From DVT to PE

So, while DVTs are painful in their own right, the real fear with DVTs (deep vein thrombosis, see previous post) is that the clots in your legs will break free and travel to your lungs, known as a pulmonary embolism (PE) which, worst case scenario, can result in sudden death.

After being diagnosed with DVT on Wednesday after a mis-diagnosis on Tuesday (again, see previous post), I stayed home from work on Thursday, in part, because I wasn't feeling stellar, although much of the pain was in my leg, which doesn't exactly keep me from working at a computer. But I wanted to keep my leg elevated and this is easier done at home on the couch so I picked up my computer from work and half-heartedly worked from home. By Wednesday night it had become hard to walk normally, as I couldn't extend my heel to the floor.  My calf was a tight painful mess, and the painful area had spread quite a bit.

Why I really stayed home from work was that my eyes were puffy from crying, and I didn't want everyone to see me red-eyed at my desk all day.  I was still adjusting to the fact that I was probably going to have to back out of worlds and wasn't sure if I'd be fully back to normal.  Being put on blood thinners is not usually a short-term solution, and results in at least 6 months of medication, monitoring and taking precaution against things like crashing, which while training, can be part of my daily routine. And it goes far beyond running--having a clotting issue can be a life-changer in terms of hobbies and routine.  This wasn't a regular running injury and wasn't something I'd be able to cross-train through.

As I was lounging on the couch on Thursday afternoon I started having chest pains, although it was mild enough that I couldn't decide if it was imaginary, or maybe even heart burn. The signs of PE are chest pain and shortness of breath, and knowing that DVT can result in PE had me a bit paranoid. I woke up early Friday morning with more intense chest pain (enough so that I yelped in pain on at least one occasion).  Around 5 a.m. a DC friend texted, and I commented to her that I was laying in bed trying to decide whether or not to head to the ER.  The pain wasn't bad, and the ER seemed a bit extreme, but I also knew the sensations weren't normal, and I had just been diagnosed with DVT. I promised my friend I'd go to the ER, but figured I'd wait for my roommate to wake up and run it by him.  In the meantime, I washed my hair (because I figured if I was admitted to the hospital I wouldn't get to wash my hair for a few days), did some laundry, started to clean my room, ate a big breakfast, etc.  I couldn't decide if the the pain was serious, and at the same time started to worry about getting admitted to the hospital when my room was a disaster from not having unpacked after the previous two trips.  What if someone needed to go get clothes from my place and they saw the state of my bedroom?

I sort of knew I needed to go to the ER, but was hesitant to do so, so futzed around forever before committing to going.  Jason and Eryn finally started stirring, and when Erny heard my complaints, insisted that she take me.  I continued to dry my hair, call my doctor, email work and let them know that I was "probably crazy but stopping by the ER on my way into work," etc, and then drove around looking for parking forever in trying to decide what type of parking I needed--2 hour, all-day, etc.  There was no sense of urgency until I walked into the ER and muttered the words "slight chest pain." They had me on my back and coated in stickers in about 30 seconds.  I wanted to point out to them that there was no urgency, as it had taken me several hours to get there after the point I had first considered it a good idea.  An EKG, chest x-ray, and CT scan later, they determined that I wasn't going anywhere as I had pulmonary embolism, or blood clots hanging out in the outer reaches of my lungs. Because I had multiple clots on both sides of my lungs, they wanted to keep me to monitor things, which I was happy to agree to, as I was petrified about going home and being alone. I wasn't in much pain at this point, and had no idea of how bad it would get over the next 24 hours.

As fast and efficient as the ER was, I was checked into the hospital, and proceeded to wait for about 5 hours before my doctor saw me.  In that time I wasn't allowed to eat, and the pain went from about a 3 out of 10 to a 9.9 out of 10.  Apparently clots in the lung can be really painful.  Breathing hurt, as did any movements like laughing or moving, in general.  I eventually got some pain meds ordered (dilaudid and oxycodone) and while  I had at first refused the pain meds, after the pain started to build, I was asking for anything they would give me.  The pain meds eventually kicked in, and life felt nice and fuzzy and I appreciated the friends that stopped by to cheer me up as I struggled to stay awake.

