler then to run a second one the week following.  I had a blast at Sonoma, but had an even more amazing time at the Iznik Ultras in Turkey, such that they kind of overshadow my memories of Sonoma. Sonoma felt like a family reunion, and John and crew do an excellent job with the pre-race pasta feed, post race tamale-feed, and Sunday wine tasting.  There's just enough organization to feel like it's a weekend of activities, with enough free time to relax a bit and enjoy lovely Sonoma County. For me it really was a family reunion, of sorts, because my aunt and uncle drove up from San Jose for the weekend for their first ultra experience.

Uncle Denny and I at the pre-race dinner.

Maria and I enjoying some wine and scenic views in Sonoma County. John Medinger (RD and Sonoma County resident) is a lucky guy. 

So, on to the race...the Lake Sonoma 50.  Both the women's and men's field were slated to be super-competitive, but as is often the case, the entrants list did not equal the start list, and the women's field had a number of key drops.  I'd done an interview on Ultra Runner Podcast the week prior, and in complete sincerity said I'd hope to crack the top 10.  When a number of top names dropped, I was gunning for top 5, but hoping to podium (top 3). I planned to race, but also wanted to be able to walk the next day, and run another 50 miles a short week later (10 hours time difference to Turkey, so it was actually a short week between races). So Lake Sonoma I planned to race, and the race in Turkey I planned to see what it felt like to run consecutive 50 milers while trying to avoid injuring myself.

Lake Sonoma

Words I've heard to use Sonoma are "deceptively tough" and "relentless". With 10,500 feet of elevation gain, most of the climb comes in the form of short relentless hills, except for a 14-mile section from miles 18-32 where you have 3 sustained ups and downs (see elevation profile). Besides the longer climbs in the middle, the short duration of most of the climbs makes it such that you feel like you should be running most of it, none of which is flat.  And because it's an out-and-back,  you begin to dread the final 10 miles during the first 10 miles, as you realize that you're going to be going up and down never-ending rollers on the way to the finish. Or at least I was dreading the final 10 miles early on.  I started off towards the front of the women's field, and found myself catching up to Rory when we turned off the road and onto the trails. We were in 3rd and 4th at this point.  She let me ahead, and then we ran together for several miles. I felt like I was pushing, and at some point asked Rory if she wanted to pass. Her response kind of implied that she wasn't really working, and was just along for the ride, enjoying the trails. I opted to jump off and let her by, as she seemed to be expending very little energy, and I seemed to be over-expending.  She effortlessly bounded up the hill, and I assumed I wouldn't see her again.

The course runs fairly close to the lake; the ups and downs are the result of descending into and out of the various creeks surrounding the lake. Thus, there are several creek crossings (12), which were very low this year compared to past years. There was water enough to splash in and get your feet wet, which was nice, as it was a bit warm for us Oregonians. I felt OK, but after the Warm Springs aid station at mile 12, walked some of the climb out of it, and also hiked a bit of climb to the turn-around. I never felt particularly bad, but never felt particularly great, either. I was pushing, but not really into it in terms of racing. There's a lollipop at the turn-around, so I'd seen Cassie heading down the road and looking strong, but didn't see Joelle or Rory, which meant they were in the loop. Cassie was about 15 minutes ahead at this point.  Meghan turned into the aid station just as I was leaving, so looked to be just a minute or 2 back.

The next part of the course was the most enjoyable (to me) because you're both heading downhill and homeward bound.  And, it was a section where I passed a lot of people.  After getting passed by Rory and a couple of guys traveling with her around mile 10, I don't think I was passed again for the rest of the day. I ran alone for nearly all of it, and probably passed another 10-15 runners before the finish.

Somewhere near the turn-around. Those Oregon legs are not quite tan, but more so after this race. Photo by Gary Wang.

