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.  

The Year in Bad Self Potraits: 2012

My favorite post of the year, and why so many people who ran/traveled with me this year were subjected to either participating in or witnessing my acts of self photography. It all stems back to my friend, Marjon, who is the queen of self portraits, and my attempts at attaining her level of expertise.  This is the 2nd annual version of "The Year in Bad Self Portraits" and I think I still have a ways to go, so the self portraits will likely continue into 2013. And I had a hard time picking and choosing, so there are a lot of them.  Going through the year in photos reminded me what a great year 2012 was--I got to see a lot of the world, spend quality time with great friends and family, and spend a lot of time doing what I love.

The view from our hostel in Italy during the World Championships.  Italy was definitely one of the highlights of the year. There's really nothing that can compare to donning the USA jersey and bunhuggers once a year and representing. And this year will be one that I will never forget. World champions!  And world champion--I still can't really believe that actually happened.

Running in Sedona with Ian and Meghan.

Portland girl goes to Arizona. Holy heat.  Mid-run in Sedona.

Portland girl lets Meghan convince her that running in 110 degree heat is a good idea. Badwater = never.

Sister and I at Western States.  Fun times. Can you tell we're related?

Ellie and I en route to a photo shoot the day before WS.  

A work conference in DC allowed for a weekend of getting back on some favorite east coast trails in the vicinity of Buck Hollow in the Shenendoahs.  Home trails...

A favorite workout of the year: downhill hill repeats at Willamette Ski Pass in an attempt to trash my quads one final time before UTMB. This was an attempt at making it look like I wasn't taking the picture. Artsy, no?

And just to show I do more then run, my good friend Liz and I at a summer wedding.

Enjoying post-run food with friends after our UTMB/CCC/TDS adventures.

Wind swept on top of Mt. Blanc. Looking forward to a return in 2013, if the lottery gods are good to me.

Meghan and I enjoying some cold sunshine and views of Mt. Blanc.

The first tour around Mt. Hood. Early September and the wildflowers were all in full bloom yet. It was gorgeous.

Ellie and I on the aptly named Gnarl Ridge side of Hood. Twas a bit windy and nippy. My second circumnavigation of Mt. Hood of the season.  40-42 miles depending on route finding. An epic loop not to be missed if you find yourself in the area at the right time (fairly short window to do this one between end of July and the first snowfall).

The Hood crew: Stephanie, Max, Zach, me, Mike and Ellie.  That is one fast crew touring the mountain.

Mom, me and Dad enjoying some blue skies and a big blue lake at Crater Lake this fall.

Mom is threatening to push me into the lake if I took another self potrait.  

Just one more!

Trail Factor friends running on the Salmon River Trail. Another day, another beautiful trail in the PNW with great friends.

Running up in the hills/mountains around Sulaymaniyah, Iraq in December.  A memorable run.

  Snowshoeing over New Years.  Happy New Year!

Better late than never? UTMB: The Race that wasn't...

In posting the Synchro-Blog piece last week, I realized I had never finished/published my UTMB race report.  OK, maybe I hadn't forgotten, but it seemed so negative when I wrote it that I hesitated putting it out there.  But, it's how I was feeling at the time, and I like to do things chronologically, so in order to move on to happier topics, like my favorite "The Year in Bad Self Portraits" or talking about plans for 2013, and to move on, it's getting posted even though it was 3+ months ago.  Just to warn you, this is going to be somewhat of a gripe-fest.  If you want to read a positive account of the UTMB experience, I'll send you to Meghan's blog.

So, onto the race. Where I last left off (well, a few entries ago) we were rerouted.  So, rather than run around Mt. Blanc through 3 countries, the revised course would remain in France, running up and down the valleys around Chamonix.  This came after the announcement on Thursday that the race would go on as planned without a course change, and thus after we'd all wrapped our heads around the idea that this was going to be an epic weather adventure. So, we then receive a text on Friday, middle of the day, that the race would be delayed 30 minutes to start around 7 pm and would be at least 100K staying in France and keeping us below 2000m.  OK, time to wrap our heads around an entirely new scenario. I was trying to be flexible, but like many, was not very excited by what was about to be our reality--a much shorter and faster night run through the rain and mud.

A 100K race starting at 7 pm in the rain/snow--oh boy.  Anyone that has ever run a 100K starting at night in crappy weather can tell you what that means: tunnel vision on a muddy trail in the dark. No views, no "journey" around Mt. Blanc, just a lot of running around in France, to seemingly having us zig and zag to get us to 100K (+). UTMB is a course that is known for spectacular beauty--a 10 on a scale of 10, and the same on the scale for difficulty. That's why I was there--for a difficult challenge in a stunning environment.  If I'm going to suffer, I want to do it in a beautiful place. The replacement course was not beautiful, at least not in the dark. It very likely would have been scenic had it not been dark and foggy, but the only real view we got was of the muddy trail in our headlamp beams. UTMB is known for being tough, and while the replacement course was not beautiful, it was still tough.

