USADA and 6 a.m. wake-up calls

It's again that time when I start getting almost daily reminders from USADA (United States Anti-Doping Agency) that my quarterly "whereabouts" filing is nearly due. Most people will tell you that there is no drug testing in ultra-running, and while for the most part this is true, there are certain high profile races (Comrades and UTMB to name a couple) that do in-competition testing. UTMB tests pre-competition, and Comrades tests top finishers. There is also a way to get yourself landed in the USADA registered drug testing pool, which is to finish in the top 3 at one if the IAAF-recognized IAU world championship events.

So, I'd been told that winning the World 100K would likely land me on the drug testing list, but I thought I'd managed to escape notice, which I figured was because of other race results, and the fact that the Worlds win was a freak incident.  Sadly, this didn't turn out to be true and I got an email in early February (almost 10 months after Worlds) with the subject line "Welcome to the USADA RTP!" and an email that started with, "Congratulations!  You have met your National Governing Body’s criteria to be included in the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency’s Registered Testing Pool (“RTP”)." I found the congratulatory note interesting/odd, being that selection into the RTP is a complete pain in the ass. The letter then went on to explain that I had been selected for the International Testing Pool (the other option is the National Testing Pool which is slightly less of a pain in the ass), and that I would need to file quarterly "whereabouts" that detail out my daily schedule from 6 a.m. to 11 p.m., including a 60 minute window, providing a time and location where I can be found seven days a week. There's no guarantee that I, if tested, will be tested within my chosen window, as I can be tested at any time between 6 a.m. and 11 p.m., but should I not be located within that window I'll get a missed test violation, and three missed tests equals an anti-doping violation. The "whereabouts" schedule I submit quarterly, and whenever I vary from it, I'm supposed to text updates to USADA with the schedule change.  

So, before March 31 I need to let USADA know where I plan to spend every hour from 6 a.m. to 11 p.m. from April 1 - June 30. Obviously it's pretty hard today to predict where I'll be on June 22nd at 10 p.m., but that's what I need to do, and submit it to USADA by March 31 (or I'll be subject to a violation).  And this gets repeated quarterly.  Until I get taken off the list. The only way to get taken off the list voluntarily is to "retire."

Because I often train in the morning, and my post-work schedule varies day to day, I opted for my 60 minute window to be mid-morning during the work week, and 6-7 a.m. on Saturday and Sunday.  If USADA shows up to test me during my window, and I'm not there, they will not call me, but will wait an hour, and then call me to let me know I've missed a test.  That's where the difference between the International and National testing pools seems to lie--there is no window in the national testing pool, but USADA will call you once they show up to wherever you've indicated you'll be, and you have an hour to report.  In the case of the international testing pool, you don't get a call; they wait for you to show up, and if you don't, they call to let you know you were missed. I have not yet figured out whether there's a difference between missing a test inside your window, or outside of your window. 

When I first heard about this, I freaked out a bit.  Talk about a major invasion of privacy, although anyone that is friends with me on FB knows that I'm not an overly private person. To be honest, I don't care about the invasion of privacy, as much as the pain-in-the-ass part about keeping USADA updated as to my hourly moves. I'd rather they just stick a chip in me and track me if they really want to know where I am.  I mean seriously, do they want to know that I'm going to the grocery store or heading to yoga class? Do they want me to text them if I head out for the evening or the address of where I'm sleeping tonight if it's not at home?  I asked those questions of USADA, and the answer to the first questions is "probably not" assuming I'm not going to be gone more than an hour, but the answer to the other questions is "yes."  I jokingly posted on FB that anyone wanting to sleep with me in the next quarter should let me know so that I could schedule accordingly.  For those that didn't respond--don't worry, I can just text in an update, so not all is lost, and there's still time to get on next quarter's schedule.  

My official start day in the RTP was Feb 20 and I've already been tested once. From talking with others that have been on the list (but from different countries), I assumed I might be tested once or twice in a year.  Hopefully that'll be the case, but after being tested just 10 days after getting on the list, it's hard to say. It was nice that the testers came within my scheduled "window" and opted for the 6 a.m. Sunday morning slot.  I did ask them whether that was routine (to test within the window) to which they said, "not necessarily."  It also helped me to realize that we have a doorbell that doesn't work, and that my kittens are truly dog-like in that they jumped out of bed to go investigate who was at the door.  I never would have opened the door, assuming that whoever was knocking was a thief trying to determine if we were home before they broke in, but luckily I have a roommate who is not a complete pansy.  

In terms of the actual test (urine sample), the experience was much easier than my experience being tested in competition. After Worlds, during which I peed while running for much of the race (lesson learned, if you're having a good day, save some), it took me a good 7 liters of water and Coke and more than 2 hours to produce a sample (after which I could have produced hundreds of samples). For the recent test, I hadn't gotten up in a few hours, so the friendly USADA ladies were on their way by 6:30, and I had time to snuggle back into bed  for another 30 minutes of sleep before getting up to meet friends to run.  The testing agents were two women, and once they make contact with you, you can't leave their sight.  I had to retrieve my license from my room to prove my identity, and one of them followed me in there and into the kitchen to get water. The same is true for the sample--they watch your every move (and yes, they watch you pee in the cup--luckily I don't have performance anxiety). Weird. Especially for a podunk ultrarunner.  Kind of makes you feel important in an odd way. Like, am I really being drug tested in my own home at 6 a.m. on a Sunday morning, and why?

Alas, I've gotten lax, and have not even remembered that I'm on the testing pool since that first test, under the assumption that I won't be tested again soon. I went to Bend last weekend without remembering to let them know I was leaving town.  I should probably pay a bit more attention and remember to text in updates, but was operating in the post-test glow of perceived freedom. In the meantime, I've got the next three months of my life to plan out before Sunday.  Let me know if you want on the schedule!  

2013: Remaining Elite (but just on airplanes)

2013 is shaping up to include as much if not more travel than 2012, and my elite airline statuses looks to remain unthreatened. While I strongly dislike the term "elite" when it comes to over-usage in the ultrarunning world, I do love the use of it and my inclusion under it when talking about airlines. I missed platinum by peanuts in 2012 due to poor planning on my part--2013 is going platinum, baby.  International travel in 2012 included 3 work trips (Kenya, Istanbul and Iraq) and 2 running trips (Italy/Worlds and France/UTMB), and 2013 looks similar with at least 2 work-related trips (Ethiopia already in January and Istanbul coming in April) and 3 running trips (Japan/100K, France/UTMB and South Africa/Worlds). Here's hoping my elite status earns me an upgrade or 2...

