Just Another Goat

The Year in Bad Self-Portraits

2011-12-30T16:30:00.000-05:00

Dedicated to Marjon, who takes the best self-portraits in the world. I still have a long ways to go. But lots of good memories in these shots, as scary as many of them are. I was going to post a 2011 recap, with "normal" shots, but am feeling particularly lazy, so I leave you with these, instead.

Snowshoeing with Meissner near Sisters, OR. The finest in performance sunglasses.

Reflecting on a lawn after a fun run in the Marin Headlands. Beautiful run, beautiful day. The next day I would seriously tweak my calf, which would put a damper on the first half of 2011.

Bocce ball fun on the 4th of July. Good times with good friends (and none of us got the least bit competitive....).

Fun in the beer garden at a bike crit in downtown Portland. It took several shots after several beers, to actually get the bikes and me all in the same frame.

A visit to the rose garden with Ma and Pa. Potentially one of the better self portraits of the year.

Canal touring with Meghan in Amsterdam. Pierre was blocked out by my giant head. Sorry Pierre! Wow--just look at how much more area my head takes up than Meghan's. No wonder self portraits are such a challenge.

More sightseeing in the Netherlands, this time with Annette. This was the day after the 100K and we were both feeling it. We did manage to get out and see a bit of this cute little town.

Crewing fun at Pine to Palm. There wasn't much crewing to be done, sadly enough for our runner, but it left us some time to entertain ourselves.

My sister's first marathon, and my attempt to photo-journal the event. Luckily Lisa did a better job running, than I did at capturing it. For a relatively skinny girl, I sure do seem to have a lot of chins.

Vegas, baby!

I was so excited to be at the Grand Canyon I couldn't control my expression.

Photographing while running is harder than it looks.

The GC group leaving Las Vegas.

Lots to work on in 2012, the least of which are my photography skills. A lot to look forward to on the running front, as well. Hopefully another run at the World 100K Championships in April in Italy, another go at Comrades in South Africa, this time going my favorite direction--downhill, Western States, and I hope, UTMB in France in August. There will be many local races and adventures to round out the calendar, as well, starting off with Orcas Island on Feb 4. Here's to a healthy and happy 2012.

Hellgate 2011: Special, but not so crazy.

2011-12-16T11:00:00.000-05:00

For me, the biggest challenge of Hellgate seemed to be in getting to the starting line. It started the Saturday prior when my new fuzzy bedroom slippers, which are dangerous for all sorts of reasons (the-never-wanting-to-leave-the-house-again-because-I-don't-want-to-take-off-these-fuzzy-little-balls-of-delight type of reason), helped me fall down a flight of hard wooden stairs leading down to our basement. I let out a string of expletives that both shocked and impressed my roommate, and he thought for a second, as did I, that I might have been seriously maimed judging from the sound and what came out of my mouth. Luckily, I fall well (everyone has their strengths), and managed to land squarely on my upper-right bum (and not my tailbone), and nail my upper right back, tweaking my shoulder. I was in pain and covered from head to toe in the marionberry smoothie I'd been carrying, but nothing was broken. I lounged around on ice the rest of the day and ended up cancelling my Sunday morning run plans with Ronda because I was too sore to get out of bed, but managed to get in a quick 4-miler with roomie on Sunday night that confirmed that I wasn't broken, just sore.

The fall down the stairs seemed to worsen the cold that had been coming on for days, and by Monday I felt crappy enough to stay home from work. I went to bikram Monday night, solely with the hopes of using the 110+ degree room to burn off the cold. The bikram cold treatment seemed to work, as I awoke Tuesday feeling almost normal, except that my hamstrings were majorly tweaked from bikram. Argh. It had seemed curious how insanely flexible I'd been in class. I spent the rest of the week stressing about my hamstrings, and massaging the heck out of them with Arnica gel. Even though I'd been feeling unusually ready for Hellgate trianing-wise after averaging 70 miles/week over the previous 10 weeks, getting to the starting line was beginning to look challenging.

After a less than optimal week, I managed to make it to VA and to wake up Friday morning in my favorite training villa in Front Royal after 11 glorious hours of sleep feeling rested and 100% ready to run. Bring on the crazy!

I arrived at Camp Bethel a bit later than planned, due to the slow pace at which I approached Friday afternoon. So, in fear of missing the pre-race supper, I grabbed a turkey sub from Sheetz loaded down with jalapenos, banana peppers, pepper jack cheese and mustard. Potentially a poor choice? I stopped by a store to grab a friend some TheraFlu and picked up Imodium just in case. I have a history of stomach issues in races even when I don't dine on crap pre-race.

Horton in his element. Pre-race briefing at Camp Bethel. Lots of good energy in the room. All photos by Bill Hite.

Hellgate is unique in that it starts at midnight on Friday so folks start gathering at Camp Bethel, the finish line, Friday afternoon, and into Friday evening. There's a pasta feed, a pre-race briefing, and a bit of heckling from Horton. He asked me if I'd come to race, and I mumbled, and then asked me if I knew what the course record was. I did. It's always a bit difficult to judge what goal time is realistic on a course you've never been on, but based on the fact that Krissy Moehl ran the course record with frozen corneas and nearly blind for the last 11 miles, I figured it shouldn't be completely out of reach. At least sub-13 was the time I was shooting for (course record was 13:01:14). I also hoped to win, because a course record isn't a course record unless you finish first. Above all, I wanted to finish 2011 on a positive note, and hoped that everything came together for a solid effort.

It was fun to see many familiar faces during the pre-race festivities, and as everyone dressed and prepared themselves to be carted off to the start, it was fun to eavesdrop on how various folks were approaching various potential issues. Putting on layers, taking off layers, worrying about cold, wet feet, etc. One guy considered leaving his socks off until after "the" river crossing, and then putting them on afterwards. This became even funnier during the race when we crossed several raging streams before getting to "the" river, and this just in the first 4 miles. I'd guess we crossed 20+ runs (that's east coast for creek). I didn't count, but the creek crossings were a constant and planning to keep your feet dry was a pointless endeavor. I hope the guy putting plastic bags over his shoes for the early rivers (per the accounts of others), gave up at some point. I actually prefer to run with wet feet, or rather, I like to run through cold water because it feels refreshing as odd as that may sound, and found the many water crossings pleasant, although the first few were a bit frigid and the toes a bit frozen.

The River. We'd already crossed several rivers, but this turned out to be the real one. After Aaron's car-ride story of frozen gloves from putting his hand down in the river, I opted to remove my gloves for the crossing.

At 10:45 p.m. everyone jumped in vehicles and we caravan-ed to the Gates of Hell, from where the race begins. At 12:01 after the usual Horton pre-start rituals, we were off. The lead pace was slow, so I joked for the boys to move over so I could take the lead, and actually did for a mile or 2. It was short-lived, and maybe a bit stupid, as the first of many odd pains/aches began shortly after...the first being completely dead quads. It was looking like it could be a really long night. None of the issues I was worried about heading into the race bothered me (heart/chest pain, right knee pain, sore hamstrings) but a number of other random things flared up. Luckily, they all seemed to work themselves out within a few miles, including: brick-like quads, exhausted hip flexors by about mile 10, flaming ITBs , some ankle tendon pains, pack-induced lower back pain, etc. I kept trying to remember that pains will usually disappear and as Horton likes to say, "It doesn't always get worse." This seemed to be very true all night and day, as weird twinges would come on, but then quickly fade, and I felt relatively good and fresh for much of the day. "Relatively" is relative when you're running a mountainous 66 mile race that starts at midnight. It helps to write this a few days after, as I'm sure Neal can attest to the fact that I didn't look very fresh coming through a couple of the later aid stations.

I don't remember the details of all of the sections, but the race can be generalized into the dark half and the light half (depending on how long you're out there, as those who finish in 18 hours get to experience a lot more light than dark, etc--but this report is written from my perspective which worked out to be roughly even, if not skewed a bit towards the dark side). Aaron Schwartzbard gives a very accurate course run-down, and interesting historical tidbits on the race, and Keith Knipling's report from 2007 is also very detailed and useful.

Course profile taken from Keith Knipling. My favorite sections included those from Camping Gap (mile 14) to a few miles before Bearwallow Gap (mile 46.5). The front half climbs were nice, too. I didn't love the final section before Bearwallow to Day Creek, and the last section wouldn't have been bad had I not been expecting it to be all downhill.

The Dark:
The portion run in the dark includes lots of fire road and gravel road on big but runnable climbs. There are some rough trail sections thrown in, but a majority of it is on very runnable terrain, which is nice being that it's dark. The full moon made for a beautiful night of running. I switched off my light for much of the road climbing in the beginning, which was a nice rest for the eyes and helped to keep my light as bright as possible for the rough trail sections. I used a Petzl Myo RXP, and the Fenix EO5 (new to me for the race and I found it to be really useful). It's a tiny light, weighing almost nothing (1 AAA battery), but on sections where it helped to have a second light to fill in the shadows, it worked well. I also used it on its own on some of the road sections where the moonlight wasn't quite bright enough to see all of the bumps and holes. I like carrying 2 lights, but don't like the weight of a standard handheld. This was light enough (0.7 oz) even for my week arms, but at 27 lumens gave off a decent amount of light for its size.

I was worried for about the first 10 miles about the deadness in my quads, but then started to feel OK, and really enjoyed most of the night section. I did face plant twice, but that's almost expected. The Promise Land Section was a highlight (AS 3 to AS 4), as it's a nice really runnable grassy fire road. The only negative to this section, is that there can be lots of holes and uneven terrain. I attempted to run without a light for parts of this, but that resulted in one of the face plants. My other favorite section in the night half was the downhill coming into AS 5. It's part on trail, and part fire-road, and was really fun to bomb down. I passed 4 or 5 guys in this section and was feeling really good heading into the "breakfast" AS #5. I don't remember being offered breakfast, although I do remember hearing the word "sausage" on my way out. In general, I was trying to get in and out of aid stations as quick as possible, so just kept moving.

Heading into AS 4, feeling a bit rough and before my only major stomach issue of the night.

I wasn't much in the mood for real food, as my stomach had been somewhat on edge all night, and I was concentrating on continuing with Cliffshots once an hour or so. Starting a race at midnight presents all kinds of potential issues, one of them being that most people are not used to fueling all night. In a 100 miler, the night section usually comes late in the race, when many are probably taking in fewer calories, but at Hellgate, you hit the night from the beginning when you're trying to stay ahead on fueling. Maybe my nightly snacking habits paid off, as I never felt that bad, and my stomach only threatened to head south around AS 4, but never really did. Only a single extended pit stop the entire race, which for me is a good day.

Not having any idea of splits, or really much knowledge of the course, it was hard to calculate what pace I was running. Knowing that the course was closer to 67 miles than 62, I used my Garmin a lot throughout to try to figure out where I was in comparison to 13 hours. As I obsessively checked my Garmin and tried to do the math in my head it started to make me a little batty. I hit 33.5 miles on my Garmin right around the 6 hour mark and it was still good and dark, so was somewhat on course for a 12 hour time, assuming the two halves are equal (which they're not). But, my limited knowledge of the course from reading the course descriptions was of the first 20 miles, and once I got past that, whatever I'd read about the course disappeared from memory. Every turn and hill was somewhat of an unknown. We always seemed to be heading in the opposite direction from where I'd guess we might head, and each turn was kind of like a "huh, that's interesting" kind of moment. I'd read through the course description many many times, but it's hard to remember the details when you don't have the context to which to apply them. In hindsight, a printout of the elevation profile would have been nice to have carried along, because even though I'd looked at it, I had no memory of what the second half would entail, except for a jagged line.

So, with that said, it's not surprising that I had a couple of navigational issues, which I'm guessing cost me about 10-15 minutes total. The first came after leaving the "breakfast" aid station (#5). I was really inside my head and not paying much attention as I headed up the road, when I realized that I was really zoned out and hadn't been watching for a turn, had there been one. I'd been moving really well down into AS #5, and motored through and just got absorbed in my own thoughts. The good thing about the full moon was that a light was really unnecessary on the gravel road parts, and you could run from the light of the full moon. The bad part about this was that it was difficult to see the reflective markers if you didn't have your light on. I switched my light back on, but after several minutes with no new markers in sight, I realized I wasn't very certain that I was still on course. I took out my map and tried to figure out where I might be, and if I was supposed to be on road, but still wasn't sure. I'd passed 4 guys going down the hill into the breakfast aid station, so proceeded to wait for one of them to catch up, which took a few minutes, and shouted at them to confirm that we were on course. Just because they were behind me didn't make me very confident, being that they might just be following me. They confirmed, so I took off again, but in my indecision, and lack of forward progress, etc, wasted a few minutes and the forward momentum with which I'd motored out of the aid station.

Sunrise in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

The Light:
The day half includes more of the crappy shin-high leaves covering softball-sized rocks sections, where footing is a bit more difficult, and running at times is a bit more challenging--including the aptly named "Forever Trail." The leaves weren't so bad this year (according to the experts), but even with a few to several inches of leaf cover, it becomes difficult to see what's underneath. There is less climbing in the light half, but in general, there's not a whole lot of flat throughout, being that there is 13,000+ feet of gain, and just under 13,000 feet in loss. The sun came up for me right around AS 6. Horty yelled something to me about picking up aid as I ran through the AS, as the next 8 miles were a long 8. This was at least the second time he tried to get me to slow up and refuel, but my Nathan was still relatively full, and I had a handful of ClifShots. Plus, my drop bag would be waiting for me at AS 7, and I could grab more gels and refill there. He also let me know that I was in 5th (or 6th) and that I had folks to catch in front of me. Besides my buddy Darryl, who I spent a good portion of the night and day near, I had passed several, but hadn't been passed by anyone since the first few miles.

I enjoyed the section right after AS 6, as it reminded me of a later portion in Promise Land, yet wasn't. Grassy fireroad that is runnable and scenic. And with the sun coming up over the mountains and the view of mist in the valleys below, it was really quite lovely. It brought back lots of memories of east coast runs, and while I have to admit I prefer the big trees in Oregon, the forests of Virginia are pretty stunning, as well, and I was really enjoying this homecoming run and scenery. After the lovely section, we turned onto some crappy trail before hitting AS 7, which was rocky and difficult to run. This is where I started to get a bit grumpy.

Concentrating on the trail. Between the night running, and the technical trail sections, Hellgate requires a lot of focus. I was pleased to get away with just 2 face plants on soft sections.

By the time I got to AS 7, I was starting to want to be done, and didn't thoroughly enjoy this next section, which footing-wise had some really thick leaf cover over poorly-placed rocks. I was just trying to stay in front of Darryl and company, so used them to motivate me to pick it up whenever they caught up. At some point in this section I pulled out my music and the world changed. I picked up the pace, and felt like a different person. I should have taken out the music about an hour sooner, but alas, better late than never. Moving through AS 8, I think I dropped the F-bomb when Neal told me I had 16 miles. Mileage-wise, that would have taken me a good bit over the un-advertised 67. The Horton mileage thing can get a bit annoying, especially late in the race. You know going into it that the mileage isn't accurate, so I was going by my GPS, but then when you get to the last few aid stations and are trying to calculate how many Horton miles are built into the end, it gets confusing. In the end, I shouldn't have looked at the aid station mileage or asked questions, because you can't do anything about it at that point, and it just leads to frustration. I'm not sure the rationale behind putting out inaccurate distances at aid stations, rather than just listing the actual distance, but it's a Hortonism that you just need to accept if you're going to run his races. And when Horton yells at you that it's a "looooong 8" to the next aid station, does that mean it's a technical, slow 8, or does that mean it's 9.5? Hard to say.

It's always frustrating to get lost. I missed the turn onto the "Forever" trail, a couple miles after AS 8, which cost me somewhere around 5-10 minutes. Darryl, who ended up 3rd and finished 10 minutes in front of me, was a couple of minutes behind me when I missed the turn. Alas, the turn was well marked with ribbons, but most other road turns had been marked with bright orange arrows painted on the road, so I guess I was expecting them (wrongly). I should have paid more attention to the fact that there were multiple ribbons (it was very heavily flagged), but when you're running downhill on a gravel road and there's someone in front of you, the natural desire is to keep heading downhill. I passed a guy to move into 3rd, but since we were both now off course, I guess I was never really in 3rd. There were several of us that missed it, so I wasn't alone in my oblivion. Alas, it was an easy fix, as it became obvious fairly quickly when arriving at an intersection with a stop sign sans trail markers that a turn had been missed.

The Forever Trail is aptly named. It seems to go on forever at a time in the race when you really just want it to end.

As close as I get to a smile. At least I don't look angry or distressed. I really was having fun out there!

Arriving at the last aid station, I was happy to be off of the Forever Trail, and excited for the downhill finish. Alas, when I asked the AS to confirm that the last 6 miles were flat or downhill, they kind of chuckled and pointed up towards the parkway. I'm not sure why I envisioned the finish as a 6-mile downhill, but I'd been looking forward to it for miles, and was slightly bummed when I had to slog upwards again. If you take a look at the elevation profile, you'll notice it's not all downhill. But, it is shorter than even what's advertised. A hefty 3'ish mile climb followed by about 3 miles of bomb-able downhill to the finish.

I finished in 12:23:40, which was good for 4th overall, 1st chick, and a new course record. Full results can be found here. Helen Lavin, who has won the two prior Hellgates finished just 13 minutes behind me, also well below the old course record. I'm not sure how to summarize Hellgate, other than with Horton's description, "special." A great way to cap off the year in a unique race with many close running buddies. I achieved my goal, and hope that I can run the course faster. Course knowledge would have been fairly useful in a few places, and I'm still kicking myself about those lost minutes from navigational issues. Every year at Hellgate seems to earn its own name--The Leaf Year, The Ice Year, etc., and this might have been The Easy Year or The Wet Year. The weather was relatively warm (20 at the start? and up to 35 during the day?) and there were no ice or snow issues. There was a lot of water on the course, but again, that was kind of nice. I plan to return, although it's hard to say if it will be in 2012. After hearing Hellgate stories for years, I feel like I need to experience one of the harsh epic ones to truly experience Hellgate. Regardless of whether my Hellgate experience was a soft one, I loved the experience. Thanks to David Horton and all of the volunteers for making it such a fun and "special" experience.

Crazy enough for Hellgate

2011-11-29T22:30:00.000-05:00

I watched one of those animated videos the other day that brought about some momentary clarity on a day when I was heading out for a run, but trying to decide if a rest day for a cranky knee was a better choice. It was the injured Ironman one, where the chick in the sauna is talking about her training (through 6 stress fractures) to a regular guy, who just keeps asking "why?" and sees the apparent absurdity in her endeavors. I've paused to question the sanity of what we ultrarunners do many times recently as I get ready for a race that I've always considered just beyond the brink of sanity--one that I never wanted to run because it was just a little too nuts. And, it's been during the training for this race that I've paused on a few occasions to question why. Even through my moment of clarity when I knew deep down that rest was a smart option, I opted for a run, also knowing that the smart option would leave me stir crazy for the rest of the day, having the day off of work and plenty of time to run and a weekly mileage total I hoped to hit.

One of those "we're nuts" moments was on a recent night summit to Larch Mountain via Angels Rest. I proposed the idea of a Friday night run at our Tuesday night trail run, and you know you're surrounded by a bunch of crazies when the 4 guys behind you immediately agree to join in on the fun. We left from the Bridal Veil parking lot at about 7:30 in a steady rain. Normal people are home on the couch or bellied up to the bar, but my friends and I were opting to run up into what likely would be a snowstorm on top of Larch Mountain covering 23 miles and 7500 feet of climb. We did find snow, but managed to summit even with a foot of powder on top. We finished sometime after midnight, found some late night grub, and made it home and in bed by 3 a.m. There were more than a few occasions on that run when we admitted to ourselves, "This isn't normal." 99.XXX percent of the population isn't running up a mountain in the rain/snow to get in night miles in extreme conditions. But it was one of those runs that was 100% memorable--I won't soon forget that group or that particular run. The Gorge is beautiful by day, but also pretty damn amazing at night in the snow.

The view on top of Larch. Me, Yassine, Shane and Aaron (Jason is taking the photo). The snow up top was a good 12" deep.

Another of those "possibly nuts" moments was on a 30 mile solo night run in Forest Park two days later. I wanted to hit my first 100 mile training week, and wanted to get in more night running so opted to wait to start my run until 3:30, to guarantee that at least a few hours of it would be in the dark. And even though I realize that running alone on trails in the dark is not what many consider the wisest of options, it's one of my favorite times to run, and I'd guess the chance of real danger is fairly slim. Yes, you could run into a freak in the woods with an ax, but I like to think that I could outrun most ax-toting freaks (and in Portland you can run into freaks just about anywhere). And just when I'm thinking that it's not the brightest of ideas, I run into my running buddy, Rick, also out running alone through the woods at night. There's comfort in knowing that I'm not the only wack-job out there (and that hopefully, the other wack-jobs out there are just friends out getting in miles).

And I guess that's the appeal of Hellgate. The same wackos head back year after year. It can't be so bad if the same people inflict it upon themselves repeatedly.

Hellgate calls itself a 100K, although everyone except Horton, seem willing to admit that it's actually 66 miles. Starting at midnight (or rather 12:01 a.m. on Saturday) in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia the second Friday of December, it almost guarantees to be a suffer-fest and a race where no 100K PR will ever be set. Rather, times are likely to be several hours slower than any other 100K you'll ever run. The factors that attribute to this include those extra 4+ miles, the weather, and a tough, technical course that includes somewhere around 14,000 feet of climb. Started in 2003, the years get referred to as "the ice year," "the cold year (or frozen corneas) year," the "leaf year," etc. Yet while everyone loves to complain about Hellgate, those who complain flock to the event year after year. Limited to about 150 runners, the event has a cult following. To celebrate my 5 year anniversary as an ultrarunner, I'm finally just crazy enough to see for myself what it is about Hellgate that causes everyone to complain so, yet return to the source of the agony, again and again. Whether I'm tough enough to endure Hellgate is a question yet to be answered. Oregon has made me a bit soft, I'm afraid.

Here's hoping that Hellgate is not a white-out year....

Epic October runs

2011-10-31T01:45:00.004-04:00

After Worlds I had a case of post-event funk, not really enthused about training, while at the same time really wanting to sign up for something, but unable to find anything that fit into my schedule around some previously planned trips and visitors. I finally settled on Hellgate 100K as a "distant" goal in December and opted for some epic runs on routes that I'd been wanting to do. Throw in running the Portland Marathon with my sister--her first--and October has been a month of epic runs to remember including: St. Helens Circumnavigation, Portland Marathon and topping it off last weekend with a rim to rim to rim in the Grand Canyon. Some photo memories from October....

Mount St. Helen's Traverse, 33 miles, Oct 2nd with Jason, Randy, Shane, Kathleen, and Ellen.

Early on in the day. The day started out gray, and stayed that way most of the day. It was comfortable at first, but we were all anxious to get dry and warm by the time we finished.

The trail is well marked, although some markers are easier to see than others. Hard to miss these mini-boulder-pile-style cairns.

Felt like we were running on the moon at times. Like no other place I've ever run.

On a hot sunny day, the trail would be quite exposed. Luckily for us, it was overcast and raining much of the day.

Pretty obvious reminders throughout of the eruption. A highly disturbed landscape.

Our moment in the sun. This sunburst lasted just moments, but it was nice to see the sun, St. Helens, and our shadows, even if only briefly.

Portland Marathon with my SISTER!! Oct 9th.

Lisa and I pre-race. My sister rocks! I can honestly say that I never thought I would get to run a marathon with my sister. I love that she's gotten into running.

Early on. Lisa was smiling! Weather was perfect, and very Portland. Cloudy, drizzly, and cool, and actually pretty much perfect for marathoning. I gotta say that the course certainly does not show you the best of Portland. Lots of train yards and industrial areas.

Running buddy, Jason, gives 1000s of women the opportunity to meet the man of their dreams.

Just a few blocks from the end and Lisa is still smiling! Way to rock it in for a great first marathon finish!

Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim with Meghan, Jason, Todd and Yassine. Oct 23rd. 51 miles. A truly EPIC run!!
(Epic may be grossly overused in this post, but this run truly was epic)

Couldn't have asked for a better group with which to experience this--you all are the best!

First sighting of the Grand Canyon upon arrival on Saturday. Excited for the adventure to begin early Sunday morning!

Yassine put together this great video from our adventure....A fun way to sum up the journey.

October brought a lot of fun memories! Here's hoping for a few more epic runs in 2011, including the Hellgate 100K in just 6 weeks! I've wanted to do Hellgate for years, so am excited to be back on the right coast in December to experience what will hopefully not be an overly epic run through the Blue Ridge Mountains in the cold wintery dark. One never knows what Hellgate might bring....

Huggers in 2012?

2011-09-23T02:36:00.000-04:00

My biggest stressor in preparing for the World Cup 100K was what to wear. Bun huggers or shorts? My uniform arrived a week prior to my departure with huggers, but no shorts, so I sent a desperate email to the folks at USATF to fedex me some shorts pronto. They arrived, but in the meantime, I had grown used to the idea of wearing the huggers, something I hadn't had the opportunity to do since college, where doing so earned me the nickname of Wedgie. However, racing a 5K in blue underwear is very different than racing for 8 hours in blue underwear. In the end, I decided sporting the huggers would be a bit cocky, being that I was an alternate coming off the bench. I put the huggers out there as a goal--if I ran well enough to stay on the team, the huggers would be the reward, and I could wear them in Italy in April.

I'm not really that much of a flake--I had bigger stressors than just about deciding whether to wear underwear or shorts, although it did take my mind off the more serious questions, like what the hell I was doing running around in circles on flat roads in the Netherlands.

Another stressor was the fact that I hadn't been training for a flat road 100K, but I mentioned that a bit in the last post, I believe. Anyhow, after finding out 3.5 weeks prior that I made the team, I was able to abruptly halt my Waldo taper, squeeze in 78 and 71 mile weeks with some (well, 1) longer road runs (30 miles with Meghan 3 weeks out) some track work, some tempo runs, buy a plane ticket, taper for a week and a half, and call it good. As first alternate, I'd known the possibility existed that I'd make the team last minute, and I'd arranged my schedule to accomodate (dropping Cascade Crest and replacing it with Waldo, with the idea that I'd drop out of Waldo if I got on the team at the last minute). However, my training was geared more towards Mt. Hood and Waldo.

Meghan, Pierre and I on a canal tour in Amsterdam (Pierre is a traveling prairie dog, who you might see pop up from time to time. He started leaving me post-its at work the week prior expressing his desire to tag along, promising that he'd trained very hard for the event).

We arrived in Amsterdam on Tuesday and had some time to go sightseeing before heading out to the athletes' quarters near Winschoten on Wednesday afternoon. Meghan and I toured the Van Gogh museum (which was excellent), and enjoyed several croissants (also excellent), some tasty beers, fine Argentinian steaks, a relaxed run around the streets of Amsterdam, and a canal tour before heading out to Winschoten on Wednesday. The trains were more complicated than expected, but we arrived Wednesday evening after a scenic tour of the Dutch countryside (thanks Timo and Anne!). The Netherlands is flat. I knew this, but was still amazed at just how flat it was--Paraguayan Chaco flat. And everything was very cute, small and organized. The farm animals were plentiful and adorable, as well. Cute small houses, neat orderly lawns, perfectly paved roads, orderly fields, and well-maintained bike lanes. It was all a little surreal.

Pierre waiting for the train that never came (at least not to the track where we were waiting).

Being sequestered with all of the athletes was interesting. We were at a sort of summer camp place, where people come to spend their holidays, housed 3-4 athletes to 2 BR units. For me, I had the best roommate scenario possible, with Meghan and Joe, who were both 100% relaxed and had a calming effect on me. The last thing I want to do before a race is to be holed up with nothing to do but think about the fact that I have a race to run. I'd rather have a hectic day at work, not enough time to throw some things in the car, arrive late the night before, and throw on some shoes early the next morning and run. This was the opposite. Two and a half days to rest and get accustomed to the time change around a group of antsy runners. Add to that a mid-morning race start that allows for several hours of pre-race reflection on race day. Was I anxious? Yes.