I came up on AJW, probably at about the same point I passed him at RM50, after the turnaround with 20 or so miles to go, and he was looking a bit less salty than at RM.  I started hearing reports that Rory was just ahead, so I just focused on pushing to try to catch Rory, but more so that I didn't get caught by Meghan.  I started to see Rory ahead of me on the climbs, and we came into the Warm Springs aid station at the same time. She left before me, but I caught up to her not long after, and she hung on for a while.  I picked up the pace, as I wasn't really in the mood to race, and was kind of enjoying the solitude.  Once I passed her, I continued to pick it up, because I wasn't mentally up for a close finish, and Meghan had looked really good at the turn-around. I like to run with friends, but I prefer to race alone, as I play less head games with myself that way.

The last 10 miles were pretty uneventful. I passed a few more dudes, and felt pretty strong running most of the short rollers. I went into the quarter-mile out-and-back section leading to the last aid station (Island View) and didn't see anyone exiting as I entered or see Rory or Meghan as I left the aid station, so didn't feel the need to push. I ended up finishing in 8:04:11, which was 3rd chick and a respectable time for the course, 16 minutes back from Cassie, and a minute and a half back from Joelle. Rory and Meghan finished soon after in 4th and 5th.  I've never finished ahead of Rory, or that close to Joelle, so all in all, I was pleased.  I never really felt like I was racing, and had some left at the end, but it was a good solid effort, and I awoke on Sunday feeling like I hadn't trashed my legs completely. It wasn't a great race, but it was a good test of fitness, and I felt much stronger than I had at Ray Miller 50 back in early February. I'd gone into Ray Miller on not a ton of training, but had gotten in a 9-week block averaging 80 miles/week in the weeks following RM. That's most likely the most miles I'd ever done in that stretch of time, and with more speed work than I've done in the past (lots of marathon-pace tempo runs).

The "podium". 3rd, 2nd and 1st listening attentively in all directions.

RD John Medinger with me, Cassie and Denise.

More wine tasting at one of Maria's favorites.

Sunday was a really nice recovery day, with morning hot tubbing, followed by a wine tasting event organized by John and crew, followed by more wine tasting with Dennis and Maria. My quads were a bit sore, and I ended the day by going for a short shake-out walk/run on Mt. Tam, as Max and I were doing a photo shoot on Monday in the Headlands. While I felt good on Sunday, after an all-day photo shoot in high winds and chilly temps, I awoke Tuesday morning in Portland feeling like I was hit by a bus. Tuesday morning at work the USADA people showed up to catch me during my one day back in the office for a quick urine sample.  At least it looks like they're looking at my schedule notes, and are being fairly accommodating. Wednesday it was time to fly again, and there's nothing like a long flight to Turkey to kick back and recover, arriving in Istanbul Thursday afternoon, and by Friday, I was hanging out with my Turkish running buddies (from last year's trip to Turkey--see next post) in Iznik, and again preparing to run 50 miles on Saturday at the Orhangazi 80K, part of the Iznik Ultras that take place around Lake Iznik, a short journey from Istanbul.  I went for a 3 mile shake-out run on Friday afternoon to loosen up after a few long days of travel, and proceeded to face plant on concrete, completely tearing open my left hand and knee. I felt tired, uncoordinated, and jet-lagged, but wasn't nervous, as I was really just planning to do what I could.

Gear:
MHW Way2Cool tank: The fit and fabric of the Way2Cool tank has changed a bit, and for the better (to me). A slightly longer cut, and the fabric is buttery soft (also has the new cooling fabric, but living in OR, I can't say that I've noticed--felt good at Sonoma and it was warm). I wear this tank on most of my runs these days.
MHW Ultrapacer Short II: I have always loved the Ultrapacer Short and the second version of these shorts hasn't changed much from the first (which is a good thing).  Just as gloriously short as the first version, and light.
Montrail Bajadas: No feet issues. The newest version of the Bajada has fixed the two issues some had with the first.  They're reinforced around the toe box (fixed the blow-out issues), and the tongue no longer slips because the little shoelace loop thingy on the tongue has been moved to the outside (and I wonder why I never get asked to review shoes).
Injinji Run 2.0 Midweight Mini-Crew: This particular model is a favorite (along with a few others). I love my injinjis. And it's not just because they give me socks. I had no feet issues, and I'm still 10 for 10 on toenails this year. My pedicurists love me.