Meghan and I before the start.

The race started around 7 p.m. in the festive style that UTMB and apparently many European races are known for, with throngs of people lining the streets, complete with a jumbo-tron and video/music.  They let the "elites" start in the front of the field, so we lined up behind the start with a mob of folks behind us.  Knowing that folks traditionally go out fast, and knowing that the mob was behind us and not in front of us, I just hoped to not get trampled. The race started in the frenetic manner I expected and there was at least one fall at the start, as we all kind of hopped around trying not to run over the downed runners in that first block. But, in general getting out was fairly easy (so don't try to tell me that UROC needs an "elite" start when UTMB does just fine 25 times as many runners).   I was soon running with people I knew (Krissy, Rory, Gary) but quickly stopped to pee behind a parked car in town, hoping that it was slightly less rude than peeing in the crowd at the start line, which I had considered. I was still in a crowd, but Europeans don't mind nudity, right?  I quickly caught back up with my group, and felt like I was cruising comfortably through the first few miles that take you along a gravel path next to a road .  The path rolls, but is more or less flat-ish with more down than up. Understandable why the first splits at UTMB are always so fast--the first section is fast, in a race where many of the climbs are at grades un-runnable to the mortals. The revised course shared the first 24 miles with the real course, so we'd at least get a flavor of the UTMB course.

The revised UTMB course. There were more climbs in there than are indicated on the map, I believe. The last section  in reality didn't seem to match the map we were given.

The first climb started and Topher and Gary both blew by me at hiking speeds I couldn't match. In general, I felt good on most of the climbs, but the first one I struggled to find a rhythm.  Rory passed by, too, along with a few other females. I started to feel good again once we started the descent into St. Gervais, although the descent was fairly slick on wet and muddy grass, and I depended heavily on my poles for balance.  St. Gervais was the first big aid station and it was a bit of a mob scene, so I tried to get into and out of the tent as quickly as possible.  Unfortunately I hadn't explained this to my crew, who kept trying to (sweetly) offer me a blanket to warm up with. I was generally warm, and just trying to get through the mob scene as quickly as possible. In hindsight, I never even looked at the food offerings, and only took water and coke from aid stations so have no idea what culinary delights awaited had I stopped.  Cheese and sausage, from what I've read, but I stuck to my usual ClifShot diet.

While they did dramatically change the course, they did keep us on the real UTMB course up past Les Contamines, where we would eventually turn off after Notre Dame de la Gorge on what is the first really big climb of the real UTMB. We would turn off around 6200 feet in the modified version, whereas the UTMB course continues to climb up to 9000 feet.

The text that came Friday, announcing the course change stated that the course would be at least 100K. It didn't specify, but I assumed it would be around 100K. Eh, wrong.  I found this annoying as the race unfolded and it became evident that the course was actually closer to 110K. It's nice to start a race knowing the distance you're about to run. Otherwise, you get to the second-to-last aid station and naively ask, "15K to go?" And hear the response, "No, actually 25K to go."  Me, "WTF?"  We'd already made the mental shift of running 168K to 100K, and these additional shifts were just adding insult to injury.  My thought at the last aid station upon hearing this news was, "Let this crappy half-ass course be over with."  When you're what you believe to be 9 miles away from the finish of the race, and then they tell you that it's actually 15, it's a bit deflating.  After hearing that news, the hardest part of the race for me was the last section from the last aid station to the finish.  It was finally light, but this section of the course was not scenic, and was sort of flat-ish and rolling back into town, and had been traversed by the previous races so was a slop-fest. And a bit unexpected in that I had assumed the distance to be closer to 100K. I know, I complain about not getting to run 100 miles and then complain that they made us run more than 100K.  Again, it's just nice to know up front how far you're racing.

Overall, I felt like I rolled with the punches, and did my best to make the most out of what was not ideal. It's hard to compare the actual results to what would have happened had we gotten to run the full course.  The event we ran was not UTMB. I'm not sure what the finishing rate was, but it was high compared to what the usual UTMB finishing rate is.

Being that I don't regularly compete against most of the women in this race, it's a little hard to judge finishing place/time, but comparing my finish to the other US women, I'm not unhappy. Rory has had a great year, with her 2nd place finish at Western States, but I'd say for the most part, any one of that group of 5 could come out on top (or bottom) on any given day. I ended up 15 minutes out of 5th place, which is only significant in that the top 5 women are considered podium (top 10 for men), and I really had hoped to break into the top 5 (what can I say, I wanted a cow bell). And I'm getting pretty good at nailing the F8 position, with two F8s at WS the past 2 years and an F8 here. I hope it's not fate (feight).  The top US women ended up:

4. Rory Bosio (13:43:10)
8. Me (14:13:35)
12. Meghan Arbogast (15:14:25)
14. Krissy Moehl (15:25:57)
17. Helen Cospolich (15:57:36)

The organizers still managed to provide us with around 18,000 feet of climb (per Jill Homer's data) over 68 miles (according to my watch--Jill had 67).  So, while the climbs were not as long, they were still plentiful, and steep.