Team USA: Pam, Meghan, Devon, Carolyn, me and Annette.

There were several reminders that this wasn't just any race: posing in team uniforms with the flag, a parade of nations, team managers and meetings, breakfast each day with runners from all of the participating countries dressed in their respective sweats, etc. And of course the fact that we were wearing honest-to-goodness USA uniforms from the '08 games--pretty sweet but a wee bit of pressure. Luckily, there were 6 of us out there working together. 6 very strong runners, who all had the possibility to score for the team, which lessened the pressure on any individual. Meghan and Devon were definitely the front runners, but any of us had the potential to score and push each other on to team success. Teams can have up to 6 members run, and the top 3 score for the team.

Wait... is this Oregon? The only sunny day we had was race day.

Meghan trying to look intimidating.

The course was a 10K loop around town, which we'd run 10 times to reach 100K. Never having run a loop course of this nature, I didn't know what to expect. We'd had the chance to tour the course in a downpour on Thursday. If felt homey, at least the running in a downpour part. And, of course there were all of those adorable small houses to swoon over. And lots of windmills, too.

Nathan and Matt share a moment in front of a windmill.

Touring the course in a rainstorm. We're off course at this point, but it doesn't really matter. It would have been impossible to stray from the course on race day.

Friday was a lot of down time, which sounds great, but it only worked in making me increasingly antsy. There was a parade in the afternoon, with all of the countries wandering through the down-town pedestrian mall after some kids danced in the town plaza. It was interesting.

Saturday finally rolled around, after what felt like an eternity. We were bused to the start on the first sunny and warm day all week. 75 degrees with 70% humidity after a cold rainy week in the 50s. This thing was finally underway, and we'd all get a tan in the process--the first reminder that I should have worn the huggers!

A summary of the race by lap:

Lap 1: (44:42) Crowded at the start, but eventually weaved our way through traffic, and I moved up to run with Meghan and Devon. At some point, I realized this might be a wee bit agressive, but it felt good, so I hung around for a while. Was fun chatting with Jo, who I met at Comrades, and who went on to finish 2nd.

Somewhere probably towards the end of lap 1 with Devon, me, Meghan and Jo. Happy here, as we've only got 9 loops to go! The only shot of me smiling the entire race (photo from live webcast).

Lap 2: (45:10) Kept trying to fall back, but found myself catching back up to Devon and Meghan so hung around. Was feeling good until right before the Start/Finish where I realized I was suddenly about to crap my pants. There was no where to stop, as there were barricades lining both sides of the road. Oops. Race went from good to disastrous in a matter of about 400 meters.

Annette and Pam looking strong early (photo by Darryl Schaffer).

Lap 3: (49:09) 3 bathroom stops. 2 in porta-potties and 1 in public. Sorry Winschoten. There was really no where to have an emergency stop. There was a stop in the park bushes, with a group of old men standing about 5 feet away. And you're not really that anonymous when you have "Amy" typed across the front of your bib with a USA jersey on. Alas, I wasn't arrested and it rained hard that night, so hopefully that cleaned up the city a bit. I doubt I was the only one. In lap 3 I moved from 3rd on the team to last (6th), and was a ways back.

Our crew at the 5K aid station. Just as in a trail ultra, aid stations are something I look forward to immensely, and a good way to tick off the miles. "Only 5K to the next aid station," etc. Unlike trail ultras, there was little stopping at these aid stations, as our designated crew person was ready to hand off to us and get us back on course in a second (photo by Timo).

Lap 4: (51:02) 3 more bathroom stops. Tummy still not happy. I took 3 imodium during laps 3-4. At least at this point I knew where the porta-potties were located and made bee-line moves towards them. Except where I couldn't. At one point I ended up in a driveway, which wouldn't have been so bad had the guy not been out working on his car in the garage, just a few feet away. Oops. Sorry, sir.

Lap 5: (49:44) At some point the immodium kicked in (for days). My stomach felt OK at this point, but I was deflated after having made so many stops and having lost so much time. I was also probably a bit dehydrated and under-nourished as I'd stopped taking in calories to try to get through the stomach issues.

Lap 6: (53:01) I caught up to Pam and Carolyn somewhere in here, as they were both struggling with their own issues. Pam was having problems with GI cramping and nausea, and Carolyn's knee was really bothering her. I plugged on, but was less than enthusiastic about 5 more laps, as it was really a slog at this point. I'm not sure how I managed to run slower than loop 4, where I spent several minutes crapping, but I did. I was moping, and my pace reflected that.

Lap 7: (52:21) More plugging/slogging away. Trying to remind myself that the race starts at 70K, and that I could make up some ground if I were to speed up.

Looking a little more pensive. Probably thinking, "Did I really just crap my pants?" Or, "How far to the next porta-potty?" Or, "Can you get DQ'ed for crapping in public?" I could lie to you and tell you I was thinking about life, or race strategy, but I wasn't (photo by Raymond Pretat).

Lap 8: (49:06) As I came into the start/finish, I saw Devon, who'd been running up front with/in front of Meghan, off to the side in a chair. My first thought was F*@&! And I basically yelled that over to her. Well, I think I said, "What happened?" But it probably sounded like "Oh f*@&!" Finding myself in 3rd, I was suddenly needed, and that motivated me to pick up the pace, and run through the aid station more quickly than the previous laps. I think I clocked a couple 6:30 miles out of fear, and then bonked big time. OK....still 30K left--time to push in a more sensible and sustainable manner. I felt guilty most of the lap for how I'd yelled at Devon, hoping that it had sounded more like a sincere question of whether she was OK, and less like an exclamatory Oh Crap!

No stopping allowed. Picking up aid on the run at the US feeding station at the 5K point. Yet another serious face. I'm not nearly as miserable as most of the pics make me out to be (photo by Timo).

Lap 9: (49:32) Knowing I was in 3rd for the team, and having the US crew yelling at me each time through the aid stations was motivating. Several times I thought about how disappointed Meghan would be if we didn't make the podium. Due to drops and injuries, the US team had not finished a complete team the year before, and this was a point of frustration for many, especially Meghan.

Lap 10: (46:28) Starting off on Lap 10, Lin yelled to me that a podium team finish depended on me. Nothing like a little pressure to motivate--Argh! I felt like I was cruising in lap 10, and was passing people left and right (although many of them were relay runners or folks I was now lapping). I kept reminding myself that every second counted. In that last lap, I passed the top 4 Japanese runners including their first runner just meters away from the finish, which was satisfying, as they all had run by in a pack looking really controlled and smart around lap 4. In the last lap I moved up from 17th to place 11th in 8:10:11. Meghan was 5th in 7:51:10, Annette 6th in 7:54:59, Pam (8:16:45) and Carolyn (8:45:53) rounded out the team. Meghan set a world record for the 50 year old age group (AMAZING) and Annette had a big PR day. I would guess the rest of us were not all that thrilled with how the day unfolded for each of us individually, but we were all happy to place 2nd as a team.

The men's team rocked it, finishing in 2nd, 3rd, and 6th to take the gold.

In my defense, I had picked off the entire Japanese team in my last lap, so my looks of anguish, include a bit of fatigue, as I started my final "kick" with about 5000 meters to go (photo by Darryl Schaffer).

In the end, seconds didn't really matter, but you never know that until it's over. The Russian team beat us handily by 35+ minutes to win gold and we beat the Japanese handily by about 40 minutes to take silver.

On the podium. Felt good! (photo by Darryl Schaffer)

Did I have a great race? No. I was crapping almost constantly for 20% of it. It’s hard to crap and run at the same time.

Did I have fun? Looking back, yes. I almostalways remember races somewhat fondly no matter how much suffering wasinvolved. And shortly after the race, I knew that I would do it again if given the opportunity. There’s something reallyspecial about a World Championship event, and the spirit and camaraderie ofbeing part of such an event. I haven't run on a team in years (well, I have my Montrail teammates, and there's WUS and the VHTRC, but not a team in the sense of a team competition), and I'd forgotten just how fun it is! The race course was festively decorated and there were people out all day cheering us on. If you're going to run 100K in 10K loops, you might as well have a party going on around you.

Am I proud of my effort? Yes. I had a long rough patch, but came back strong and dug deep to finish as strong asI could for the team. It was allabout the team’s placing, and once I found myself in 3rd, it wasmuch easier to quit whining to myself about how much time I wasted, and suck itup and finish as high as I could to help the US stay on the podium. I started lap 10 in 17th place andfinished in 11th, running the fastest 10th lap amongst women. I didn't finish in the time I wanted (sub 8), but I definitely pushed hard late, and turned it from a complete train wreck into a respectable finish.

Finishing in 11th kind of sucks, because it’s oneplace away from 10th. The difference for me between 10th and 11th is huge. Tenth would mean an auto entry onto the 2012 team, and the next worlds are in Italyin April. Do I want to be on theteam? Yes. Will I actually make the team? Maybe, but maybe not. It looks like I could be on the bubble based on times, and I don’t look forward to playing the alternate role again if that’s where I end up. Being an alternate puts me in a toughposition. What it meant for me this timewas that I was half-ass training for Waldo (a mountain 100K) and half-asstraining for worlds (flat road) and not effectively training for either. If Idon’t run Worlds, I’ll likely choose to run Zane Grey, and the training forthese 2 events couldn’t be more dissimilar. It's hard to be training for a technical mountain course, with the possibility of a fast flat road course in the back of your mind.

Evidence that the huggers exist.

So, will I get to wear huggers in Italy? I hope so. But if not, I'll be wearing them at Zane Grey.

Lessons learned:
If you think before a race that your shoes are going to tear up your feet, they probably will, and you should seek other options. I wore some K-Swiss Quickie Blade Lights that I could tell were going to trash my feet the first time I wore them. I had blisters by mile 10, and they only got worse. If I end up on the Italy team, I'll do a bit more research and find some road flats that work. In this case, I would have been better off in trail shoes (I toyed with wearing the Montrail Rogue Flys, and wish I would have).

I may need to admit that I have some food issues/allergies or remnant parasites, and some testing might be a good idea. I need to figure out a solution so that I don't waste precious minutes sitting in a porta-potty. Or maybe it was just bad luck from a case of extreme nerves. This year I was fine at Miwok and WS, but had some major issues at this race, Mt. Hood, Comrades, Chuckanut.

Regardless of whether you think you're going to chafe, you are. Apply body glide liberally to all body parts coming into contact with new objects, like the Nike shorts and bra top that may have left permanent scars. I experienced number chafe, too, which was a new one for me.

Running in loops on roads can be fun! And if I make the team for Italy, I'll be focusing very hard on getting well under 8 hours!

Thanks to the great Team USA crew--from our managers to friends and family of the various team members who were out there helping--you were all awesome and supportive and your assistance was much appreciated!

There were a lot of linkages for me on this team, which was also fun:

Montrail ladies pose for a group shot. Here with Annette and Ellie.

Andy, also on Team Montrail, rocked it to finish 3rd overall, at his first Worlds.

Team Oregon: Me, Pam and Meghan.

Team WUS!! Long live WUS.

Changing Gears

2011-09-03T20:00:00.003-04:00

While I wouldn't call myself a mountain runner (I have lived in--in order of increasing flatness--Iowa, DC, Illinois, Kansas and the Paraguayan Chaco, equaling about 94% of my life), I would usually say that I prefer mountain ultras (unless you ask me while I'm slogging up a steep climb) (and I might go so far as to claim that Iowa is a mountain state, at least the NE corner I lived in for college, and KU was perched on top of Mt. Oread, which also almost makes Lawrence a mountain city). So, it was with some regret that I said goodbye to running the Waldo100K (a lovely mountain trail race on 98% single track), and hello to racing the World 100K in the Netherlands (10 times around a flat-as-a-pancake 10K road loop). But, it was with only a very tiny bit of regret, because how often do I get to wear a USA jersey? Um, never. But I will next weekend! And I might even throw on some bun huggers (I wore both the huggers and shorts on trial missions today, and the shorts are in the lead). Woohoo!! To say I'm excited to be joining the team is an understatement.

I remain in a perpetual state of under-preparedness and sometimes it serves me better than others, but I'm hoping my 2-week road-cramming phase with some attempts at speed will get me through what is going to be a very different experience. It's not the road part that I'm that concerned about. As part of the trail running scene it seems we all have to gush about our love for single track to prove our worthiness (and I do love single track), but I must confess that I also like roads, and find myself on them for probably about half of my weekly mileage, and sometimes more. I often squeeze in runs over lunch, which means road miles for a good portion of my weekday miles, although weekends are typically always on trail. I'm usually just happy to be able to run, and if I'm around trails, awesome, but if I'm somewhere where roads are the best option, I don't mind.

This won't be my first road ultra. I ran a 50 miler on roads back when I was living in El Salvador (an 80K race in Guatemala), which was a hoot (recap here). And I've run since I was 11, most of those years on roads. So, I'm pretty comfortable and familiar with hard surfaces. The flat part is going to be the interesting part, although as I mentioned, I am from and have lived in some of the flattest places on earth (the Paraguayan chaco probably has an elevation profile very similar to that of Winschoten). However, I have never raced an ultra as flat as what theWinschoten course will be. The course description lists the elevation profile as having a meter of elevation gain/loss per 10K loop. What I think will be the most challenging aspect of the race is the loop nature. But, the fact that this is a team event, and that the US team is strong and shooting for gold, might make the loops actually kind of nice, in terms of knowing where people are at, and working together. I'm excited for the challenge and can't wait to jump on a plane Monday morning to get this adventure started! And I can't wait to put on that USA jersey next Saturday--not something I ever imagined I'd have the opportunity to do.

Mt. Hood PCT 50

2011-08-04T19:16:00.007-04:00

First, kudos to Todd for quite possibly the coolest logo ever--well, to me, anyhow, as I love Mt. Hood and how she peers down upon us in Portland on sunny days, tempting us to escape the city and come play. Earlier in the year I had planned to run White River 50 again (which was on the same day), but when I saw the logo and heard there would be pint glasses for finisher's awards, I opted to run the Mt. Hood PCT 50 instead. That's not the complete story, but it works for now. And check out the finisher's pint glass--pretty sweet, no? In the end, there were several friends heading over from Portland to run, and I'd never run up near Mt. Hood, so opted to stay local and explore some new trails.

Ymmmm. Oregon. Beer. Oregon beer.

Pam had put a little pressure on me to go after the course record, noting that it was soft. It was hers, so I doubted that it was too soft, and I had no intention of racing hard with Waldo 3 weeks away. But, it gave me something to shoot for, assuming I didn't have to kill myself to get it.

I was impressed and amazed that we even made it to the starting line, as the week prior had been insanely stressful and busy at work, and as I logged off my computer at work at 5:30 on Friday, I knew that I could easily continue working through the weekend and be no closer to being caught up on Monday morning. There had been some late work nights (1:30 a.m. on Wednesday as an example), so I was all too eager to switch off my computer and escape to the trails for the weekend. Reality would still be there on Monday morning, and I would deal with it then. Post-stressful-week packing is never good, although I remembered most key items, like shoes and a sports bra. Jason and I were like a train wreck trying to pack up the car and get out of town, but finally got on the road by 7. The one key item I forgot was my sleeping bag, which is important when camping up in the mountains. Luckily, a fleece blanket had been thrown in as an afterthought, and I awoke Saturday morning only mildly chilled. Keeping with the chaotic nature of the week, the start line prep felt rushed as we arrived a bit later than desired, but managed to line up in time for Todd to start us off. I'll blame the fact that I was freezing at the start line in my singlet, as to why I ran the first mile with Yassine. I warmed up quickly, and realized that running with Yassine was probably a bad idea if I wanted a pint glass, so dropped back and shared the first 6 or 7 miles with Ian Sharman. This doesn't sound much wiser, except that Ian typically starts off slowly and then builds speed throughout a race. So, he got in a few slow miles of warm-up before he bounded up the first mini-climb and out of sight for good.

Trying to keep pace with Yassine. Ha! I guess I was feeling a bit cocky, as I don't usually start up quite that close to the front.

I felt fine through the first aid station (mile 6'ish), but heading up the first real hill around mile 7 I had a bit of a melt down. Suddenly, my legs had 0 juice, and I felt like I was having a panic attack. A little wheezing and absolutely no energy in the quads. I think I was "running" 20 minute miles. WTF? It was not a hill that was worthy of walking, but I allowed myself a few steps to evaluate the situation. My mind was still whirling from the busy week, and I think it was just a mini-freak out from the stress of the week, and then finding oneself thrown into the middle of the woods slogging through 50 miles. I downed a gel, continued slogging up the hill, and the panic went away, and once I started heading downwards to the first turn-around at the Frog Lake aid station, I felt relatively OK. Somewhere in here, we started passing early starters, and this gave me something to think about and distract myself from my own thoughts. A nice cruisable downhill into the aid station, I tried to politely pass early starters without flinging anyone off the trail. Lots of nice views of Mt. Hood through this section, as well.

PCT en route from Frog Lake aid station. Lovely, soft, runnable trail.

Somewhere after Frog Lake (mile 14) I had my first explosive stomach issue of the day. I blame it mainly on the fact that we got up late, and got to the start late, so there just wasn't time to let things settle. Otherwise, my stomach felt OK, until very late in the race. A note on headphones, here, as I intentionally pissed someone off somewhere in this section. So, I'm attempting to pass a group of 3, and the woman in front is wearing headphones. I'd called out to the other 2 to let them know I was coming by, and passed them without incident, but then called out a few times to the woman in front, who just plodded along clueless to the world around her. I noticed she was wearing headphones, so leaned over and yelled (almost directly) in her ear, "Passing on your left," which intentionally scared the crap out of her. Sorry, but if you're an early starter on a double out-and-back, where you know you're going to have about 150 people passing you, DON'T WEAR HEADPHONES. Is this not common sense? Or, turn them down enough so that you can hear what's happening around you. OK, I'll stop with the rant. And yes, I can be a brat sometimes.

Coming into an aid station. Lots of lovely shaded trail all day.

Besides running the first miles with Ian, I ran alone the rest of the day. Luckily I was alone when I took my one major face plant of the day, probably about mile 20. It was on a smooth pine-needle'y downhill, so scuffed up my knee a bit, and made me really dirty, but otherwise had no major impact on the day. I hadn't fallen in a while (as in about 6 weeks, but I tend to go through falling spurts, and this seems to have been the start of the most recent crashing trend which has continued this week).

Lots of nice views of Hood. Not this particular view, but ones similar....

The course is a double out-and-back on the PCT, with most of the significant climbing (although nothing is really significant in a course with 5600 feet of climb) coming in the final out-and-back. So, the course goes out 14 and then back, bringing you through the start/finish at mile 28. You then head the opposite direction on the PCT for 11 miles, and back to the finish. After the first out-and-back, I made it back to the start/finish in 3:48, so 28 miles in 3:48. I figured if I ran the second half in the same time, I'd run 7:36 and get in under Pam's 7:42. Surely I could run 22 miles as fast as I'd run 28? I hadn't really had time to check out the elevation profile, except briefly. A little course knowledge is sometimes worse than no course knowledge, because I remembered there were bumps on the elevation profile, but couldn't remember exactly where they were. As it turns out, they are all in that last 22, or at least they seemed to be.

There's a long'ish gentle climb up from the start/finish to the next aid station at mile 33. I mixed in a bit of run/walk, as I wasn't feeling a lot of oomph. I wasn't suffering, just didn't have the motivation to push the pace much. It was nice to see familiar faces at the aid station up top, but was disappointed when Rick couldn't confirm that the course immediately went downhill. He was right, as we ran along top for another mile or so, but eventually the nice long downhill started, and my mood improved. Then there was one more slog up to the turn-around aid station, which was a happy sight, as I'd now be moving in the direction of the finish line. I made sure to time when I passed the next female, as she hadn't been too far behind at mile 14. Heading down from the turn-around, I was happy to see she was now at least 30 minutes back, so I didn't have anything to worry about in terms of staying in front--while I wasn't feeling very competitive, I also never like to be passed in the last 10 miles after leading all day. I could slog homewards to my heart's content, although I did still want to get the course record, so was motivated to make an effort to keep moving at a reasonable pace. A nice slog up to the Tuesday night group's aid station, followed by a nice long down to the finish. Nothing too eventful in the final 11 except for some brief stomach issues, which necessitated a not-very-private stop about 2 miles from the finish due to poor planning and the emergency nature of the stop, and lost a few minutes and a place to the poor soul who also had to witness my somewhat-public bathroom display.

Timothy Lake: a nice spot for some post-run soaking.

In the end, I didn't run the second 22 much faster than the first 28, and finished in 7:30. Pam had called the record soft, and I'll add that the record is still soft. Throughout the day I didn't have a whole lot of juice, and while at times felt like I was cruising along OK, other times felt like I was shuffling through the motions. The word "blah" sums up the race for me pretty well in terms of effort. The weekend on the whole was a big thumbs up, as it was a fun weekend with friends in a beautiful spot in Oregon. There are so many trails and lakes and places to explore around Mt. Hood, and being up there this weekend was a reminder that I need to get up there more, and just how lucky I am to live in Oregon. Lots of great times were run by friends out there, and it was fun to see so many familiar faces on trail. Even after his slow start with me, Ian went on to dust the previous course record in 6:29. Laura Kantor completed her first 50 miler in a great time--she is truly an inspiration. Yassine, always strong, ran well for second, and cheered for everyone like a crazy man throughout. Randy, always downplaying his ability and his training, rocked a sub 7:30 finish. The post race grub was good, and it was fun to get in a nice post-run soak in Timothy Lake with new friends from Idaho and a birthday boy from Sisters. Add in a chiropractic adjustment from some chiropractic students there to offer their services (which helped to get some ribs knocked back in place that have been bugging me for months) and the post-run celebration was perfect. Todd and his merry group of volunteers put on a great race--I expect that this one will grow in popularity again.

Roomie Jason and I after our post-run lake soak. Feeling refreshed and smiley.

Post run, I didn't have much soreness except for an exhausted right hip flexor. My left foot continues to have some weirdness in the flexor something something muscle, but it's more of an irritation than an issue. All was good until Tuesday night, when I crashed hard twice on a FP run, which has resulted in a lighter week than desired. Just a bit of bruising to my pride, more than anything, although my right knee is a wee bit bruised and irritated. Crashing is so incredibly frustrating. I'm hoping to hit it hard next week before a brief taper into the Waldo 100K the following. After that, I have absolutely no plans. I've been looking to sign up for something, but I have no idea as to what that will be. Suggestions?

3 Non Joggers Guest Appearance, Take 2

2011-07-27T11:56:00.002-04:00

If you're bored at work, or in the car, or on a run, or in general, take a listen to last Friday's guest appearance on 3 Non Joggers.

http://www.3nonjoggers.com/2011/07/its-38-were-bunch-of-little-angels.html

I haven't actually listened to the episode yet, because I hate the sound of my own voice, and haven't yet brought myself to remind myself just how awful it is. Maybe it's not so bad, it just doesn't sound anything like that voice in my head. This was my second visit to the show, and my first time in the new recording studio. I have to say I was more nervous this time, as the new studio has a different feel--maybe just a little bit more professional, but I have to say I missed Russ' dingy basement. Or maybe I just needed a bigger glass of whiskey to get through the show.

Update: I listened and it wasn't bad! Yes, my voice is still annoying, but less so than I remembered. In all honesty, while I slightly dissed the basement above, I could hang out and listen to these 3 guys banter back and forth for hours--it's a good thing that there's about 6 feet of table separating Carl and Gary--well, probably Gary and Russ, too.

WS100 2011: Looking foward to 2012!

2011-07-08T19:59:00.012-04:00

Lots of good memories from this one, and pictures speak louder than words (especially when they include really long captions), so I'm including more than a few below. To sum it up, I LOVED WS. I didn't think I would, but it was a super fun weekend and I can't wait to go back next year. That's the short version. The long version follows:

Sister and I before the start. Having Lisa there for the entire weekend meant the world to me.

Prerace:
The week started off with a nice chill drive down from Portland with Todd, crew chief and pacer extraordinaire. We opted for the scenic eastern route full of wide open spaces. Being technologically challenged, I have no good means to listen to music in my car besides the radio and CDs, and there were only 4 CDs in my car, one of which is the Chipmunks Christmas Album. Needless to say, there were really only 3 that were considered as options, and we proceeded to listen to a Dixie Chicks CD more than 8 times. Fitting lyrics, although I think they aren't talking about actual running:

Ready, ready, ready, ready...ready to run

All I'm ready to do is have some fun

I'm ready to run
I'm ready to run
I'm ready to run
I'm ready to run...ready to run...
ready to run...yeah I'm ready to run. I'm ready
Whoa I'm ready to run...I'm ready...I'm ready to run...
I'm ready to run...I'm ready
Oh I'm ready to run..I'm ready.

Needless to say, Todd is one of the most patient guys I know, because he said very little about the repeating CD, and left me in charge. By the time we got to Squaw Valley on Wednesday night, we were ready to do anything besides sit in a car and listen to the Dixie Chicks reinforce over and over that we were ready to run.

Ellie and I at check-in on Friday. Ellie and I got to spend most of Thursday together practicing our uphill running form and smearing ourselves with mud. I predicted that Ellie would take this one, and was super excited to finish and hear about her second-half comeback.

Thursday was spent at a photo shoot with Ellie and Max. The photographer, Kevin Winzeler, takes some amazing photos, so I'm excited to see what comes out of this. Never having been part of a photo shoot before, I have to say it was pretty awesome, although after 10+ hours, we were all ready to get out of the sun and stop the wind sprints.

Even better than the photo shoot was the arrival of my sister on Thursday. My sister and I are very close, but she hasn't seen me race since high school, when she was disgusted by my dry heaving before the start at track meets, and stopped going to watch, or something to that effect. She also used to claim to hate running, but has started running over the last couple of years, and has become a runner. It's been fun to watch her get into it, and to share this with her. At some point a couple of weeks before the race, I decided that I needed my sister there to be a part of it, and when it all worked out and she was able to come, I was thrilled to have her get to share in the experience. She was thrilled, too, and is much more expressive and emotive than I, so it was fun to watch her reaction to the entire weekend. The only bummer to the snow route, was that crew didn't have access until mile 55, and my crew opted to meet me at Foresthill (mile 62), just to be on the safe side, as Todd was jumping in with me there, so she wouldn't get to experience quite as much of the race as normal.

Thursday night was a chance to get to hang out with everyone for dinner at the Montrail house, and was a great chance to relax and kick back before the pre-race festivities on Friday.

Top 10 from last year and MUC qualifiers at the pre-race meeting.
Always a strong field, this year's was no exception. Photo by Jack Meyer.

All of the pre-race hype that I thought I was going to hate, I didn't mind and actually kind of enjoyed. I had experienced the pre-race scene (check-in, meeting) last year when I paced Annette, and knew what to expect, so it didn't surprise me and I didn't feel as nervous as usual. While anxious to get the race started, I didn't have any feelings of dread or attempts to injure myself to avoid running. It was a nice day for hanging out outside and running into friends, and all ended too soon. After a nice dinner with crew and new roomie, Jason, in Truckee, I went to bed feeling ready to go. I had just fallen asleep when I heard a beep from my phone: a fellow ultra runner texting me to ask, "U running WS?" Seriously? At 10 p.m. the night before WS? Lesson learned: buy an alarm clock that is not my phone.

Part of Team Montrail before the start. I hadn't spent much time with either Jill or Joelle before WS, and staying at the Montrail house, really enjoyed getting to know both of them.