Nutrition: Clif Shot gels (5'ish), jelly bellies, water, coke, and 2 salt caps.  I wasn't carrying salt, and because I was drinking water, realized I should probably take some at some point. So, I took one at the half-way point, and then, just after I left the last aid station and was lamenting the fact that I'd again forgotten to grab salt, I found a salt cap laying on the trail.  The trail gods were listening!  I licked off the mud, and it was good as new.  Otherwise, I drank water throughout, ate gels for the first two/thirds, but then coke and jelly bellies fueled the last third because that's what sounded good. Not my best fueling day.

Travel, Ray Miller 50, and Recent Training...

My Ray Miller 50 report....way past due, but I started it so might as well finish it.  And maybe more of a multi-month synopsis with some trip pictures and training updates. I think that's why I never post anything on here.  My blog entries turn into mini novelas and never get finished.

December and January were busy. Training was crap. Add that to the fact that I really rested more than I ran in September, October and November (5 month average of hitting about 210 miles/month--running, but not really training, although I was actually trying to in December and January).  So, I was kind of scared to jump back onto the ultra wagon, but sometimes you just have to jump. Last year's Ray Miller 50 Miler was what I would argue one of my best races last year. I trained fairly hard through last fall/winter into Hellgate 100K in December and Worlds in April, so late February had me in decent shape.  In contrast, this year I last raced in late August and took a really light fall/winter training schedule leading into 2 busy travel months for work in December (3 weeks in Iraq) and January (2 weeks in Ethiopia).  I always find a way to train on the road regardless of where I end up, but it is often less than ideal, and it's hard to get in big mileage weeks.  Oddly, in neither recent case did I have access to a treadmill, so could only run early morning because of either security (Iraq), human congestion (Ethiopia), or air quality issues (Iraq and Ethiopia).

Views on a drive in Northern Kurdish Iraq. The mountains are inviting.  

I wasn't sure I would even be able to run in Iraq, but our security guys assured me it was OK, just to avoid small streets off the beaten path. Advice you might be wise to follow anywhere. But they were all road runs, and had to be done early morning before the smog got too bad, and I wasn't technically supposed to leave the apartment compound after dark alone. Which meant that if I ran in the evening I had to run loops around the apartment compound.  Mind numbing. Technically it was dark in the mornings when I left the apartment compound to run, but morning darkness seems less threatening.  People don't get kidnapped before noon, right?

Running in Iraq wasn't all bad. One weekend, the driver dropped me off in the mountains, and let me run home.  "Home" was the city down in the valley (Sulaynamiah).  Had I run the other direction I would have ended up in Iran.  It sometimes doesn't end well when Americans wander over the border, so I resisted the urge to run higher up into the mountains.

A bit of a contrast, but indeed, this is a picture taken on that same run while window shopping my way back through the city. Hard to believe I didn't bring this one home.

Technically there was a treadmill in the hotel in Ethiopia, but it was set with a 10km/hr governor (10 minute miles--hello, this is Ethiopia!), set to turn off every 10 minutes, and was only accessible until 6 p.m. And there was always a line-up of middle-aged dudes looking to get on for a stroll, who glared at me after I'd exceeded my 10 minute window. They'd let it slide for a second 10 minutes, but then they'd report me to the staff.  In my defense, the sign on the treadmill (which I can only assume said "Please limit your training to 10 minutes") was in Amharic and I can only assume that's what it said being that I don't read Amharic, but could make out the "10").

Suffice it to say, I opted to run outside most mornings rather than slog through painfully slow negative energy on the treadmill. And while I hit 70+ mile weeks in both Iraq and Ethiopia, I also hit 30 mile weeks coming and going due to the 30+ hours required to get to either place. Training on the road just reminds me how easy it is to train at home in Oregon. I can run at any time of the day (morning, noon or night), don't get gawked at (Iraq), and don't feel like I've just smoked a pack of cigarettes (Addis Ababa).  And, I can easily access trails right out of my front door (+ 2 minutes).  There are trail options in Ethiopia, but they weren't accessible for a weekday morning run, so most mornings I ran uphill from my hotel to try to escape the smog.  And running uphill in a city where you're starting elevation is around 8000 feet and you're enveloped in smog (lots of wood-fire cooking and lots of really old cars, including a lot of blue Lada taxis which were brought in during the Soviet-backed Derg regime in the mid 70's to 80's--let's just say that I was in at least 2 taxis that required running push starts, and emission testing is either completely or severely lacking).  And the number of people out on the street in Addis can be a bit overwhelming, so if you're not out running before sunrise, it's going to be a gawk-fest. At least in Ethiopia they are used to runners, and their comments are overwhelmingly positive, it's just a lot of attention during a normally solo/meditative activity. And I always feel like they're thinking, "Oh look. How cute. The giant white girl is trying to run."