Running near Sulaynamiyah, Iraq in December. Not a bad place for a long Saturday morning run.

2012 was a good one for me, and I was honored to be included in the Ultrarunning Magazine rankings for Runner of the Year (much higher than I would have expected, especially when looking at the names further down the list):  

But, I guess due entirely to the performance of the year rankings, where I was honored, again, to be listed among Ellie's great races, and Connie's 24 hour American record performance:

I was pleasantly surprised to come in 3rd in the IAU yearly rankings, behind Kudo who won the 24 hour championships and set a world's best performance in 2012. 

Female:

Mami Kudo (JPN): 25.0%
Michaela Dimitriadu (CZE): 24.8%
Amy Sproston (USA): 17.7%

Moving on to 2013, my schedule, to which I may add a short race here or there, but is fairly concrete on the long-run front, assuming I don't fall off any more cliffs (wee accident in January) and avoid fatal airplane-induced emboli, includes:

Ray Miller 50 mile, 2/5/13: Done!--1st F in the 50 mile--blog post coming next... 

Early on during the Ray Miller 50. A great early season event, and one that I plan to hit again in 2014.

Lake Sonoma 50 mile, 4/13/13: This one looks to be more competitive than Western States. I had planned to run this 2 years ago when it was cancelled due to rain, and last year's race conflicted with Worlds, so happy to finally have a chance to run this one.

Tokyo Shibamata 100K, Japan, 6/1/13: Super excited about this one. I was invited by the RD, and couldn't pass up a trip to Japan. Japan is somewhere I've never been, and has been on my list. I've never raced a 100K on roads outside of Worlds, so we'll see how it goes.  It's supposed to be a flat out-and-back course near Tokyo. Most of the course/race information is in Japanese, so that's my take on it, anyhow. Meghan A. is going, as well, which is awesome, as it'll be fun to explore this new-to-me part of the world with a great friend.  The RD expects 2000 runners in the 100K, so should be interesting/competitive/fun.  The Japanese women are always very competitive in the IAU World Championship events, and I'd expect we'll see that here.

Western States 100, 6/28/13: 3rd year in a row. I've been 8th the past two years.  We'll see if F8 is my fate. With the depth of talent in 2013's race, I honestly wouldn't be crushed if that was the case, although I'd like to feel like I had a good race at WS from start to closer-to-the-finish, and be able to sprint around that track.  I'd really like to see an 18:30 at WS (19:11 last year).  

Really hoping that 2013 brings "normal" weather conditions to both WS and UTMB. Heading up the Escarpment in 2012, in odd freezing conditions for WS.

White River 50 mile, 7/28/13: One of those races I loved when I first/last ran it, but just haven't made it back to. This year I'm putting it on the calendar early, so as to not miss it again.  Great climbs in a beautiful part of Washington--should be great training for UTMB.  

UTMB, Chamonix, France, 8/31/13: All I can say, is that we better make it around that damn mountain. This will be a focus of my summer.

Meghan and I scouting the course pre-UTMB (we weren't actually on the course, but didn't know it at the time). 

World 100K Championship, Durban, South Africa, late Oct/early Nov: You know, I don't even know what to say about this one. John Medinger recently commented on a FB post about Durban being a great place for me to go to defend my title. I don't like pressure, and there normally would not be any pressure on me, and I'd guess that even as the returning champ there won't be much pressure on me, assuming that some other individuals show up to defend past crowns. Regardless, I'm looking forward to going back to Durban, as I've also been meaning to return to Comrades (which starts/finishes in Durban), but haven't been able to squeeze it in (and am really looking to run the downhill version of Comrades, so maybe going back to Durban will influence me to sign up for the downhill Comrades in 2014). In the meantime, the World Championship course will likely be something entirely different, about which we don't yet know the details, but Durban is a great beach town, and will be a fun destination race come late October/early November. 

Team USA will be looking to defend our title in 2013. A great group of women with whom I can't wait to don the USA jerseys again in Durban.

I've been training with some faster marathon types and doing more marathon-paced (faster) runs, and might try to jump into a half marathon here and there to work on speed, but in terms of ultras that's probably my year, as all of my vacation days will be tapped. Although if I'm not completely burned out, and time allows, a December trip to Hellgate 100K+ or TNF in SF might be in the cards.  

I'm other news, I'm excited to continue with the Montrail/Mountain Hardwear team for 2013, and will also continue to be supported by ClifBar and Nuun. New for me in 2013 I will be racing as part of Team Injinji, as well.  While initially nervous to make the switch (I'd been wearing DryMax for a couple of years, and had OK luck, but have always struggled with trashed feet, especially my long toe), I have to say that I've been thrilled with my Injinjis thus far, and suddenly have all of my toenails for the first time in 6 years of ultrarunning.  Pretty darn exciting.  That second toe (pointer toe?) is even almost starting to grow a normal nail.  For years it has sort of regrown, only to be knocked on its butt in every ultra/long run.  Soon, the pedicurists may not even realize I'm a freak. 

All in all, I've got to say that I'm psyched to be supported by my generous sponsors, motivated by my awesome running buddies, and loved by friends and family, and feel really fortunate for all of the opportunities that await in 2013.  It's going to be another busy, but hopefully really fun, rewarding, and enlightening year.  

The Year in Bad Self Potraits: 2012

My favorite post of the year, and why so many people who ran/traveled with me this year were subjected to either participating in or witnessing my acts of self photography. It all stems back to my friend, Marjon, who is the queen of self portraits, and my attempts at attaining her level of expertise.  This is the 2nd annual version of "The Year in Bad Self Portraits" and I think I still have a ways to go, so the self portraits will likely continue into 2013. And I had a hard time picking and choosing, so there are a lot of them.  Going through the year in photos reminded me what a great year 2012 was--I got to see a lot of the world, spend quality time with great friends and family, and spend a lot of time doing what I love.

