Extremely late and uninteresting Mountains-to-Sea 50k report

This was my weekend of all things running-related.  It started with a mad dash out of work at 4PM Friday to head to BCRC to help with packet pickup, continued with a 6-hr shift at the Umstead 100 on Saturday, and concluded with a 31-ish mile jaunt through the MST 50k and some cleanin’ up/truck loadin’ afterward.  All in all, it was fantastic and exhausting.  I wanted to wait till I added some kickin’ picturs, but I also need to get this race report out the door as I’m still looking at a half-finished report from the Green Legs and Hamstrings half 3 weeks prior to this week (executive summary: Ronnie and I both got 2^nd, and we learned that the triangle seems to have the edge over the Danville area in trailrunners if this race is any indication, as our crew of 6 came away with three of six overall awards and two more age group awards).  But I digress.

I still feel like a bit of a goober writing up a 50k after watching several friends and an even bigger number of total strangers embark on an amazing journey through Umstead Saturday and Sunday, battling early morning rain, mid-day heat, a surprise midnight thunder-downpour, and, well, 100 miles of running, but as this was the inaugural running of the 50k distance at Mountains-to-Sea, and Kim and Jason worked so hard to put it on, I figured someone might be interested in how it went.  Executive summary here: it went well.  Extended version below.

This is the start - a lovely crew, don't you think?

I was telling Kim on Friday that I have never gone into a race so mentally unprepared.  Which is not to say that I didn’t think I could do it or anything like that – just that I hadn’t been mentally gearing up for the past couple weeks (partly because we didn’t know if we’d be able to run until about 2.5 weeks ago due to Umstead volunteering obligations).  There is also something about a race where you sleep in your own bed and only have to drive 30 min to the start that makes the whole thing seem rather un-race-like.  This is perhaps why, when regular running buddy Nancy took off from the start, my immediate thought was “why are we going so fast???”  Fortunately, Nancy’s head was more in the game than mine, so I just latched on to her and we started off down the trail, settling into a position that seemed reasonable.

Having run the 12-mile the past two years, I had a pretty good feel for that section of trail, but the first 3.5-ish of the new 50k course was completely new to me, and thus kind of interesting.  Unfortunately, I was busy chatting through this section and failed to take note of landmarks or anything about where we were going or what we were doing.  Observe foreshadowing here.

About 35 min into the race, we popped out at the 12-mile start and got to run right in front of the 12-mile starting line, where I saw some friends, including eventual 12-mile winner Ben Godfrey (congrats!).  Then we dodged back into the woods, this time in more familiar territory.  Somewhere around 7 miles in, Nancy and I realized that we literally could not see another soul in the forest.  …and hadn’t for a while.  It was very odd.  I asked her if the race had been cancelled partway through and everyone but us had gotten the memo.  She wondered if something horrible had happened to all the other runners. We continued to develop increasing elaborate explanations for why there were no people around, but Nancy astutely noted that we had seen Kim at 6 miles and she hadn’t seemed upset, so we really were just in some sort of race limbo, running along at nobody else’s pace (thank goodness we had each other).  Around this time, I also began to appreciate the little game where I still referred to the aid stations according to their position in the 12-mile race, but then felt all special being able to add 3.5 miles because we started before the 12-mile start line.  It gave me a nice feeling of accomplishment (This is the 6-mile aid station…but we’ve run 9.5 miles!)  Also, somewhere along here, I hit my elbow on a tree.  Kind of like when you are walking through a door and clip your shoulder.  I have no idea how this happened; it wasn’t a particularly narrow or twisty part of trail, but it is a testament to why I don’t play sports that require actual coordination.