But there are lovely places to run up above Addis at Entoto, which I've blogged about before. Running up at Entoto makes the weekly slogs through smog worth it.  And I do love visiting Ethiopia.  Great food, friendly people, and Addis is a really hopping place--lots of people in a small space--but safe, unlike Nairobi which is frenetic and unsafe.

A room with a view.  Addis is the smoggy area down below. 

A typical dirt path/road. Climbs are gradual, but up around 10,000 feet, I felt them.  Where some elites in Ethiopia train, so you do see some fast and potentially famous runners cruising by.

More lovely views up on Entoto.  Addis is down in the smog.

Boys who chased down the "faranji" (foreigner) and were happy to pose for a picture.

On my run down from Entoto, I ran into the Epiphany street parades.  It was a little awkward--sweaty girl in short shorts running through a religious dancing/chanting street parade of 1000s of people. 

So to make a short story rather long, while I tried to train in December and January after taking much of September through November off, life got in the way. Travel, hamstring/glute strain (from racing a half marathon with an already unhappy hammie/butt), the holidays and more travel.

So, Ray Miller found me in less-than-desired 50-mile shape, but I needed a boost to jump start my 2013 training, and spending 8+ hours on beautiful trails is a good way to do that. Ray Miller was on Feb 2 this year. Last year it was on Feb 25, so the first panic came when I realized that we'd have about 3 weeks less light. Not a big deal, except that the first climb is semi-technical, and would be much darker this year.  Last year we needed lights for about 5 minutes, so getting by without was pretty easy.  This year I would have liked one for about 45 minutes.  I don't see very well in the dark/dawn and I struggled without one.  So, while last year, I felt like I ran a really fast first 20 miles, and was somewhat cooked after that, this year I had a slow clumsy start, which transitioned into a slow first half.  I did go into this race with a different mindset, knowing I didn't have the miles on my legs, and that many of the fast chicks had chosen to do the 50k this year, whereas last year, Meghan, Shawna and Angela were all with me in the 50 miler. Not to say that there weren't other fast women in the 50 miler, just that the 50k race was a bit more stacked, with a close race for the 1-2 and 3-4 spots.

The first climb in Ray Miller is pretty (a little dark), but once you get up on the ridge, the sun is starting to come up and the views with the sunrise are breathtaking--a treeless ridge line, with ocean views off to the left. I'm not sure I even noticed it last year, but this year I did.  There are payoffs to easing into a race.  All of the 50k'ers dropped me quickly (Meghan, Jen B, Kate, Bree, Allison).  Last year I was in the lead for both races until the turn-off at mile 20'ish, but definitely not this year.

The first 20 miles of Ray Miller are my least favorite part of the course, but that's only because I like the last 30 so much. There's a decent but runnable climb to start up to a ridge, which is lovely as mentioned previously, and then you go up and over the ridge to some field and dirt road running. Some nice descents on switch-backy trails, but otherwise I'd describe the first 20 miles as fairly unmemorable. I wasn't suffering as much as last year, but I'm guessing I was a good 25 minutes slower in the first half than last year.

Somewhere in the first 20 miles. Photo by Jayme Burtis. 