Life was OK until about 3 a.m. when I woke up in agony.  My day nurse and my night nurse had very different pain management strategies, and my night nurse only wanted to administer pain medication after I requested it.  This sounds alright on principal, but once I fell asleep, I didn't wake up until it was way too late for the lesser of two evils (oxycodone) and she went straight for the dilaudid, which I really wanted to avoid after I read about it online.  The oxycodone had seemed to work better the day before, the issue being you need to take it before pain is at a 10 because it takes 20 minutes or so to kick in.  So, as I whimpered in pain, I also tried to negotiate with the nurse to not get me to the point of needing dilaudid.  I also remember sobbing and pleading that I not be discharged in the morning.. I was panicking about the thought of going home alone and having one of these painful attacks, that felt like a cross between what I'd expect a heart attack to feel like, and a collapsed lung. Luckily the day nurse came back, and I got back on my happy schedule of oxycodone, but not before I had a hysterical break-down over the IV that wouldn't stop beeping and the fact that I couldn't eat without sounding the IV.  Luckily I don't have to interact with those nurses on a daily basis, because they both really saw me at my worst.

I was discharged Sunday and am starting to feel normal again. The chest pain is almost gone and I'm starting to breathe more normally. The pain in my right leg had disappeared during my hospital stay (likely because of the pain meds, but also because some of those clots were probably what dislodged and moved to my lungs) but now just feels kind of heavy and electric. I have no answers for where I'm going at this point in terms of recovery, and am actively looking to replace my initial primary care guy who both mis-read the initial ultrasound, and has provided little guidance on anything.  An example being that he just called to cancel tomorrow's appointment, so I've had no follow-up appointment since leaving the hospital (and I didn't see him in the hospital), and he says he doesn't need to see me for another month for an ultrasound, when he had mentioned that I could do screenings every 2 weeks when I last spoke with him. I do know that I'm not supposed to do anything active (according to him) until I have an ultrasound on my calf, so this means he expects me to just hang out and figure out what's going on until he sees me again in a month. Not to mention a thorough explanation of all of that goes along with being on blood thinners, and dosing, etc.  I went in for a blood screen this morning, and the dosage of my medication is based on the results of that test, but despite several calls to the office, I still don't know if I need to continue with a shot in the morning or not.  With thinners, they work to get your INR levels in your blood (which has to do with clotting) up to between 2 and 3, and it's something that is monitored regularly to make sure that dosing is accurate.  I've been on boosters, which they shoot into your stomach, daily since the first morning in the ER, but will get to stop those as soon as I get to where I need to be.

So, a bit of a long post, but that's what I did this weekend.  I'm dealing with it better each day and break into tears less frequently and mainly when I'm alone.  My poor parents are going to flippin' freak when they get home from a South American cruise on Wednesday to find out what I didn't tell them.  Thanks to all of the friends who visited and called and otherwise kept me entertained during a scary weekend.  I'm open to any recommendations for good care in Portland, so if you have them, give me a shout.  

Plane pain: Diagnosis DVT

The last few days haven't been fun.  I returned from a great work trip to Istanbul, but landed in New York with some weird upper calf pain. Tightness, but seemingly unrelated to running (or even sitting on the plane, for that matter). Some google research eventually convinced me by Monday night that I had deep vein thrombosis (DVT), or clotting in the deep veins of the leg.  A closet hypochondriac, I opted to get it checked out when the pains didn't disappear by Tuesday morning and seemed to worsen.

After a brief examination, the doctor said that DVT was doubtful, but to ease my fears, ordered an ultrasound.  The ultrasound technician let me know that she could not say anything to me about what she might find, but that if she told me to go home I was fine, or alternatively asked me to go back to my doctor or to the ER, I was probably not fine.  She spent a lot of time going over the affected area (the test has her starting at the groin, and following the vein down your leg and back around behind your knee and down).  So, when she breezed down the upper leg, and then focused on the painful spot for several minutes, I had a feeling I wouldn't be sent home.

Fast forward 30 minutes, and my doctor was calling the room to talk to me about my results.  No, I didn't have DVT, but did have superficial thrombophlebitis, or clots/inflammation in superficial veins.  Not something I should worry much about, except to take some measures to get rid of these, and prevent them for next time.  No prescription of blood thinners necessary, just go off birth control pills, take an aspirin a day, and elevate the leg when possible.  Exercise was questionable--he didn't know so would get back to me. I had explained to him that I was running for the US at the World 100K championship in 6 weeks, and that the answer to this question was a serious one for me.