We also played the game through here wondering a) when the 12-mile fasties would catch us, and b) when the 50k fasties would start coming back at us.  We decided the 50k people would be maybe around 13 miles, and the 12-mile pass would take place maybe somewhere around mile 12 (our mile 12, not theirs).  Sure enough, somewhere in that range (can’t remember exactly where), I heard my name from behind, and turned to see Ben blazing towards us.  Finally.  Confirmation that the world had not opened up and swallowed the other racers.  At this point, we were pretty excited to see other people after over an hour of feeling like we were the only people left in some bizarro apocalypse that left all of nature completely intact.  A couple miles up the trail, we finally saw Ronnie and Ken, the 50k leaders coming back at us (and were gratified to note that we had made it farther than expected before seeing them).  From there, it was ~1.5 miles of dodging 2-way traffic and cheering on friends as we made our way to the turnaround.  After the solitude of the abandoned forest, this was quite the change, but thankfully we eased into it with the progressive increase in traffic before we pulled into the turnaround, which was bustling with activity like a hive of excited bees.  As we pulled in, Jason grabbed my water bottle and Mandi cheered for us as I dug into my drop bag looking for another precious Vespa (I may be bordering on junkie status here), and while Nancy grabbed a handful of sammich quarters, I downed some more Fluid (with a capital “F” – this was apparently the source of much frustration and slap-happy amusement at aid stations: “we have water and Fluid!” “Water IS fluid!” “No!  Fluid is a sports drink!” “What???” “Here.  Drink this.”)  Then we were off!  Well…almost.  It took a couple seconds of confused wandering around before we figured out that we were supposed to head DOWN the hill instead of back the way we came, but THEN we were off to do a little loop around some foresty area at the dam before returning to the main trail.

The way back started the way the way out ended (wrap your head around THAT little brain teaser): cheering for friends coming at us from the opposite direction.  Unfortunately, as we approached the first aid station, I started feeling that familiar bonky feeling, which I now refer to as “Vespa head”.  Fortunately, I knew what to do, so I let Nancy know I would be walking this aid station and I tossed a Roctane in my mouth, chasing it with a nice glass of Coke.  UNfortunately, I still needed to wait the requisite 15 or so minutes for it to take effect, and I knew that keeping up with Nancy during this time was not going to turn out well, so I convinced her to go on ahead and I slowed down to a not wholly embarrassing, but still a bit slower trot.  I also noted at this point that my fun game from before with the aid station mileage had turned around to bite me.  Now, passing the 9-mile aid station, I still had 12.5 miles to go.  Bummer.  Fortunately, my Vespa head cleared relatively quickly, and I resumed trotting along, twice stopping to pick up somebody else’s discarded Gu packet (SHAME on you, discarders of Gu packets in the woods!)  The rest of the way back to the 12-mile start/3.5 mile aid station was pretty uneventful – passed some people walking and/or running more slowly than I was.  Used eating an Accel Gel as an excuse to walk up the only really long hill.  Gave the stink eye to a couple whose off-leash full-sized poodles came charging at me on the trail.  You know – the usual.

Now it’s time to remember my foreshadowing from the beginning.  We were back in uncharted territory.  I remembered there being a road and that someone said it was at ~2 miles according to their Garmin (for what that’s worth in the forest on zig-zaggy trails).  I picked it up a bit because I had passed a girl in the last section and I didn’t really want her to catch me, but as I wracked my brain for memories of the way out this morning, I turned up nothing.  SO I plugged along hoping this section would pass quickly as I was getting kinda tired and it was getting kinda warm.  Finally, after about 15 minutes, I popped out on the road, but was very confused as I could have sworn we were supposed to cross over.  But I didn’t see the rest of the trail. muh moh.  Fortunately, as I scanned the area, I found some flagging peeking out of the forest down the road a couple hundred yards.  Nice job, faulty brain.  You remember one thing about this section and you remember it totally incorrectly.