I'm not sure I'd ever opt for the 50k, because the best part of the course is really the part where you turn off from where the 50k'ers continue on and do a 20 mile out-and-back on parts of the Backbone trail. There's a solid climb up and past Butt-crack rock (that's the rock behind me in the photo) and then a nice descent to the aid station down off the ridge. From the aid station, there's an additional out-and-back to a smaller aid station, which climbs a bit, but is runnable, and provides a good chance to see where people are at. Plus, once you hit the turn-around at about mile 31 or so, you know you're homeward bound. I calculated that the next female (who was not far behind at this point) was 10-15 minutes back, and realized that I needed to think about moving faster. Plus, AJW was maybe 5-10 minutes ahead, so I decided to make catching him my goal.

Butt-crack rock in the background. Mile 24 or so on the course, and up on the Backbone Trail.  By far my favorite part of the course.  Photo by Jayme Burtis.

I made my way back through the mile 28/34 aid station for the second time, and felt pretty strong climbing back up and out of the aid station.  I ran/walked and started to reel in several guys, including AJW up on top. He looked like a salt lick, and seemed to be struggling a bit, so I passed quickly (it was a secret goal to kind of bury him--sorry AJW) and I was moving well at this point.  What goes up must come down, and coming down off of the Backbone trail is a fun, long descent.  I passed a couple more guys and was feeling fairly good. I definitely felt (and was) slower in the first half of the race this year, but had gone slow enough that the second half wasn't so bad.  I had begun doing some math in my head, which was sketchy, at best, but decided a good goal would be to try to stay ahead of Shawna's 2nd place finish time from last year. I'd run 8:10 the year prior, and I thought Shawna had been around 8:45 (8:44 was her actual time).  I also feared that Ultrasignup's stupid predicted time--I really hate the time prediction part of Ultrasignup and don't understand its utility besides annoyance--would be accurate.  In this particular instance, it predicted I would run an 8:38, which annoyed me when I'd run an 8:10 the year prior on the same course.  Screw you Ultrasignup Genie!  How do you know I'm out of shape?

I turned back onto the shared 50K/50 mile course, which means less than 10 miles to the finish. Uneventful--felt good enough to run, and I pushed a bit. I really just wanted to get to the last aid station, which meant one more big climb, and then probably one of the sweetest descents on a really memorable piece of single track--the Ray Miller trail.  I accidentally left my Shuffle at the last aid station (like, permanently), but its loss is not such a great one, being that it's been stuck on the same damn album for the past several races I've used it in, and it's more annoying than helpful.  Finally, the final climb, which seemed shorter than I had remembered it in my head, with the reward of that beauty of a trail, the Ray Miller.  I ended up finishing in 8:38. Crap. Cursed by Ultrasignup.

I highly recommend this race to anyone wanting an early season 50 miler.  I don't necessarily like to repeat races year to year (although I am again and again this year), but Ray Miller may be an annual pilgrimage. It's warm and sunny, so a nice break from the PNW winter, and the race is really well done; Keira and crew do a great job. Beautiful trails and views, and a fun way to jump into another year of racing.

I didn't fall once during the race, but managed to face plant on the boardwalk the next day. At least it was a soft landing.  

Next up for me is Lake Sonoma 50 this Saturday, followed by the Iznik Ultra 80K in Turkey the week following. I'm not sure I've ever run 2 50 milers back to back. Vamos a ver. I felt good coming out of Ray Miller and have put in a good block of training, averaging 80 miles/week over the past couple of months, with highs in the mid 90s and a couple of down weeks thrown in.  For me that's big mileage, so Lake Sonoma will be a good chance to see where I'm at. I've also done more speed work than I've ever tried to incorporate (usually I do a speed workout every few months--I'm actually trying to incorporate a couple of planned sessions a week).  Some days I love it (long marathon-pace efforts) and other days I hate it (whenever it suggests I visit a track, which I have yet to set foot on).  March was my biggest training month ever at 363 miles.  I think my previous high was 330. Maybe that's why I'm anemic.