The view from our hostel in Italy during the World Championships.  Italy was definitely one of the highlights of the year. There's really nothing that can compare to donning the USA jersey and bunhuggers once a year and representing. And this year will be one that I will never forget. World champions!  And world champion--I still can't really believe that actually happened.

Running in Sedona with Ian and Meghan.

Portland girl goes to Arizona. Holy heat.  Mid-run in Sedona.

Portland girl lets Meghan convince her that running in 110 degree heat is a good idea. Badwater = never.

Sister and I at Western States.  Fun times. Can you tell we're related?

Ellie and I en route to a photo shoot the day before WS.  

A work conference in DC allowed for a weekend of getting back on some favorite east coast trails in the vicinity of Buck Hollow in the Shenendoahs.  Home trails...

A favorite workout of the year: downhill hill repeats at Willamette Ski Pass in an attempt to trash my quads one final time before UTMB. This was an attempt at making it look like I wasn't taking the picture. Artsy, no?

And just to show I do more then run, my good friend Liz and I at a summer wedding.

Enjoying post-run food with friends after our UTMB/CCC/TDS adventures.

Wind swept on top of Mt. Blanc. Looking forward to a return in 2013, if the lottery gods are good to me.

Meghan and I enjoying some cold sunshine and views of Mt. Blanc.

The first tour around Mt. Hood. Early September and the wildflowers were all in full bloom yet. It was gorgeous.

Ellie and I on the aptly named Gnarl Ridge side of Hood. Twas a bit windy and nippy. My second circumnavigation of Mt. Hood of the season.  40-42 miles depending on route finding. An epic loop not to be missed if you find yourself in the area at the right time (fairly short window to do this one between end of July and the first snowfall).

The Hood crew: Stephanie, Max, Zach, me, Mike and Ellie.  That is one fast crew touring the mountain.

Mom, me and Dad enjoying some blue skies and a big blue lake at Crater Lake this fall.

Mom is threatening to push me into the lake if I took another self potrait.  

Just one more!

Trail Factor friends running on the Salmon River Trail. Another day, another beautiful trail in the PNW with great friends.

Running up in the hills/mountains around Sulaymaniyah, Iraq in December.  A memorable run.

  Snowshoeing over New Years.  Happy New Year!

Better late than never? UTMB: The Race that wasn't...

In posting the Synchro-Blog piece last week, I realized I had never finished/published my UTMB race report.  OK, maybe I hadn't forgotten, but it seemed so negative when I wrote it that I hesitated putting it out there.  But, it's how I was feeling at the time, and I like to do things chronologically, so in order to move on to happier topics, like my favorite "The Year in Bad Self Portraits" or talking about plans for 2013, and to move on, it's getting posted even though it was 3+ months ago.  Just to warn you, this is going to be somewhat of a gripe-fest.  If you want to read a positive account of the UTMB experience, I'll send you to Meghan's blog.

So, onto the race. Where I last left off (well, a few entries ago) we were rerouted.  So, rather than run around Mt. Blanc through 3 countries, the revised course would remain in France, running up and down the valleys around Chamonix.  This came after the announcement on Thursday that the race would go on as planned without a course change, and thus after we'd all wrapped our heads around the idea that this was going to be an epic weather adventure. So, we then receive a text on Friday, middle of the day, that the race would be delayed 30 minutes to start around 7 pm and would be at least 100K staying in France and keeping us below 2000m.  OK, time to wrap our heads around an entirely new scenario. I was trying to be flexible, but like many, was not very excited by what was about to be our reality--a much shorter and faster night run through the rain and mud.

A 100K race starting at 7 pm in the rain/snow--oh boy.  Anyone that has ever run a 100K starting at night in crappy weather can tell you what that means: tunnel vision on a muddy trail in the dark. No views, no "journey" around Mt. Blanc, just a lot of running around in France, to seemingly having us zig and zag to get us to 100K (+). UTMB is a course that is known for spectacular beauty--a 10 on a scale of 10, and the same on the scale for difficulty. That's why I was there--for a difficult challenge in a stunning environment.  If I'm going to suffer, I want to do it in a beautiful place. The replacement course was not beautiful, at least not in the dark. It very likely would have been scenic had it not been dark and foggy, but the only real view we got was of the muddy trail in our headlamp beams. UTMB is known for being tough, and while the replacement course was not beautiful, it was still tough.

Meghan and I before the start.

The race started around 7 p.m. in the festive style that UTMB and apparently many European races are known for, with throngs of people lining the streets, complete with a jumbo-tron and video/music.  They let the "elites" start in the front of the field, so we lined up behind the start with a mob of folks behind us.  Knowing that folks traditionally go out fast, and knowing that the mob was behind us and not in front of us, I just hoped to not get trampled. The race started in the frenetic manner I expected and there was at least one fall at the start, as we all kind of hopped around trying not to run over the downed runners in that first block. But, in general getting out was fairly easy (so don't try to tell me that UROC needs an "elite" start when UTMB does just fine 25 times as many runners).   I was soon running with people I knew (Krissy, Rory, Gary) but quickly stopped to pee behind a parked car in town, hoping that it was slightly less rude than peeing in the crowd at the start line, which I had considered. I was still in a crowd, but Europeans don't mind nudity, right?  I quickly caught back up with my group, and felt like I was cruising comfortably through the first few miles that take you along a gravel path next to a road .  The path rolls, but is more or less flat-ish with more down than up. Understandable why the first splits at UTMB are always so fast--the first section is fast, in a race where many of the climbs are at grades un-runnable to the mortals. The revised course shared the first 24 miles with the real course, so we'd at least get a flavor of the UTMB course.

The revised UTMB course. There were more climbs in there than are indicated on the map, I believe. The last section  in reality didn't seem to match the map we were given.

The first climb started and Topher and Gary both blew by me at hiking speeds I couldn't match. In general, I felt good on most of the climbs, but the first one I struggled to find a rhythm.  Rory passed by, too, along with a few other females. I started to feel good again once we started the descent into St. Gervais, although the descent was fairly slick on wet and muddy grass, and I depended heavily on my poles for balance.  St. Gervais was the first big aid station and it was a bit of a mob scene, so I tried to get into and out of the tent as quickly as possible.  Unfortunately I hadn't explained this to my crew, who kept trying to (sweetly) offer me a blanket to warm up with. I was generally warm, and just trying to get through the mob scene as quickly as possible. In hindsight, I never even looked at the food offerings, and only took water and coke from aid stations so have no idea what culinary delights awaited had I stopped.  Cheese and sausage, from what I've read, but I stuck to my usual ClifShot diet.