I can understand why the course change happened, but after having trained all summer, and having taken a week off of work, I really wanted to do a little more than run around on steep muddy trails in the rain. I'm from Oregon. I can do that basically any night I want to for 9 months of the year. However, the race organizers did their best in what was just crappy luck.  Seriously, the chances of having 3 years of bad weather in a row can't be that high.  And the window of crappy weather was pretty incredible, as it was beautiful in the days leading up to the race, and was gorgeous again, just following the race.

I was encouraged by the fact that the climbs really didn't seem that bad. Yes, they were steep, but I was prepared. Granted, we didn't do the major climbs that come in UTMB, but what we did do seemed completely doable. Folks say you can't train for the steepness in the US, but that really isn't true, at least not in Oregon. We've got steep climbs here, too.  I did a training run in the Gorge with 10,000 feet of climb in 30 miles with just 2 climbs.  Our race was 20,000 feet of climb in 68 miles.  I was definitely prepared for that and not completely wiped.  I wanted the real deal.

Will I go back?  Yes. I loved what I saw of the course, and can't wait to do the entire thing.

I wanted to suffer; I wanted to deserve time off afterwards; I wanted to struggle up climbs, and be so sore that I couldn't walk for a several days.  Instead, we were offered a modified course, such that my quads weren't even sore.  18,000 feet of climb in 68 miles, and my quads were happy.  My quads were SO ready, damn it!  I may have finished the route that was UTMB this year, and received a UTMB finishers award, but I haven't run UTMB.  I will be back, assuming that I can get in.

Seems to be the year of shitty weather and 8th place finishes in 100 mile trail races for me. I'm sick of finishing 8th in big races.  Like at WS, I wanted top 5 here. Here I was 15 minutes back, which isn't much in a race that lasts 14 hours, and had I had any idea where I was I can definitely think of a few places where that time could have come from. I had super slow aid station transitions. They were pretty much self service, and I struggled to get my bladder filled and gear re-adjusted on more than one occasion.  I came into Les Contamines in 5th the second time through, and left in 8th or 9th.  I wasn't hanging out in the aid station; it was all just kind of clumsy and I hadn't given my crew any instructions that could have helped in speedier transitions. Next year I'll have a better idea of what the aid stations are like and can plan on how to transition through them more quickly.  I really hate wasting time at aid stations.

All in all, the trip was a fun one, but the UTMB experience left me in a severe funk.  To put so much time/energy into preparing for one race knowing that you can completely beat yourself up and then have an off season to relax/recover, and then not have that race really happen was frustrating. I came back to the states, with my legs feeling fresh, and feeling fit, but mentally feeling like I wanted to be done with training. However, being in shape, and having many great fall ultras to choose from, I opted to jump into 2 additional races: Cuyamaca 100K in San Diego, and Pinhoti 100 mile in Alabama.  Suffice it to say that I half-heartedly attempted Cuyamaca, and dropped after going off course. Just was 100% out of it mentally.  Complete 2012 burnout, so decided to take the rest of the year off of racing. My work helped with that decision, as well, as it turned into an insanely busy fall, with many late nights and a 3-week trip to Iraq in December to ensure I couldn't register for TNF or Hellgate.

I'm feeling rested, and have started jumping back into training the past month. Nothing crazy, but I've had a couple of 70 mile weeks, and am trying to notch it back up, although running in Iraq isn't that much fun (it's safe where I am, but running draws major attention and the stares/honks/smog make it not my favorite place to run, besides the fact that I can only run out on the streets early in the morning, which is not my forte, unless I want to run loops around the apartment complex, also not my forte), so my weekly totals have dipped back into the 40s and 50s.  But, I'm healthy, and excited for a pretty awesome 2013 schedule, with at least 3 international trips for races, and another few exotic locales thrown in for work.  2013 is going to be a busy one, and I hope to be able to race at a high level a bit later in the year next year for some late-season key races, so am hoping this downtime will leave me hungry enough to do so.  And UTMB is one of the races on my list for 2013.  I want to circumnavigate that damn mountain!

Many thanks to our wonderful hosts and to the fun group with which we shared the house in Megeve.  Outside of the actual race experience, it was really a fantastic week.  And to Montrail Europe for all of their assistance during the race.  I hope to see you all again in Chamonix in 2013.