In other news, it turns out I'm mildly anemic (ferritin at 10 and hemoglobin/RBC/hematocrit levels below normal). To be honest, I've been anemic, or borderline anemic maybe every time I've had levels checked--I rarely get it checked, suck at follow through, and end up taking iron supplements for a few months and then forgetting about it. The last time I was checked was at least 3 years ago, being that I was living in DC at the time.  This time, my doctor recommends IV iron transfusions.  So, tomorrow I'll get my first, and another next week before leaving for Turkey on Wednesday, with a few more to follow in early May once I'm back.  I'm also Vit D deficient, but I guess that's no big shocker. The Vit D supplements I just bought are yummy, so I'm trying not to overdose on them.  I'm hoping that replenishing my iron stores and OD'ing on Vit D will light a fire under my ass, which I didn't realize had been put out.

USADA and 6 a.m. wake-up calls

It's again that time when I start getting almost daily reminders from USADA (United States Anti-Doping Agency) that my quarterly "whereabouts" filing is nearly due. Most people will tell you that there is no drug testing in ultra-running, and while for the most part this is true, there are certain high profile races (Comrades and UTMB to name a couple) that do in-competition testing. UTMB tests pre-competition, and Comrades tests top finishers. There is also a way to get yourself landed in the USADA registered drug testing pool, which is to finish in the top 3 at one if the IAAF-recognized IAU world championship events.

So, I'd been told that winning the World 100K would likely land me on the drug testing list, but I thought I'd managed to escape notice, which I figured was because of other race results, and the fact that the Worlds win was a freak incident.  Sadly, this didn't turn out to be true and I got an email in early February (almost 10 months after Worlds) with the subject line "Welcome to the USADA RTP!" and an email that started with, "Congratulations!  You have met your National Governing Body’s criteria to be included in the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency’s Registered Testing Pool (“RTP”)." I found the congratulatory note interesting/odd, being that selection into the RTP is a complete pain in the ass. The letter then went on to explain that I had been selected for the International Testing Pool (the other option is the National Testing Pool which is slightly less of a pain in the ass), and that I would need to file quarterly "whereabouts" that detail out my daily schedule from 6 a.m. to 11 p.m., including a 60 minute window, providing a time and location where I can be found seven days a week. There's no guarantee that I, if tested, will be tested within my chosen window, as I can be tested at any time between 6 a.m. and 11 p.m., but should I not be located within that window I'll get a missed test violation, and three missed tests equals an anti-doping violation. The "whereabouts" schedule I submit quarterly, and whenever I vary from it, I'm supposed to text updates to USADA with the schedule change.  

So, before March 31 I need to let USADA know where I plan to spend every hour from 6 a.m. to 11 p.m. from April 1 - June 30. Obviously it's pretty hard today to predict where I'll be on June 22nd at 10 p.m., but that's what I need to do, and submit it to USADA by March 31 (or I'll be subject to a violation).  And this gets repeated quarterly.  Until I get taken off the list. The only way to get taken off the list voluntarily is to "retire."

Because I often train in the morning, and my post-work schedule varies day to day, I opted for my 60 minute window to be mid-morning during the work week, and 6-7 a.m. on Saturday and Sunday.  If USADA shows up to test me during my window, and I'm not there, they will not call me, but will wait an hour, and then call me to let me know I've missed a test.  That's where the difference between the International and National testing pools seems to lie--there is no window in the national testing pool, but USADA will call you once they show up to wherever you've indicated you'll be, and you have an hour to report.  In the case of the international testing pool, you don't get a call; they wait for you to show up, and if you don't, they call to let you know you were missed. I have not yet figured out whether there's a difference between missing a test inside your window, or outside of your window. 

When I first heard about this, I freaked out a bit.  Talk about a major invasion of privacy, although anyone that is friends with me on FB knows that I'm not an overly private person. To be honest, I don't care about the invasion of privacy, as much as the pain-in-the-ass part about keeping USADA updated as to my hourly moves. I'd rather they just stick a chip in me and track me if they really want to know where I am.  I mean seriously, do they want to know that I'm going to the grocery store or heading to yoga class? Do they want me to text them if I head out for the evening or the address of where I'm sleeping tonight if it's not at home?  I asked those questions of USADA, and the answer to the first questions is "probably not" assuming I'm not going to be gone more than an hour, but the answer to the other questions is "yes."  I jokingly posted on FB that anyone wanting to sleep with me in the next quarter should let me know so that I could schedule accordingly.  For those that didn't respond--don't worry, I can just text in an update, so not all is lost, and there's still time to get on next quarter's schedule.  