I ran the next morning, and my calf wasn't happy.  It felt a good inch shorter than it's normal tight self.  The pain did seem to be worsening, and the doctor never called back.  I finally called and was told he was gone for the day.  Not long after that, his colleague called to say that the ultrasound had been misread; I had both deep and superficial clotting and would need to start blood thinners immediately, and not to exercise.  Most cases would clear up in 6 weeks or so.

I explained my situation to him--that I had a major race in just under 6 weeks, and that lazing about wasn't ideal. He couldn't really tell me anything that I wanted to hear.  He couldn't recommend that I keep training, and couldn't give me a timeline for when that might be possible. But that I needed to start on blood thinners immediately, which is why he was calling, and that I should further discuss with my doctor a plan going forward. A quick google of blood thinners had me a bit freaked out.  No playing with sharp objects or shaving my legs for a while.  Blood thinners and Amy just seem to be a dangerous combo being that I'm quite possibly the most accident-prone person I know.

That was yesterday.  I had a painful night--a feeling of knife stabs into my calf.  I'm no closer to having an answer from my doctor, who told me he's still working to reach out to specialists and get more answers.  I will have blood work done on Monday after I've been on the medication for 5 days which will tell something about the level of something or other in my blood.

I'm stubborn, but not stupid, and if exercise is highly inadvisable than I'll be a good patient, but I'm extremely frustrated at the moment.  I don't want to give up on Worlds, but am not sure when I'll be able to run again.  Regardless of what the doctors tell me, I currently can hardly walk, so even if I had the go-ahead today, couldn't run.  It's hard to believe that the Ray Miller 50 was just over 2 weeks ago. Like they say, ultras are all about peaks and valleys and I seem to have taken a nose-dive off of a high peak into a rather deep valley.  

Ray Miller 50 Mile: Focusing on me

I was hanging out in Nairobi on Wednesday evening, enjoying a few beers after co-facilitating a somewhat stressful 3-day training when I decided to check my itinerary so as to figure out what time I needed to be awake on Thursday to make my noon'ish flight. The airport is only a 30 minute drive from the airport, but that can extend to 3+ hours if you hit the wrong traffic circles at the wrong time (one reason I'm not a huge fan of Nairobi--getting around is complete chaos). It should have seemed odd that I was catching a flight in the middle of the day, as I'd always flown out of Nairobi at night (and that I would arrive in LA just 6 hours after departing with a 30 hour trip and an 11 hour time difference) but I hadn't given it much thought.

So, I checked and the itinerary read 12:35 a.m. Thursday....hmmm. What exactly did that mean?  I have always struggled with the 12 a.m./p.m. thing, and wasn't really sure if my flight was in 3 hours, 15 hours, or 27 hours. I've missed 12 a.m./p.m. flights before, and am relatively intelligent, so one might think that I would be able to figure it all out, but I can't. Luckily I can recognize my inadequacies and sought guidance.  I walked down to the bar and asked my friends to explain: "What does 12:35 a.m. Thursday mean?"  Yep, my flight was in just a few hours--midnight as opposed to noon. While I was bummed to miss a night out on the town in Nairobi, I was excited to leave Nairobi, too, and super excited that I figured this out before I royally screwed up.  Missing my flight would have made the Ray Miller 50 really really challenging (as my ankles would hardly have had time to decrease in size before the race started) had I arrived a day later.

3 flights and 30 hours later, my dear friend, Meghan, met me at the airport on Thursday evening as planned, and I struggled to form coherent sentences on the trip from the airport to her brother's place in Thousand Oaks. My luggage hadn't arrived, and this was a little worrisome, as I didn't want to spend Friday shopping for new clothes and shoes.  I crashed, and the luggage fairy delivered my suitcase sometime between 4 and 6 a.m., so all was well in my world.

Google map image of race course from the race website. Awesome course; loved the loop and out-and-back combo.  Climbs were tough but runnable, and descents were long and fast.

I decided to run the Ray Miller 50 for a variety of reasons, one of which was that I could squeeze it in between work trips to Nairobi and Istanbul.  My next big focus race is the World Championship 100K, and running a 50 miler 2 months out seemed like good preparation in what is otherwise a busy and hectic time for me that has put a damper on training. Nairobi is never a fun place for me to train (highlight is that it's at 6000 feet), but by having a race at the end of the trip, I could somewhat excuse a crappy couple of running weeks as a sort of taper. I'd also been on the Ray Miller trail once before, and remembered it as something special, and wanted the opportunity to further explore the area.