As I turned back into the forest, I saw the sign indicating we were entering Blue Jay Point Park.  I reminded myself that we still had 2 miles left and not to get excited about the fact that I was entering the park that also contained the finish line.  This was by far the most diabolical part of the race, because about ½ mile into the park, I saw a bench.  “ooh!  A bench!  I must be close to the finish – they wouldn’t put a bench in the middle of nowhere!” (yes they would)  This was followed shortly by, “OOH!  A guy with two small children!  I must be close to the finish!  They wouldn’t have walked very far to get here!” (true, but you don’t get to go the way they came)  ..and then a bit further down the trail, “OOH!  Wood chips!  I must be close to the finish!  They would only make the trail this nice close in” (Oh.  The wood chips stopped.)  “OOH!  LOOK!  A trail that leads to the left!  I know the finish is to the left” (there is a line spray painted on the ground indicating I can’t go there).  “OOH! Another trail!”  (also no.) This mini roller coaster of emotion (magnified her for dramatic effect) continued on for literally tens of minutes until I was left with, “Oh good gravy!  Can I please just turn left???” (yes, but you’re going to zig-zag back and forth a couple of times before actually getting to that break in the woods, so don’t get too excited yet, my pretty).  I also internally chastised myself in here with “people ran much farther in hail and lightning last night – you’re going to have to seriously man up if you’re going to make it through 100 miles in July”  I think I also channeled my friend, Steve at some point in there and called myself a “wuss-bunny”.  

Finally, I started hearing music, which was a little confusing because I thought we still had to run all the way across a big field to finish.  Thankfully, Kim and Jason took pity on us and put the finish line right at the edge of the clearing.  Whew.  And so concluded my trek through the inaugural MST 50k.  The old MST guy at the end said I was 5^th female.  Of course, he also told the girl behind me she was the 5^th female.  And at least 3 girls were the 8^th female.  So I won’t put too much stock in his assessment. I was pleased with my time, though, and am not feeling too terribly worse for wear today, so this bodes well for Vermont in July.  All said, it was a lovely, well-organized race, and I would totally recommend it to anyone looking for a local 50k.

happy finisher :)

And congrats, again, to the 100-mile superstars. 

The Umstead 100 - a random personal declaration

The Umstead 100.

I’ve volunteered at this race for (I think) the past 5 years, and it’s always been a moving experience.  The first year, we worked at the pacing desk, and though our job there wasn’t that exciting, we ended up being an improvised support crew for a runner and her pacer, who were both struggling after finishing.  The second year we spent 4 hrs from 2AM-6AM in the timing tent.  This sounds like a terrible job, I know, and it is hard – it gets deceptively cold at that time of night when your job is to sit still and type numbers, but it’s also an amazing job because you get to see the runners finishing.  It gets exceptionally exciting during those hours because, the winners long gone and in bed, these are the runners who set out to break that somewhat arbitrary, but universally understood and embraced 24-hour mark.  Running 100 miles in one. Single. Day.  At 2 AM, you see the people who surprised themselves and ran much faster than expected.  At 4 AM, you see the people who thought it was possible if everything went right, and everything did.  They are elated.  At 5:30 AM, you see the people who executed a plan and finished right where they hoped.  At 5:45, you see the people who spent that last lap battling demons, knowing they could do it, but trying to prepare mentally for missing the mark.  And at 6:03AM, you see disappointment and frustration.  These people will probably look back and realize they have accomplished something amazing, but they will also be back next year, with a bone to pick.  You see other people during these times as well, of course.  There are people finishing in 22 hrs, who thought they would finish faster, there are people who have finished several times previously and are just in it for another go – not terribly worried about where exactly their time fit.  But the people with the 24 hour goal have always seemed special to me.  Probably because I’ve always fancied that this is where I would fit.  Even before I had any aspiration of running that far (because that would be stupid), I saw people I had run with in other races finishing in that range, and thought “yes.  That’s where I should be in the lineup.” 