My official start day in the RTP was Feb 20 and I've already been tested once. From talking with others that have been on the list (but from different countries), I assumed I might be tested once or twice in a year.  Hopefully that'll be the case, but after being tested just 10 days after getting on the list, it's hard to say. It was nice that the testers came within my scheduled "window" and opted for the 6 a.m. Sunday morning slot.  I did ask them whether that was routine (to test within the window) to which they said, "not necessarily."  It also helped me to realize that we have a doorbell that doesn't work, and that my kittens are truly dog-like in that they jumped out of bed to go investigate who was at the door.  I never would have opened the door, assuming that whoever was knocking was a thief trying to determine if we were home before they broke in, but luckily I have a roommate who is not a complete pansy.  

In terms of the actual test (urine sample), the experience was much easier than my experience being tested in competition. After Worlds, during which I peed while running for much of the race (lesson learned, if you're having a good day, save some), it took me a good 7 liters of water and Coke and more than 2 hours to produce a sample (after which I could have produced hundreds of samples). For the recent test, I hadn't gotten up in a few hours, so the friendly USADA ladies were on their way by 6:30, and I had time to snuggle back into bed  for another 30 minutes of sleep before getting up to meet friends to run.  The testing agents were two women, and once they make contact with you, you can't leave their sight.  I had to retrieve my license from my room to prove my identity, and one of them followed me in there and into the kitchen to get water. The same is true for the sample--they watch your every move (and yes, they watch you pee in the cup--luckily I don't have performance anxiety). Weird. Especially for a podunk ultrarunner.  Kind of makes you feel important in an odd way. Like, am I really being drug tested in my own home at 6 a.m. on a Sunday morning, and why?

Alas, I've gotten lax, and have not even remembered that I'm on the testing pool since that first test, under the assumption that I won't be tested again soon. I went to Bend last weekend without remembering to let them know I was leaving town.  I should probably pay a bit more attention and remember to text in updates, but was operating in the post-test glow of perceived freedom. In the meantime, I've got the next three months of my life to plan out before Sunday.  Let me know if you want on the schedule!  

2013: Remaining Elite (but just on airplanes)

2013 is shaping up to include as much if not more travel than 2012, and my elite airline statuses looks to remain unthreatened. While I strongly dislike the term "elite" when it comes to over-usage in the ultrarunning world, I do love the use of it and my inclusion under it when talking about airlines. I missed platinum by peanuts in 2012 due to poor planning on my part--2013 is going platinum, baby.  International travel in 2012 included 3 work trips (Kenya, Istanbul and Iraq) and 2 running trips (Italy/Worlds and France/UTMB), and 2013 looks similar with at least 2 work-related trips (Ethiopia already in January and Istanbul coming in April) and 3 running trips (Japan/100K, France/UTMB and South Africa/Worlds). Here's hoping my elite status earns me an upgrade or 2...

Running near Sulaynamiyah, Iraq in December. Not a bad place for a long Saturday morning run.

2012 was a good one for me, and I was honored to be included in the Ultrarunning Magazine rankings for Runner of the Year (much higher than I would have expected, especially when looking at the names further down the list):  

But, I guess due entirely to the performance of the year rankings, where I was honored, again, to be listed among Ellie's great races, and Connie's 24 hour American record performance:

I was pleasantly surprised to come in 3rd in the IAU yearly rankings, behind Kudo who won the 24 hour championships and set a world's best performance in 2012. 

Female:

Mami Kudo (JPN): 25.0%
Michaela Dimitriadu (CZE): 24.8%
Amy Sproston (USA): 17.7%

Moving on to 2013, my schedule, to which I may add a short race here or there, but is fairly concrete on the long-run front, assuming I don't fall off any more cliffs (wee accident in January) and avoid fatal airplane-induced emboli, includes:

Ray Miller 50 mile, 2/5/13: Done!--1st F in the 50 mile--blog post coming next... 

Early on during the Ray Miller 50. A great early season event, and one that I plan to hit again in 2014.