Friday was awesome.  Meghan and I drove over to run for 30 minutes on the course, and it felt like we were out there for 5 minutes. After 2 weeks of really unappealing running options in Nairobi, it felt so good to run on a beautiful dirt trail. It was blissful and ended much too soon. The run was followed by beer and delicious fried scallops.  Meghan and I talked a bit about the race on Friday and again on the drive over to the run on Saturday. I'd been having some confidence issues after a very blah attempt at Orcas Island, and my fear of racing seemed to be winning out. My main goal for Saturday was to focus on me, and not let external factors, like where others were in relation to me, stress me out and cause me to react in a negative way (backing off). It was going to be all about me.  Meghan is always super supportive and positive, and convinced me that I was fit and ready to let one fly. I hoped that we would let one fly together, as I love to run with Meghan.

When the race started at 6 a.m. it was still fairly dark, so I fell in behind Shawna and just tried to follow her footsteps.  I chatted briefly with Jimmy Dean and Mark, two of my favorites, and who I would end up seeing throughout the day.  After a few miles and just before the top of the first climb up Point Mugu, I passed Shawna, and continued to push the pace from there. Much of the first 20 miles felt too fast, but I couldn't seem to back off the pace, and kept pushing.  Around mile 18 Tommy, another favorite, caught up to me on one of the many fun descents and didn't want by, so I continued to set the pace, although now with a little pressure to not impede his progress so pushed it a bit hard into the aid station (mile 19.3).  I was hurting at this point, and didn't really even notice the fact that I was surrounded by super heroes.  How does one miss that important point?

Some of the Super Heroes at Danielson Ranch AS (19.3). I'm not sure who these characters are (a giraffe superhero?) but the more traditional Wonder Woman/Superman were also there.  How I ran through all of this without even realizing that were super heroes present is hard to explain, except that it was the start of my only major bonk. Photo by Jack Rosenfeld.

I followed Tommy out of the aid station after an emergency pit stop, but at a much slower pace and lost him quickly. The next several miles were the long climb up Sandstone Peak (roughly 7 miles). It looked like the day could turn into a slog as it felt a little like I'd just raced a half marathon.  Mark passed me on this climb, and he passed me like I was standing still.  It was a ~6 mile climb, and quite runnable, although I was walking at this point.  He commented that I had taken off at a blistering pace.  Yep, probably a bit too blistering.  I continued to slog, running when I could, which wasn't that often.  This section of the course was gorgeous, with great views of surrounding mountains and the ocean in the distance, and really cool rock formations, like the butt crack rock, which was pretty hard to miss.  The climb eventually ended, and Jimmy caught me as I ran back towards him, second guessing a turn.  I had some confusion at one of the intersections marked with arrows that weren't ours.  I probably spent 3 or 4 minutes standing and then proceeding and then returning to question the turn again.  He commented that "the girls" were a couple minutes back.  Crap.  I was surprised I hadn't yet been caught by anyone as slowly as I'd ascended the climb, and then with minutes wasted trying to decide which way to get down to the aid station.

At Yerba Buena AS I picked up my second bottle, and continued on to the turn-around.  Within a quarter mile of picking up my second bottle, I decided to drop it and pick it up on the return.  I'm simply not strong enough to carry 2 full bottles, and wanted to do it for as little of a distance as possible, and would need to carry both for the 11 mile stretch after Yerba Buena the second time through.  At the turn-around (approx mile 31) I calculated that I was about 8 minutes up on Shawna 10 or so on Meghan and Angela, so knew that I needed to keep pushing.  It was getting to be that point in the race where I had led for so long that I'd resent being passed.  I was glad that there were two big descents coming up because I was confident that I could hold my own on the downs.  By the turn-around, I was starting to feel relatively good again and everything was runnable until we started the steep climb up out of Yerba Buena. I left YB with two full bottles and downed one as quickly as I could to avoid the weight of two. Even holding on to two water bottles was driving me crazy, and I bemoaned the fact that I hadn't thought to pack a pack. Packing for a race two weeks prior while packing for a work trip at the same time leads to crappy preparation.  I tried sticking one down my bra, and it reminded me that being boob-less is a good thing, as it bounced around and annoyed me.

Surprisingly, I caught a few guys heading up the climb, including Jimmy, and then caught up to Mark on the big descent, which went on for miles and miles.  "Back from the dead," I commented as I caught up to him, and passed, although he latched on.  I really let it go on the downhill, and my shins and lower legs were starting to feel stressed as it went on for several miles.  I'm not sure how quickly legs forget how to climb and descend, but I hadn't been on a hill in my 2-weeks in Kenya, and my legs seemed to recognize that. But there were a lot of really long and bombable descents, which were hard not to bomb.