While they did dramatically change the course, they did keep us on the real UTMB course up past Les Contamines, where we would eventually turn off after Notre Dame de la Gorge on what is the first really big climb of the real UTMB. We would turn off around 6200 feet in the modified version, whereas the UTMB course continues to climb up to 9000 feet.

The text that came Friday, announcing the course change stated that the course would be at least 100K. It didn't specify, but I assumed it would be around 100K. Eh, wrong.  I found this annoying as the race unfolded and it became evident that the course was actually closer to 110K. It's nice to start a race knowing the distance you're about to run. Otherwise, you get to the second-to-last aid station and naively ask, "15K to go?" And hear the response, "No, actually 25K to go."  Me, "WTF?"  We'd already made the mental shift of running 168K to 100K, and these additional shifts were just adding insult to injury.  My thought at the last aid station upon hearing this news was, "Let this crappy half-ass course be over with."  When you're what you believe to be 9 miles away from the finish of the race, and then they tell you that it's actually 15, it's a bit deflating.  After hearing that news, the hardest part of the race for me was the last section from the last aid station to the finish.  It was finally light, but this section of the course was not scenic, and was sort of flat-ish and rolling back into town, and had been traversed by the previous races so was a slop-fest. And a bit unexpected in that I had assumed the distance to be closer to 100K. I know, I complain about not getting to run 100 miles and then complain that they made us run more than 100K.  Again, it's just nice to know up front how far you're racing.

Overall, I felt like I rolled with the punches, and did my best to make the most out of what was not ideal. It's hard to compare the actual results to what would have happened had we gotten to run the full course.  The event we ran was not UTMB. I'm not sure what the finishing rate was, but it was high compared to what the usual UTMB finishing rate is.

Being that I don't regularly compete against most of the women in this race, it's a little hard to judge finishing place/time, but comparing my finish to the other US women, I'm not unhappy. Rory has had a great year, with her 2nd place finish at Western States, but I'd say for the most part, any one of that group of 5 could come out on top (or bottom) on any given day. I ended up 15 minutes out of 5th place, which is only significant in that the top 5 women are considered podium (top 10 for men), and I really had hoped to break into the top 5 (what can I say, I wanted a cow bell). And I'm getting pretty good at nailing the F8 position, with two F8s at WS the past 2 years and an F8 here. I hope it's not fate (feight).  The top US women ended up:

4. Rory Bosio (13:43:10)
8. Me (14:13:35)
12. Meghan Arbogast (15:14:25)
14. Krissy Moehl (15:25:57)
17. Helen Cospolich (15:57:36)

The organizers still managed to provide us with around 18,000 feet of climb (per Jill Homer's data) over 68 miles (according to my watch--Jill had 67).  So, while the climbs were not as long, they were still plentiful, and steep.

I can understand why the course change happened, but after having trained all summer, and having taken a week off of work, I really wanted to do a little more than run around on steep muddy trails in the rain. I'm from Oregon. I can do that basically any night I want to for 9 months of the year. However, the race organizers did their best in what was just crappy luck.  Seriously, the chances of having 3 years of bad weather in a row can't be that high.  And the window of crappy weather was pretty incredible, as it was beautiful in the days leading up to the race, and was gorgeous again, just following the race.

I was encouraged by the fact that the climbs really didn't seem that bad. Yes, they were steep, but I was prepared. Granted, we didn't do the major climbs that come in UTMB, but what we did do seemed completely doable. Folks say you can't train for the steepness in the US, but that really isn't true, at least not in Oregon. We've got steep climbs here, too.  I did a training run in the Gorge with 10,000 feet of climb in 30 miles with just 2 climbs.  Our race was 20,000 feet of climb in 68 miles.  I was definitely prepared for that and not completely wiped.  I wanted the real deal.

Will I go back?  Yes. I loved what I saw of the course, and can't wait to do the entire thing.

I wanted to suffer; I wanted to deserve time off afterwards; I wanted to struggle up climbs, and be so sore that I couldn't walk for a several days.  Instead, we were offered a modified course, such that my quads weren't even sore.  18,000 feet of climb in 68 miles, and my quads were happy.  My quads were SO ready, damn it!  I may have finished the route that was UTMB this year, and received a UTMB finishers award, but I haven't run UTMB.  I will be back, assuming that I can get in.

Seems to be the year of shitty weather and 8th place finishes in 100 mile trail races for me. I'm sick of finishing 8th in big races.  Like at WS, I wanted top 5 here. Here I was 15 minutes back, which isn't much in a race that lasts 14 hours, and had I had any idea where I was I can definitely think of a few places where that time could have come from. I had super slow aid station transitions. They were pretty much self service, and I struggled to get my bladder filled and gear re-adjusted on more than one occasion.  I came into Les Contamines in 5th the second time through, and left in 8th or 9th.  I wasn't hanging out in the aid station; it was all just kind of clumsy and I hadn't given my crew any instructions that could have helped in speedier transitions. Next year I'll have a better idea of what the aid stations are like and can plan on how to transition through them more quickly.  I really hate wasting time at aid stations.

All in all, the trip was a fun one, but the UTMB experience left me in a severe funk.  To put so much time/energy into preparing for one race knowing that you can completely beat yourself up and then have an off season to relax/recover, and then not have that race really happen was frustrating. I came back to the states, with my legs feeling fresh, and feeling fit, but mentally feeling like I wanted to be done with training. However, being in shape, and having many great fall ultras to choose from, I opted to jump into 2 additional races: Cuyamaca 100K in San Diego, and Pinhoti 100 mile in Alabama.  Suffice it to say that I half-heartedly attempted Cuyamaca, and dropped after going off course. Just was 100% out of it mentally.  Complete 2012 burnout, so decided to take the rest of the year off of racing. My work helped with that decision, as well, as it turned into an insanely busy fall, with many late nights and a 3-week trip to Iraq in December to ensure I couldn't register for TNF or Hellgate.