The race:

I wasn't as nervous as I normally get before races, and the start was far less traumatic than I had imagined. I took the climb up to Escarpment pretty easy, running with Rory for some of it, but well behind the lead pack. I really wasn't concerned about how everyone else was doing, and was not focused on racing, but just running my own race. I'll admit I had an interest in where Pam was, because she was ahead of me by a couple of points in the Montrail Ultra Cup, and our finish places and times would determine who got second place vs. third, but besides that I was pretty happy to do my own thing. As we reached the top of the climb and turned onto the snow, I slowed considerably and passed no one while getting passed by many.

The snow sucked. I've heard some people say it was fun. I can honestly say I thought it sucked. For me, it was impossible to get in a rhythm and each time I thought I was getting the groove of it, I'd crash or slip. I will admit that I did absolutely no snow training, although even if I had, I don't think it would have helped much for the snow running at WS, as I hadn't expected the hard-pack that we ran across. Much of it was at a significant camber, and was frozen solid, which made for poor traction. My balance, in general, is not stellar, and this section definitely highlighted this.

The snow running was more difficult than this section implies, with much of it at an angle, and frozen solid. I did not enjoy the snow section, as grace and balance are not my strengths, and I hadn't run in snow at all in preparation (and when I do run in snow, I typically wear screwed shoes or yaktrax so as not to fall and break a leg). The gloves helped a ton, as I fell a few times, and had to claw myself along on other occasions. Photo by Gary Wang.

I was very happy to get off the snow and onto the easy downhill running after the mile 15 aid station. I passed Pam at the aid station, and soon passed Sandi Nypaver, and somewhere in this section started going back and forth with Becky Wheeler and eventually passed her for good (although not by much). I had no idea what place we were in and didn't ask. I thought I heard someone say 7th at or around Mosquito Ridge AS, but I had music on at the time, so she must have said something else, because I was in 11th at Devil's Thumb and had only been moving up. I didn't feel bad, and didn't feel like I was pushing too hard, although I was struggling and slow on the climbs. I'd pass people going down, but get passed back going up. I guess that's what zero uphill training will get you. Luckily WS is a net downhill course, and being a strong downhill runner seems to help more than being a strong uphill runner (although if you're doing both well, you're obviously going to do best). And I would wager that if you're not in top shape, you can't fake your way up a climb, but you can fake your way downhill. If that makes any sense? In general, I felt like I was moving well once we got off the snow until we got to the canyons, as long as we weren't heading up.

It's always nice to see Glenn's smiling face out on the course. Photo by Glenn Tachiyama.

My stomach was a bit queasy from the start. Not bad, but such that shot blocks went down much better if I macerated them a bit before swallowing, and the thought of swallowing them whole made me want to gag a bit. And gels were taking me several minutes to get down. I started drinking Gu2O early on because I knew my calorie consumption was less than optimal. I downed a bottle of Ultragen at Mosquito Ridge (mile 31), but besides that, lived on Gu and Gu2O, which was the aid station fare, and a couple of PB&J quarters. The flavor selections for Gu were limited, and by the end of the day, the thought of another strawberry-banana Gu was bad enough to cause an avoidance response. The gear life saver of the day was my arts and crafts project from Friday afternoon: a bandana sewed into a triangle (with openings) so that I could fill it with ice and tie it around my neck. I started filling it with ice early, and used it for much of the day. I realize that this wasn't a hot year, but even with some heat training in South Sudan and sauna sessions, it was a hot day for an Oregonian.

I guess I'm a heel striker. And several people made comments about my hair, and wondered how I carried it for 100 miles. Um, well, I guess I have strong neck muscles? Someone found me at some point during the weekend by "looking for the girl with the big hair." I didn't find that very descriptive, but they found me, so maybe it was. (Note the arts and crafts project tied around my neck.) Photo by Glenn Tachiyama.

Initially, I had hoped to spend some time training on the course. But Memorial Day was spent in Africa at Comrades, and my course knowledge came from a quick read of the course description and elevation profile. In a moment of pre-race panic, I went back to the course description Friday night while lying in bed, but the elevation profile and description led me to believe the canyons were flat. Canyons are never flat, and neither were these; selective reading, I supposed. Both the climb to Devil's Thumb (47.8) and the climb to Michigan Bluff (55.7) kicked my ass. I was fine on both long downhills into the canyons passing a few people, but the guys I passed going down hiked by me like I was standing still going up. Somewhere after Devil's Thumb, I passed Helen going down into the second canyon to move into 10th and was surprised she didn't pass back as I crawled up out of the canyon into Michigan Bluff. 10th was the last position I wanted to be running in at any point in the second half of the race as top 10 has special significance at WS, but it was where I ended up at mile 50. I was hot, dizzy and hating life as I slogged into the aid station, where I snapped at a couple of friends, and slogged onward.

I felt like death here, coming into Michigan Bluff. I was weaving a bit on the climb coming out of the canyons and thought this was the beginning of the end. I had a miraculous recovery which I credit to a quarter of a PB&J sandwich and cruised into Foresthill feeling like a rock star. Photo by Jonathan Bernard.

The highs and lows that come in a 100 miler are predictable, yet always surprising. I'd felt like hell just a few miles back, but I loved the section into Foresthill and was suddenly cruising. The snacks I'd grabbed at Michigan Bluff seemed to kick in (a piece of PB&J), and I felt awesome. The only downside was that the sweet guy that had filled my bladder at Michigan Bluff had only gotten it partially closed and I was drenched in Gu2O, which was causing the backs of my calf to stick to my hamstring. A clumsy creek crossing left me flat on my back in the creek, but I was once again clean, refreshed, and running most of the way into the Bath Road AS (60.6). I walked and chatted with someone up parts of Bath Road, but felt the urge to run and took off, cruising into Foresthill (62) like I was running a 5K (or so it felt at the time) and super excited to pick up my pacer, Todd, and check in on how my sister was enjoying her day.

After a pack change, Todd and I were on our way and moved well for the majority of the 16 mile run down to the river crossing. I'd been going back and forth with Joe Kulak all day, and we continued to leap frog. It was nice to get an update on the race, because the lack of crew access had left us without any race updates up until this point. I was bummed to hear that Ellie wasn't in front, and surprised by the men's updates. I also inquired about Pam, but being that she was behind me and that updates had been spotty, didn't have any real idea of where she was. I used that as motivation throughout the second half--an extra thousand bucks = weekend in Hawaii. Maybe it's sad, but a little extra cash really does motivate.

My only real issues through this section were my feet, but I had opted to not change shoes at Foresthill, after deciding that it was best that I not see my feet. I've often imagined my feet to be trashed, only to discover when I take off my shoes that they're not that bad. That's what I decided was happening, and if they were truly trashed, there was nothing I wanted to spend time doing about it at this point. I avoid sitting, in general, in 100s, and shoe changes are slow and seated. I was still moving well on the downs, and felt like I was hiking quickly when hiking. I was happy to move into 9th just before the river crossing, although bummed to pass Anita, who looked like she was in some pain, and struggling.

I'd been looking forward to the river crossing all day, but for me, sitting down is generally a bad idea during 100s. The high I'd felt at Foresthill had been slowly fading since then, and was now suddenly gone and I was at my third lowest point of the day (1. Michigan Bluff, 2. Snow). I felt sluggish getting out of the boat, but happy to see my sister's smiling face on the other side of the river. She seemed to be having a blast, and I'd be seeing her again at the Hwy 49 crossing where she would get to run trails for the first time in her life with me, at night! Yes, I have to admit it made me ever so slightly nervous, but also excited to get to run the last 6.5 miles with my sister. At Green Gate (79.8), we stopped briefly to talk to Joelle, who was dropping there. Another bummer, as I'd gotten to spend some time with Joelle, as we were staying at the Montrail house, and she is a super person, and I was hoping she'd have a breakthrough 100-miler. I didn't run much of the climb to Green Gate, and apologized to Todd, but it was time for the music to come back on, once we were past the aid station. I rarely listen to music while running, and really only reserve it for racing, but it definitely helps me. Whenever I would turn it off to talk to Todd, I would slow down, but when I switched it back on and found the right song (2 favorites linked there), I was cruising again (cruising, in an "85-miles-into-a-hundred" type of cruising).

I'm kind of a pain-in-the-ass to pace, and I should have explained this to Todd pre-race, and explained what he should actually insist upon, because during the race, I will say no to everything and anything. Todd would kindly make a suggestion, and I'd shoot him down.

Todd: "Shotblocks?"

Amy: "Shut up! Don't ever say that again" (The thought of shot blocks at that point brought a gag response--for me they're really hard to swallow late in a 100 miler).

Todd: "Would you like me to run in front?"

Amy: "Never."

Todd: "Would you like me to remind you to eat?"

Amy: "No."

While Todd remained good spirited throughout, I think he was happy to pass me off to my sister at mile 93.5. And I have to say, I was psyched to see Sister! I can't say that I focused on pushing the pace much in the last stretch, but I did enjoy chatting and running with Lisa, and enjoyed her reaction to running downhill on a trail at night. Behind me, I could hear her ask , "How do you do this?" Luckily she was a trooper, and figured it out on her own, because I was too tired to turn around and just kept going. No Hands Bridge was a welcome site and soon after the climb to Robie Point, which seemed to last forever, and the top of the hill happened much later than I expected. We finally hit the downhill and made it to the track, and to the finish. 100.2 in 19:36.22, 8th female, 34th overall.

Sister looks way more chipper than me at this point. I have to say I was slightly grumpy heading down from Robie Point, but Lisa took it in stride. Lisa had never run on trails, let alone at night on trails. In addition to Lisa's first marathon, I'm looking forward to Lisa's first trail race, to be followed soon after with Lisa's first ultra. She had a great time, and having her there really made the weekend for me. Her constant amazement at how cool the ultra community is, was a reminder of how lucky we all are; we do have a pretty cool community. She was smiling like this the entire weekend! Photo by Glenn Tachiyama.

Happier here, as I begin to grasp that I'm done--woohoo! WS in the books in 19:36, 8th female.
Photo by Glenn Tachiyama.

Of note:

My sister! It was one of those special sister-bonding weekends that neither of us will forget. And my sister seems to be hooked on this running thing, because she's since signed up for her first marathon--Portland on October 9th! Go Sister!

Todd is an awesome friend/crew/pacer. He claims to have enjoyed it, but I promise to be nicer next year.

4 Oregon women in the top 10. How sweet is that? And the top 3 places in the Montrail Ultra Cup on the women's side went to Oregon, along with 2 of the top 3 for men. An additional $11,000 into the Oregon economy this year--sweet!

Montrail/Mountain Hardwear made it easy for all of us on the team, arranging for a house. I really enjoyed getting to meet and hang out with teammates in a relaxed environment. Thanks, Jessie!

There's nothing like a little Split Lip Rayfield and Scroat Belly to get me through the rough spots. Works every time.

Muscle memory, experience, and mental toughness seem to be a big part of success in100 milers. I went in on the low end of the mileage spectrum, and ran well, despite the hiccups in my training in April through June. Looking back at my training log, I averaged 52.5 miles/week since January 1. Calculating from April 1, that average drops to 45 miles/week in the 12 weeks prior to WS. If you'd asked me in February what my training plan would look like, I would have told you that I would try to hit a 75 mile/week average, with top mileage weeks topping out around 90-100 and lower mileage weeks in the 60s. Unfortunately life gets in the way sometimes--injuries, work trips, trashed quads from racing, etc. and that just didn't happen. At the same time, I went into WS with absolutely no pressure on me.

My biggest fear was that my quads would get trashed and that it would at some point turn into a death march. That never happened and my quads stayed strong until the end. I only began to feel them the last 15 miles or so, and they weren't that bad. I was sore until Tuesday, but could have run again much sooner than after Miwok, although opted to wait until Friday. Admittedly, my quads, while not sore, felt like bricks on Friday, but on a run on Sunday, felt surprisingly good. My quads survived, and for this, I am puzzled. I'd done inadequate uphill and downhill training, and relatively few long runs. My quads have fared much worse in runs for which I've felt better prepared.

I'm happy with my time, but I certainly had some left at the end. Regardless, my finish place wouldn't have changed had I been a bit more motivated to push in those last 20 miles and had finished 15 minutes or so faster, as Meghan was a good 45 minutes ahead of me.

I get to go back next year! I have to say, I didn't think I was going to like Western States, but I loved it. I can't wait to go back next year better trained--ready to run it more aggressively and knock out an 18:XX. Todd and Lisa--reserve the date!!

Top 10!! Feels good to have an open invite to go back for another try!

Training is Over-rated? A precursor to a WS report.

2011-06-29T14:32:00.002-04:00

I'll post a full race report soon, but in the meantime, I'm recovering surprisingly well. As I bemoaned in previous blog posts, I was nowhere close to the shape I had hoped to be in when I toed the line on Saturday for Western States. The spring brought injury, that led to a racing schedule that left no time for training, and a work travel schedule that left no time for the Gorge hill training I had intended to tackle. I feared quad death, especially after a 25K 2 weeks prior followed by some hill repeats the next morning left my quads incredibly sore. My quads had been toast well before the half-way point at Miwok; I couldn't run for a week afterwards and didn't feel good running for 2 weeks. The calf injury-Miwok-Comrades-WS cycle left no time for a solid training block. It was race, recover, taper, race, repeat. A net downhill hundred was sure to bring pain and misery....

Good news--my quads survived, and survived shockingly well. I only started to feel them around mile 85, and I never got to the point where it hurt to run downhill. Now, 3 days later, I feel like I could run without much soreness. I'm not going to, as I plan to give myself a few more days of laziness and over-eating, but if I were chased, I could run, and do so without much hesitation. Some toenails have opted out, but other than a few blisters on the balls of my feet that are healing nicely, and a sore nose from a post-run car loading incident, I'm relatively unscathed.

I'm thrilled with F8 and 19:36 based on my training and also very happy to finish #2 in the Montrail Ultra Cup with a $2000 cash bonus. I'll post more on all of that later.

The top 4 Montrail Ultra Cup finishers: Meghan, me, Pam and Gretchen.
Meghan is rubbing her belly and thinking of food.
Pam is thinking about how she is going to crush me the next time we race.
I'm more than a little bit scared of Pam, for good reason (I love you, Pam!).
(Photo taken from Gretchen's blog ).

WS Training Camp: Juba Version (or, "Currently in the worst shape of my life")...)

2011-06-05T12:58:00.003-04:00

Maybe not the worst, but I'm definitely not in the shape I had hoped to be at this time, 3 weeks out from Western States. It all started with a calf strain in early April, which left me unable to run much up through Miwok. The 5-week training lull left me a bit flat at Miwok, and far off of what I'd hoped for, and trashed my quads for a good 2 weeks. Comrades was just 3 weeks after Miwok, so throw in 2 weeks of forced recovery, followed by jumping on a plane to Kenya the weekend before Comrades, and I went into Comrades with no solid training, considering I'd gone into Miwok with no solid training. Comrades left me far less trashed than Miwok, but I flew to Juba, South Sudan the day after Comrades, which is where I am now.

Traditional style house known as a "tukul" as seen on the Hash run.

Offshoot of the Nile in Juba, South Sudan.

I've mentioned before that I love to run on the road (as in during my travels, not actually on tarmac), and I do. I travel to interesting places, and running in these places allows me to see bits and pieces I wouldn't see if I didn't run. Take yesterday, for instance: I went to the Hash and the route took us along the Nile on a dirt path through a "neighborhood" and then through a local market. Cute little kids popping out in all directions, strange sights and smells from the market, and lots of odd looks. I don't Hash in the states, because I don't see the point, but on the road, it's one way to potentially meet other runners, and an opportunity to run in a place you wouldn't get to otherwise. I ended up in front with a German guy who commented, "So, it seems you've run before?" Um, yep, now and again.

Another tukul.

Entering the market.

On my own, I've been running on the hot dusty streets of Juba, often towards the UNMIS compound (UN Mission in Sudan) which is an odd world in its own right. I guess I don't appear dangerous in my short shorts and running shoes (or there would be nowhere to conceal a bomb under my tank top and shorts), because when I stopped to inquire at the gate what ID was required, they waved me in despite the fact that I had no ID on me, bypassing the metal detectors and screening process. Inside there were lots of trailer home-type living accommodations, Bangladeshi troops doing jumping jacks, a gift bull sitting in the middle of the "track" that was received by someone important on a trip which then couldn't be taken on the airplane (go figure), and other odd sights. But, a place to run with fewer stares, and fascinating in its own right. Today I found the "cafeteria" and an ice-cold sprite, which cooled and fueled me for the 20 minutes home. I managed only an hour in the heat, and arrived home exhausted and dizzy. The fact that I made it only an hour, and wanted to collapse, has me worried, and further convinced I'm in the worst shape of my life. Yes, the run was in the heat of the day, but it was only 95 here today, and an hour really shouldn't have hurt as much as it did.

While I like to run on the road, I find training on the road difficult. Going out for a run is not a challenge, but in planning a longer runs or sticking to a set workout, there seem to be more variables that come into play, and an unhappy stomach is one of these things (and my biggest downfall at Comrades). I used to have a stomach of steel; I drank water directly from a cow pond for 2 years in Peace Corps and had zero problems. Maybe Africa just doesn't agree with my stomach or old age is setting in, but in my recent travels, I find myself with stomach issues more often than not. I averted a disaster at UNMIS the other day when I lucked upon a bathroom in the UN airport. I think I breached security to get in there, but I was desperate. And when desperate I can be quite resourceful. So, runs bring a sense of impending doom, knowing that I could very well end up squatting behind someone's house. Would you want someone squatting behind your house? If I was here long enough, I might figure out where I might find the basic necessities, but thus far, I'm a stranger running in a strange land, with an intense fear of emergency bathroom stops.

At this point, there's nothing I can do about my less-than-ideal training for WS. I'll be in Juba another week, arriving back in Portland next Saturday around noon. I'll continue my hour-long slogs in hot and steamy Juba for the next week, and then plan to hit the gorge next weekend for a couple of long hill sessions in a final desperate attempt at training. And, I'll hope to show up at the starting line, relatively healthy, malaria- and amoeba-free, tan (it's sunny here in Juba), skinnier (the joys of stomach parasites), and absurdly well-rested, after my 3-month taper, but still hoping for a top-10 finish.

Comrades Marathon and The Starfish Greathearts Foundation

2011-05-16T23:35:00.001-04:00

I am super excited to be running Comrades in 2 short weeks--20,000 runners and incredible crowd support in a setting that will be like no other ultra I will ever run. It was a last minute addition to my schedule after I figured out (or a friend pointed out) that I would be in Africa for work around the time of Comrades. Obviously Africa is a large place and my work is nowhere near Durban, South Africa where the race starts, but the fact that I was even going to be on the same continent when it was happening--I knew that I needed to try to run it. Luckily, the stars aligned, I figured out the logistics, and then re-figured the logistics when work dates changed, and it is going to happen. I'll be in Kenya for a week for a conference, then will fly to Durban for a "long" weekend (10 p.m. Friday night through 7 a.m. Monday morning--race is on Sunday) and then head to Juba, South Sudan for 2 more weeks of work. I'll get home from Juba 2 weeks from Western States. My plan is to land in PDX at 10 a.m. Saturday morning after 28+ hours of travel, and cram in 2 last long runs before starting a shortened version of a taper. Good times! Have I mentioned how much I love traveling for work? Seriously though, I can't complain. Sudan is going to be a fascinating adventure, as well--let's just hope I can find a treadmill. I have yet to not find one...

Anyhow, now that the logistics have all been worked out--flights booked, hotels reserved, entry confirmed, and calf injury behind me, I'm finally confident that Comrades is really going to happen.

And to my loyal blog readers I'd like to request that you visit the following link and consider donating to the Starfish Greathearts Foundation that works with children orphaned by HIV/AIDS in South Africa. It's a great cause, and I hope that with the support of family and friends, I'll be able to give a small amount back to the communities that surround and support the Comrades Marathon. While I sometimes do complain about work travel, I'm also incredibly grateful for the opportunities that I have, and the chance to see and experience the all of the amazing diversity and contrasts that exist around the world and work with communities that are far less fortunate. And in the hopes of making a difference where it's most needed, I ask you to give a little if you can.

A link to my fundraising page is found here. Thanks!

10:02:41, again.

2011-05-10T17:47:00.009-04:00

Heading up from the beach on the second big climb. (photo by Brett Rivers)

I am not a superstitious person, but I do like to paint my toenails bright red and pink and sparkly, consume gnocchi in the days prior, and wear my lucky red undies the day before any race. So, I could tell the Miwok weekend was off to a shaky start, when in unloading the car in Ashland on Thursday night post cinco de mayo margaritas, my lucky undies mysteriously vanished. They were in my hand, and then they were gone. I looked in the trunk, on the road, on the sidewalk, etc, but they were nowhere to be found. Sean was drunk--did he take them? Could I even justify running on Saturday? Luckily for me, Darla came to the rescue on Friday morning, when while taking in the lovely landscaping found them under the neighbor's fence. That would have been fun for someone to explain. Regardless, while I had been questioning for weeks whether or not I should run Miwok because of a calf strain, I could not back out on the grounds of losing my lucky undies.

I went into Miwok with few expectations. My 5 week training leading up to Miwok looked something like this:

April 3: calf strain
5 weeks out: 22 miles
4 weeks out: 5 miles (re-strain)
3 weeks out: 30 miles
2 weeks out: 54 miles (including 22 and 10 milers the weekend prior)
1 week out: 12 miles

I don't know what your training log looks like, but averaging one-third of my usual mileage is not what I hope to be doing 5 weeks out from a big 100K, and during what would be my big training push for Western States. I did do more than just lame attempts at running during those 5 weeks, with a bit of spinning and walking, and bikram yoga 3-5 times/week. I also saw my massage guy twice a week, as he worked out the issues in my calf. But, one can not run a 100K on massage and bikram yoga alone, and my training log might have implied that a fast 100K was not in the cards. The miles I did run were purposefully slow and flat, as I had re-strained my calf early on during an attempt to run uphill, so I had avoided all hill running until a couple of trial runs 2 weeks out--one of which was a hilly 8-miler, and the other, a hilly 22-miler the Saturday prior. The 22-miler left me confident that my calf was on the mend and could handle hills.

My goals for Miwok were simple. First, to survive with calf intact, and second, to finish. Deep down I hoped that the 5-week taper was going to be the new hot training plan and demonstrate that training was truly over-rated, but I kind of knew that was a long shot. I also needed to finish if I wanted to stay in the running for top-3 in the Montrail Cup, as Miwok would be my 3rd race in the series, with Western States my fourth, and four races score. If I didn't finish, I couldn't score 4 races. There is a small cash incentive hidden in there, which could equate to a long weekend in Hawaii if I get top-3. I also needed this long run as training for both Comrades and Western. A little close to Comrades, which is a little close to Western, but at this point, I'm out of shape and trying to get back into shape in 7 weeks. Throw in 3 weeks in Africa for work (including a side trip to run Comrades) in a destination where running is potentially dangerous, and my Western training is pretty much screwed. Alas, I digress....

Last year I finished Miwok 4th in 10:02:41. I had been gradually building back from a long lay-off due to a torn ankle tendon--my first real injury since college (it sounds like I'm always injured these days, but really, I've been pretty healthy for 25 years of running!), but had been running consistently leading up to Miwok. It was also my first big west coast race since moving out to Oregon, and I went in a bit starstruck, and nervous to be running with the big dogs. I ended up finishing between Krissy Moehl and Darcy Africa and was happy to finish between 2 ultra running stars I'd always admired.

Rather than go through a blow-by-blow of this year's version, let's just say I wasn't feeling great for most of the race. My hamstrings were tight for the first 15, and my quads were trashed before we even got to the descent down into the turn-around at Randall. If there is one lesson I learned from the 5-week forced taper, it's that while fitness doesn't fall off too much, quads seem to forget all downhill memory quickly. I plodded through the first half, and was a little shocked when I wasn't that far behind heading into Randall. However, my quads were already trashed, and weren't in any shape to make up any ground in the second half. Luckily, I didn't lose much ground either, except to some guys like Jimmy Dean and his training buddy Lukas, who both smoked the second half. I had passed Helen at the turn down into Randall around mile 32 to move into 4th, and I managed to hold onto 4th until the finish. I was running, for the most part, but walking inclines I should have been running. My mantra for the second half hills was, "Me walk Miwok." I need to work on a more positive mantra for next time....

I finished 4th in 10:02:41--the EXACT same time and place as last year. Bizarre, no? Last year I was happy with my run, and I should be ecstatic to have run the same time this year with my calf still intact considering the past month, but I can't say that I feel happy about the race. Instead, I mainly still feel frustrated. Frustrated for where I am right now, and for what is coming up. It's like cramming for a final exam, which you have a sneaking suspicion you could fail at miserably.

On a more positive note, I was super excited to see Pam in the lead coming out of the turn-around and to hear at the finish that she'd run a strong second half for the win. It's great to see Pam win a big one, and get some of the credit she is due. And with Meghan in second, Oregon took 3 of the top 4 spots on the women's side--not too shabby. Also, many thanks to Jimmy Dean for his kind words on course. Most runners are friendly and positive while out there, but Jimmy went above and beyond and was a super positive influence out there. I was psyched to see him kill the second half of the course and finish well under his 10 hour goal. I just wish I'd had it in me to go with him. Also thanks to my pacer, Sean, for putting up with grumpy Amy. And to the Oregon driving crew--Chris, Darla and Sean--for making the weekend a fun and memorable one. I'd rather drive the 11 hours with you all than fly any day--seriously. I'm looking forward to many more fun weekend adventures in the coming months.

Next year I'd really like to run Miwok and kill it. Screw 10:02:41.

The best laid plans....

2011-04-25T15:49:00.008-04:00

I'm trying to focus on the positives and remind myself that things could be a lot worse. I'm reminded by my unlucky PDX friend who crashed his bike last week and had re-constructive hip surgery, that a calf strain is really not that bad. And while it's not the end of the world, it has me frustrated as hell. If, for instance, I'd had re-constructive hip surgery (which I'm obviously glad that I didn't have) it would be blatantly obvious to me that I shouldn't (and can't) run. But I'm having a hard time figuring out how easy I need to take it. After an early re-tweaking, I'm intensely afraid of another tweak and have been following my massage therapist's advice (who knows a thing or two about running and calf injuries from personal experience) and things seem to be feeling better in there.

The bad news is that I've done virtually no real training in 3 weeks since I initially strained my calf. I ran 5-8 miles 5 days this past week, and have been doing a ton of bikram yoga, with some upper body weights and spinning classes thrown in, so have not been a completely lazy slack. But, I have not been getting in the 70-90 mile high intensity weeks I would have chosen over the past few weeks. Instead of long runs, I do long workouts. Example, on Saturday I ran 4 miles to bikram, did 90 minutes of bikram yoga, ran 4 miles to the gym, and lifted upper body. So, not the same as a 3 hour run, but I was active for 3+ hours (and sweated out my body weight in bikram). But, I can feel that my fitness is not in the same place on the runs I've attempted. And the worst part of the runs is the fear with every step, and those slight tingling sensations that cause panic attacks that the next tweak is near. How does one run without fear again? Thinking about and fearing every step really sucks.

For the first two weeks following the initial injury I was going to my sports med/graston guy(s) twice a week. I really didn't feel like they were getting to the root of the issue in the muscle. They seemed, generally, not too concerned, and I didn't seem to be making any progress. So, I switched to my massage therapist, who was a competitive runner back in the day and who happened also to have dealt with the same injury. The sports med guys would work on me for 10 minutes and call it a day, whereas Michael will dig in there and work on it for 45 minutes. When I first saw him 10 days ago, he told me I was kind of screwed because the tear seems to be where the tendon and muscle meet (whereas the sports med guy told me not to worry because it was in the muscle belly), and that if I wasn't careful it would be a long and frustrating recovery. I've been a good patient. I've followed instructions. Only road running, and no hills this past week. I had my 5th appointment with him this morning, and it feels (to me) and he confirms that it feels much better, which is a good thing. The washboard feeling is getting worked out, and my running experiments don't seem to be irritating it.