Since that first night shift, we have spent three more night shifts at the park, and with each year, I became more and more intrigued by this spectacle, and felt increasingly close to the runners out there, circumnavigating the park no less than 8 times.  You start to recognize people from previous years, and even though you’re not REALLY a part of their community, you feel like some small part of the greater Umstead community.  For 2 years now, I’ve been aware of the day when registration opens and this past year, my hand hovered over the mouse on that fateful Wednesday at precisely noon. But again, I did not jump in.  So this year was another volunteer year.  Due to a conflict with another, much shorter ultra (isn’t that a fun statement?), we needed a day shift, so we spent all of Saturday afternoon holed up in a cabin entering data from Aid Station 1.  We could see the runners out the window, and I managed to catch a few friends coming into the timing area, darting out the door of the cabin to encourage them, but I have to admit, I missed our night job in the trenches. 

This year brought another set of emotions to the table as well, though.  This year brought trepidation and inspiration…and I’ll admit…a little bit of jealousy.  Because after wavering on Umstead signup day, and inspired by my husband’s 100-mile finish at The Bear last September, I took the plunge and clicked ‘submit’ on the Vermont 100 page.  So as I watched my friends struggle through their journey, in the back of my head, I thought two things: “That’s going to be me in 3 months.  I hope I’m as strong as they are.” And “Boy do I have a lot of long, hot North Carolina summer runs to do between now and then.”  So I’m posting this as the official commencement to my Vermont training season.  I finished a 50k yesterday and don’t feel terrible.  I’m considering that a good jumping off point.  Now I just need to channel Mark, Shannon, Jay, Ronnie, Joe, and all my other 100-mile friends and commit to spending some quality time in the NC summer heat, cultivating both the mental and physical toughness necessary to take on this next challenge.  If you’ve made it this far in my weird cathartic ramble, I’ll ask you for just one more favor: if you see a Karen-shaped heap on the side of the trail this summer at Umstead, please just pick me up, water me, and send me on my way.

Thanks friends, and happy trails…

Uwharrie 40-mile

Well, it's February again, which can only mean one thing!!  UWHARRIE TIME!!!  I entered this year's race in kind of an odd place mentally.  For whatever reason, work seemed to be taking more out of me than normal (whatever 'normal' is), and, of course, the holidays managed to disrupt my training schedule.  It would be much more convenient if we could put the holidays in October or something so December and January could be devoted to long runs.  I tried pitching this idea to my family, but they were somewhat less than supportive.  As such, I wasn't feeling super positive about my ability to dislodge the 9 hour monkey from my Uwharrie back.  ...and as a follow-up, I was feeling less enthusiastic than usual about the race, which made me sad.

In the week leading up to the race, alert friend Brandy posted an article about taper-induced depression to facebook and as I mentally checked the box next to all the symptoms, I began to feel a little better about the world, just hoping against hope that that last box (the one that says most people feel fine and ready to go on race morning) would also be checked off before 7AM on Saturday. 

I started my race day with a race anxiety dream (apparently Uwharrie was now in the jungle and it took my friend Shawn and I ~3 hrs to make it to the 5-mile aid station), which left me wide awake at 2AM.  Our upstairs neighbors must have also had an anxiety dream about that time and decided to combat it by doing step aerobics for the next 90 min, as that's the only explanation I could come up with for the noises coming from above.  From there, it was really just counting the minutes to the 5AM alarm that signaled it was go-time.

The hotel rooms were spacious, sure, but these ladies were LOUD!

We arrived at our appointed parking area a little after 6AM to find that there had been some confusion among the 20-mile racers about where to park, leaving some 40-milers with no space in the lot. Thankfully, we got in just under the 'lot full' sign, so we weren't directly affected, but this did lead to a ~20 min delay in the race start, which might seem like an irrelevant detail, but becomes very important later on.