I'm feeling rested, and have started jumping back into training the past month. Nothing crazy, but I've had a couple of 70 mile weeks, and am trying to notch it back up, although running in Iraq isn't that much fun (it's safe where I am, but running draws major attention and the stares/honks/smog make it not my favorite place to run, besides the fact that I can only run out on the streets early in the morning, which is not my forte, unless I want to run loops around the apartment complex, also not my forte), so my weekly totals have dipped back into the 40s and 50s.  But, I'm healthy, and excited for a pretty awesome 2013 schedule, with at least 3 international trips for races, and another few exotic locales thrown in for work.  2013 is going to be a busy one, and I hope to be able to race at a high level a bit later in the year next year for some late-season key races, so am hoping this downtime will leave me hungry enough to do so.  And UTMB is one of the races on my list for 2013.  I want to circumnavigate that damn mountain!

Many thanks to our wonderful hosts and to the fun group with which we shared the house in Megeve.  Outside of the actual race experience, it was really a fantastic week.  And to Montrail Europe for all of their assistance during the race.  I hope to see you all again in Chamonix in 2013.

Syncro-Blog: Pandora's Race: Getting sucked into the Ultra Cult

I would guess that many of us entered the ultra world thinking, "I'll just sign up for 1 race."  I know that I did when I first signed up for Mountain Masochist 50+ back in 2006.  And I can very clearly remember the parking lot scene prior to a Signal Nob trail run--one of my first with my new-found group of crazy trail running friends--where Keith Knipling stated, "I'm not doing any more 100s--they're stupid."  That was shortly after he and his dad, Gary, had completed the Grand Slam, and I just assumed that Keith was serious (he went on to run at least 5 more 100s over the next 8 or 9 months including 3 in back-to-back weekends, and both versions of TWOT, which only true nutcases ever finish). And I can remember thinking at the time (fall 2006) that 50 miles was enough. I'd do it once, and then return to my normal life. I had no desire to try 100 miles; 50 seemed like punishment enough.  And I can distinctly remember finishing that first 50 and saying, "That was stupid. I will never do this again."  Yet, somehow I ended up in Wyoming 6 months later at the start line of the Bighorn 100. My first 100 was a disaster--I tried unsuccessfully to drop for 50 miles, and still wish I would have dropped rather than have finished, but that's another story.  But I'd definitely been bitten by both the ultra and 100 mile bugs. 100 miles is not my favorite distance (I prefer 50 miles, or my favorite distance, 100K), but somehow much of the past 6 years of my life has been consumed by training for and racing 100 milers.  My non-running friends have described the Ultra scene as a cult.  You get sucked in and never find your way back out.  So what's the danger of getting sucked in?  Obviously each individual is different, but getting sucked into the ultra cult has influenced my life in some significant ways.

In no particular order:

Ultra running can be an all-consuming hobby. I like to think that I used to be more well-rounded.  In my pre-ultra life, I could list off a multitude of interests and hobbies. I used to take language classes, salsa dance several times a week, cook, bake, knit, read, take stained glass classes, tango, yoga, biking etc.  I still claim to do many of those things, but I now bake bi-annually rather than weekly; I go salsa dancing once every 6 months; and I joined a book club to force me to finish a book once a month. And most of my non-book club reading has to do with running, in the form of blogs or running magazines. I've become a great conversationalist about running, but maybe not about much else, outside of my job.  Training to compete at the level I want to compete at takes up much of my time outside of work hours. If I'm going to show up at the start line of a 100 miler, I want to feel prepared, and like I can race it. For me, that usually means running around 70 miles a week, trying to hit 80 -  100 miles in my biggest weeks, with a somewhat constant guilt complex for not doing more and feeling undertrained. Add in a yoga class or two, and that means that most of my spare time is taken up by running.

It's affected my career decisions.  I work in the international development field, and before I got into trail running, I intended to go back overseas within a couple of years of arriving in DC (2004). My reason for not trying to get a field position is more complicated than just running, but a large part of it is because I wouldn't want to be somewhere where I couldn't run trails, or potentially run at all (an overseas posting with my current organization would not be taking me to Europe, or an international location with a similar ultra scene...think Juba or Kabul).  A career has never been that important to me, though, and it's become fairly apparent that I'm more passionate about running than I am about my day job, so I guess it's not surprising that my desire to keep training and competing at a high level has encouraged me to stay state-side in the forests of Oregon.

I've moved cross country partially because of trail running. That is not to say that the ultra scene isn't alive and well (better, even) on the east coast, but I'm a sucker for really tall trees, mountains, moss and ferns, and I feel at peace running on the wet trails of the PNW.  I moved cross country to live in a place of amazing natural beauty, primarily because the thought of calling those PNW trails home was too good to pass up.

It's affected relationships. My non-running friends have commented (jokingly, but it's partly true), that they lost me to ultrarunning. I had a core group of non-running friends before I started ultrarunning. But once I started spending most of my weekends running with new ultrarunning buddies, I wasn't definitely absent more than present with my old circle. And while dating/relationships have never been my forte, I've definitely had some relationships end (or never get off the ground) because of my running.  Although I guess if a partner can't support my passions, then maybe ultrarunning has been a good screening test for duds.

Getting sucked into the ultrarunning "cult" has obviously not been without effect.  And the question remains as to why I keep doing it when the goal of it is to run races that are potentially not going to be a lot of fun.  I hated my first 100 miler. I had a miserable time, and was not proud of my finish.  Maybe that's what motivated me to run my second 100--to prove to myself that I could figure out the distance. But in subsequent races, I think I've learned that you never really figure out the distance, and maybe that's part of the intrigue and is why, 6 years later, I'm still planning my life around 100 mile races. There is something about the unpredictability of the journey that is 100 miles, that has a real draw.  You know going in, that you're going to suffer, and that there will be highs and lows, and that you won't know what those will be until you face them; there's something about that uncertainty that is really quite appealing.  Or at least it must be, otherwise, why do we do it?

