White River 50: Engage

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

Siskiyou Outback 50K:

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

Happy thoughts:

1. 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.
2. Other good news, I won a really kick-ass cowbell that is gold and sparkly.  I plan to use it frequently and obnoxiously.  
3. The course was gorgeous.  Beautiful views of Shasta throughout. 
4. Met some really nice people and enjoyed hanging out in and around Ashland.

Issues:

1. I forgot to bring socks.  I found some thin crunchy dirty ones in my car that I knew would result in unhappy feet. 
2. Garmin was out of juice so I ran without a watch.  Annoying.  But I survived.
3. 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).
4. I still hate to race or the thought of racing.  I think I often move faster in training runs. 
5. The elevation really affected me.  SOB runs between 6000 and 7000 feet, and it felt like it. 
6. 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

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

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.

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.....

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

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.