So, things are looking up, but I'm still insanely frustrated. I'd never been so excited for a series of races, and I had been doing a fair amount of speed work and was getting faster. But that feeling of speed and fitness has diminished to nearly nothing. Miwok is less than 2 weeks away, and I haven't run over 10 miles in 3 weeks. I'm still on the fence about Miwok, but I'll wait and see how the next 2 weeks feel. I won't be prepared to race it if I do run it, and I'll only run it if I feel like it won't further irritate my calf, as I don't want to give up on Comrades and WS. However, I also don't want to give up on the Montrail Cup, and need to finish Miwok to give me 4 finishes. If I do run Miwok, it'll be more of a "walk the ups and run the flats" type of day and just a quality day of training with a lot of walking thrown in to protect the calf.

Yassine getting loud.

And for someone that lacks confidence, this fear of running is not so much fun. I'm the queen of excuses, and this fear of re-injury makes it way too easy to make excuses.

And in my newly acquired spare time, I'm feeling a bit lost. My life really does revolve around ultra running--from my friends to how I structure my day.

On a somewhat unrelated note, we had awesome seats for the Blazers game this past weekend, which I got to experience with 3 of my good PDX running buddies, Yassine, Aaron and Todd. Talk about a lesson in never giving up! The Blazers were down by 23 in the second half, and 18 starting the 4th quarter and came back to win by 2. Probably the most amazing comeback I've ever witnessed, and a reminder that anything is possible. And the comeback was led by Roy, who had double knee surgery and has exceeded any expectations in returning from injury. The body can do amazing things!

ZG: Listening to myself

2011-04-21T03:00:00.002-04:00

A crew car perspective. Dusty roads and glimpses of beauty. Thanks to Larry Hutton for all of the photos.

Going into Zane Grey I made the decision to run, and then not to run, and then to run, over and over again. And despite straining my calf 2 weeks prior, I had a promising few runs post-injury leading up until Tuesday, when I re-tweaked it and was forced, again, to abort an easy 6-miler and hobble back to the car. I re-tweaked it while running up a gradual hill on a bit of a muddy patch. I could jog lamely back to the car, which was an improvement from the first tweaking when I couldn't walk, but awoke Wednesday with it bruised and sore to the touch, which hadn't happened the first time.

At this point, I knew I shouldn't try to run 50 miles on it, but was getting conflicting advice. Coach said to take the rest of the week off and give it a shot. Doctor said it was a bad idea, but said as long as I went into it willing to drop as soon as I first felt pain, he was OK with it. Other friends told me not to run, as calf injuries aren't something to screw around with. Many told me to be smart and not do anything stupid. But, I really really wanted to run. It didn't help when we received our race numbers and I was seeded first (lucky #13). I hate seedings, they imply expectations, but I feared if I actually tried to meet them I would end up with this little ball of calf muscle rolled up behind my knee. The feeling of a muscle strain is a bit unnerving, especially because it comes unexpectedly, and brings the resultant knowledge that it can happen on any step without any warning. Running along one minute and doubled over the next. Not necessarily a stabbing pain, more like if a calf were made up of a hundreds of tightly stretched rubber bands, suddenly several of them are let go at once, and without all of them attached, running becomes painful and brings the fear of the rest of them letting go.

It's really hard to go into a 50 mile race, known as one of the toughest in the country on rocky and uneven terrain with 10,000 feet of climb, knowing that you can't run uphill and shouldn't run on uneven terrain. And in my mind, it wasn't so much a question of whether I would re-injure my calf, but how quickly that would happen--the first climb or the second? Where would I be when it happened in terms of proximity to an aid station. ZG is remote, and aid stations because of the terrain are as far as 3 hours apart (moving at a racing pace). What if I made it beyond the first 2 aid stations, it felt good, and I decided to go for it, but then had issues on some of the more remote sections? It took me an hour to hobble 2 miles to Pan Toll 2 weeks ago over smooth trail. If I re-strained it, how long would it take me to hobble out? Was it completely irresponsible to even start? But in the back of my head I hoped that 3 days of complete rest with lots of icing, compression and massage had done wonders, and that I would start the race and not feel anything.

Our cabin in the woods in Pine, AZ.

Driving up from Phoenix I realized that I haven't spent much time in Arizona. It's gorgeous and as I drove into Pine, AZ where we had rented a house, I so badly wanted to run. I lounged around the house waiting for the Flagstaffians to arrive, icing, massaging and talking at my leg about our relationship. I went to bed, planning to start the race. I woke up at 1 a.m. on Saturday and flexed my foot. Decision made--there's no way I'm running, and went back to sleep at peace with my decision. I wandered out into the kitchen at 3:15 a.m. and told the group that I wasn't running. They all stared at me blankly, and I sensed disapproval. I hardly know these people--what do I care? Watching them get dressed, I longed to be nervous about racing, as much as I normally hate the pre-race hours. I wasn't nervous, because I knew I couldn't race. But, for the umpteenth time, I changed my mind and I decided to go through the motions of getting to the starting line, and hoping that maybe the race energy would get my calf so excited that it would be up to the task.

In the end, I started, but it was a half-hearted attempt and resulted in the quickest DNF in history. I made it about 0.8 miles and as we were gradually heading uphill, felt some calf pain and knew that if I continued on I would be in about the same position I had been on Tuesday within a matter of minutes. I headed back against the sea of headlamps back to the start, and told the RD I was dropping. Yes, I'm a flake.

Dropping at mile 0.8 meant plenty of time for crewing duties. Unfortunately for Ian, this was taken at mile 8, and he wasn't smiling. He didn't smile until his naked pacer appeared at mile 52.

Good eats with Shea and Larry in Pine. I really didn't run enough to enjoy a second breakfast, but I didn't want Shea and Larry to eat alone....

Crewing a race you want to be running kind of sucks. But it was warm and sunny, with a fun crew and a fun group to crew. Our group had some great performances, while others were disappointed with their days. It's always interesting to step back and watch things unfold from the other side. I basked in the sun more than I should have, but knowing that I might not see sun again until mid-July, had a hard time moving into the shade. Overall, a fun weekend despite not competing, and a needed reprieve from the rainy gloom that has been the norm in Portland.

Sean ran at least 45 miles with a shattered and dislocated thumb. Can you say, "Immune to pain?" Or, "Amy is a pansy?"

Thoughts/Observations:
1. Listen to myself. No one can make the decision to race except me, and no one else has to deal with the consequences.
2. Patience sucks. Injuries suck. The two are related.
3. I'm fairly flaky.
4. Appreciate every second on the trails, because injury comes when least expected.
5. Ultra runners are tough. Sean Andrish ran with a dislocated thumb* and Diana Finkel ran on an ankle the size of a tree trunk (which both make me question if I'm just not tough enough....). Ian Torrence pushed through despite wanting to drop all day.
6. I will run Zane Grey again.
7. Arizona is gorgeous. I may need to move there, despite the fact that you have to pump your own gas.

Are those sunglasses? Is that sun? Are we smiling? Despite being frustrated as hell?

*Update: Sean's thumb wasn't just dislocated, but fractured into many pieces extending into the joint and required surgery and lots of pins and screws and things to piece it back together.

The cabin crew. All from Flagstaff menos yo. The reflection off of my white legs is practically blinding. Can you say "Pacific NW tan?"

Updates: Schedules, Dreams and Injuries

2011-04-04T18:21:00.005-04:00

Last week was an exciting week. Lake Sonoma was cancelled (major bummer), but that spurred a fun CA training weekend in the Headlands, a search for a new race to run in April (Zane Grey), and I managed to schedule a work trip to Africa that will end 3 days before Comrades, and got permission to enter. Sweet!

Mt. Tam group minus Devon (taking photo): Nathan, Topher, me, Jason, Mark, Krissy and Kim.

Life was grand....a hard, fast and fun 32 mile run on Saturday up and around Mt. Tam with an awesome group, and we were midway through what was turning into another gorgeous 20 miler on Sunday, when I took a step and was stopped in my tracks. It was actually the second time I had been stopped in my tracks on Sunday. The first came about 6 miles in, when I failed to observe a low tree trunk over the trail. I hit the tree head on, and was flat on my back. Stars, confusion, pain. But, the stars cleared, and we were on our way again. The tree was probably a sign, but sadly it didn't quite knock me out. We were about 2 miles out of Pan Toll, climbing gently, and I took a step and felt a stab of pain in my right calf. I had noticed some minor tightness maybe a mile before this, but nothing major. And then, all of a sudden, I couldn't move. I tried to walk a step, but couldn't. Argh! Out on a run on some of the prettiest trails in the country, with an amazing group of runners, on a sunny day, with plans for races falling into place too easily, and wham. A really frustrating way to end what was, otherwise, a nearly perfect weekend.

Day 2 Group minus Krissy (taking photo): Nathan, Devon, Topher, Mark, me, Jason and Kim. Another lovely day in sunny California.

The group made some phone calls for help, and sent me on my way to Pan Toll where Devon rescued me and took me for a sympathy kombucha. It took me almost an hour to hobble the 2 miles to Pan Toll, and walkers passed by sympathetically as the tears streamed down my cheeks.

Mark, me and Topher just minutes before disaster....(photo by Krissy).

A day later, I'm optimistic. I don't want to do anything stupid, but it already feels about 100% better from yesterday, when I couldn't walk without doing a straight leg hobble, and today, I'm walking almost normally. I'm icing, massaging, medicating, and compressing and hoping that this goes away as quickly as it came on. Unfortunately, I did feel something "pop", so I'm fairly certain there is some level of a tear in there. I'm optimistically hoping that a few days of complete rest will work wonders and that Zane Grey will still be a possibility 12 days from now. Please feel free to suggest any miracle cures.

Chuckanut 50K: Time in the woods.

2011-03-24T15:21:00.005-04:00

The Chuckanut 50K was held this past Saturday in Bellingham, WA. The field was stacked for both the men and women and neither side disappointed with some stellar results. Both the men's and women's course records fell, with Geoff Roes and Ellie Greenwood crushing the previous course records. The course was a bit sloppy up top, but overall not bad; there is enough gravel road/trail on the course that even a muddy year isn't going to be that bad, as the mud sections aren't that long and are restricted to sections of the ridge line. Other portions drain pretty well, so while the course was slower than normal, the beautiful conditions--bluebird skies and pleasant temps--made for a near perfect day for running.

Start of the Chuckanut 50K. Some major names on that line. Yowzer. And then there's me staring blankly at Glenn (click photo to enlarge). All photos by Glenn Tachiyama.

I was a bit anxious going into Chuckanut, and my stomach has been off for weeks, both of which combined for a fairly miserable day for me, at times. Overall, the end result wasn't terrible--about 10-15 minutes slower than I had hoped for, so not abysmal, but not great. I was shooting for 4:40, and finished in 5th in 4:52. I hoped to be top 5, really hoping to crack top 3, but had no illusions of being truly competitive. Some might call that a negative attitude; I like to call it realistic. I'm guessing most people would have predicted that Ellie would run away with it, and she did, with 2nd place a good 20 minutes back. I had hoped to be more in the mix for spots 2-3, but I really suffered from about mile 6-16, and once I finally got into the groove, the race was over. I've never run a super fast 50K, and for the first race leading into a series of races for me, it was an OK effort. Hopefully someday, I'll run a 50K that feels like I've laid it all out there, but it certainly wasn't this one.

No crashes! A 0 crash day. Is that a good thing or a
bad thing? Upright = cautious? Upright = Coordination?

My main issues were stomach-related, and this blog post might sound a bit focused on that, but my thoughts during much of the race revolved around when and where to make a pit stop. I wasn't thinking, "Oh, look at the view," or "I should really focus on powering up this hill," but rather, "If I pass up that big tree, how long until I see another suitably-sized tree?" Pre-race I was in a revolving line for the bathroom, and would have been happy to stay in that revolving line another 30 minutes, but the race start beckoned. The first 6 miles felt flat and slightly too fast--kind of like racing a road 15K. I worried what the transition to the hills would bring, and worried that I was going to be spending valuable time off-trail.

I should have stopped to use the pretty little bathroom at the mile 6 aid station, but didn't. I then spent the next 10 miles trying to decide whether I needed to stop or not. I would start feeling like something unpleasant was about to happen, and slow down. Slowing down made things settle a bit, and the whole process would begin again. Start to speed up a bit, have pangs of issues, and then slow down. This section included some long gradual climbing, which I would normally try to run, but I found myself hiking more than I would have liked. The woods finally beckoned loudly and I stopped around mile 16. The result was that I could actually run again without issue.

Life was definitely better after stopping, although I had to make another stop at mile 25, deciding not to pass by the pretty little bathroom that I had passed by at mile 6. The last 6 miles are fairly public, and the thought of an emergency stop on a well-used bike path wasn't pretty. It all worked out for the best, because as I exited the bathroom, Sara Wagner, who had been in front of me and in 5th place passed by me in the aid station. Apparently she had missed the turn off of the gravel road, and had to back-track about a quarter mile. Seeing her there motivated me to stick close, and I soon passed her and just kept moving. If there was any redeeming portion of the race, it was the last 6 miles. I was cruising, relatively speaking, and moved up about 10 places in the final 6 miles. I felt pretty strong for the first time all day. If only there'd been a few more miles....

I appear to be running up Chinscraper.
Looks can be deceiving.

So, this report reads as a summary of a couple of bathroom stops, but seriously, I didn't think about much else during the run. Well, I thought about how insanely unrealistic my goals for future races are and how they need to be reshaped to better match reality, but I've happily gone back to my unrealistic goals post-race. Not every race is a good one, and 50Ks are not my favorite distance nor what I would call my strength. 5th place in a 50K does not mean that I suck. I'll be back to run a stronger race on another day, hopefully one of which coincides with my racing schedule. Hopefully I'll figure out my stomach issues over the coming weeks so as to not have 75% of my racing thoughts focused on tree diameter. Ovearll, an OK day race-wise. I'll call it a building block for things to come.

Chuckanut is a race I'd recommend and one I'll return to, as it has a little something for everyone--fast flats, good climbs and descents, and technical sections that keep you hopping. The start/finish makes for a fun festive atmosphere, and Krissy and crew put on a fun post-race gathering. The beautiful sunny day, which many of us in the PNW hadn't seen since October, and won't see again until July, was an added bonus. The post-race gathering continued on to a local brewery, and quite possibly the best part of the day was when we happened upon a local foot massage parlor open until 11 p.m. Score! Out of a group of 7, only Aaron and I ventured in, but the foot massage made what had turned out to be a pretty good day even better, and I woke up with absolutely no soreness and ready to jump back into training for the Lake Sonoma 50 miler, which is now just 10 days away. So, yes, I'd recommend Chuckanut, and if you go, hit the Boundary Bay Brewery afterwards and follow that up with a trip to Golden Foot Massage (207 East Chestnut Street).

15K PR @ Shamrock Challenge and Other Ramblings....

2011-03-15T03:51:00.004-04:00

I'm pretty sure I've never run a 15K before, hence the PR. A friend asked me publicly on FB if I wanted to run the Shamrock 15K, and being that Sundays are often longer tempo run days for me, I had no good excuse not to run it. In fact it would be the easiest way to get in a tempo run with company--7500 of my closest friends. And, potentially of greatest influence was the fact that the finishing award was a beer opener, which is something I need more of, so I caved. I immediately regretted my decision, but I knew that it would be good for me to man up to the challenge of completing a short road race. Another motivating factor for signing up was that I've talked about signing up for some shorter things, but never have the balls to do so (not sure why there are so many male references in this paragraph, but I digress....), so in an attempt to face my fears, registered.

My complete road racing history over the past 15 years: 4 marathons and one 10-miler, which was cancelled mid-race in typical DC-fashion because of a suspicious package alert. I have completed no distance under a marathon in 15 years, except for the VHTRC women's half marathon, which was my first trail race back in 2006. That trail race catapulted me into the VHTRC world, and very quickly into ultramarathons, and I haven't raced anything under a 50K since. The avoidance of short races all goes back to this intense dislike/fear I have for racing, and the shorter the race, the more race-like it seems. I would opt for a 50-miler over a 15K any day of the week.

On another side note, sine February of this year, I've started using a coach. That has meant a change to my schedule, some minor panic attacks, and an almost complete lack of days off. I decided to try out using a coach for a bit of a shake-up to the schedule, and to up the work load a bit. Also, I thought it might be nice to put the planning aspect into someone else's hands, thus take that stress off of me. Not that I ever used to really plan my workouts, but my complete lack of planning would often cause pre-race anxiety as to whether I'd trained sufficiently. I figured if I have a coach and a schedule and follow it, I should be more confident on race day. Right? While the other half of me is still wondering if training by feel isn't a better means of staying injury-free, and allowing for sufficient rest to adequately recover and build. While another side argues that I never really train hard enough, and need to up the intensity if I want to achieve the goals I have for this year. While that other half argues that this will result in a permanent body cast....I digress, again. So far, I'm sticking to the plan, although I have had a few freak-outs along the way, mostly related to assigned speed work on the track. Tracks bring back memories of dry heaving before high school races from nerves, and are not necessarily happy places.

We've managed to work around my fear and loathing of any distance over 800 meters on a track, so I've been doing more speed work than previously, and more quality days, in general, and only take a day off about every 15 days or so. Leading into Sunday, I'd had an "easy" week, in that my Thursday workout was only "medium" effort (typically my speed work day), my Wednesday was easy, as opposed to medium, and my Saturday long run was limited to 15 miles, but I'd still run at least 8 miles a day for the previous 14 days, and with Sunday's 15K, I was finishing up a 75 mile week. To high mileage runners, this isn't much, but I've averaged 75 miles/week over the past 6 weeks, which is up a bit from my average, which is typically closer to 65, with highs hitting 80. And a higher percentage of those miles has been at a harder effort. To sum it up, I've been feeling a bit sluggish overall, although feeling great (and faster) some days. Getting faster is the ultimate goal.

I almost stayed in bed on Sunday, but knew that I'd regret that decision later in the day when I tried to slug out a tempo run alone that I easily could have achieved by 10 a.m. with time for brunch, to boot. Missing brunch is one of the great travesties of ultra running. Brunch is something that is enjoyed late-morning to early afternoon, and for many of us runners, that is the time that we're out running. Don't get me wrong--I love my long runs in the woods. But, I also love brunch--possibly the week's finest meal. So, my motivating factors for dragging myself to a 15K road race were primarily the assurance of time for brunch and a bottle opener.

No major goals for Sunday, except to get to the starting line and endure the misery that is a road race. 9.3 miles is, after all, only 9.3 miles. And while I don't usually feel good until about mile 17, it is a distance that I know I can complete very easily. I wanted to push the pace, and get in a good fast tempo effort, without feeling feeling like I'd really done anything too traumatic. I do have a race this coming Saturday, for which I'd like to show up ready to put in a respectable showing. And 2 weeks after that is Lake Sonoma, which is the one I'm really looking forward to. Again, 50 miles is more my speed. I fear 15Ks, but 50Ks are pretty short, too. I don't have the leg speed to really hang.

I'd forgotten just how fast road races feel. The first mile felt like it was an effort to keep pace with the Red Lizard girls I'd kind of latched onto at the start. We hit the first couple of miles in the mid-6 range, and then started to climb Terwilliger. The course is a bell shaped curve, with a gradual climb from the start that builds into a steeper climb up Terwilliger, topping off around mile 5 rolling through mile 6, and then downwards to the finish. I managed to keep it in the low 7s through the steeper part of the climb, and knowing the climb pretty well, was happy to reach the Chart House, after which the worst of the climb is over. I surprisingly felt really strong on the climb, and passed my Lizard friends and many more. And then it was all up to leg speed on the downhill. I gained ground on the uphill passing a lot of people and not getting passed, but I was neutral (or losing ground) going downhill. Funny, because I usually consider uphill running to be my weakness and downhill to be my strength. But the bottom line is that I just don't have a whole lot of leg speed, and I was running downhill with roadies, and not navigating a technical downhill trail. The downhill miles were, at least in part, in the low 6's but I couldn't make up any ground in that section. After a few quick miles downhill, it was over.

Finish time was 1:02:15 (6:41 pace), around 17th overall and 2nd in my age-group. I was happy with the result, especially knowing that I was running on somewhat tired legs, and the Shamrock course is a tough one. I run the Terwilliger hill frequently on lunchtime runs, and it's no joke. It was fun to see a variety of Trail Factor folks out there (kudos to Gary the Vale who ran a super speedy race and reinforced that his offer to do speed work with me is a joke) and fun to be in a very different type of race setting. In the ultra community I get used to showing up at races where there are just a hundred or so runners, so it was fun to see 30,000+ downtown for the various races (5K, 8K and 15K).

I wore my Montrail Rogue Racers, which are technically a trail shoe, but a lightweight one that performs really well on roads. I will definitely wear these shoes on either road or trail. They are a very flexible shoe, which is one of the things I like about them, and make them a great road shoe alternative.

Will I try out another scary short race this year? Probably so. Will I run a road race as a goal or focus race? Probably not, but shorter road races are a great way to challenge myself and get in a quality speed workout, while working through my confidence issues around racing. And, they are finished in time to enjoy brunch.

Post race brunch with running buddies: omelette with bacon and goat cheese, and cheddar cheese grits accompanied by a bloody mary. Definitely worth it!

Pictures from a typical weekend in Oregon.

2011-03-07T20:52:00.005-05:00

Weekends tend to exhaust me, and I deserved to suffer a bit today, after a fun, action-packed weekend exploring Oregon. Saturday started off with a snowy run up Eagle Creek with a rotating group of friends. People just kept showing up, and the run got better and better. Even more so once we escaped snowy Eagle Creek, and discovered what is now my favorite Gorge waterfall, Wahclella Falls. Saturday's run was followed by Sunday's snowshoeing excursion near Sisters, at Upper Three Creeks Sno Park. 10 hours of activity over the weekend should always be topped off by good beer and conversation (we won't get into my theory on the directional flow of rivers here....) at a local brewery, which we accomplished at Three Creeks Brewery. Continue right into the week with a 5:45 a.m. Monday morning run with Ronda in Forest Park, and it makes for a groggy Monday. Here are a few photos from the weekend's outings:

Tunnel Falls. Always a favorite. This time a bit slicker than normal with a new little rockslide (to the right) and some ice (the trail ventures behind the falls).

En route back to the car we ran into Chris, Darla and Maeve. They helped turn what might have ended up as a 13-miler back at the car, into a 23 miler and the discovery of my new favorite spot in the Gorge.

The canyon leading up to my new favorite falls: Wahclella Falls. The falls are located one mile off of the 400 Connector Trail, 3 miles west of the Eagle Creek parking lot. I don't run the 400 much, but the section near Eagle Creek is much nicer than the sections I've run near Multnomah, and worthy of further exploration.....

The picture doesn't do it justice, but this is Wahclella Falls. The canyon leading up to it is an awesome little canyon with great diversity in falls, great light and lots of brilliant greens. A pleasant surprise on our little out-and-back from Eagle Creek to add on some miles.

The snowshoeing gang. Me, Sean and Justin. It took us about 4 1/2 hours to cover a 12 miles. Ugh. It only felt like a couple of hours though--fun times! Another bluebird day snowshoeing near Sisters.

Help! I'm being attacked by a giant flying hairball.

Oregon Team Montrail posing with our matching Dion snowshoes. They rock!

Check out those shades! This is what happens when you forget to bring along an appropriate pair, yet are fortunate enough to store a lot of crap in your car. You'd be amazed what you can find in Bridget (my car), including these classy shades. These will definitely see action in an ultra, soon.

And the best part of the day---Marionberry pie from Sisters Bakery. Yum! (Snowshoeing pictures were taken by Justin, for the most part.)

Team Montrail 2011

2011-02-04T15:15:00.000-05:00

The 2011 Montrail Team was announced this week, and I'm thrilled to be joining the team, as it's an amazing group of people. Maybe some of Ellie's speed will wear off on me? I've worn a lot of shoes in the past 4 years, but Montrails have been the ones I have turned to more often than not, and have gotten me through some tough technical races; I'm excited to represent them. Here's the official press release that announces the team:

Richmond, CA (February 1, 2011) – Montrail, the leader in trail-inspired running and recovery footwear, is thrilled to announce its 2011 trail running team. Comprised of top trail and ultra runners from around North America, the 2011 edition of Team Montrail will have the difficult task of improving upon its successes in 2010.

“At Montrail, we look to align the brand with athletes who are pushing the limits, achieving success and helping to shape the future of trail and ultrarunning,” said Montrail Athlete Manager Jesse Malman. “For 2011, we’ve compiled a group of individuals who are at the top of their sport, and committed to helping the sport to grow in popularity and in participation.”

In 2010, Montrail athletes had several notable wins and achievements, including:Ultrarunning Magazine’s 2010 Ultrarunner of the Year (Geoff Roes), 2010 Female Ultrarunning Performance of the Year (Ellie Greenwood) and 2010 Male Ultrarunning Performance of the Year (Geoff Roes). Max King had a stellar year winning the Xterra Trail Running World Championship, USATF Trail Half Marathon and Trail Marathon Championship, while Annette Bednosky topped the podium at the USATF 100 Mile Trail Championship. With several other first place finishes, course records and major speed records in 2010, Team Montrail has set a high bar for 2011.

This year, top runners Geoff Roes, Max King, Dakota Jones, Ellie Greenwood and Joelle Vaught will be back along with the majority of the 2010 team, as well as four new additions:

Megan Lund: This Aspen, Colorado native is a 2-time Olympic marathon trials qualifier and 2-time USA Mountain Running team member. She’s the winner of the 2010 Sierre Zinal Mountain Race in Switzerland. Megan looks to run many high-profile mountain races in Europe this summer, along with the Pikes Peak Ascent and USATF Trail Half Marathon Championship.

Amy Sproston: Amy lives in Portland, Oregon and is a 2-time Massanutten 100 winner, winner of the 2010 JFK 50 and the 2010 Pine to Palm 100. Her focus for the first half of 2011 will be Western States 100.

Ryan Burch: Ryan is a native of Colorado and is a force in the mountains. 2010 highlights include wins at the Antelope Island 50, Leadville Marathon and Grand Mesa 100. This year, look for Ryan to compete near the front at Western States 100 and Leadville 100.

Andy Henshaw: Andy lives in Steilacoom, Washington and at the young age of 25 is just beginning to find his groove. In 2011, he’ll focus on the 50 mile and 100k distances and will look to qualify for the USA 100k Team.

“This talented team of runners is also a group of active and influential members of the running community,” continued Jesse. “They are a strong group of race directors, coaches, trainers, and running addicts…we couldn’t be more excited about the year ahead for Team Montrail.”

With great excitement and anticipation, here’s your 2011 Montrail Trail Running Team:

Annette Bednosky – Jefferson, NC

Ryan Burch – Ft. Collins, CO

Luis Escobar – Santa Maria, CA

Ellie Greenwood – Banff, AB

Matt Hart – Salt Lake City, UT

Andy Henshaw – Steilacoom, WA

David Horton – Lynchburg, VA

Dakota Jones – Ft. Collins, CO

Max King – Bend, OR

Megan Lund – Basalt, CO

Ryne Melcher – Vancouver, BC

Sean Meissner – Sisters, OR

Luanne Park – Redding, CA

Jill Perry – Manlius, NY

Geoff Roes – Nederland, CO

Gary Robbins – North Vancouver, BC

Erik Skaden – Sacramento, CA

Amy Sproston – Portland, OR

Joelle Vaught – Boise, ID

About Montrail:

Montrail is a premium outdoor brand known for its high performance trail-specific and recovery footwear. Serving as the trail running authority since 1993, Montrail is a wholly-owned subsidiary of Columbia Sportswear Company based in Richmond, Calif. Montrail distributes its products through specialty outdoor, running and sporting goods retailers throughout the United States and over 30 countries worldwide. Montrail is committed to delivering innovative performance footwear with outstanding runability for the New Breed of Runner. To learn more about Montrail, please visit: www.montrail.com.