Some ultrarunning friends' thoughts on the topic:
Jen Benna
Dominic Grossman
Katie DeSplinter
Jimmy Dean Freeman

UTMB Gear List and Selections

Let me start off by saying that I have never seen people wear so many layers of clothing in a running event. I thought Portlanders over-dressed, but UTMB'ers took it to a new level.  Racers were bundled up as if about to face severe arctic weather (and we might have, had we headed up over 6000 ft, which we didn't). It was almost laughable, and a wee bit confusing, as it made me question whether I had enough on and had packed enough extra gear for my crew.  I kept trying to remind myself that I've been running in winter weather for as long as I can remember, and would never consider wearing more than a single layer on bottom, even when it's really really cold or really wet. And I never wear more than 2 layers on top, and that usually becomes uncomfortably warm. But, as racers started to panic about weather conditions in the days prior and swarm the Chamonix stores for additional gear, I got sucked in and did the same. 

I found one of the more over-whelming aspects of UTMB preparation in the weeks leading up to it to be figuring out what to carry in terms of mandatory gear. I thought I'd done a good job at keeping things light, until I saw Topher's pack a few days prior to the race.  People put a lot of thought and effort into this, and Topher definitely won the award for research and creativity.

Following is a list of the required gear, and what I opted to go with:

• Backpack (Not on the obligatory gear list, but obligatory because you have to carry everything on the gear list) 
• I carried one of the TenRedPacks from UltraSpire. Technically they were green this year, but the name came from last year, when you could follow the ten red packs around UTMB. It's a prototype of the Omega. First, let me start off by saying I really liked this pack--the materials, the construction, the design--all great.  And, I liked it better than any other pack I tried out in prep for UTMB (including the S-Lab 5--stiff and bulky--too much fabric, Ultimate Direction Highline--stiff and heavy, Ultimate Direction Wasp--weird straps causing a weird fit, Camel Bak something or other--uncomfortable fit, Inov8 something or other with odd bladder--uncomfortable bulky straps that hit collarbone/neck), and worn over layers, it worked out very well. I have since worn the pack over a single layer, and I like it, except for the shoulder straps which are fairly widely placed. Better than other packs that cut into the collar bone, but still a touch wide, and tend to slip off the shoulder. Also, there are some issues with the front straps which loosen as you run; the wide shoulder strap issue would be lessened if those front straps would stay put. To prevent them from sliding, I duct taped them into place, and this seemed to work OK. I'll probably permanently sew them at some point, as the duct tape seems to fail on the second or third run. Overall, really like the pack, except for being slightly wide in the shoulders and therefore sliding around a bit, and the (fixable) front strap issue. It's not perfect (but, almost--and can/will be made perfect with a needle and thread), but is my go-to pack for long adventures.  

Checking out the course pre-race with the Ultraspire Omega pack.

On to what had to go inside of that pack...

Obligatory material :

• Mobile Phone with option enabling its use in the three countries (put in one’s repertoire the security numbers of the organisation, keep it switched on, do not hide one’s number and do not forget to set off with recharged batteries)
• I purchased a cheap flip phone in France. My Windows phone is dying a slow death, and I feared wouldn't survive the journey (after a recent run, it didn't stop ringing, literally, for several days), besides being a bit heavy and having to pay international rates. 
• Personal Cup or Tumbler 15cl minimum (water bottle not acceptable)
• I cut off a juice box--picture a Capri Sun type of thing. Rolled up nicely, worked fine, and I used it for Coke throughout.
• Stock of Water minimum 1 litre,
• I carried a 1.5L bladder.
• Two Torches in good working condition with replacement batteries,
• Petzl MyoRXP for my main headlamp and a Fenix handheld for my secondary (E11--takes 1 AA battery). I carried one extra battery for the Fenix for the "replacement batteries" 
• Survival Blanket 1.40m x 2m minimum,
• Standard. Not much room to be creative here, although some folks will go that extra mile and cut it down to exact size. I didn't bother trying to save those extra thousandths of an ounce.
• Whistle,
• Standard small plastic emergency whistle. Not much room to be creative here. Some packs come with them.
• Adhesive Elastic Band enable making a bandage or a strapping (mini 100cm x 6 cm),
• Standard...I can not imagine a case, ever, where I would use a bandage mid-run or race, and I've fallen, bled, and broken things on a lot of runs. We were carrying 5000 layers. Surely in an emergency we could have used something out of our required clothing, like the bandana/buff, and made it to an aid station. This was one of those items that makes you ask, WTF? Granted, it weighs next to nothing, so carrying it wasn't really a burden.
• Food Reserve,
• I carried ClifShots and a ClifBar or two. Gels started to not go down so well at some point, so for the second half I relied on gummy Haribo Smurfs (not the first time I've relied on gummy things when my stomach is feeling a bit off--they're easier to suck on, thus preventing the gag reflex that swallowing a gel sometimes brings) and Coke at the aid stations. Having a crew meant I could not rely on aid station food, which was plentiful, but not standard fare by US standards.
• Jacket with Hood and made with a waterproof (recommendation: minimum 10,000 Schmerber) and breathable (recommendation: RET lower than 13) membrane (Gore-Tex or similar) which will withstand the bad weather in the mountains.
• I carried the MHW Quasar jacket. Great jacket, although I never put it on (I didn't need to--I was warm all night). 

• Long Running Trousers or Leggings or a combination of leggings and long socks which cover the legs completely,
• I opted for 3/4 length tights. I also had arm sleeves with me, so they could have covered the lower part of my legs, had they needed to. I had spare long tights in my crew bag. I would have been happy in shorts, too.
• Additional warm midlayer top: One single midlayer long sleeve top for warmth (cotton excluded) with a minimum weight of 180g (Men, size M)
  OR a two piece clothing combination of a long sleeve baselayer/midlayer for warmth (cotton excluded) with a minimum weight of 110g (Men, size M) and a windproof jacket* with DWR (Durable Water Repellent) protection
• I wore a short-sleeved half-zip (MHW Aliso S/S zip T) over a long-sleeved half-zip (Arcteryx--purchased in Chamonix when I realized I hadn't brought the "right" long-sleeved layer). I loved both of these, and loved that they were both 1/2 zips so I could control temperature a bit by unzipping one or both of them. The Aliso is a shirt I will wear a lot--it's a great medium-weight SS shirt, and the half-zip option is really nice. And it's a GREAT fit--not cut for a 5'2" woman with large hips, as much women's athletic apparel seems to be. I see this as being my go-to shirt for the rainy Portland fall that is about to hit.