Grinding up the final climb. I always seem to be looking at my feet. Photo by Jayme Burtis.

After making the turn off the of the Sandstone Peak climb (the out-and-back section), the course starts to roll a bit while continuing generally downhill towards the last aid station (mile 45.5).  Mark and Jimmy passed me back, and I didn't have the leg speed or will to suffer to keep up.  I passed Tommy back at this point, who looked to be cramping.  The rest of the run was pretty uneventful.  I was alone, although I'd run alone almost all day except at the beginning, and a few miles with Mark and Tommy.  I tried to keep pushing, as I knew I hadn't been too far ahead at the turn-around, and, again, it sucks to lose the lead in the last 5 miles after leading for 40+ miles.  I was taking in calories well (strictly gels), for the most part, and besides some lower leg trauma from the descents, feeling pretty good.

The race finishes coming up and over a 2-mile climb, and then turns onto the Ray Miller trail for a really sweet downhill finish.  The Ray Miller trail is the first trail I ever ran on the west coast, back when I had come out to run Coyote 2 Moon, and I remembered it as stunning.  It was just as stunning as I'd remembered it, and the downhill 2-miles to the finish was fast and fun (or at least that's how I remember it a few days later--at the time, I think all of the muscles/tendons in my lower legs were on the verge of a major protest).  I finished in 8:10, 2 minutes behind Jimmy and 5+ minutes behind Mark for first chick and 6th overall.  In the end, I could have relaxed on the Ray Miller trail as Shawna (8:44), Meghan and Angela (8:51) weren't in sight, but one never knows. Felt good to know I'd put 25 minutes on them in the last 20 miles.

My quads definitely weren't ready to run downhills like that.  I was completely trashed on Sunday, and it wasn't until Wednesday morning that I was recovered enough to get in a run. I walked on Sunday, and Monday and a massage on Tuesday really helped work out the funk.  Thursday my legs felt 100% better, so it was a short but severe case of quad death.

The final downhill miles to the finish on the Ray Miller trail.  I love this trail and enjoyed every minute of it.  Photo by Jack Rosenfeld.

Overall, a great day for me, and exactly what I needed.  I stayed within my own head, wasn't afraid to race, and went after it from the start.  I'd been having some confidence issues and just feeling lackluster, in general, about where I'm at.  Life had gotten in the way and caused my mileage totals to be lower than I would hope over the past several weeks, but this left me confident that I'm in a good place, regardless.  This was a great motivator for me to show me that I am in shape, and with a good training cycle through Worlds, can throw down a great performance.  We've got a great team lined up, and I can't wait to see what we can do in Italy in April.  After Orcas I was ready to throw in the towel, but after Ray Miller I'm excited and feel like I belong on the team. I'm shooting for 7:48 at Worlds and top 10 to ensure a spot in South Korea in 2013.  There, I said it.

I highly recommend this race--great course, great aid, great weather.  There aren't many 50 milers this early in the season, when the schedule seems to be dominated by 50Ks, which I've decided I really don't much care for.  I'd guess after the favorable response it got this year, Ray Miller will fill quickly in years to come, and for good reason. Thanks to Keira and all of the volunteers out there--this one's a keeper and I can't wait for another go at it!  Southern California in February is pretty dreamy to us Oregonians (although I looked forward to returning to the cold drizzle after 2 weeks of entirely too much sun).  And to my travel companion, Meghan, many thanks for the talks and laughs, and I'm looking forward to several more destination races in 2012.

Tomorrow morning I'm off to Istanbul for a week--I'm excited to explore a new place (to me) and can't wait for some morning runs along the sea.

Sunday recovery soak in LA.  A painful day, as my quads were trashed and the jet lag/post-race combo led to about 1 hour of sleep on Saturday night.  I was dead on my feet by the time I got home late Sunday night, but it was worth it. It appears that I'm smiling here, but I think it's more of a cold water grimace. Photo by Meghan Arbogast.