Easing back into it in short shorts

2011-01-31T01:12:00.003-05:00

Nothing about that title is true. Some friends were giving me static about the length of my shorts on our run yesterday. They weren't that short. They fit my 5'2" friend very well (sorry if I'm underestimating your height, Ronda), and yes, I'm 7" taller, so maybe they are a bit short. If you're going to cover up, then you might as well wear tights, but if it's 50 degrees in January, then the shorts should be as short as you can make 'em.

A distant view of shorts in question.

And in terms of easing back into it, I decided to run the MadAss 50K as my first run back after my 60 mile DNF at HURT 2 weeks ago. I was feeling pretty down, in general, after HURT, and really did nothing active during those 2 weeks, aided in part by a 80+-hour work week my first week back from Hawaii. Well, I ran 2 miles on Wednesday with some colleagues, but I don't really count that as a run. And I did a little yoga, but really, not much of anything.

I've been kicking myself all day for not easing back into it a bit more slowly, as my ITB seems to be a bit irritated. I've never had ITB issues; I don't think I've even ever felt my ITB before, but I certainly felt it from about mile 12 on yesterday, and cut the run short at 22 to play it safe. It's what I thought was a sore quad during HURT, but after some investigation into the area, I'm guessing it's actually my ITB. It's not at my knee, but is about 4 inches up from there along the outside of my thigh. I've been rolling, stretching, and icing the heck out of it, in hopes of thwarting a potential issue as I gear up to jump back into training this week. Argh. I'm really excited about the races I'm entered in up to and including WS, and dread the thought of being injured. And I'm really excited to start training for said races. Here's hoping it's all in my head.

Trying to focus on the positives.....

2011-01-22T20:06:00.000-05:00

.....rather than the negatives, and avoid talking about HURT.

So, on a positive note, the UROY rankings came out, and I was again honored to show up in the top 10, coming in at number 9 for a second year in a row. These polls are always a mystery, but to even have my name show up with the list of folks that received votes--many of my ultrarunning idols--is an honor.

http://www.ultrarunning.com/ultra/features/news/roes-garneau-named-ultrar.shtml

So, as I sit here feeling like a loser, and dwelling on my DNF at HURT, this UROY ranking (as artificial as it is) reminds me that I don't completely suck, that I have run well before, and will run well again. And, that I've DNF'ed before, and then gone on to win races, and then gone on to DNF again, and then run average, OK races that are neither here nor there. Not every day can be a good day. Some days are great, some are OK, and some suck. And such is life....I did nothing fatal, I did nothing even close to fatal (for which I regret, but maybe karma stepped in, because I was actually about to fall off a cliff on lap 4?), but I'll try again, and hope that the next time, I have that blissful type of day that keeps me coming back. Regardless, I'll keep HURT in the back of my mind, and use it to push a bit harder the next time.

Time to HURT

2011-01-11T01:01:00.001-05:00

I hope that this experience isn't going to be as painful as it sounds, but I think the name sums up pretty well the experience I'm about to have. HURT, a whole lot of hurt. Training for HURT is finished, and it's time to start this thing in the Hawaiian jungle. I want my off-season to begin. But there's this 100 mile thing in the way.

Training for HURT has not been easy. Training in November and December, when all of your running buddies are taking breaks during the off-season, and the rain in Oregon has begun in earnest, is not always fun. It begins to drag on, and the thought of weekend long runs becomes a downer, rather than a delight. The mud thickens, the snow line descends, and the more-limited options sound like sentences. Another run in Forest Park? Ugh.

The reason I put my name in for the HURT lottery was that flights to Hawaii from Portland are cheap, and a mid-January break from the Portland rain sounded like a good idea. It's way easier to get to Hawaii (5 hour direct flight at $350 round trip) than about any other place in the US. A good reason to go to Hawaii? Yes. But I've been reminded that people do go to Hawaii just to go to Hawaii. There is no 100 mile requirement to be allowed to visit. Alas, many of my trips involve running, so the thought of just lying on the beach for a week was not very appealing (why was that?). When I signed up I had no intention of running the 100 miles, but rather the now defunct 100K. I guess I didn't read the fine print very well, because the 100K drop-down option disappeared this year. Alas, that was months ago, and I've long been informed of my fate so as to properly train to do the whole shebang.

The usual 100 mile freak-out has begun, and the following panicky thoughts cycle through my head:

Crap! I'm out of shape. Why didn't I run more? Do more yoga? Lift weights (more than twice)? Will my ankle tendons be happy? Why didn't I get in any longer days? Spend more time at bikram and in the sauna? What was I thinking? I hate 100 milers.... I start comparing my training schedule to others, realizing what a slacker I am. Why didn't I put in some 120 mile weeks? Why didn't I spend 6 hours a day running? And then reality and a little sanity re-enters and I remind myself that I have a full-time job, and already spend a fair amount of my free time working out in some shape or form while attempting to maintain some semblance of a social life, and attempting to do a decent job at work. And that I should stop comparing myself to others.

And in looking back at the last cycle of training, it's probably been the most I've ever done. After 20+ years of running, I started keeping a log this past April, so don't have a good record of prior years, but I'd guess I'm running on average, more now than ever. After a recovery week post-JFK, I've averaged 71 miles/week for the past 5 weeks, with a high of 86 and a low of 54. Definitely not high mileage in the ultra world, but high mileage for me. Along with a bit of bikram on the side for balance.

The part I feel most nervous about is a lack of really long runs in the past few months. I'm hoping that muscle memory from the past year--during which I raced 2 50Ks, 2 50 milers, 2 100Ks and a 100 miler--carries through. Since Pine to Palm 100 in mid-September, I ran the JFK 50, with a handful of runs around 20 miles, including a 31 miler and a 25 miler in the past few weeks. Is that enough for long runs? I guess I'll find out soon enough. While my lack of long runs makes me feel like a slacker, in terms of total mileage my December total of 322 is the highest for the year (I've never claimed to be a high mileage runner....). I still don't feel quite ready, but I never do. I guess the technical nature of HURT scares me too, and I'm really curious to see just how bad it's going to be and how many times I'm going to crash. I do sort of like technical trails, though....depending on how many times I crash, of course.

A healthy dose of fear and self doubt.....that's how I'm approaching HURT. I just hope I'm in one piece at the end of it.

3 Non Joggers Guest Appearance

2010-12-13T14:45:00.002-05:00

I was invited to go hang out in Russ's basement last week. You can hear the results of that interesting experience here (episode 9):

http://3nonjoggers.com/

(It's a podcast about ultra running, mas o menos.)

On the running front, I managed 86 miles this past week and I'm feeling it after a 49 mile weekend. Of those 86 miles, 66 of them were run in the rain, and about 30 of those in a downpour. It was a wet week here in Portland. I think that might be the highest mileage week ever for me, with 80 being the previous high (not counting race week totals). This week and next I'll shoot to maintain the mileage, and then start tapering down for HURT. I'm feeling ready for my mini-vacation from running, which will come post-HURT (while laying on the beach in Maui). It's been a good but long year of racing, and I'm looking forward to some down time to enjoy some winter snowshoeing and skiing before gearing up for Miwok and Western States in the spring.

JFK 50: Way out of my comfort zone.

2010-11-28T18:07:00.007-05:00

You can blame the length of this post on Delta airlines and free internet access during the holidays, as I sit here on my flight home to Portland from DC, reflecting on last weekend's race:

Leading up to JFK, I hadn't given much thought as to what my goals were until my friend, Darla, asked me during a run the weekend before. And I verbalized to her that I wanted to run around 7 hours. It just popped out of my mouth, without prior thought. After I blurted that out, I somehow felt responsible for trying to achieve that now "public" goal (so thanks for asking, Darla!). I've run sub-7 once before for 50 miles (6:56 in Coban, Guatemala) on roads with plenty of climb and some elevation factored in, so I knew that I had it in me for the distance. However, I wasn't sure how slow the Appalachian Trail section would be and if the C&O Canal Section would bore me to the point of drowning myself in the Potomac. My fastest trail 50 miler to date was a 7:34 at Bull Run Run. JFK is technically a trail race, although the fact that 26 miles of that are on the flat towpath and another10 miles are on road (2 + 1 at the beginning, and 8 at the end), makes it a pretty "easy" trail race. "Easy" probably isn't the correct term here. It's a very "runnable" 50 miler, in that you don't get any opportunities to walk between coming off of the AT and moving onto the road section, and there isn't much room to justify walking at all. And running a flat 26 miles in the middle of an ultra is not easy. Mind-numbing, yes, leg-trashing, yes, but easy, no. If you saw me finish on Saturday, the pained expression on my face and my crippled gait would lead you to believe that it hadn't been "easy."

Mile 10. Feeling good and enjoying the Appalachian trail section. Photo courtesy of www.tristaterunnur.com.

I took a pretty hard one-week taper going into JFK. I ran a solid 20 miles the Saturday before, but then ran no more than 7 miles on Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday with 3 rest days. I haven't had a long break since last winter when I was nursing some ankle tendon injuries and was starting to feel like I needed one. I had planned to take 2-3 weeks off after Pine to Palm in September, but after a week, I was itching to run again, so did. Thus, after working back up to a couple of 70 and 80 mile weeks (big weeks, for me) I was feeling sluggish and decided to take one easy week pre-JFK. The reason I signed up for JFK was that I wanted to get a 50 miler in before HURT in January. When I realized that JFK would coincide with my trip back to DC for Thanksgiving, it was an easy solution and wouldn't require extra travel besides heading home a couple of days early. It's also a Montrail Ultra Cup race, and would allow me to have enough races to compete in the Cup.

I learned long ago, that looking at entrants lists is a somewhat futile activity, as names always get added at the last minute, and the JFK entry list was too long to search, anyhow. I knew that Jill Perry was running because I saw her at sign-up the day before, and that there were a few fast marathoners, but didn't know much besides that. I had meant to at least check previous years' splits at some point, but forgot to do that, so had no idea what splits I might want to be hitting if I were to really try for 7 hours. I also forgot to bring any gels, because it was advertised that the aid stations would have them and I forgot about probably wanting one in the first several miles, so grabbed a chocolate Santa and some gummy savers from Sheetz as fuel until l I hit a gel-stocked aid station. I really hadn't given the race a whole lot of thought or planning, but as is the case with my training schedule, I'm not much of a planner when it comes to these things. And the less thought I give it, the less stressed out I get, and that's a good thing. So, I was pretty calm the night before, enjoying a nice dinner with Kris and friends, and lucking into finding gnocchi on the menu at the Italian restaurant in Hagerstown. Gnocchi and pink sparkly toenails are my 2 pre-race rituals/superstitions.

Race morning was lovely---chilly at the start, but warm enough for short sleeves with some arm warmers and mittens. It was fun catching up with VHTRC friends in the school gym pre-race, and while walking to the start. I was pleasantly surprised to see Pam Smith, a friend from Oregon, standing next to me on the starting line.

JFK is the oldest and largest ultra in the country (~1200 runners this year; you can read about the history here), and the mass of people at the start was a bit unnerving. And as one would expect from a race that starts on roads, includes lots of fast guys, and also lots of newbies to ultra-running, it started out at a pretty good pace. I attempted to start out fast to begin the trail section towards the front. The race is very distinctly divided into 3 sections: The Appalachian Trail, the C&O Canal Towpath, and the road section.

The Appalachian Trail:
The first 2 miles are on gently climbing road, up to the AT. Being that the trail section comes early, and is infamous for turning into a congo line, there is good reason to try to start out fast and avoid the masses. The Appalachian Trail section is technical. It's rocky, crowded and covered with leaves, which make it a bit precarious. After climbing pretty consistently for the first 5 miles, the AT section is rolling, with more climb than descent, until you reach Weverton Cliffs, where steep switchbacks take you down to the Towpath. I was moving OK along the AT section, although my legs had no juice on the rolling climbs. I managed to stay upright until about a half mile from the end of the AT section, where I managed to face plant on my right knee and left middle finger. That finger has already seen hand surgery from a running fall, so I was not happy about its swollen and purple state. I wasn't in the lead anywhere on the trail section, and couldn't see the person in the lead, but somehow when I passed through the aid station at the transition point leading onto the C&O, I was in first. I'm guessing there were some bathroom stops or shoe changes involved, because I was a bit confused when they said first female as I came through the aid station.

Stats: 15.5 miles in 2:19:55 for 9:01 min/mile

The C&O Canal Towpath:
That soon changed, as the girl in yellow, who I think had been leading on the AT, quickly resumed the lead. I passed her back within a mile, and tried to get into a rhythm, while trying to plan for a bathroom stop at the next aid station or so. I passed Anstr at about this time, which was a highlight of the Canal section, as he seemed genuinely happy to see me, and sped up to run with me for a few feet. It was nice to see VHTRC shirts scattered throughout the day, and to come upon many matching "Happy Trails" shirts as we passed the early starters.

The next aid station came along, and I expected to be passed as I took a longish stop, but exited the bathroom and aid station still in the lead with the bike escort. I assumed the girl in yellow must have faded a bit, and I stopped worrying about what was going on behind me. I continued to pass people on the towpath; it gave me something to think about besides the fact that this section seemed endless. Some of them were early starters, and some were just fading, but I don't think I got passed by anyone along the towpath, and managed to pick off quite a few. I cruised along pretty comfortably, except that I felt like I was pushing, and started to feel like the wheels would eventually come off. But the slower you go on the towpath, the longer it lasts, so I kept pushing and pleading for the mile markers to pass more quickly. At some point, I saw Horton, and he told me I probably had 10 minutes on the next female, and that she was hurting, so I wasn't too worried, as I wasn't feeling that bad.

My Garmin died during Pine to Palm and hasn't yet been replaced; I used to rely on it pretty heavily, so really wasn't sure what pace I was keeping. A very nice French guy from Virginia ended up running with me the last several miles of the C&O and when I asked him at some point, we were on 7:30 pace. We both seemed to be pushing, but dying at the same time. The aid stations came and went, and although I struggled, I managed to maintain a lead, and what people told me was a comfortable one. No one was passing us, even though the pace was slowing, and those last miles on the towpath seemed to last forever, By mile 38 or so, I really started to get grumpy, and couldn't wait for the canal section to end and for that hill to come to give me an excuse to walk. Finally we reached the final C&O aid station, and turned off the onto that glorious road, and that first steep little hill, which I was all too happy to walk.

Stats: 26.3 miles in 3:27:14 for 7:52 min/mile

The Road:
I did manage to start running again after the hill, and although it wasn't fast, I kept running. At the same time, I knew that 7 hours was starting to slip away, and I just didn't have the heart (or legs) to go after it. I slogged through one aid station, stopping for soda and gels, and then another. I went back and forth with my friend from the towpath, and another guy who seemed to be moving better than we were. I entered the mile 46 aid station and was focused on the table, when I heard the guy working the station mention, "It's so exciting to see such a close women's race." Huh? I gave him a dazed and confused look, and turned around to see Pam entering the aid station about 10 feet away. She scared the crap out of me. I had absolutely no idea she was behind me. I was so out of it, I hadn't seen her approaching for the last 4 miles on road. We exchanged cheerful "hellos" and she told me that she was trashed and that it was mine, and to go for it. I wanted to tell her the same thing, but it didn't seem an appropriate time to get into a debate about who was more trashed, so just took off, still startled at seeing her there. I was feeling completely trashed, but was also not willing to give up after leading for 30 miles. So, I surprised myself, and dug as deep as I could and pushed on, looking back frequently to assess the situation. My "sprint" out of the aid station had put some time on her, and I kept surprising myself by maintaining that distance, as my legs were completely shot.

Throughout the day, when I was feeling low I kept thinking of Mike Broderick, and some dear friends and their little boy who has had an unfair struggle in his first few weeks of life, and wouldn't let myself fall into negative thoughts. In this weekend prior to Thanksgiving, I had a ton to be thankful for, including my health to be out here doing what I loved with many others who share the same passion. I used these same thoughts that had been coming back to me all day to dig as deep as I could, remembering that my pain was temporary, and that I chose this pain. I also remember thinking during this stretch that I wished I could see a few hours into the future to see what the eventual outcome would be. But, at that moment, it was up to me to determine what that outcome was so I pushed on, fearing the finish line would be too far away.

Stats: 8.4 miles in 1:10:07 for 8:20 min/mile

Yes, I was in as much pain as my face implies. Photo from www.herald-mail.com.

The Finish:
I finally reached the final turn, and asked the crossing guards how much further. 0.3 miles. $#@&! I was trying to push, but my legs simply weren't moving. It's like that basketball dream I always have where I'm playing in big furry mittens, or the running dreams where I'm running in place. I looked back countless times in that final 0.3 miles, while willing my legs to move forward, and for the finish line to move towards me. After what seemed like days, I finally reached the line, and Pam hadn't caught me. 6:57:16, with Pam finishing 21 seconds back; the closest finish in JFK history for either men or women. Way too close for comfort, and a good first step in breaking out of my comfort zone. If you've read this blog before, or know me, I've mentioned that I don't like to race, and that competition causes me to back off. I surprised myself that I had it in me to fight for this one.

Many thanks to Pam, for pushing me, and congratulations, also, on a great time and race. We pushed each other under 7 hours and should both be proud of that effort. In 48 years, only 7 other women have finished under 7 hours. Kind of funny that we'd both come all of the way from Oregon to duke it out in Maryland, but a great day for Team Oregon (Dan O from OR was 5th in the men's race, too). I really thought that Pam allowed me to win, but you can read her account here (maybe she's just not admitting it publicly).

Some people hate JFK for the size, $, Towpath, and/or hype, but lots more people love it. Some people do it year after year after year. I was lucky enough to watch Anstr finish his 28th in a row. 28 years of the Towpath---wow. I'm definitely glad I had the chance to do it, as it was a unique ultra experience that is not found elsewhere. The military connection to the event also adds to the uniqueness of the event, and it was especially exciting that this year for the first time in the 48-year history of the event, an active-duty military guy won the event. Brian Dumm, air force, ran 5:52:02 in what was another close finish; the second closest finish in history.

There's a nice story on the race here. And if you watch the video on that page, you can see my pathetic final "sprint."

And something I didn't know until the awards ceremony---apparently JFK is one of the races that has special qualifying standards for the national 100K team, such that anyone running under 7:15 can be considered for the team. So while I don't plan to run the 100K national championships in Madison in April, I could still be considered for the team. I'm guessing chances are slim that I would get on the team without running in Madison, but it's exciting to have met the qualifying standard. I'd love to represent the USA in Amsterdam next year.

Breaking out of my Comfort Zone

2010-11-11T18:26:00.003-05:00

The other day someone asked me if I run marathons. I replied with one of those, "Well, um, not really. Marathons kind of scare me. I've run a few marathons, but haven't run one in a few years. I run anything over a marathon, but marathons are short and fast, and that kind of scares me." They gave me that odd look that people often do when I describe a marathon as "short and fast" and scarier than a 100 miler. Well, to someone that likes a race with over 20,000 feet of climb, marathons, as a race, are short and fast and do scare me. The thought of a half marathon is less scary for some reason, but the thought of a 10K or 5K is downright petrifying. I don't think I've run a 5K since my last cross country race in college; it's been a good 15 years. So, my goal for 2011 (besides placing in the top 5 at Western States) is to run a road marathon. Fast. Well, as fast as I can. I'd like to run a 3 hour marathon.

Dad and I (ten years later)

I've run 4 marathons. My first was Big Sur in 1998, which I ran with my dad. It was fun. We finished together in 3:34'ish, and it wasn't so bad. My dad--who started running later in life (mid 40s) and is a pretty speedy old fart with a marathon PR of 2:55--didn't think his daughter--who took the only year off of running in her life during her first year in grad school and had started training in January for an April marathon--would be hard to keep up with, so didn't train too intensely for the occasion. Let's just say that I was still cracking jokes at mile 24, and dad had stopped laughing. But, we finished together, and it was a beautiful marathon and really fun experience.

My second marathon was the Asunción Marathon in Paraguay in 2002. I was in my 3rd year of Peace Corps, and living in the capital at the time, thus used to dodging buses and inhaling diesel fumes. It was an experience, and very Paraguayan (the organization of it--or lack thereof--was quite different than one might be used to or expect, which made it that much more endearing). Again, I ran around 3:30, and wrote a letter to Boston to ask if I could use it as a Boston Qualifier, being that it wasn't a certified course. They agreed, and my 3rd marathon was Boston in 2003.

Training for Boston was a hoot. I was backpacking my way home from Paraguay, and thus got to run my way up the coast of Chile, into Argentina, and Peru (not literally, I traveled by bus, boat and plane). I ran 3:12 at Boston, motivated by the huge crowds and water stops, and the intense contrast to the marathon I had run in Paraguay to qualify.

At some point, I wound up in DC, so ran the Marine Corps marathon in 2005. I had a really good first 23 miles and was on 3-hour pace. I had never experienced the "wall" before. Wow. It really does exist. I now respect the wall, and what zero intake of calories during a race will do to you. I staggered in in 3:17 with a (really hot) marine helping me up that last little hill.

Not long after that trail running entered my life, and not long after that the VHTRC and my ultra-running friends. I jumped into my first 50 miler at Masochist in 2006 and haven't looked at a marathon since. But that needs to change. I plan to step out of my comfort zone in the next year, or so (see, I'm already pushing it back) and train for a road marathon PR. It's not just about running a marathon. I can easily do a marathon on any weekend and I often run that distance or longer for a training run. It's about putting myself out there and going for 3 hours. Eeks! I'm already making up excuses to get out of this.

Memorable Runs: Entoto, Ethiopia

2010-10-19T14:24:00.004-04:00

After Pine to Palm I was interviewed by a guy from the Ashland paper, and made a comment to him about being frequently misquoted or having things taken from my blog that appear elsewhere that make me look like a flake. Example from Trail Runner Magazine on the Massanutten 100: "Toenails....I lost at least four....and it's the start of cute shoe season, damnit." And whatever I said after the SOB 50K that this guy quoted wasn't much better. So, when I saw his article on Pine to Palm where he made a comment that I would be traveling for work to Ethiopia and Kenya, and that running overseas is just too dangerous, I cringed a little. I think I mentioned that in some places I travel to for work it is too dangerous to run on the streets, but Addis Ababa is certainly not one of those places, and it would be a huge stretch to say that "overseas" is dangerous. Heck, my DC neighborhood was much more dangerous than most places I travel. And while the streets of Addis are safe, with a population of around 3.4 million (2007) and cars that would never pass an Oregon emissions test, the air quality doesn't encourage one to run there after about 7 a.m. So, I did end up doing some treadmill running, and only ventured onto the streets of Addis a handful of times (but not for security reasons).

However, I did get to experience a run up near Entoto, which sits up in the hills above Addis. What is exciting about this? Well, this is where many of the great Ethiopian runners train. While I didn't see anyone famous (not that I would recognize them, although one of them lived in a huge house across the street from the hotel according to the guard), it was pretty incredible knowing that I was running on the same footpaths and dirt roads that get pounded regularly by the Ethiopian elites. So, on 10-10-10 I enjoyed a lovely 10 mile run at 10,000 feet up around Entoto, and below are some photos of the scenery on the run. It was a Sunday, and maybe a rest day for the greats, as someone in our group mentioned. But on a weekday, those roads and trails are the training grounds of the best in the world. There were killer views, and some really cute kids tending the herds. And I was sucking air the entire way....

The meskel flower, which blooms around the time of a religious holiday by the same name (apparently, also known as tickseed sunflower in the eastern US, where it is considered a weed).

That's Addis down below. You can see the smog hanging over the city. It's pretty bad.

Donkeys (and women) carry eucalyptus down to Addis, where it is used as firewood. The women carry huge bundles of sticks on their backs which are probably 3 meters long and weigh much more than the women do. You see the women on the steep road down into Addis with these huge bundles.

The churches at Entoto. Not part of the run, but close to where we started the run. Many churches are octagonal in shape...I don't remember why.

To top off the day, I saw the movie "The Athlete," about the famous Ethiopian marathoner, Abebe Bikila (in Amharic with English subtitles). Abebe won gold at the 1960 Olympic marathon in Athens (barefoot, apparently because the shoes his coach brought him were too small), and again in Tokyo in 1964; the first African to win gold. It's an interesting movie and it was awesome to see it in the theater in Addis (where the entry cost $2, and popcorn and soda together were less than $1). Many of the landscape scenes from the movie reminded me of the fields up around Entoto. Definitely a movie worth checking out for you running geeks out there.

Pine to Palm 100: A keeper.

2010-09-27T07:08:00.001-04:00

I think I've discovered how to run 100 miles: sandwich it between an insanely stressful few weeks at work, and an equally stressful work trip to Africa. I had no time to stress about the race for weeks prior, and no time to digest it afterwards. I was looking forward to starting the race, just to relax for 24 hours or so, before worrying about heading home and packing. The race itself just kind of came and went. It wasn't exceedingly painful, but I had my issues during the run. There were highs and lows, but the valleys weren't so low and the peaks weren't so high. It seemed relatively easy in comparison to other 100s I've done, or at least my memories of them. Keep in mind that all previous 100s I had completed resulted in death marches of upwards of 30 miles during which I had to lift up my legs with my hands to clear rocks, etc.

Up until a couple of weeks before, I wouldn't commit one way or the other to running. After Where's Waldo I had decided that I was mentally and physically tired, and didn't want to do it. But I didn't have a really strong argument for not running, I was signed up, and I eventually talked myself into it. I'm signed up for HURT and am planning to run WS, so really wasn't sure I wanted to do 3 100s in a year. See previous post--I simply don't think that they are good for you and long-term, don't think that my body is built to sustain multiple hundreds each year forever. In the end, I decided to run, knowing that I would have a down training month while traveling for work in Nairobi and Addis Ababa, so rather than be frustrated by the fact that it's hard to train on the road, what better plan than to run 100 miles, and jump on the plane the following day and enjoy a month off.

The P2P course is a challenging one, with over 20,000 feet of gain and an equal amount of loss. It's also long, and I'd be curious to know just exactly how long, as I'd guess it's a wee bit longer than the advertised 101.5. I knew there would be a fair amount of road, but I was still surprised by just how much road there really was. There were long long stretches on gravel road that were really runnable. There were also some fairly technical trail sections, namely the scramble up to Wagner at about mile 88, or so.

September in southern Oregon is sunny, they say, and the race was advertised as having spectacular views of Mt. Shasta and the surrounding area. Several days out the forecast was calling for 100% chance of rain, and it didn't disappoint. It wasn't raining at the start, but started not long afterwards, and pretty much rained the rest of the day and into the night (and again, into Sunday--I was fortunate to finish before the morning downpours on Sunday). There were a few brief periods of reprieve, but the views were socked in throughout. Some of the views were really nice, not that you could see far, but the close-in valleys and peaks were highlighted by lots of low wispy white clouds moving through quickly (bringing in more rain clouds).

So, my memory is already foggy of the course, but some highs and lows from the day:

Issues:

My stomach was off from the start, and stayed off the first 30 miles with frequent trips into the woods. My stomach was off in the other direction starting after mile 60, when the gag reflex took over and trying to swallow much of anything resulted in losing a lot more. I hate to puke and almost never do, so this wasn't so much fun. The only thing that I could keep down was Ultragen, which is a recovery drink that is fairly high in calories (one hand-held water bottle full has about 380 calories). Starting at Dutchman (mile 65) this was the only way I was getting in calories, but I could only get this from my crew, who I saw at mile 65 and 83.

I was fairly concerned about getting lost. While a series of topo maps had been published for the course, there was no course description to accompany them. One of the Co-RDs, Ian, had given a quick verbal course description during the briefing the night prior--if that could have just been captured in words, it would have made me feel much more confident that I would be able to stay on course. I knew the course would be well-marked, but there is always that fear that the course will be vandalized, and markings removed. In the end, the course was very well marked, except for the fact that the color of those markings were not what we expected. It had been stressed during the pre-race briefing that all of our markings would be either pink/black or green, and much of the course was marked in orange. This caused some doubt in certain sections, but I managed to stay on course all day, with very minimal back-tracking.