• I started in a MHW Geist jacket (a wind breaker), and also had a MHW Ghost Whisperer with me. I took the Geist off within about 10 minutes of the start, and only pulled it out again on the snowy part of the course on the climb up above Gorge de la Notre Dame.  Otherwise I ran in the L/S and S/S shirts all night, and never changed. I was warm all night.
• Cap or Bandana
• Carried a Buff. Never wore it.
• Warm Hat
• I carried a MHW Micro Dome hat. I wore a Turtle Fur tube, that I always wear. It allows my hair to stick out the back/top, which is kind of a must for me. I've worn it on every cold weather run the past decade. 
• Warm and Waterproof Gloves
• Waterproof gloves was one of the items I opted to switch out in Chamonix, purchasing the RaidLite over-mitts.  I really think that these are something I may use in the future for snowshoeing, cold-weather adventures, but did not put them on at any time during UTMB. Waterproof gloves, in general, are not something I would ever consider wearing, as I would imagine that they wouldn't be that effective once your hands are warm and sweaty inside of the gloves. The RaidLite mitts are thin enough that I could imagine wearing them as a single layer.  The other water-proof gloves out there resemble oven mitts, and I can't imagine using them for anything besides oven mitts. I wore MHW Power Stretch Gloves and switched those out for the MHW Heavyweight Wool Stretch Gloves at St. Gervais the second time because they'd gotten fairly wet up in the snow. My hands only got cold for a few minutes during the snowy portion, and otherwise, I didn't wear gloves most of the race.  Only for a couple of hours total out of 14.  A glove change was the only change I made all race.
• Waterproof Over-trousers
• I ended up carrying MHW Epic pants. This was one switch I made on race day, when I worried that I might need to actually wear them. In the end, I still didn't wear them. I had previously planned to carry O2 Rainwear pants (yellow papery things) bc they were significantly lighter than the MHW ones.  But, I couldn't imagine running in them. In the end, I couldn't imagine running in any of it, and didn't need to.

* The windproof jacket does not replace the mandatory waterproof jacket with hood

Required by the frontier police forces:

• Identity Papers
• Well, this became a bit obsolete once they changed the course to remain in France, but I did carry a photocopy of my passport. I didn't want to carry the entire thing bc it weighs a bit, and it's not something you want to get wet.

Very strongly recommended

• Knife or scissors with which to cut the self-adhesive elasticised bandage
• Um, nope. I can't imagine using a bandage mid-race or needing to cut one.  
• walking poles for security on slippery ground in case of rain or snow
• I used Black Diamond carbon Z-poles and can't imagine doing UTMB without them. I find them very helpful on the steep climbs, and were a life saver on some of the steep muddy descents that were kind of like skiing on mud.
• a change of warm clothes indispensable in the case of cold weather, rain or injury
• I had extra clothes with my crew, but never used any of it except switching out wet gloves for dry ones coming through St. Gervais the second time.
• the sum of 20 euros minimum (in order to cover the unexpected....)
• I did carry 20 euros but can only imagine needing this if I were doing the full course and having a really rough day (fondue stop at a refuge, etc.).

Advised (list not definitive):

Telescopic sticks, change of clothing, compass, knife, string, sun cream, Vaseline or anti-chaffing cream, needle and thread,...

All clothing must be the runner’s size and without alteration since leaving the factory.
You will carry this material in a pack which must be tagged at the race-bib distribution and is not exchangeable during the race.

If you decide to use poles, you must keep them throughout the whole of the race… It is forbidden to start without sticks and recover them up along the way.
No poles will be allowed in the spare’s bags.

____________________

My favorite gear item, besides my L/S and S/S shirts (the perfect combo for the weather--while it was raining much of the night, I either didn't get wet, or it didn't register), were my Black Diamond carbon Z-poles. I loved them for both the ups, and the downs, which were like mud slicks at times (the re-routing caused us to use some TDS trails which meant that there had already been 1500 people or so coming down/up them in the day prior in the pouring rain).

The good thing about having to go through this this year, is that next year I understand where to save weight, and what items worked well this year.  I really wouldn't change much.  I definitely wouldn't add anything. We had "epic" weather and yet I touched basically none of the mandatory gear I wasn't wearing. I likely would have used some of it had we gone up another 3000 feet, but feel like I had enough additional layers with me had I needed them. And everything I have seems to be light enough, in that I don't plan to waste time trying to save an ounce here or there. I'd rather spend that time out hiking up steep climbs in preparation than sitting in front of a computer screen researching UTMB gear options (I seemed to do a lot of that this year). 

The only thing I would change for next year would be on lights, in that I'd have an additional lightweight option to switch out during the day with crew, and then take back a heavier light late on Saturday. You have to carry 2 lights at all times, but there's no point in carrying a heavy headlamp with 3 or 4 batteries all through the daylight hours on Saturday if you a means of switching it out.
On to the race....

UTMB: The lead-up

Even though the weather gods have shat upon UTMB the past 2 years, who would have thunk that they would decide to dump the mother load on the race for a third year in a row? Not I, and I certainly didn't pack for it, as I stressed over finding the lightest gear possible to take on the challenge. I can remember telling Byron (MHW/Montrail) several times, "I don't need to wear the waterproof pants, I just need to carry them," as I looked for the lightest possible option (on this point, I'll still argue I was right...I cannot imagine ever wearing waterproof pants to run in, even after the weather we got at UTMB).  It was gorgeous for the days heading into the race and gorgeous the days following, but the weather gods decided to unleash their fury in a short 48-hour window to affect all 4 of the 2012 races (PTL, TDS, CCC and UTMB).  And while the event organizers and racers rallied to embrace what mother nature threw our way, it was a major disappointment to not be able to truly experience UTMB.

Full disclosure.  When I pictured myself running in the Alps, this is what I imagined.  I pictured myself frolicking through grassy alpine meadows throwing my arms into the air and breaking out into song, at least once, kind of like the dude in the video (but slightly more gracefully and probably with much less vibrato).

There was no frolicking or singing, not even in my head.