I started the race with Mandi (fellow BCTC-er and Run at the Rock buddy), having touched base with Uwharrie friend Jay about starting "somewhere in the middle of the pack".  I suspected Mandi was going to lay the smack down on me at some point during the race based on her comment that she was hoping to automatically qualify for Western States, but I figured I might be able to hang with her as long as we were stuck in traffic walking up the big hill.  I was right, but traffic broke up faster than expected, and Mandi was off down the trail ahead of me before we got to the first mud pit.  Luckily, I also had managed to find Heiko around this time, and we chatted a bit before he, too took off down the trail.  At this point I began to wonder about my pacing, as Jay  also was not in my general vicinity.  I was feeling like I was just on the edge of exertion, though, which is a dangerous feeling when you're at mile 1.5 of 40 and those 40 are in the Uwharrie National Forest.  So I trucked on, thinking I would assess the situation when I hit the "2-mile" mark.  I hit that mark in ~26 min and realized I had no idea how long it was supposed to take me to get there, which left me slightly frustrated.  I did, know, however, that I had reached the 5-mile aid station in 45 min the year I went out WAY too fast in the 20, and had a vague recollection of taking ~1 hr to get there in the previous year's 40, so at least I had some guidelines there.

Around this time, the thought also hit me that we had started 20 min late, which I combined with my (as it turns out totally faulty) recollection that there was a head lamp cutoff of 4 PM at the 38 mile mark.  I did some quick math and realized that I was going to have really step it up or I was going to be pulled off the course for lack of headlamp.  I was irritated at my stupidity for not planning for contingencies by at least dropping a headlamp in my drop bag, but reasoned how was I supposed to know we were starting 20 min late?  In my head, my only choice at that point was to go hard to the turnaround and hope I had enough to get myself back in time.  I cruised through the 5 mile station in 56 min and the 8-mile station in 1:37 (note to readers - the "8-mile" station is well known to be closer to 4 miles from the "5-mile" station).  This, though, is where I had my first hard benchmark, as I knew I was close to 2 hrs coming into this station last year.  Yes, I was ~20 min ahead of last year's schedule, but as you'll recall (because I know you've internalized my writeup of last year's race), I went out WAAAAAY too slow last year.

I wanted my cheering for David to invoke this

In reality, it probably looked more like this.

I continued cruising along, wondering if the 20 milers had started late like we did or if I would have to readjust my estimate of where they would begin to pass us to account for only 40 min of head start as opposed to the full hour (one has to occupy one's mind somehow when one is in the forest for 40 miles).  Coincidentally (really, not just for literary effect), I heard my name being yelled from behind.  I wondered which of my 40 buddies was gaining on me and turned to find that the amazing David Roche was flying toward me.  I had heard he was planning to take it out hard, but my head could not process the idea that it took him a mere 9 miles to make up my 40+ minute head start.  I mean I know he's fast and I'm slow, but DANG.  Luckily, I composed myself enough to cheer wildly for him and quickly step out of his way before he disappeared over the next ridge.  This also got me thinking about how our late start would affect the logistics of the rest of the race.  I usually start seeing 20-milers around mile 15 or so, and start getting passed by mortals (meaning lots of dancing around so 2 bodies can pass on a single-track trail) after the big hill.  Getting passed by David at mile 9 meant there would be a lot more dancing for a lot longer, but meant that maybe there would be less two-way traffic on the way back (when we turn around and make our way back through the second half-ish of the 20-mile racers).  I was still pondering this as I pulled into the 11-mile station where I found Jay and his friend James.  Feeling fairly confident that Jay was good at pacing, I hitched my wagon to their train and we made our way onward.

As we passed through the 14-mile station, I noted that we were well ahead of last year's pace (mission accomplished thus far), but also a bit ahead of Jay's professed goal of 4:15 at the turnaround and a ways ahead of my goal of 4:20-4:25.  After a brief panic, I made a comment about being ahead of schedule and when they seemed unafraid, I took a breath and decided to go all in.  Even when James, spurred on by terrain that was "mostly flat or downhill" (lies) put in a fairly lengthy surge, I hung on and was surprised to find "the hill" at 16 miles to be less daunting than usual (what kind of crack was I on and where could I get more?  More importantly, when was the crash coming?)  At this point, we were seeing 20-mile friends pretty regularly, and our fast 40-mile friends were coming back at us, including Ronnie, who was leading the race!  Also around this time, I got my favorite cheer of all time from unofficial race photographer and previous year's winner, Shannon: "Holy Shit, Karen!!  You're doing awesome!"