I got really cold at the aid station before Dutchman and then the climb up into Dutchman. By this time it was starting to get dark, and the rain continued while the temps started to drop. I flagged down a car and asked for an extra layer on this climb. The friendly driver started to take off a long sleeve tech shirt, but I pointed at her warm purple hoody. A sign of how cold I was in that I not only requested clothes from a stranger, but than was picky about which layer she offered me. Thanks April--you were a life saver! Once I got up to Dutchman I grabbed my crew and headed into a corner of the tent where I proceeded to strip naked in order to put on a warm dry base layer. Luckily Tonya was there to shield me from the rest of humanity, as I was cold enough to not really care. Warm layers, 3 on top and tights, complete with warm gloves and a winter hat. I admit, I overdid it a bit, but I was really cold, and the layers could be shed as needed.

The Positives:
My legs felt good, more or less, from the beginning and my quads never died, as they had in past 100s. My pacer might argue to the contrary, but I felt like I was moving fairly well for the last 30. I was running all of the downs, not so many of the ups, but the last 30 has more down than up. My biggest fear going into this was that the last 30 miles would be a death march, as it has been in all of my previous 100s. While I wasn't flying, I was still moving, and we ran in pretty much all of the last 10 miles or so descending into town and the finish. All day, I felt I was climbing pretty well, and enjoying the long descents.

The weather actually wasn't that bad, except for the 5 miles leading up to Dutchman, and then Dutchman. There were no views, but the rain kept things nice and cool, and I really enjoy running in rain. Despite being wet all day, my feet stayed really happy, and I didn't change shoes until mile 83. I wore my CrossLites and they felt great all day. I changed into dry socks and the more cushiony Montrail Streaks and they were a welcome change until lots of wetness quickly took away the joy of some dry socks. Overall, my feet held up great, despite the wet conditions, and once the pruniness went away, there were just a few minor blisters as a result.

I had a great crew and pacer. Thanks Challen, Marjon and Randy for giving up your weekend to follow me around. I think my crew might have had more drama than me, as the transmission went out at Dutchman, and they were trying to deal with this, while leaving me blissfully unaware. Because of the weather, this was a race where crew was invaluable. Without a crew, if you didn't happen to have all of your warm weather gear at Dutchman, you were at the mercy of the weather (and the helpful volunteers who shed a few layers to help runners on their way).

The volunteers and aid stations were excellent. Dutchman AS rose to the task of gale force winds and blowing sleet, and the other aid stations were equally helpful. Hal and Ian put on a top-notch first-time event.

I hadn't really set a goal time, except sub-24 hours. At some point, as the mileage in certain sections seemed insanely long (Wagner and environs), I knew that I was getting closer to 24 hours and further from 22, but was happy with a 22:39 finish. Given the weather, and my stomach, it was all I could do, and I'm happy with it. I ended up first female and sixth overall.

The hardest part of the weekend came on Monday when I jumped on a 10-hour flight to Amsterdam, followed directly afterwards by a 8-hour leg to Nairobi. Trekking through the Amsterdam from one terminal to the next felt much more like the death march I'm used to experiencing in the final miles of a 100 miler. I felt no shame in using my 100 mile finish to my advantage. On the first flight I went back to the back of the plane to scavenge for snacks, and commented to the stewardess that I was STARVING after just having run 100 miles. Luckily, she was a runner, and rushed to my rescue, which included mixed nuts and a hot fudge sundae out of the first class cabin. Thank you, dear stewardess, wherever you are. On the second flight, I schemed my way into an exit row with endless leg room. Despite these perks, by the time I got to Nairobi, and despite wearing compression socks, my ankles and feet were huge and jiggled when I walked. I had nothing to do all week except sit in meetings, so I enjoyed the lack of movement, and by Friday was craving a run. I waited until Sunday, so took a full week, but actually feel really good, and got in good (but short) runs on Sunday and Monday on the treadmill.

Now, off (I'm jumping on a flight in a couple of hours) to Ethiopia for a couple more weeks of work and relaxation (on the running front).

100 Miles: Why?

2010-09-11T21:59:00.003-04:00

100 milers. They're not my favorite. I dread them. Well, maybe dread is a bit strong, but I fear them. Running 100 miles isn't good for you. There is nothing healthy about running this far. 50 miles or 100K is really long enough. Long enough to take the speed element out of the equation and really challenge you both physically and mentally, but short enough that your internal systems don't go completely out of whack. Long enough that you're good and sore the next day, but not so long that you have to walk down stairs backwards clutching the railing. Everything just really starts to break down after 70 miles. You go into the race knowing that you're not going to leave it the same as you went into it. Maybe this is part of the draw. Physically speaking, the afterward part is not appealing, but on an emotional level, you know that you are going to learn something about yourself in responding to whatever the day throws at you. I was just looking at some pictures of me after my first MMT. My hands looked like inflated surgical gloves, and I looked, overall, like hell. I looked happy, in a "I just went through hell and back" kind of way. Physically stressed, emotionally exhausted. The second time I ran MMT, I'm pretty sure I was on the edge of renal failure upon finishing. I recovered without medical intervention, but it felt like someone had kicked me in the lower back repeatedly for several days. Can that be good for you long-term? I vomited and was peeing blood in the shower afterward. That post-run shower was definitely a low moment for me. Both years I ran MMT I literally had to pick up my legs with my hands to lift my feet up over the rocks going up the last climb because my hip flexors were beyond the point of doing any work in those last miles, and the last 30 miles consisted of a lot of hiking and not much running.

So, if I 100 miles isn't my best distance, why do I plan to run 3 of them over the next 10 months? Well, what about ultra running makes sense? I can remember finishing my first 50 miler and thinking, "That sucked! Never again!" but waited no time before throwing my name in the hat for a second and a third, and within 6 months for a 100. There is something about these distances that makes absolutely no sense but is very hard to resist. Obviously, I haven't figured out how to gracefully finish a 100 miler yet. And as much as I claim to dislike the distance, I want to figure it out. I want to race and finish one, without the last 30 miles turning into a death march. I've started 4 100 milers and finished 3. Bighorn was my first, and I tried to drop out starting at about mile 50. I was not successful in dropping, although I wish I had been, and it turned into a 50 mile run, followed by a 50 mile hike. I then ran MMT, where I had a good race except for the last 30 miles. Wasatch was next, where I dropped at the half way point. Then another MMT, where I had a great race except for the last 30 miles. Those last 30 miles are the most important, though. They are what make for a great 100 mile race.

MMT 2009. Before the wheels fell off.
Photo by Aaron Scwhartzbard.

My strategy to date has been to go out fairly hard and then just hang on. So, I've gone out strong in hopes of running while I still can, with the belief that I'm going to be crawling the last 30 miles no matter what pace I start out at. I don't believe my body can perform after 70 miles, regardless of the pace at the beginning. I have yet to try out an alternate approach. So, it sounds like there are 2 things I need to work on, one being trying out a different strategy, and the other believing that I can persevere through those last 30.

Coming up over the next 10 months, I'm signed up for Pine to Palm, HURT, and Western States. Pine to Palm starts this Saturday in Williams, OR and finishes in Ashland. A new event, the course climbs over 20,000 feet, and descends the same, with 3 "epic" climbs. I would love for P2P to not turn into a death march. I like to run. I don't like to slog through the last 30 miles, shuffling in for a finish. Here's hoping I can figure out how to have that kind of day that will get me to Ashland running.

Where's Waldo 100K: An anniversary run.

2010-09-06T17:56:00.004-04:00

A year ago, I flew out to Oregon from DC to visit a couple of friends from Peace Corps, and to run the Where's Waldo 100K. It was my first trip to Oregon. I've traveled a lot, both in the US and overseas, but somehow I had never been so lucky as to visit the PNW. I think I'm glad I didn't visit Oregon at the age of 22, because if I had, I might not have had the itch to explore elsewhere, and I wouldn't trade all of the experiences I've had for the world. In the days prior to Waldo, I had great visits with my PC friends in Corvalis and Bend, explored the coast a bit, went for a memorable run on Mary's Peak, and spent a day at Breitenbush (which was a culture shock having just returned from a month in Afghanistan). And then there was Waldo, with awesome views and smooth runnable trails. Two other DC/VHTRC friends ran Waldo, as well, and I told them before we departed that I planned to move to Oregon. There was something about Oregon that drew me, and I wanted to call it home. So, in the ensuing months I found a job in Portland, packed up my things in a big yellow Penske, said goodbye to DC, and deserted my 2 kittens. By November, I was living in Portland. So, this was an anniversary race for me of sorts, marking a year of change and new adventures.

The sweet view of the Waldo Lake from the top of the first climb, Fuji. Last year we camped right on the lake.

Three weeks prior at White River I had been insanely nervous. The entire week before WR I was overly anxious, which is not uncommon for me pre-race. I wasn't nervous before Waldo, which was odd, and made me a bit nervous. It's funny how that works; I hate getting nervous, but then I get nervous if I'm not nervous. I was excited to have some east coast running friends flying in on Thursday, as another VHTRC friend was getting married on Sunday. It was going to be an action-packed weekend, with Kerry, Mitchell, Aaron and I running Waldo on Saturday, followed by Keith's wedding on Sunday.

Waldo starts with a nice climb out of the ski lodge. I remember walking much of it last year, and now I remember why. It's pretty steep and definitely meets my steepness gradient for walking. But once you crest the top of the hill there are some really nice runnable miles down to the Gold Lake aid station. My VHTRC buddy, Aaron, passed me right before the AS and commented that I was moving really quickly. Hmmm....Aaron is usually miles ahead of me, so was I moving too quickly? I didn't feel like it, but the fact that I stayed in front of him for 6 miles made me wonder. I could see both Aaron and Meghan heading out of the AS as I was heading in, and I kept them in sight on the climb up to Mt. Fuji. The climb was comfortable, and I ran much of it except for the steepest parts, and let Aaron and Meghan's walk breaks dictate mine. Coming down off of Fuji I calculated that Ashley, in third, was at least 8 minutes back, and the others were all back of her by a bit, so Meghan and I were somewhat comfortably out front. I started to believe that I could actually achieve my goal of qualifying for Western States. Waldo is part of the Montrail Cup, and as such, the top 2 get automatic entry into WS. New rules this year allow that to roll down to #3, if one of the top 2 are already in. Meghan finished 2nd at WS last year so is an automatic entry, which meant that as long as she was in the top 2, it would roll down to #3, so my goal was to get one of those top 3 spots. I also wanted to take about 40 minutes off of last year's time and finish in 11:20. I figured that 11:30 would likely be good enough for top 3 based off of previous years' results, and if not, then lots of people had really great days out there and that's cool, too.

I look like I'm about to hit the ground to avoid sniper fire. I wasn't, and actually felt pretty good going up the climb to Fuji, and felt great on the way down. I was cruising down and caught up to Meghan shortly before we reached Mt. Ray aid station at mile 20. We ran the next several miles together, and had a nice chat. It was fun.

Meghan and I were together for a few miles after the Mt. Ray AS (mile 20), and that section was really enjoyable. She mentioned that we were under 11 hour pace (oops), and I mentioned that my only goal was for a WS spot. It seemed counterproductive to pass Meghan heading up, when she's a stronger climber than I, so I tucked in behind. We ran together for a few miles, until I eventually moved ahead. I then bonked hard and started to have some stomach problems. I started to feel a little light headed and generally crappy and spent some time in the woods. I was surprised that Meghan didn't pass me, and arrived at Charlton Lake AS, still in first. A Portland running buddy, Randy, who had to drop because of injury, asked me if I wanted his pacer to jump in with me for the last 20, which gave me something to look forward to. I mentioned to Randy that I was starting to feel kind of crappy. About a mile out of the aid station Meghan blew by me with her pacer. Yowzer. She passed me like I was standing still, and I lost complete sight of her within about 10 seconds. I figured that was the last I'd see of her.

One of the lovely little lakes as you head up the first climb. It was not yet this light out as we passed, nor was I planning on a leisurely run, so did not carry my camera. This was taken in July during a trail work weekend.

Similar to last year, the section from Twins 1 to Twins 2 was the hardest part of the day for me. It wasn't as hot as last year, but this is the least visually interesting part of the course (it's not bad, just that the first 20 and last 15 are so nice), and includes a lot of gradual runnable uphills. My memory of this part of the course is that it is all uphill, but I doubt that is true. I just seem to lack energy in this part. Nothing exciting happened here. I kept plugging away, trying to make myself run when I wanted to walk, and eventually reached the sweet little downhill into Twins 2, where Marjon was waiting for me. I felt pretty good again by this part, and we cruised downhill. I always feel guilty when I have a pacer, in that I don't want them to be miserable, so I kept trying to run for the most part, until we reached the climb to Maiden Peak. This climb comes at mile 50, more or less, and is a steep one. I can remember stopping with my hands on my hips last year panting for air on the climb up. This year--while it still seemed to go on endlessly--wasn't nearly as bad, and I kept up a good hiking pace on the parts that were too steep to run (much of it, although there are some runnable parts, too). I was surprised to eventually see both Aaron and Meghan up on the switchbacks in front of us. My mind had switched from racing for first to holding onto second many miles prior, and I wasn't really looking forward to a downhill chase from the top of Maiden. Meghan didn't know I was behind her, and saw me as she came down from the peak, about a minute back. I knew the minute she saw me, that I wouldn't see her again, and I didn't. Maybe I should have tried a little harder to catch her, but I was pretty darned psyched to be in 2nd, and wasn't so worried about chasing after 1st. By the time we got to the final aid station at mile 54, I was a couple of minutes back, and fairly unmotivated to chase.

Coming out of Charlton Lake aid station. I always look so darn happy. I was a little stressed here. I was feeling a bit feverish/dizzy and had just made an unpleasant pit stop and was convinced I'd caught the stomach flu Kerry might have had the day before. I think it was just altitude and some stomach issues. I was in the lead here, but it wasn't long before Meghan blew by me with her pacer. They passed me like I was moving backwards.

The most frustrating part of the day was the section from the last aid station to the finish. My pacer had stopped for a pit stop, so I was alone at the time and it seemed to me that the PCT turn should have come and gone. Over the course of a couple of minutes I convinced myself I had missed the final turn. I stopped and studied my map a few times, and continued on timidly. I finally decided that I had missed the turn, and headed back in the other direction. I hadn't gone more than a couple of minutes before I ran into my pacer, and we both came to an agreement that I couldn't have missed the turn. We turned around, and lo and behold, the turn was just beyond where I had turned around. In the end it didn't really matter, it was just frustrating to get turned around and lose the 4 or 5 minutes that would have taken me under 11 hours and a bit closer to Meghan. But, I finished in 11:02, which got me both my time goal, and an automatic qualifying spot at WS. I was thrilled! And overall, it was one of the more enjoyable races I've run, in terms of just enjoying being out there. I didn't stress too much about what others were doing, just about pushing myself and running my own race. Full results can be found here.

One of the Rosary Lakes. I had just run this section a month ago so one would think I would be able to follow the trail.... The Rosary Lakes part is one of my favorites along the course. Not only because they are 4 miles from the finish, but they are also pretty little lakes that look overly inviting.

I almost never finish a race and think, "That was fun,"--especially not a 100k race that takes 11 hours. But I have to say for the most part, with the exception of maybe 15 miles--Waldo was fun. At least my memories of pain or suffering faded really quickly. And while several people commented to me about what a great race it was between Meghan and I throughout the day, it didn't feel like a race, and I didn't feel any stress of racing. And while I didn't run on Sunday, I felt good enough on Monday to do a short run with Keith in Forest Park before he and Tracy departed on their honeymoon. I still feel like I recover slowly, but it is amazing to think what a 100K would have done to me just a couple of years ago in terms of recovery. Unfortunately, I crashed on my knee in FP later that same week, and the recovery from that has been somewhat slower.

The rest of the weekend was a blast. The wedding was beautiful, and what was just a 3-day weekend with friends was packed full of funny stories and great memories, and by the time Aaron, Kerry and Mitchell flew out on Monday, it felt like we'd been together for weeks (in a good way). Here's hoping we can continue the VHTRC Oregon vacation in August in years to come and that I can convince a few more to make the move. There's already talk of a Waldo weekend or CC100 weekend for next year....

Gear: La Sportiva Crosslites with Drymax socks. Feet felt great afterward. I've always suffered from blisters, but it seems I've finally found a combination that doesn't leave my feet trashed. A couple end of toe blisters that might have been prevented with gaiters.

Hydration/nutrition: Hand held until mile 20 and Nathan pack thereafter. Water and gels of various flavor/brand, mostly expired. Drank sports drink from aid stations.

Good Memories: Cabin Weekend 2006

2010-08-12T15:06:00.002-04:00

I came across this photo the other day and it brought back a lot of good memories. It was taken somewhere along the AT in Shenendoah National Park. It was August of 2006, my first exposure to the VHTRC, and the first time I'd ever run over 26.2 miles. This run was all part of a cabin weekend and was the day I really got hooked on trail running and the VHTRC. I didn't realize it at the time, but this small group standing here along with the larger VHTRC family would have a major impact on my future weekend activities and my life.

Some fond memories of this run:

The route was on and off the AT, with some steep ups and downs via connector trails, with stops for breakfast, a historic tour of the former summer home of Herbert Hoover (?), some stream soaking, and a late afternoon ice cream stop right near the end. Early on we stopped for breakfast at a wayside along Skyline Drive (Big Meadows?) where Tom proceeded to consume more than I had ever watched anyone consume during a run. I was in awe, but also curious as to how this was going to work out for him. About 5 minutes into the run I found out, as he left it all along side the trail.

I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. It was August in Virginia and I wasn't used to carrying anything while running, but I did have along a waist pack that held 32 oz of water. I was thirsty much of the day. Luckily Sophie and Kerry were kind enough to share once they realized the newbie was about to pass out. I was also starving, having brought along maybe a couple of packs of Sharkies for what turned into an 8++ hour adventure. Sophie saved me with some dried fruit and nuts, and between Sophie and Kerry, they managed to keep me alive until we finally made it to the camp store and ice cream.

Quatro taught me a thing or 2 about running downhill as he flew by me on more than a few occasions. I watched from behind, in awe. I have since learned to run recklessly downhill. I remember wondering why people kept walking the uphills. Again, this was my first run with a group of ultra runners, and I'd never seen anything like it.

Holy Tit harassed me the entire weekend. He kept screaming at me to shut up (I can be quiet at times, especially upon first meeting a group of crazy outgoing runners who have been sitting around a campfire drinking beers for hours).

I drove from DC with Kerry and Kirstin and they adopted me. This weekend would soon be followed by many more weekend adventures at Kerry's new training center in Front Royal--Portabello--and the ongoing search for a suitable pool boy (yet to be identified). These were also the days when WUS (the Woodley Park Ultra Society) was founded and my Tuesday nights were taken, too.

The pain following this run was intense. I thought my quads were broken and would never be the same. I seem to remember the distance as 34 miles; I think we named this one Quatro's death march, but many runs could be called the same. Never had I run this far over such varied terrain. I distinctly remember watching others frolicking about the next morning at the cabin and realizing that I was alone in my extreme pain. These people did this all the time, and it didn't even faze them. Little did I know, that I would be sitting here 4 years later, 10 days after a 50 miler and 10 days before a 100K, as one of them.

White River 50: Engage

2010-08-05T16:09:00.005-04:00

The White River starting line. I'm just to the right of and behind Yassine, smiling oddly enough. Race photos and views of Mt. Rainier taken by Glenn Tachiyama; finish line photos are by John Wallace III.

There's a scene from Top Gun after Goose dies when Maverick is back in a plane for the first time and his head isn't in it. "He won't engage," the instructor tells the sergeant guy. Well, so ultra running isn't exactly like flying fighter planes, but in races I often resist engaging (racing in this case, not shooting at people from a fighter plane). My head's just not into "racing,"--if there is someone in front of me, I'd rather slow down than speed up. I had a little mantra on Saturday, and it was, "Engage." Short for, "Get your head out of your ass and push yourself." I had been really anxious the entire week leading up to White River, and was really hoping to avoid getting buried by nervous thoughts. At the end of the day, it's really just an internal battle, so who was there, or where I finished among them really shouldn't matter. That might sound nice, but in reality I wanted to place well. I had a goal time in mind of something under 8:30. Not having looked at pace charts from previous years, hitting that goal was kind of just a crap shot. My estimate was based on where people finished last year, with hopes of finishing second, which was just shy of 8:20 last year. Regardless of place, I wanted to run a time that would give me some confidence in lining up at future races.

White River is really just 2 big climbs and 2 big descents, with a several miles of flattish rolling trail thrown in at the beginning and at the end. The scale of the elevation profile looks a little misleading to me. The climbs feel bigger and longer than they look in the elevation profile, but if you look closely, you'll notice that both climbs go on for about 10 miles. They were gradual and runnable in parts, but I found myself hiking a fair amount of them, as well. The downhills were about as steep as they look in the profile--big fun!

The reward for heading up the first climb: first glimpse of Mt. Rainier.

The first flat: The first few miles into Camp Sheppard are along the river on a flat to downward-sloping trail. I started off pretty quickly, and led until after Camp Sheppard, where Meghan and Ashley Arnold floated by me going up hill. I felt fine on the flats, but once the climb started, the wheels came off quickly.

The first climb: This was my low point in the race. I had pissed off my hip flexors in bikram yoga earlier in the week, and they were really feeling grumpy, acting as if they might cramp up and stop working at some point. I also had long strings of people behind me at various times, and this always causes me stress. I don't like to set the pace for others, especially if I'm holding them up, so constantly worried about whether I should step off trail or not. I eventually got to a place where I was running alone with Matt, and he kept me moving until I eventually stepped aside and let him by. I wouldn't see him again (although I finished ahead of him...funny how that works). I eventually made it up to the top of the climb, and just as I did, Amber sped by me. She was flying, and even though I felt like I was moving up on the flats to the turnaround, never had in her sight. Despite my crappy climb, I made it to the turnaround, ended up back in 3rd as Amber was still in the aid station, and was told I was about 3 minutes back of Meghan and Amber. Not bad for as crappy as I felt on the climb.

I swear I heard Glenn tell me "Don't smile," so I just look confused.

The first descent: Oh how I love to run downhill. I tried to take it conservatively, as I knew there was still a lot of running to be done, but it's hard on switch back-laden trail to contain the fun that is running downhill. I kept a pretty conservative pace, and was surprised to pass Ashley right at the bottom of the hill. I moved into second, but saw Ashley and Amber again as I left the Buck Creek aid station, the half-way point, more or less. I grabbed my iPod at Buck Creek, thinking I might want it for the climb up Sun Top.

The second climb: My first climb buddy, Matt, had described the second climb as much gentler and runnable. What? Maybe in Anton's world. But in my world, the second climb, especially the first few miles of it, were anything but gradual. I was running out of water quickly, and my lower and middle back were screaming at me. I couldn't decide if it was back pain, or kidney pain. There were all sorts of obstacles on the second climb: my screaming back/kidneys, my empty water bottle, a group of horses, some mountain bikers, and hot exposed sections of climb. I didn't feel as low as on the first climb, but I was definitely being lazy. I used the guy in front of me (a friendly British guy from Seattle) to gauge when to run and when to hike. He had 2 water bottles, which appeared to be over half full, and I kept resisting the urge to ask him to spare some. I finally worked my way past him and his underutilized water bottles just before the Fawn Ridge aid station, where I downed 4 glasses of water, filled up my water bottle and moved on. The rest of the climb, more gradual once you pass the aid station, seemed almost a cake walk after some fluids. The only really interesting thing in this section was a few mountain bikers who whizzed by at breakneck speed. Luckily I wasn't listening to music, as they blitzed by me flying downhill around sharp turns. Although the climb seemed endless, I finally passed Glenn, who was snapping pictures right below the aid station. Woohoo, now for the fun part!

The views on the first climb were amazing, until you got the view from the second climb.

The second descent: Weeeee!!!! Now for the fun! So, at the end of the seemingly endless climb, you pop out at the Sun Top aid station on a gravel road. Like all of the other aid stations, this one was great, and the volunteers were extremely attentive. They told me I was 5 minutes back of Meghan (which was what I'd been hearing since Buck Creek), so I grabbed what I needed, and started the descent. I guess I hadn't read the course description very closely because I knew there was a road section on this descent, but didn't realize that the entire descent was on the road. The signs read something like, "Runners next 6.5 miles on road." Yippee! Running down a steep gravel road for 6 miles is fun at first. I cranked on some music for the first time of the day, and Split Lip once again helped me pick up the pace. The downhill felt great for a good while, but really did start to suck after about 4 miles. It was steep, and it just kept going and going. I didn't see a soul until about 2 miles from the bottom where I passed a guy that was walking. He must have been in some pain to be walking down this glorious hill. I glanced at my Garmin occasionally and my pace ranged from 6:10 to 7:10. A good place to make up some time, after the slow ascent up Sun Top. My quads felt good, although I felt like I was torturing all of my abdominal muscles. Eventually, all good things must come to an end, and so too, the hill. As I approached the next aid station I heard someone say that Meghan was 10 minutes up. Wow, she must have flown down that hill, as I felt like I was cruising, and according to the estimates people offered up to me, she'd gained 5 minutes on me on the way down.

Always glad to see the finish. And psyched to be under 8:30.

Skokum Flats to the Finish: I had heard that the last section could kind of drag on. You've just come off this killer downhill, and then you pop into the woods for 6+ miles of technical trail along the White River, that isn't 100% flat. It was a nice rolling trail, with plenty of roots, although it was not nearly as technical as I was expecting. I ran pretty much all of it, although I wasn't pushing too hard, and it seemed to drag on forever. I made the mistake of asking a few different people how far it was to the gravel road. I know better than to ask a question to which I already know the answer. I was wearing a Garmin after all, and I knew when I had left the previous aid station. The answers were miles off, and the final kid that told me I had "less than a mile" to the gravel road, when in reality it was about 100 feet took the prize for the least accurate answer. OK, so it was true, but there's a big difference between a mile and 100 feet at mile 49.5. Again, don't ask a question you don't want to hear a wrong answer to, and to which you already pretty much know the answer.

David Horton letting me know that I was the 1st Loser.

I came across in 8:22.03. Meghan finished 11 minutes ahead of me in 8:10.51. I had no gauge of where I was time-wise all day, so I was pretty psyched to come in well under 8:30 and hold onto 2nd. Overall, a good day. The post-race grub was good, and several of us got a nice soak in the White River, which is truly white. Well, kind of like diluted milk, a result of glacial run-off I was told. I'd been dreaming of sitting in that river those last 6 miles, and enjoyed the company while soaking. An added bonus was $600 for finishing second, and a pair of La Sportivas. I wore the Crosslites during the race and they were awesome, so I'll be ordering another pair. I've been looking for a favorite trail shoe for a few years, and I think I've finally found one.


The top 10 women.

I highly recommend this race: well-organized, a beautiful and well-marked course, great downhills, amazing views of Mt. Rainier, enthusiastic friendly aid stations volunteers, good post-race BBQ, and a large and talented field. It was a fun day in the mountains!

Our Team Oregon carpool had an awesome day! Yassine and Pam both finished 5th.

My SOB story

2010-07-16T15:44:00.003-04:00

Siskiyou Outback 50K:

Not in the mood to write, so I'll just add some comments.

Happy thoughts:

First girl! Winning is almost always fun. Although my time kinda sucked, which wasn't so much fun. My time definitely wouldn't have finished first in most years. Luck in picking a slow year, I guess. 4:40.01. Not bad, but I would have been happier had it been around 4:30.
Other good news, I won a really kick-ass cowbell that is gold and sparkly. I plan to use it frequently and obnoxiously.
The course was gorgeous. Beautiful views of Shasta throughout.
Met some really nice people and enjoyed hanging out in and around Ashland.

