3 Non Joggers Guest Appearance

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

http://3nonjoggers.com/

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

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

JFK 50: Way out of my comfort zone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breaking out of my Comfort Zone

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

Dad and I (ten years later)

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

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

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

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

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

Memorable Runs: Entoto, Ethiopia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pine to Palm 100: A keeper.

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

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

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

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


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

Issues:

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

100 Miles: Why?

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.