100 Miles: Why?

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.

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

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

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.