Issues:

I forgot to bring socks. I found some thin crunchy dirty ones in my car that I knew would result in unhappy feet.
Garmin was out of juice so I ran without a watch. Annoying. But I survived.
I forgot to pick up breakfast on Friday for race morning. Luckily I found a few-day-old chocolate croissant in my car. It's amazing what Bridget hides within. And, I didn't see the coffee cart until it was way too late (2 minutes before the start).
I still hate to race or the thought of racing. I think I often move faster in training runs.
The elevation really affected me. SOB runs between 6000 and 7000 feet, and it felt like it.
The 4200 feet of climb felt more like 8,000. I thought the course would be flatter?

On Sunday I wanted to take advantage of being in Ashland and run some of the Pine to Palm course. Pine to Palm is a new 100 miler in September that finishes in Ashland. Because I still had a 5-hour drive to get back to Portland, I opted to run the last section from Ashland, rather than drive to other sections of the course, and add on to my return trip. I ended up running an out-and-back on the last 8.5 miles of the course, so 17 miles total. The section I saw was mainly dirt road, and was basically an 8.5 mile climb, followed by 8.5 miles down, although there is about a 1 mile climb in that last section. That last hill is going to be a quad-trasher, assuming the quads are not already trashed, and the last mile into Ashland is truly going to suck. It's super steep and paved, and was painful on this run, so I'm imagining what it will feel like after 99 miles.

I wasn't too sore after Saturday's run, but by the end of Sunday's run, my quads were ready for an ice bath, so I enjoyed some soaking time in the reservoir in Ashland, where the water is icy and refreshing. I LOVED Ashland. Can't wait to go back, which won't be too long, as Pine to Palm is just 2 months away. Time to ramp up the miles. I've got White River 50 at the end of July, Waldo in August and then Pine to Palm. The thought of 100 miles has me a bit nervous, but we'll work through that. My one major fear is that the last 30 miles turns into a death march. That's been the case in every 100 miler I've done, and I really don't want to do that again.

Some other happy thoughts.... In falling and smashing my knee a few weeks ago, I completely forgot about the pain in my right ankle (posterior tib tendon), and it seems to have vanished. Both ankle seem to be healed! Woohoo! And this just adds to my theory that to cure one injury, you simply need to acquire another one in a different spot. My knee is back to 100% now, too, so I'm jinxing myself here, but appear to be injury-free. My recent face plant reminds me that anything can happen at a moment's notice, so I'll enjoy this injury-free status until the next time I crash.

June funk

2010-07-08T17:31:00.000-04:00

June was a busy month, with a couple of weekends filled with visits from DC friends, and another taken up with a trip to CA for pacing duties at Western States. It was also a fairly crappy month in terms of training. The visits from friends were both on weekends where I would normally have run big mileage, but couldn't because of entertaining responsibilities, and a couple of other issues that led to two other low mileage weeks. The week of WS I caught a cold/flu that had me out for most of the week, and the week after WS I crashed hard on my knee on Leif Erikson in Forest Park and couldn't run for a few days because of the pain and swelling. I ended up getting x-rays, which showed that nothing was broken, but the doctor is putting me on a strength training program because my knees aren't as pretty as he'd like to see at my age. He didn't seem overly concerned, just that my knee cartilage is showing signs of degenerative joint disease. I hope to use these knees for many more years, so I'll follow his advice and start doing some strength training. I've never had any knee issues, other than some creakiness when walking down stairs, so am hopeful that my knees stay healthy once I can get the soreness and swelling in the left one to disappear.

So, what I had hoped would be a string of weeks in the 70-80 mile range, has been a more consistent 60 miles/week. I've never been one to log my training, until a few months ago, when I started logging it on Daily Mile. I averaged out the last 15 weeks, and my average is 55 miles/week. Sounds pretty low, but when I account for some low weeks because of travel, crashing, illness, tapering, etc, I guess it's not bad. I'll try to bump the running average up to 70 miles/week, hitting some weeks in the 80s and 90s as I get ready for Pine to Palm in September. The weekly mileage figures also don't take into account cross training, which I've been trying to do on a regular basis, including some road biking, swimming (altho I haven't been in the pool since April) and bikram yoga. I've really gotten hooked into bikram since about February, and have been going 3 or more times each week. Each class is 90 minutes, so it is a bit of a time suck, but I think it's been helping with my overall core strength, ankle stability and is great heat training. And I definitely feel at least a bit leaner since I've been going. And I love the heat--105 degrees and humid. I easily sweat out a couple of buckets each class. It kind of makes up for the heat I'm missing by not living in DC anymore (although it is supposed to reach 100 here in Portland today). I can't say that I'm getting any more flexible, but at least I'm not getting any less flexible. And flexibility is definitely not a sign of fitness, as there are some really large out-of-shape people in the class that can bend themselves into pretzels. I will never be a pretzel. I've accepted that fact since grade school when I never got a presidential fitness award because of my abysmal performance on the seated toe touch.

One June highlight included climbing Mt. St. Helens. We somehow lucked out and picked the perfect day, which was cold and cloudy at the bottom, but sunny with fresh snow at the top. The fresh snow made for good traction, some great views of the surrounding peaks, and lots of snow blindness and sun burn for members of the group. I ended up with a red neck, which was better than the burning eyeballs experienced by others. The hike was steep, but not overly difficult, and doing it with a group of non-runners, made for an easy hike with lots of waiting for the group to catch up. I bought my first ice axe, and am looking forward to climbing other OR and WA peaks to justify its purchase. I'd like to do Mt. Hood, Adams and Jefferson in the coming months.

The last weekend of June I paced for Annette Bednosky at WS. She was a rock star, placing 8th woman, and really keeping a solid pace during the 38 miles I was with her. I've never run so much in any of my other pacing experiences. It was good to see at least part of the course in case I ever run the thing. I've heard good and bad things about the hype at WS over the past few years. And during the course of the weekend, I have to admit I was pretty turned off by the entire event and hoopla surrounding it. But a few days after the event my feelings about it seemed to shift, and I would really like to run it if I ever get the chance, but if not I won't be crushed. There are many other (and more interesting) hundreds out there. I'd like to run WS next year, but I'm almost more excited to run San Diego, which could be the plan if I don't get into WS.

This weekend is the Siskiyou Out and Back 50K down near Ashland, OR. I signed up months ago, and am not really feeling in a good place training-wise to be running a race, but it will be a good long training run for some upcoming races. I might even try to do a double, and get out on the Pine to Palm course on Sunday. I've never been to the Ashland area, so it will be nice to see what I've signed up for in September. SOB will be balmy, and is higher than I had realized (the course profile makes it look like it's all between about 6000 and 7000 feet--what was I thinking??), so it could really suck. But what doesn't kill me makes me stronger, right? Or leads me one step closer to dropping this ultra habit. I'm just hoping to have fun out there, to remind me again why I keep running these things.

Pocatello 50 miler turned 50K--2010 blizzard edition

2010-06-01T01:26:00.000-04:00

As I came into the mile 26 aid station a very nice man said to me, "The race has been cancelled." My response was, "Thank god." I then asked him to confirm a couple of times just to be sure, as I could hardly believe the joyful news. I was trying hard not to succumb to the cold and didn't want to drop at mile 32, but the thought of heading up Scout Mountain, which was a good 1500 feet or so higher than anything we'd encountered so far, was less than appealing. And with cold, wet feet, and a feeling that I could again start shivering uncontrollably at a moment's notice, I was happy, maybe for the first time on Saturday, at the thought of not needing to head up Scout Mountain. Not only not needing to, but not being allowed to. I think I might have teared up again at this point, but this time not out of sheer misery. Thank you RDs for this sane decision in what felt like insane conditions. I had decided on more than one occasion during the first leg, that these Idaho folks were crazy and that I was definitely not hard core enough for this little adventure.

Before heading out of the mile 16 aid station, I wondered how many times does one allow oneself to nearly freeze to death in one week? I'd been on a long bike ride the Sunday before on Skyline drive in Forest Park, which had turned ugly once it started to rain hard at the turnaround. By the time I'd gotten home, my lower back was spasming, and I was shaking uncontrollably. I couldn't shift very well, and was having trouble using my brakes, in addition to clipping out of my pedals. I had really embraced the rain in Portland all winter, but that ride and then the ensuing crappy week of rain and cool temps had me really over cold wet weather and dreaming of summer.

This was my first real trip to Idaho. I'd driven through on my drive west, but had only spent the few hours it takes to drive through on I-84. I picked Sean up in Bend on Thursday night and we headed eastward (I'm still working out the fact that Idaho is to the east...having lived in the midwest or east coast my entire life, I still think that everything "west" is west), and he quickly experienced my driving-induced narcolepsy, as he was awoken from a nap to the sound of me slapping my face to stay awake (just one of the many reasons I like to carpool). After witnessing our first of many accidents (motor home meets herd of cows--not pretty for either party) we camped for the night somewhere along a river in Oregon. Friday was pretty uneventful: drive, car accident, road construction, check the weather forecast, car accident, keep driving, check the weather forecast, etc. The weather forecast looked promising for Pocatello and the forecast was no longer calling for rain. Woohoo!! We had opted to camp at the start/finish, and we arrived almost in time for the race briefing, where we were warned about the several miles of snow that we'd be trekking through on Scout. A cool and breezy evening, but after a good meal, I had a warm and cozy night's sleep and the 6 a.m. start rolled around quickly.

The start was misleadingly warm. I wore a sleeveless shirt, arm warmers, wind breaker, and mittens on top, and a skirt. But the temps started to drop not long after we started, and by the time we were on our way up the first climb, the rain had started. It wasn't pleasant, but wasn't miserable. I was sucking air and really feeling the altitude, so was thinking more about the lack of oxygen, than the rain. The rain made the descent down into the mile 8 aid station insanely slippery. The trail resembled a louge track in this section and I as I slid down the hill, bouncing off the banked walls, it kind of felt like one, too. There was one point when I crashed off to the left, managed a couple of steps, and then face-planted off to the right. I think I had only crashed twice by the time I got to the mile 8 aid station, but there were more crashes to come. The mud in this section was really special; both slippery and clumping, so while sliding downhill, I managed to pick up about 6 inches of it on the bottom of each shoe (Montrail Masochists, don't know if any shoes worked well in this mud, but these didn't).

The bush whack section was next. And I have to mention that I'm surprised this was even allowed by the Forest Service (although I have no idea what type of land this particular section is classified as....). While it would be fun and interesting on a nice day, it does entail about 150 people traipsing off-trail up a steep climb. It's a tad bit disruptive to the habitat here, I would think. But that's a tangent.... So, about a third of the way up this section of bushwhacking up to a ridge, the sideways "snail" started (a mix of snow and hail--the sideways part, because it was coming at us sideways because of the gale force winds). I do remember being happy that the mud had finally fallen off of my shoes, so there was a positive in this section. Roch passed by me on the climb, mentioning that we only had 20 minutes to the top (it looked like 2, so I was a bit disheartened to hear this), and I remember losing sight of him, and thinking that that was a bad idea. It didn't take long before I was miserable and cold. I couldn't feel my legs, my fingers were numb, and I was starting to swear frequently (and cry less frequently). The markings were pink and blue ribbons tied low onto little shrubs. The course was absurdly well-marked, for the most part, but as the snail picked up and as it became harder to keep looking ahead with the pings of snail in the eyes, it was really hard to figure out where the flagging was taking me. I knew that I was completely under-dressed for these conditions, and needed to spend as little time as possible up on top.

I got off course at some point, and luckily as I made my way back to the last bit of flagging I had passed, a guy in the distance (probably only 20 m, but there was zero visibility, and who I later found out was Kelly, who had spent lots of time up here and knew where he was going) pointed off to the left, so I headed leftwards. Unfortunately, many other runners didn't have a "Kelly" who knew the area like the back of his hand, so many groups of runners (there were reports of groups of 7 and 12, along with a few solo runners) ended up wandering (some for several hours) trying to find their way. After veering to the left, we eventually hit a jeep road type of trail that ran along the ridge. I don't remember how long we were on the ridge beyond this, but there was eventually a turn off to the right, which I found (some missed this turn, too, and Kelly had blown by me on the ridge), and the downward trek to the City Creek aid station had begun. Running was a challenge, as the mud was again slick, and I couldn't feel my feet or legs, but there was hope in that downhill meant an aid station, eventually. At some point I emptied my water bottle, because I was too cold to drink, and the bottle was too heavy to carry under my arm without dropping it. I had taken it out of the handheld strap, because I needed to bunch my hands up into balls in my mittens to keep them warm and I couldn't do this and hold onto the bottle with a hand. I tried to stick the water bottle down my skirt but my hands weren't functioning well enough to do this, and tried to stick it down my bra, but again, this was a challenge, so eventually just left it along side the trail when I dropped it. I crashed again at some point, flat on my butt, with both mittens buried in sloppy mud.

It eventually stopped snowing, and the trail turned dry. It even warmed to the point, that the day felt completely un-extreme, and I had a feeling the people at the City Creek aid station wouldn't understand if I tried to explain I had nearly frozen up on top. Alas, by the time I got to the aid station, I could hardly think of a reason not to go on (except the fear of how much Scout Mountain would suck in a blizzard), assuming I could put on a couple more layers. All I had in this drop bag was a Payday, my nathan hydration pack, and a short-sleeved shirt, as I had saved all of my "warm" gear for the Mink Creek aid station at mile 32 for the climb over Scout (my "warm" gear consisted of dry shoes and socks, pants, a thin capilene long sleeve shirt, and a hat, which all seemed completely inadequate at this point). I put on my short sleeve shirt and Linda loaned me a jacket (which made the rest of the journey thoroughly more enjoyable--thanks Linda!) and I grabbed my pack. I had been surprised to see Sean and Joelle standing at the aid station when I got in. I was somewhat relieved to find that I wasn't the only one that thought the conditions up there had sucked, and had considered dropping. The three of us left the aid station together shortly after I got in, although they quickly lost me. I hadn't taken time to eat anything at the aid station so was bonking a bit, and my lower back was screaming from being clenched from the cold. The hydration pack wasn't helping matters with the lower back pain, but my water bottle now lived somewhere on that last descent.

I grudgingly made my way up the climb, and hit the next aid station, which was just 2 people, and asked if I was in for another cold and miserable climb and ridgeline. They confirmed that this was a likely scenario. Without further whiney details, this climb also became cold, windy and snowy. There was much more snow at this point (parts had probably accumulated 4 inches or so), which made the traction pretty good, as the mud was covered by snow. The course was kind of frappuccino-like in both color and consistency, and was pretty runnable once up and over the last steep section of climb.

Eventually, the mile 26 aid station came into view, and the glorious news was received that the race had been called. We now just had to make our way down to the Mink Creek aid station at mile 32. They tried to encourage me to warm up in front of a heater, but I just wanted to get down and get warm where I could stay warm. I picked up a guy that had been warming at the aid station, and ran with him for a few miles on what was a very runnable section. The snow really improved the grip. He eventually dropped me, and I passed by a relay runner that had passed me on the climb. He looked to be having a pleasant hike to the "finish." The course turned to complete slop for the last half of this section, and my feet were cold, wet, and ready to be done. The entire run had really bothered the issues I've been having with the tendons on the inside of my right ankle, as there was no stability with the mud, snow, slush, etc. and my ankle tends to do OK on even terrain, but complain a bit otherwise.

The tent and "finish" eventually arrived, and I devoured some hot chocolate while Sean had no trouble convincing me not to camp out on Saturday and to head into Pocatello to find a hotel and a hot shower. We quickly departed and shuffled down the road to the start/finish area, which as it turned out was only about a quarter of a mile from the Mink Creek aid station. I don't think the hotel reception desk was too thrilled to see us come in, covered from head to toe in mud, but being that my teeth were chattering uncontrollably, and my hand was shaking so much that I could hardly sign my name, they just handed over the keys quickly. A hot shower followed by 15 minutes in the hot tub, and I was back to normal, more or less.

Lessons learned:
1. I don't like to be cold. Not really a lesson learned, but a reminder. As I lay in bikram yoga class this afternoon basking in the heat and humidity, it made me question my move away from the 100 degree humid heat that I loved about DC summers so. I love that feeling when you get into a car in the summer and you just kind of cook before you roll down the windows. I can't say that the opposite is true. I rarely enjoy feeling cold. Maybe I'll look into some hot ultras next year.

2. For any mountain ultra, I need to prepare for the worst and stick some emergency items in drop bags, just in case. If I hadn't been able to borrow a jacket, I'd have been even more miserable on that second climb, but if I had thought to throw a set of warm clothes in that City Creek drop bag I could have been even less miserable than I was. Dry gloves would have rocked, as I used my arm warmers pulled down over my hands for the second leg after my mittens were trashed during a fall in the first leg. And the "warm" clothes I'd thrown in for Scout were pretty laughable. I shouldn't have used last year's race to predict what I would need this year (photos of runners frolicking down snow fields in tank tops).

3. No matter how cold I get, try to remember to force myself to eat and drink. I was starving by the time I reached Mink Creek. In over 6+ hours I consumed 2 gels and a Payday, and probably a half liter of water. Gels were just a pain in the ass to get open, but the extra effort might have kept me warmer in the end.

4. Impromptu blizzards just kind of suck. We are lucky that everyone was found relatively unharmed, as it could have gotten really ugly out there. The RDs made the right call to call the race when they did. With the amount of snow on the second climb, there could've easily been a foot of new snow on Scout, and the markers, in general were low to the ground. With blowing snow, and potentially hidden markers, Scout was a disaster waiting to happen. Add that to runners who were already wet and tired, and who had probably not been taking care of themselves as they normally would have with regards to nutrition and hydration, and it would have gotten ugly.

In the end, I was pretty happy that I never had to make the call to drop or not. A DNF would have been disappointing, but to continue on would have been stupid.

Miwok 100K, the minimalist approach.

2010-05-05T21:33:00.011-04:00

My goal for Miwok was to enjoy a nice long run in a beautiful setting at a controlled pace. I didn’t want to get caught up in the race, and really just wanted to finish. My confidence needed a finish—not a failed effort at an unrealistic pace. I was definitely not over-trained for Miwok, and questioned whether it was smart to go 62 miles on my base, which I had been building up slowly after taking November and December completely off from running, and much of September and October off, as well. I also had a couple of nagging issues, a tender right ankle tendon and sore left hamstring, which I hoped to not make any worse.

In general, I don’t keep a running log, although I’ve started to over the past 6 weeks to keep track as I work my mileage back up. I’ve started various logs at different points in time, but knowing my lifetime mileage has virtually no interest to me, and most logs I’ve started die out after a few weeks. I also don’t plan what I’ll be running from one day to the next. That’s not to say that I have no training plan. I’ll admit, it’s not a strong plan, but it’s there in the back of my head, which is also where I log my mileage in the short term. I typically keep a weekly mileage tally in my head, aiming to hit typically between 50-70 miles/week—it’s sometimes as low as 40 and rarely over 85. My 5 week average working up to Miwok was about 55 miles/week; I had done one long run of 27 miles, and just a handful of runs (4) over 20 miles in the past 4 months, after the long lay-off due to some angry ankle tendons. I signed up for Miwok while still wearing a boot back in December, and was told by my chiropractor/graston guy that it was a “very unrealistic goal.” Unrealistic or not, I need a goal in the future to deal with the frustration that forced inactivity brings. So, I set a lofty goal and slowly worked my way back into it. Over-trained, definitely not, under-trained, probably.

Leading up to Miwok, I had dropped out of the Peterson Ridge Rumble 3 weeks prior. In dropping out of a 60K (for ankle issues—see previous post) I decided that running Miwok, a 100K, wasn’t a good idea. If I couldn’t make it 36 miles, how could I justify making the trip to Miwok to run 62? Logic doesn’t always win out. I went out the weekend after Peterson and told myself that if I could make it 30 miles, I could justify running Miwok. I made it 27, didn’t feel awful, and decided that I could probably suffer through 62 without permanent damage. My doctor promised me that my ankle wouldn’t fall off, and I decided that I was a head case, and was just using it as a crutch, anyhow. At the same time, the plans for the weekend away were already in the works. I would run Miwok, and then take some time off to rest my new sore spots. Another friend and I had started making plans to do ‘Tour de Hood’ on June 5-6, so I decided I’d make it through Miwok, and then give myself May to turn into a road biker and rest my right ankle issues and left hamstring, which had been irksome for about a month.

I didn’t get nervous or really think much about the actual race until Wednesday night when I glanced at Gary Robbins’ blog, and then Karl Meltzer’s who both mentioned me as one of the top-ranked women (well, Karl gave me credit for the best chance the east coast had to break into the top 5—while I remain happy to represent the VHTRC, I moved from DC to Portland back in November). I don’t really see myself in that category, and while it was nice to be mentioned, it caused a bit of an anxiety attack. I had to remind myself of my primary goal, which was to keep my head out of my ass, and finish.

This is already getting long, and haven’t even gotten to the race yet, so I’ll summarize quickly. What went well:

1. I stayed with my plan, and I went out slowly, but not too slow, and continued to pick off people all day. I didn’t get sucked into racing early, and that was a good thing based on my fitness level. I was probably solidly in 7th or 8th once the initial beach-to-trail congo line and first hill out-and-back thinned people out, and worked my way up to 3rd, albeit for about 5 seconds, as we headed into the mile 48.5 aid station.

As a side note, I entered the aid station in 3rd, immediately after catching up to Jenn Shelton, but Krissy and Darcy were right behind me, so we all came into Pan Toll within 5-10 seconds of each other. I left in 5th, but downing a bottle of Ultragen had been on my mind for about 10 miles, and I took some extra time to do so. I was pretty content with 5th, and feeling the fact that I had not done anything even half this long in 8 months. And the Pan Toll aid station flurry was stressful; it took a bit of wind out of my sails, and drinking 20 oz. of Ultragen had me in need of a slow period to get things settled in my stomach. So, we plugged along, and I had some low points and lacked the motivation to try to catch up. I had no idea that Darcy had gotten off course until we were about a quarter mile from the top of the last climb, when Alan mentioned that Darcy was right behind us. Alan mentioned that if I had anything left, I should probably use it on the downhill, and I did. The last 2 miles is almost entirely downhill along a popular hiking path. And being close to SFO and Rodeo Beach there were many small dogs, families, etc, so I tried to maneuver my way downhill as fast as possible without flinging any miniature poodles out of my way in the process. There had been pre-race guidance that we were to avoid touching hikers at all costs. So we sped downhill at what felt like breakneck speed; my Garmin registered 5:20 when I glanced down at it at one point—definitely faster than I wanted to be going after 60 miles of relentless climb and descent. But it was fun to finish strong. And to finish right in between 2 of my ultra running idols (even if only because one of them got off course).

2. Having a pacer worked out really well. I hadn’t lined up a pacer, but when I came into the mile 42 aid station, Alan Abbs told me that he was jumping in with me. Sweet! His runner had dropped and had encouraged him to jump in with me. Having pacers in 100 milers to date hasn’t added much benefit, I don’t think. I’m not sure why, but maybe because they were friends, and I felt no guilt for a slow slogging pace. But having Alan behind me caused me to run more than I probably would have otherwise. Regardless, the company and conversation made the last 20 miles infinitely more enjoyable, and his noticing Darcy behind us at the top of the hill, spurred a finishing kick I didn’t think possible.

3. Overall, I was happy that I could complete the distance in a time I was very happy with, without many long runs to date. It seems to show that there is some muscle memory there, and that I haven’t lost too much in my time off. I haven’t run a ton of 100Ks (Coyote 2 Moon, Fuego y Agua and Waldo), and comparing times on different courses is useless, but it was a 2-hour 100K PR. 4th woman in 10:02. Pretty psyched based on the company.

4. My hamstring and ankle issues that had been bugging me leading up to Miwok disappeared during the run. Let’s hope they’re gone for good. I’ll continue to do my PT exercises, bikram yoga (for ankle stability) and more regular massages to encourage them to stay away.

5. I was in surprisingly good shape afterward. Definitely walking funny on Sunday and into Monday, but went for a 4 mile run on Tuesday and didn’t feel bad. I feared that the sprint to the finish would completely trash my quads, but it didn’t.

What I need to work on:
1. Not letting where people are around me change my rhythm and pace. This statement is probably the opposite of what it sounds like. I’m not saying that when I get in front, I back off. I’m saying that when I’m behind, I back off for fear of passing. Sound odd? Well, it might be. I can remember coming into an aid station early on, and Alan mentioning that I was closing on 4th and 5th. My response was “eeks.” Meaning, I don’t really want to close on 4th and 5th. And when someone told me we were a minute or two back of Jenn Shelton and closing, my internal reaction was “oh crap.” Competition has always scared the crap out of me, and while ultras are way less stressful than the mile, I still have issues. I love the competitive aspect after a race, but during it, it causes a fight or flight reaction, that trends toward flight in a reverse direction.

2. I’ll admit—I could probably benefit from a more strategic training plan. I might work on that in the coming months. I've considered getting a coach, but go back and forth on that one. I think I know enough about training plans to write my own, but there is also something about being held accountable. But I think there’s something to be said for not taking things too seriously, as well, going out when you feel like for paces and distances that feel good. In ultra running, where so many of us seem to be life-long runners, keeping the fun in it, and keeping it light might promote longevity. But a plan might lead to some faster times. It’s interesting to compare approaches, and think about whether someone that takes a 70 mile/week approach to training is at an advantage or disadvantage to someone that takes a 110 mile/week approach. Is one better? After a certain level of fitness, are ultras over a certain distance enough of a mental game that if you have the base and muscle memory to complete the distance, is it more mental than physical, and higher mileage approaches don’t reap the added benefit? Of course, as I’ve mentioned, my mental game needs some work, as well. I’ll never be a 100+ mile/week runner, but I guess that’s all about personal choice and what one’s body will allow. Mine seems to reach the break-down limit at about 80.

3. Learning what poison oak looks like and more careful cleansing with Technu afterward to avoid the pain I'm in now. I used it, but it didn't seem to help my left arm which looks like a burn victim at this point (that's my arm pictured at right after about 3 days on drugs). I'm on Prednisone, and it's clearing up slowly. I'm super susceptible to poison ivy, but this was my first introduction to poison oak. It sucks, big time. I never thought I'd say that I miss poison ivy, but I do.

Overall a really fun day on a beautiful, beautiful trail with a great group of people. The volunteers were really top notch, the race was extremely well-run and the course well-marked. I will definitely be trying to get into Miwok again and again.

Inside the mind of an ultrarunner.....

2010-04-12T18:22:00.001-04:00

I'm stealing the title from my friend, Kirstin. She posted a blog about her great run at the BRR on Saturday where she set a 50 minute PR and overcame any mental doubts and believed in her training and in herself, resulting in a great run. If you read her post, just do a 180 degree turn and that's where my mind was on Sunday during the Peterson Ridge Rumble 60K.

Rather than running with some pain on Sunday, I took the easy way out, and dropped at about mile 21. Well, I walked back to the aid station to drop, and then hiked in to the finish, so I probably got in about 27 miles round trip. Would have been easier to just hike the extra 9 and get the regular finish, but I wasn't in the mood, was stressed about the fear of continuing to be injured forever, and didn't care at that point. I can make up all sorts of excuses, but the bottom line was that I was frustrated and wasn't having fun. At this point I don't know if my ankle pains are exaggerated or real; what are the odds of finally getting rid of an injury in one foot and then developing the same damn thing in the other? Anyhow, the inside of my right foot started to scream, I started to crash a lot, and I threw in the towel pretty quickly.