Orcas Island 50K: a half-ass effort

I went into Orcas not having any expectations. I thought I could have a solid run, or I could be tired, but didn't think at all about goals or strategy. The gun went off and I set out with the intention to run hard, but about a mile into it on Saturday, I pulled back for reasons that are kind of hard to explain. I just had zero desire to have a stressful day, and opted for a long hard effort rather than race.  It took me about a third of the race to really get out of my "I would rather extract my toenails than race today" funk as I trudged up hills I would typically run in training, but really did enjoy most of the middle miles and end. Sometimes I worry too much about what others around me are doing, and would be better suited to escape into my own head and pretend I'm alone out there. If nothing else, it was a good training run, and a good early-season reminder of the voices in my head that need to be silenced. Confidence is key, and some days I have none.

The top of the last big climb: Mt. Constitution. Photo by Glenn Tachiyama.

Orcas is a beautiful course, and we were given a beautiful day to run--sun in the San Juans in February, with amazing old growth forest and views.  One thing you can always be guaranteed in a Rainshadow Running Event is that there will be no shortage of steep long climbs. James definitely delivered on a great course, with a really enjoyable post-race party. Great music, great food, great friends. I'll work on getting my head out of my ass for the next race, or rather, maybe inserting my head into my ass to focus on my efforts and not external things I can't control. And really, how can someone complain about a day on trail with views like these?

Views from Orcas.  Photo by Glenn

Making plans for 2012

I started an entry a couple of weeks ago about how much 2012 had sucked thus far, but it was so negative I didn't publish it.  To sum it up: 4 week cough, car accident, asshole, stolen wallet and keys....I think that's about it.  But things don't always get worse, and in the past week or so, things have been pretty darn good.  2012 running plans are shaping up well, and I guess I should consider myself pretty damn fortunate to be running the races I get to run.  Some of the high points:  I found out last week that I am definitely on the USA 100K team for the World Championships in Italy in April, I bit the bullet and submitted my Comrades entry, and I made it through the UTMB lottery.  My schedule may just kick my ass or cripple me, and parts of it might be ill-advised (Comrades 3 weeks out from Western States), but it'll be fun if it all works out.

Feb 4, Orcas Island 50K
My birthday is the day after, and what better way to celebrate a birthday than on the sunny San Juan Islands in February?

Feb 25, Ray Miller 50 miler
Squeezing this one in on the back end of a two-week work trip to Nairobi.  I may be well tapered unintentionally as training in Nairobi sucks.

April 22, World 100K Championship
We've got a great (and fun) team and I'm really excited for this one.  Break out the bunhuggers! The race is a 20K loop x 5 through the streets of Seregno, Italy (near Milan), which sounds slightly more fun than a 10K loop run 10 times. I'm looking to break into the top 7 (OK, a wee bit random) after an 11th place finish in 2011, and to help the US women bring home the gold.  Time to get this butt into bunhugger shape.

June 3, Comrades Marathon
It's a downhill year, and after going uphill last year, I just can't say no, despite the fact that it's expensive as heck to get there, and is only 3 weeks before Western States.  It'll either be the perfect final quad trashing, or it'll completely trash my quads for WS, but it's gonna be fun.  I was only in South Africa for 3 days last year surrounding the race, as I was squeezing it in during a work trip, so look forward to spending a few more days this year, although it'll still be a quick trip.

June 24, Western States
Excited to be back at WS. Training for this one will not be ideal with Worlds and Comrades as the build-up, but I'll continue to do a fair amount of my miles on trails and spend some time climbing through the spring.

July 28 TBD 50 miler
Likely White River, as it's got more climbing than the Mt. Hood 50.  They're both relatively local. I've done them both and they're both great events.

Aug 31, UTMB
I'd like to call this my focus, but I kinda suck at climbing, so this one could suck royally.  I do love going down, and this has got equal parts of both, and I'm really looking forward to the views. It sounds like this one turns into one royal suffer-fest for most, and I look forward to experiencing what seems to be quite different than what I'm used to.

I'm not sure after UTMB, but will figure it out as I go along. Maybe a break. With trips for Worlds, Comrades, and UTMB and a few days thrown in there for States, I'll be staying close to home after August as my vacation days, while generous, will only support so many of these things.

It's going to be a fun year!  Although I have to say it all looks a bit overwhelming.  And training specificity is getting thrown out the window (not that I ever pay much attention to it) because these events run the gamut in terms of types of races (flat road to steep trail).  Let the fun begin!

The Year in Bad Self-Portraits

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vegas, baby! 

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

Photographing while running is harder than it looks.   

The GC group leaving Las Vegas. 

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

Hellgate 2011: Special, but not so crazy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunrise in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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