I haven't blogged in weeks (er, months), so I'll summarize my summer quickly. My training post-Western States went well. I jumped back into running 10 days after WS with a flat road marathon (a PR--woohoo! although my marathon PR is still pathetic at 3:04--my previous PR being my marathon split from the World 100K at 3:06).  Not super fast, but reassuring that my quads, which felt like they died at WS, were still alive and ready to jump back into training. Here are Daniel and I at the finish of the Sauvie Island Flat--held on the 4th of July. The main motivation for running the race was to have an excuse to sport patriotic attire including bunhuggers (and to hang out with my friend, Daniel, visiting from DC).

I wussed out on the body paint, but figured the tanlines were good enough representation of red and white stripes. Daniel was definitely a hit, and I met someone the next week, who remembered me as, "That girl that was running the marathon in her underwear."

I quickly ramped back up from 0 the week following WS to 70 miles and then a couple weeks in the 80s before a rest week and then hit 100 and 90 mile-weeks, which for me, are big weeks, before a 3-week taper. Some highlights of my long training runs were a St. Helens circumnavigation with "the boys" and a double Defiance, which is probably as good as it gets nearby for UTMB training--2 trips up Mt. Defiance, one from the back (Wyeth Trail) and one from the front (Defiance trail) resulting in over 10,000 feet of gain in 30 miles. There were some other memorable training runs, including a weekend in the Shenendoahs with the Keiths, a South Sisters summit with Oregon running buddies, and downhill repeats at Willamette Pass, my new favorite workout (it involves riding the gondola to the top and then running down and repeating as many times as desired--I did it 2 weeks out, so opted for 5 repeats or 11 miles downhill with about 8000 feet of descent).  Overall, I got in some of my highest mileage weeks ever, and more climbing/descending than normal.  I spent a fair number of lunch hours hiking uphill at 24% on the treadmill.  I wasn't putting in 130 mile weeks out of a yurt (watching this video made me feel like a complete slacker), but I did what I could and my quads felt ready to go.  I was feeling fairly tired on my last big week, and managed to fall 4 times that week, so opted for a good 3-week taper, and really backed off the final 10 days.  I felt great heading into it and was excited to see just how impossible this UTMB thing was, and why so many norteamericanos seemed to be humbled by it.

Me and the boys on a St. Helens circumnavigation. The summer included lots of fun long runs including this 33-mile classic PNW loop.

The group on top of South Sisters. Good practice in using poles, and 2 good falls to remind me that I'm clumsy (note: the carbon Black Diamond Z-poles are delicate, and will shatter if fallen upon).

I arrived early enough to head to Courmayeur, Italy (roughly the half-way point on the UTMB course) to spend some time with the Gaylords and see part of the descent down into Courmayeur on Sunday afternoon, and the climb up out of Courmayeur to Refuge Bertone on Monday morning.  Topher had suggested I climb the couple hundred of feet on the other side of Bertone so that I could look down the valley on the other side and take in the views. In a hurry to get back down to breakfast in Courmayeur and start indulging in my pre-race pastry taper plan, I opted to skip out on his suggestion thinking, "I'll save it for race day--it'll be even more special that way." He described that section of the trail as the beginning of the part which mimics the coastal trail in the Marin Headlands--rolling and runnable with amazing views (the apline'y meadow portion with big Alp'y mountains in the background where I planned to sing the Sound of Music theme song loudly).  Both the descent down into and climb out of Courmayeur were steep, but they didn't shock me. They weren't too unlike parts of climbs I'd trained on, and while I was glad to see them to get an idea of what I was in for, the whole thing still seemed doable.

What we should have done....Instead, we turned right at La Balme (39 K pt on this chart).

On Monday I headed back to Chamonix to meet up with Meghan and head out to Megeve, where we would be staying with our hosts, John and Sheila Catts, and additional guests, Bruce, Karen, Karl and Erika. John and Erika were to run TDS, while Meghan, Karl and I would be running UTMB. Megeve was lovely and peaceful; a nice quiet reprieve from Chamonix, where there were just a few too many achievement shirt and spandex-sporting runners milling about to put one at ease.

As luck would have it, these were the views in the days leading up to (and following) the race. UTMB seems to be cursed.  

Things started to look grim early in the week, as the forecast called for rain beginning on Wednesday or Thursday and lasting through Friday. Even though we knew the bad weather was coming, there was still hope, as the weather on Wednesday was summer-like and Meghan and I got out to tour a bit of the course near Notre Dame de la Gorge.  We were in shorts and t-shirts, and sweating, so it seemed possible that the weather forecast could be wrong, and that the current weather would hold.

Meghan and I checking out the "course" near Notre Dame de la Gorge.  We weren't actually on course, but did find a steep technical climb that resembled parts of the course. Warm and sunny!  

In the end, things took a turn for the worse, and what seemed grim earlier in the week, would have been ideal. But the earlier forecast for rain, turned to snow and heavy winds, with predicted temperatures and the snow line moving lower and lower as Friday approached.

Erika and John began TDS on Thursday morning, and we got updates from Sheila (who was out crewing for John and Erika) about how bad things were out on the course. It rained incessantly, and things continued to look grim for our start on Friday evening. We received a text stating we'd need to carry more layers. But, the show looked like it would go on, as a statement made at the press conference on Thursday afternoon insisted that the race would go on as scheduled on the original course. Runners panicked, and Chamonix retailers benefitted from a rush on purchasing additional layers. I tried to wrap my head around the idea that we would be heading up into what might feel like a blizzard at 9000 feet (10 cm of snow with wind gusts up to 70 km/hr and temps that would feel like -10C). I like to think that I like extreme weather, and was even excited about the idea of really miserable conditions. Might as well make an epic race even more so.

However, the race officials deemed it unwise to send 2500 runners up into a blizzard, so around noon on Friday we received another text stating that the course would be changed, keeping us in France at lower elevations, with total climb of about 6000 m (20,000 ft) over 100 km.  So, we wrapped our head around this news, totally bummed out by the realization that we basically would be going for a night run on a cold rainy night with zero views of the Alps.  Really, with zero views of anything, except the tunnel vision of the trail in your direct headlamp beam that comes with racing at night, made even worse by the fog, when you literally can't see much of the trail even. Wait, can't we Oregonians do that on any night for about 9 months of the year?

To be continued....(In an effort to at least get part of this out before Christmas, I'll stop here, and continue on soon, I hope).