Backing up, I got the go ahead to run--with no further visits to my chiro/graston guy--about 3 weeks ago. Giddy to be free from pain, I might have gone a little gung ho, but my left foot felt fine, and I was watching it closely. I woke up the day after a 22 mile technical gorge run with pain in my right ankle in the same spot. The feeling that the big knobby inner-ankle bone was bruised to the touch with pain behind and below it. In a panic, I went back to my chiro guy, and was relieved when he told me I had nothing to worry about bc it was a new tendon injury (FHL), and not the same thing I'd been dealing with (posterior tib). This was something I should be able to run through (although he later commented that he would normally advise a couple of weeks off to rest it, but knew I wouldn't listen to that advice--not necessarily true). Anyhow, I've been going back twice a week for graston on this new thing, but it seems to be getting progressively worse, although not extremely painful while running. However, on Sunday, it got to the point where I wasn't sure that continuing to run on it was a good idea.

It's easy to second guess that now. Memories of pain fade quickly. Today the foot is a bit tender, and there is one spot that hurts like hell if you massage it, but no different than it has been for the last 2 weeks. Now the decision is where to go from here, and whether running through it will leave me where it did last year, hobbling and yelping in pain every time I stepped on a rock or root. Or if this is something I should be able to just suck it up and run through.

I remember some advice I got this past fall--suck it up and get over it, it's just a tendon. I didn't buy that advice then, but I'm trying to decide if I should this time. Ultra running is a huge mental game, and Saturday I chose not to play. Maybe my decision was a good one. Maybe it was just the easy way out.

Running on the Road

2010-03-10T15:34:00.005-05:00

I’m in the middle of a 3 week trip to Kenya, Uganda, and Ethiopia. I don’t always visit countries that are runner friendly. Recent and upcoming trips include:

Afghanistan? Not so safe. Stick to the treadmill. They actually have a hash, but I’d never be so bold (stupid) as to try it.

Nairobi? Also, not so safe. No gym/treadmill in the hotel, so I ran in the pool.

Kampala? A hill runner’s paradise.

Ethiopia? I’ll find out in a couple of days, but I’m hopeful for a week of nice runs at 7500 feet.

Myanmar? I’m intrigued to find out, but I’m not that hopeful.

Also note that short work trips mean that I don't get the chance to explore all that a place has to offer, so my observation are based on short-term trips to places and situations where I'm often stranded in a hotel, and need to be able to run from wherever I'm staying.

So, last week while in Nairobi, I stuck to the pool and used my aqua jogger. Crowded streets, air pollution, and warnings from people not to venture into the street are enough to convince me that running outside is not the safest bet. A lady on the flight from Nairobi to Kampala mentioned that there is a nice park for walking. So, were I forced to spend more time in Nairobi, there might be some outdoor options, although probably involving looping around a small area. But Nairobi is not a runner’s paradise—at least not for an obvious foreigner who would likely draw attention where attention is ill-advised. Always strikes me as odd, to be in Kenya, but not be able to run.

This week in Kampala has been nice. My hotel sits on top of Tank Hill, the highest hill in Kampala, so any run means a considerable amount of climbing super steep and relatively long hills. Kampala is formed around 7 hills, of which Tank Hill is not one, so there are more than 7 hills, and there’s the potential for a lot of up and down on any run. And the hills are steep. Steep enough that I would normally walk them if they were found anywhere after about mile 2 in an ultra. I’ve got a nice hill repeat option of 1 mile straight down and one mile straight up. At 6 a.m. with the sun rising over Lake Victoria and views of the many surrounding hills, it’s a nice way to start the day. It’s dark at 6 a.m., which does cause some potential for danger, in that some of the roads are kind of crappy, and some sections are poorly lit. I hit a speed bump the first morning which provided some entertainment for the guards hanging out not far away. It’s not uncommon to see Ugandans, mainly men, but some women, too, running in the early morning, in a variety of shoe options, including flip flops, rubber rain boots, dress shoes and running shoes. I've also discovered some nice loops through some quiet neighborhoods on really great rutted dirt roads--who needs trails when you've got really bad roads that are more technical than many trails? Lots of really cute kids that like to laugh and wave, along with plenty of chickens and goats.

I try to run wherever I end up, as it’s what keeps me sane and happy on trips where I’m often working long hours and my normal routine is otherwise completely out of whack. It’s definitely a way to see a lot more of a place than I would otherwise get the chance to see. But I dearly miss the gorge, and am looking forward to being home in a couple of weeks.

Our un-injured ancestors and barefoot running

2010-02-01T21:08:00.001-05:00

I can't say that I've drunk the koolaid on the whole barefoot running craze. Yes, I see that there would be some benefit to adopting it in small quantities to work on form, and strengthen the feet and ankles, but I have no plans to throw out my running shoes anytime soon. One argument that I just don't get to support running barefoot is that it's the best choice because our ancestors did it. Do we actually have data from our ancestors that show that they didn't suffer from achilles tendonitis, IT band syndrome, stress fractures or other common running injuries? There are a lot of things about how our ancestors lived that don't parallel life today, and I'd have to say that in many ways we are better off today (or have the option to be better off depending upon our life style). What was the life expectancy back then anyhow? How do we know that our ancestors weren't plagued by common and frequent running types of injuries? After all, those of us that have suffered from injuries, know that many of them aren't life-ending or even activity-limiting, so the fact that they endured doesn't meant that they weren't injured. People win races while injured, and our ancestors could have survived evolutionarily while injured, as well.

Yes, I'm currently injured. Is it because of shoes? Not in my opinion. I've been running for 25 years, and have had 2 side-lining injuries, one about 7 years into running, and the other another 17 years later. I'd just call it part of the deal, especially when you're trying to run higher mileage consistently. And I'm not blaming it on the fact that I wear shoes. Like a lot of injuries, in my case, something got tweaked, and I ignored it and continued to tweak it--I didn't listen to my body when I should have and had a few races in the way. So I continued to tweak it, and tweak it. In my case, I think it had more to do with terrain than anything else. I was in El Salvador for 5 months for work and ran a lot, but didn't have the opportunity to run on trails. Upon returning, I jumped into many trail events quickly, and the quick transition from smooth road back to rocky trail was more than my road-weakened ankles could handle. It's kind of a no-brainer that one shouldn't train for MMT-type trails on roads. Would my ankles have been stronger had I been running barefoot? Well, maybe, but they also would have been stronger had I eased back into trail running. And running in the dark in San Salvador barefoot could have led to far worse injuries.

I'll be anxious to see the data in a few years from outspoken barefoot runners who think it's the only way. In 25 years, can they claim 0 injuries? I'm doubtful. While being injured sucks, I happen to think it's a part of the game. And in some ways, it's good for us. In my case, it's widened my cross-training repertoire and I've discovered that I love some other activities, too, which I can make more time for when I can't run, like road biking, bikram yoga, swimming and snowshoeing. Being injured has also lit a fire in terms of desire to be on the trails again. It wasn't out, but the flame was flickering a bit low this fall. I can't wait to be back out there running long distances. In shoes.

Just what I needed: Bridge of the Gods Century Ride

2010-01-26T02:07:00.002-05:00

I took advantage of another gorgeous sunny winter day (people lie about the weather here—they just don’t want any more migration into the state) to do a loop I saw advertised on a great riding site. The ride takes you across into Vancouver, WA and then up the WA side of the Columbia Gorge, over the Bridge of the Gods, and back along the OR side of the Gorge. I'd only been to the Gorge once, and that was driving over on I-84 on my trip out here, and it was stunning.

The ride was advertised as 89 miles and scenic. I live about 7 miles from the start of the trail, so figured the ride would be just about 100 miles by the time I connected with the 205 bike path trail that leads into Vancouver, WA. I got a bit of a late start, considering the distance and that I didn't really know where I was going, and finally got going by about 11. I figured that I might have a hard time finishing the ride in the light, so grabbed a headlamp on my way out the door. It took me a long time to leave the city and find the bike path over the river into Vancouver and I asked several friendly bikers, about half of whom turned out to be fairly clueless, as I'd head off again in the wrong direction. Anyhow, I finally found the 205 bike trail which takes you down the middle of 205 and over the river. Kind of an odd little bike path, but it took me to where I wanted to go, the Evergreen Highway and eventually to the Washougal River Road. The Washougal River Road is a winding, climbing road, with minimal traffic that seems to keep gently climbing for miles along a beautiful little river.

I set a turn-around time of 2 p.m. in my head, thinking that if I were smart, I'd turn around 3 hours in, in order to be back at my house by 5 p.m. when the sun would go down. Sometime after 2 p.m. I had made it as far as a little store on Hwy 14 and asked the guy how far I was from the bridge, thinking I was probably a couple of miles. He said 5, so I figured it was more like 3, and decided to go ahead and go for the bridge, knowing that I had a headlamp because at this point I would need it for the return. It turned out to be more like 10, but who's counting. I made it to the bridge around 2:45, meaning I had been riding for about 3:45 minutes, and that I had 2:15 to make it home before dark (keeping in mind that the bridge should be the half-way point, more or less). I had several thoughts during the ride, several of them pretty good, but two that came up often were: 1) Amy, you need to learn how to fix a flat, because even though you carry the fancy little patch kit, you have no clue how to use it, and 2) Amy, you need to invest in some decent bright blinky lights, for those times when you're out riding in the dark alone on highways in the middle of nowhere (no worries, mom, I've since purchased some bright blinky lights).

I spent most of the first half worrying about the fact that I should turn around, but once I got to the bridge and accepted the fact that I was just going to have a long ride in the dark, and that if I got a flat I had a credit card along and could always get a hotel room, I relaxed and enjoyed the gorgeous ride home-wards. And it was gorgeous....the entire day was gorgeous with killer views of the gorge, sunny skies, and bright white puffy clouds floating along. One issue in the gorge can be wind, but it wasn’t windy coming or going, so I definitely lucked out there.

Immediately following the Bridge, the turn sheet called for 6 miles on a bike trail, during which time you would need to carry your bike up a staircase. This was true, and there were a few more uncertain spots along this trail, including some rock slides and fallen logs. Where's Gary with the chain saw when you need him? I abruptly came to the end of the trail, but fortunately, I-84 was 10 feet to my left, so I hoisted my bike over the guard rail and proceeded along the interstate. Luckily, the section on I-84 lasted about a mile, before the exit to get onto the Historic Columbia River Highway. Most of the rest of the way home was on this road and the Crown Point Highway, both of which were great windy roads with some up and down. There were lots and lots of trailheads off of these 2 roads, which I'm assuming are the famous gorge trails I've heard much about. Although I do love my bike, I still gawked as I passed those lovely trailheads. Soon, very soon. At some point I pulled out my headlamp, which thankfully had batteries that were somewhat bright, and I had a small blinky light to hook on my back. I made it to the edge of Gresham, I believe, about the point that it was getting really dark, and the least exciting part of the day was the ride through the burbs, but the strip malls weren't so unattractive in the dark. The ride through the burbs, was long, probably 15 miles or so, but I eventually found my way home, although I got a bit lost trying to find the right bridge. Frustrating to be 2 miles from home with bridges lit up in all directions, but riding around in circles trying to find one. I did find one, and did make it home. Hungry, but very happy after a great little adventure and 101 miles in total distance.

Overall, a fantastic day and a really great loop. And a couple of firsts for me. My first century ride, and my first time in the lovely state of Washington. I hadn't done anything active over 3 hours in a few months, so the long ride felt great. Not exactly time on my feet, but it felt good to get out and go for several hours and to start feeling like I'm getting back into shape. On top of the ride, I put in another 35 miles biking and 20 miles running last week. I'm slowly working my way back into running in hopes of some spring ultras. My ankle feels OK. It's not 100%, but I keep getting graston done on it and keep doing stabilization and strengthening exercises and am hopeful the posterior tib tendon issues are behind me. Although it's fairly tender, I haven't had any of the sharp pain that had been plaguing me this fall/summer whenever I took an uneven step. I'm still running on roads to keep my foot stable, but hope to work back into trails in the coming weeks. I ran 6 miles today, which is my longest run to date, so I'm building up gradually, and working up to longer runs. In the meantime, I'm enjoying my bike, and am feeling much more comfortable and confident on it. I haven't fallen off of it since I've moved here (eeks, big jinx there), and the clipless pedals no longer petrify me. And I've been taking advantage every chance I can to get up into the mountains to snowshoe. I hope to work into a few longer snowshoe treks in the coming weeks, as well. This weekend I hope to get back on cross country skis for the first time in 15 years and do some snowshoeing, as well.

This loop will be on the list of to-be-repeated rides. I still have a hard time believing that I live in such a beautiful place. I miss many (many) aspects of my life in DC, and DC has a lot to offer in terms of nearby attractions, but so far Oregon is winning me over in terms of stunning beauty. Big big trees, big views, ferns-lined trails, snow-peaked caps, snow to play in, the gorge, and the potential for forest gnomes. What's not to love?

What a difference a week makes....

2010-01-21T00:31:00.003-05:00

I continued on my snowshoeing binge this past weekend and headed up once again to Timberline Lodge on Mt Hood with the plan to do a couple trips up to the top of the ski lift and back down. It's 2 miles straight up, and 2 miles down. What a difference a week can make. The forecast was for snow, and it was indeed snowing. What had been a solid sheet of ice last week was now covered in several inches of powder and blowing snow made visibilty nill and created nice little drifts that were hard to climb up and over on the way up, and made for some hard-to-see drop-offs on the way down. I was alone this week, and climbing up a mountain side in whiteout conditions alone is maybe not the smartest move, but I followed the ski lift and saw a couple of people coming down on my way up. Had I not had the ski lift to follow, I wouldn't have headed up, but I was warm, and could at least see well enough to follow the lift cables. Just to compare (the top of the lift last week as compared to this week):

And last week's glamour shot as compared to this week's:

Alas, by the time I finished one up and back in a bit over 2 hours, fairly wet and soon-to-be-cold, I decided to jump into Bridget, turn the seat warmers on high, and head homewards.

I also got in two great bike rides over the long weekend. A bit over 50 miles on Saturday, and 35 miles on Monday. I'm hoping to attempt a 90 miler this Sunday if the weather is reasonably warm (45) and not too wet. And I'm finally working my way back into running....a whopping 10 miles last week, around 15 miles this week, and increasing gently from here. Miwok on May 1 could still happen....

Mt. Hood Snowshoeing from Timberline Lodge

2010-01-13T21:16:00.000-05:00

Another weekend, another trip out snowshoeing. My friend, Sarah, and I had planned to hit Tom, Dick and Harry, a popular trek starting at about 4000 ft, but the snow around that elevation was crap, so we drove up to Timberline Lodge, which sits at about 6000 ft. While the snow was still kinda crappy, we wanted to snowshoe, and it turned out to be a fabulous day--night and day in terms of snow conditions from the past weekend, but actually much easier in terms of effort. Although I guess that depends on how effort is defined, as the weekend before, the snow was wet and heavy, and each step caused your foot to sink down a foot, but the trail itself was easy and gently rolling. Whereas this week, the snow was hard and icy, so we stayed on top of the snow, but we were climbing up 2500 ft in 2 miles, so there was definite effort in climbing, especially being that my climbing muscles have been on vacation for the past 2 months.

We left the parking lot with the intention of finding the PCT and hiking on it for a few miles out-and-back. But it was foggy down low, and we missed the PCT, but realized we could easily follow the outer boundary of the ski area. So we headed up, and had an easy target of the top of the upper ski lift.

In short, about 4 miles, 2 up and 2 down, which took us a long while to go up, and next to nothing to come down. I didn't run going up, but tried out running down part of the down. I love my new Dion snowshoes! The views all day were spectacular, with some low clouds, interspersed with clear spots, so that the views of Jefferson in the distance were quite nice. And while we never got a clear view of Mt. Hood, parts of the top did peak through every now and then. By the time we got back down, we were once again surrounded by fog.

This one's a keeper....I plan to go back and do some repeats this weekend, as snow at lower elevations is apparently still crappy.

Some photos from the adventure:

New Years Snowshoeing

2010-01-07T17:47:00.001-05:00

Got some new Dion snowshoes and hit the mountains with Liz near Hoodoo to try them out. Beautiful day to be out, although the snow was deep and wet. Snow conditions and my out-of-shape state made for a great workout, even though we only covered about 4 miles. I plan to go out again this weekend, and maybe every weekend until the snow melts.

Graston fun and continued frustration....

2009-12-29T13:04:00.002-05:00

I’ve been going to see a chiropractor/sports med/graston guy for 3 weeks now. The latest fun is he has me stand on my toes on a step while he scrapes down my arch, the tendons on the sides of my ankles, and parts of my calf with a stainless steel tool. This is fairly painful, and leaves my lower leg a bit green/purplish in color. I’m actually seeing 2 different guys at the same clinic bc I can’t always get into one or the other. One is nice, the other is not so nice, and I’m reaching a frustration point with both of them as to when I will be cleared to run again. And by run, I don’t mean jogging 100 m on a track. I mentioned to the nice one last night, that I’m at a breaking point, and without some more insight into what they see as my progression back to running, I’m going to jump ship and just go it alone. I could run pain free on roads/tracks before I got put in the damn boot, so this slow progression back into something that causes no pain doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. His response was that the partial tears could lead to complete tears which would be a career ending injury and that I can’t rush it, blah blah blah. It might as well be a career ending injury at the pace they want me to get back to running. At this rate I’ll be back to a 100 miler when I’m 70. Wasn’t the 6 weeks in the boot supposed to give the tendons time to heal?

I did jog 2 miles slowly on the treadmill last week, which I later got reprimanded for doing, by the grumpy one. He gives very unclear instructions and won’t repeat anything. So when he said I could go onto a track and run the straights for 2 miles, I took it as meaning he didn’t want me to run the curves bc of the increased strain on my tendon while turning. And at some point he mentioned the word ‘treadmill’ so I took it to mean I could try out a short run on the treadmill. I don’t know where to find a track, and no google search has given me any clue as to where I might find one that is not a pain in the ass to get to. So, I opted for the option that was easy, and ran an easy 20 minutes on the treadmill. It wasn’t fun (bc running slowly on a treadmill in a crowded gym never is), and didn’t cause any pain, but got a grumpy reaction from the doctor and I saw him write in his notes, “patient did not follow doctor’s instructions.” It’s to the point, where I’m about to give up on them, and just jump back into it. I’m not training to get back to a 5k, and their conservative approach with no insight into their ‘plan’ for me is not helping.

I’ve got a new year’s eve appointment with the grumpy one…I’ll give them another week to convince me that this is going somewhere, and then Miwok training starts in earnest.

Boot-free, but no running in sight....

2009-12-18T16:32:00.001-05:00

Well, since the last time I posted I've packed up a Penske, driven 5 days cross country with Dad, found an apartment, started a new job, unloaded the truck, unpacked (sort of) and have been in Portland for about a month now. The orthopedist I saw in VA right before departing put me in an immobilization boot, which I finally transitioned out of last week. I've seen 3 different graston guys out here, along with an acupuncturist. I've settled on 2 of the graston guys (both at the same practice) and am now getting treatments twice a week. I can bike, swim, elliptical, etc, but no running allowed. So far, lots of late night swims at the gym and early morning spin classes. I got back out on my road bike for the first time last weekend, so look forward to ramping that up a bit. I'm going to see a naturopath after Christmas to discuss some type of injection that might help. I walked home last night for the first time and it didn't feel bad, although it's hard to say bc I saw the doc this a.m. and now am bruised and swollen (from him, not the walk).

I mentioned to the doc that I had made it through the Miwok lottery, so have a 100K to shoot for on May 1. He told his colleague (who had already advised against this), who came in and scolded me and reminded me that this was probably not a good idea. We'll see...I plan to run on May 1, and hope to be back running in the next couple of weeks.

The guys I'm seeing said that immobilization was not a good thing, and that a much more active therapy would have been appropriate. Not what I wanted to hear 5 weeks into wearing the boot. Anyhow, they are doing graston, massage, laser, some electro therapy and I have exercises to do twice a day. I've got tears in both the posterial tibial tendon and apparently the one on the outside (peroneal), too, per the MRI results. So, I need to really work on balance/stabilization/strength in this area before they'll let me run, so as to prevent it from happening again.

I ran to catch the bus today, just to spite them (well, mainly bc I was already late for work), but for the most part am following doctors orders and hoping to get back out there soon.... Looking forward to a long ride tomorrow in the hills around Portland.

6 weeks in a boot.

2009-11-04T11:03:00.000-05:00

Good news is the tear in my posterior tibial tendon should heal on its own, if it is given the chance. So, the doctor gave me a big boot, and told me to wear it whenever I'm walking/standing for 6 weeks. So, it could be worse, but it's going to make moving heavy furniture into the moving truck a bit awkward. I guess if I've been on it for several months since the initial injury, I can probably take the boot off to load the truck, and accept a few more days of boot use if need be. I can still swim, run in the pool, and bike, so all is not lost. In the meantime, I've got 3 days to finish packing up my house, so no time to sit around and mope that I can't go and do one last Rock Creek Park loop.

7 mm tear.

2009-10-31T12:41:00.001-04:00

I finally got an MRI this week, which is what I've wanted since about April, when the tendon that runs up the inner side of my left ankle started screaming every time I stepped on a rock. I finally got into a foot/ankle orthopedist (which in itself was no easy feat), and he referred me for an MRI after I pleaded. The results were sent to both my orthopedist--who I won't see until next Friday--and my ART guy (who is a chiropractor). My ART guy called me on Friday to tell me that the results indicate I've got a 7 mm tear right below where the tendon makes a turn around that little knobby inner ankle bone. It doesn't sound like much, a 7 mm tear, but I'm dreading what my orthopedist has to tell me on Friday. It's in a spot where the tendon isn't that thick, so 7 mm is maybe 30-40% of the tendon. And my ART guy, guessed that they might recommend surgery if I want it to ever actually heal enough to run without pain and without further damage. Argh. But here's to hoping he doesn't know what he's talking about, and that the orthopedist just recommends a supportive orthotic and encourages me to start running 80 mile weeks again. Dare to dream.

Injuries, bike crashes, and cross-country moves.

2009-10-12T21:13:00.005-04:00

I've been a negligent blogger bc I've been a negligent runner of late. I've gotten to the point where I feel like I'm not a runner, and never will be again. It's only been about a month of true slacking, or maybe getting closer to 2, but it feels like a lifetime.

So, posterior tibial tendonitis has been bugging me since April, and really bugging me since June. I've tried foot doctors, PTs and am now doing some ART. It isn't necessarily getting any worse. It doesn't seem to be getting any better, either, and with the amount of running I've been doing, I would expect it to be. Still, when I run and suddenly step on a rock, or other action that causes my heel to land below my toe, it hurts like heck.

I've also had a pain in my lower abdominal region for the past several months. Well, really dating back to almost a year ago. I've been convinced I've had a hernia, but my primary care guy hasn't bought that guess yet. The ART guy I've been seeing thinks it's osteitis pubis, and might be right. Anyhow, this problem does seem to fade with decreased running, but comes back quickly when I run. Anyhow, I've got some core strengthening exercises to do in the meantime, and we'll see if I can get through both of these issues so that I can RUN again. And by run, I mean a multi-hour blissful run through leaf-strewn colorful trails. Ah, dare to dream.

In other news, I tested positive for Lyme disease. I found a couple of miniscule ticks on me in August, and my doctor told me to get tested after about 6 weeks. So, when I went in to complain about my hernia and try to get an MRI for my ankle, I went ahead and got tested. I'm hoping that it was from one of the 2009 summer ticks, and not something I picked up years ago, but there is no way to know. I'm taking antibiotics, and need to check back in with my doctor. Every arthritic pain I have has me in a panic as to whether it's related to this or not.

In other news, I'm moving to Portland, Oregon. It came about pretty quickly. I visited, decided I wanted to move there, applied for a job, got the job, and am now working out the logistics of a cross country move. I've gone from being super excited to panic struck. Lots of details to work out with figuring out what to take, and what to leave. Unfortunately, Fred and Ginger (my kitties) are in the 'what to leave' category, as they'll stay in my house with their other mom. What to do with my house is another issue, but I'm hoping to hold onto it for as long as is feasible.

Bike crashes....well, nothing new there, except crash #5 of the summer/fall on Saturday. I just keep tipping over. This time in front of a barber shop, with a bunch of old friendly guys from the neighborhood. I'll give the pedals 3 more crashes before I give up on them.

That's it for now. Likely no more races for me in 2009. I just look forward to being healthy again, and getting the mileage back up. The soft pine-needly trails in Oregon should be good for all that ails me.

Where's Waldo 100K

2009-09-04T17:02:00.000-04:00

I had a fabulous mini-vacation to Oregon and am having a hard time settling back into life in DC. I REALLy liked Oregon, and since the trip have been fighting the urge to immediately uproot and move out there. Practicalities, like the fact that my job, house, friends, kittens, and life are in DC are things that would need to be dealt with first.

The Where's Waldo course is lovely....smooth pine-needly trails up and down a few mountains amidst lovely NW forest, passing alongside a number of lakes, with great mountain vistas. While the race was lovely, it wasn't the best I've had. It wasn't the worst either. I enjoyed the first 20 miles, for the most part, but then felt a bit dizzy and out of sorts until about mile 53. I enjoyed the last 9 miles downhill, minus the fact that the bottoms of my left foot had blistered horribly and running downhill was excrutiatingly painful. The posterior tibial tendonitis issue I've been dealing with bothered me at first, but went away after about 30 miles, like most nagging pains do. It's back with a vengence, but that's a separate issue.

I bit it twice, both times with gusto. The first time was a downhill full frontal face plant somewhere after mile 20 and before mile 40....my memories of it are obviously not so exact. I remember the fall well, just not which part that section of trail was on. I banged up my knee nicely, and a couple of folks got to enjoy the show. I fell again, after leaving the 'hot' aid station on the road. I guess that would have been after the Rd. 4290 aid station. I managed to fall on the same knee although I did a kind of tuck and roll to the side and managed to take out a couple of baby pine trees in the process. Two weeks after, my kneecap is still feeling a bit bruised and kneeling hurts. Luckily I don't need to spend a lot of time walking around on my hands and knees, so not an issue.

I finished and enjoyed hanging out with my friends at the finish, but quickly got cold and chattery. The medical person spotted me, and I eagerly followed her into the medical building and spent the next hour under blankets that she kept heating for me in the dryer. Another kind lady worked on my blistered feet. I eventually warmed enough to head back out into the cold, but was still a bit gray looking.

A lesson learned in terms of training was that treadmill training is not sufficient. I spent 4 of the 6 weeks prior to Waldo in Afghanistan. While training on a treadmill is better than nothing, it is not ideal. And I couldn't bring myself to run for more than 3 hours on that thing. I really struggled my first few runs back, and my stride felt completely awkward. Just another reason not to spend a lot of time in Afghanistan....

Waldo was the USATF 100K championships, so there were cash prizes for 1-5. I finished 6th in 12:04, about 4 minutes out of 5th. Boo. The field was a tough one, as my time would normally land you up a few spots. Alas, there is always next year. I hope to either run Waldo again, or Cascade Crest. Oregon is calling me back.

The last three long races I've done (MMT, Laurel Highlands, and Waldo), I've been a bit gray and pasty upon finishing, and have had a hard time staying warm. I haven't had that problem so much in the past, but am wondering if it might be tied to being anemic. Before my July trip to Afghanistan I had to get a physical and my blood tests came back showing that I've dipped under the levels where my hemaglobin/hematocrit should be. I've been border-line anemic before--I had some fainting spells back in college, and remember that one finding was border-line anemia (I've never been so good at staying conscious, and fainting is something I do well). Regarding the anemia, it's something I guess I should do a bit more research on, and modify my diet or take iron supplements to adjust. I've done some reading, but there seems to some debate on the best approach. I need to dig a bit deeper as it is an issue I probably shouldn't just ignore. I've started taking my iron pills more religiously

Running Waldo was just a part of the trip; I also took advantage of being in Oregon to connect with some friends from Peace Corps Paraguay that I hadn't seen in ages and to explore Oregon. I had the chance to hang out with Liz in Corvallis and Callie in Bend, who both made the trip to camp and hang out at Waldo all weekend. We had several good terere and mate sessions, and introduced some of the ultra-running community to the joy of yerba mate enjoyed Paraguayan style. in a truly beautiful spot.