Lake Sonoma 50 mile, 4/13/13: This one looks to be more competitive than Western States. I had planned to run this 2 years ago when it was cancelled due to rain, and last year's race conflicted with Worlds, so happy to finally have a chance to run this one.

Tokyo Shibamata 100K, Japan, 6/1/13: Super excited about this one. I was invited by the RD, and couldn't pass up a trip to Japan. Japan is somewhere I've never been, and has been on my list. I've never raced a 100K on roads outside of Worlds, so we'll see how it goes.  It's supposed to be a flat out-and-back course near Tokyo. Most of the course/race information is in Japanese, so that's my take on it, anyhow. Meghan A. is going, as well, which is awesome, as it'll be fun to explore this new-to-me part of the world with a great friend.  The RD expects 2000 runners in the 100K, so should be interesting/competitive/fun.  The Japanese women are always very competitive in the IAU World Championship events, and I'd expect we'll see that here.

Western States 100, 6/28/13: 3rd year in a row. I've been 8th the past two years.  We'll see if F8 is my fate. With the depth of talent in 2013's race, I honestly wouldn't be crushed if that was the case, although I'd like to feel like I had a good race at WS from start to closer-to-the-finish, and be able to sprint around that track.  I'd really like to see an 18:30 at WS (19:11 last year).  

Really hoping that 2013 brings "normal" weather conditions to both WS and UTMB. Heading up the Escarpment in 2012, in odd freezing conditions for WS.

White River 50 mile, 7/28/13: One of those races I loved when I first/last ran it, but just haven't made it back to. This year I'm putting it on the calendar early, so as to not miss it again.  Great climbs in a beautiful part of Washington--should be great training for UTMB.  

UTMB, Chamonix, France, 8/31/13: All I can say, is that we better make it around that damn mountain. This will be a focus of my summer.

Meghan and I scouting the course pre-UTMB (we weren't actually on the course, but didn't know it at the time). 

World 100K Championship, Durban, South Africa, late Oct/early Nov: You know, I don't even know what to say about this one. John Medinger recently commented on a FB post about Durban being a great place for me to go to defend my title. I don't like pressure, and there normally would not be any pressure on me, and I'd guess that even as the returning champ there won't be much pressure on me, assuming that some other individuals show up to defend past crowns. Regardless, I'm looking forward to going back to Durban, as I've also been meaning to return to Comrades (which starts/finishes in Durban), but haven't been able to squeeze it in (and am really looking to run the downhill version of Comrades, so maybe going back to Durban will influence me to sign up for the downhill Comrades in 2014). In the meantime, the World Championship course will likely be something entirely different, about which we don't yet know the details, but Durban is a great beach town, and will be a fun destination race come late October/early November. 

Team USA will be looking to defend our title in 2013. A great group of women with whom I can't wait to don the USA jerseys again in Durban.

I've been training with some faster marathon types and doing more marathon-paced (faster) runs, and might try to jump into a half marathon here and there to work on speed, but in terms of ultras that's probably my year, as all of my vacation days will be tapped. Although if I'm not completely burned out, and time allows, a December trip to Hellgate 100K+ or TNF in SF might be in the cards.  

I'm other news, I'm excited to continue with the Montrail/Mountain Hardwear team for 2013, and will also continue to be supported by ClifBar and Nuun. New for me in 2013 I will be racing as part of Team Injinji, as well.  While initially nervous to make the switch (I'd been wearing DryMax for a couple of years, and had OK luck, but have always struggled with trashed feet, especially my long toe), I have to say that I've been thrilled with my Injinjis thus far, and suddenly have all of my toenails for the first time in 6 years of ultrarunning.  Pretty darn exciting.  That second toe (pointer toe?) is even almost starting to grow a normal nail.  For years it has sort of regrown, only to be knocked on its butt in every ultra/long run.  Soon, the pedicurists may not even realize I'm a freak. 

All in all, I've got to say that I'm psyched to be supported by my generous sponsors, motivated by my awesome running buddies, and loved by friends and family, and feel really fortunate for all of the opportunities that await in 2013.  It's going to be another busy, but hopefully really fun, rewarding, and enlightening year.