I am like water skiing off the back of a jet.  It's true.

Riding high on laughter and profanity, we pulled into the turnaround around 4:08.  Jay and James had decided to forego their drop bags, so they were in and out in what seemed like 10 seconds, and I was left chasing after them, trying to stuff a vespa into my handheld without tripping over anything or running into anyone.  I finally got myself organized after a half mile or so, but by the 17-mile aid station (for reasons I can't explain, I don't continue counting up after we turn around, so I use the mileages from the start), I was starting to feel a little overtaxed and woozy, and was having a little trouble focusing.  I was hoping this was an electrolyte/glucose issue and not the beginning of a precipitous bonk, so I downed a Roctane, an s-cap, and some Mtn Dew, and wandered out of the aid station at a slightly more relaxed pace, reasoning that I just had to make it back in ~5 hrs to PR for the race.

I identify with these guys: we're not terribly coordinated,
but we sure can walk fast

James must have seen the look in my eye when we pulled in to the station as he and Jay discretely let me slip back without comment and moved on down the trail.  Fortunately, my electrolyte/glucose theory held up and I began to sharpen up as I made my way toward the backside of the 16 mile hill (see?  I really can't do the mileages back!!)  At this point, as I generally do during a long race, I started pondering my finish time projection.  Barring some sort of total meltown (which was still totally possible), I figured a PR was well within reach (I recalled - incorrectly - that I had finished in 9:12 last year), and a sub 9 finish was well within reach.  8:30 seemed numerically possible, but not terribly likely.  As I pondered such things and power-walked my way back up the hill, James and Jay came into view and I felt like I might not have lost as much as I thought with my little crisis (though I was reasonably sure their daring and my pansiness would lead to a widening of that gap on the ensuing downhill).  This diverging of paths put my pacing and strategy back in my hands and allowed me to run to my strengths (lots of long granny gear bouts punctuated with long, gangly-legged power-walking up the steeper hills), which was somewhat disparate with James/Jay's (fearlessly bomb down hills, surge on the flats, recovery shuffle up the hills).  Fortunately or unfortunately (depending on your appreciation for heckling - I think we were all pretty okay with it), this led to a fair amount of see-sawing, and though we really never ran together again, we were within about 200 yards of each other for the rest of the race.  At every aid station, I grabbed a Mtn Dew or Coke, and two fistfuls of potatoes, but still felt that familiar bonk feeling approaching shortly before the 5-mile aid station.  Remembering I still had a Roctane in my handheld and figuring it had been long enough since my last Vespa, I downed my final Roctane and another s-cap and waited (hoped??)  Fortunately, the magic still worked and I was able to power my way through the next three miles to the 2-mile road crossing.

Over the last 15 or so miles, I had been projecting aid station arrivals and adjusting my finish time accordingly.  With my bonk around 5 miles, I had figured I would hit the 2-mile station around 8:20, and slide in to the finish somewhere around 8:50, as I am notoriously bad at picking my way through the final rock field-y ledge heading back into the finish.  After my re-up with Roctane, though, I started feeling pretty fricking awesome, and invoked the inner football coach, who kept asking me what I was saving it for.  I picked up the pace and rolled into the 2-mile aid station at 8:13.  Then I got angry...or something.  Something in me decided it would be a grave injustice to cap off this performance with a 30+ minute pick through the last 2 miles (I think that's about how long it took me to get in last year), and I bombed down the hill with (for me) reckless abandon, constantly reminding myself to stay focused on the trail to avoid an epic collision between some part of my body and some relatively immovable piece of nature.  As Jay/James drew into sight again, I knew they would kill me going down the final hill, so I made it my mission to get as close as possible to them before that final descent.

THIS is why the last 2 miles takes 25 min
(photo credit to Scott Lynch)

I closed the gap to about 40 yards by actually running(!) up a good part of that last hill and then shifted my focus to keeping moving through the rocks.  I took a quick look around me and barreled off down the hill, alternately exhorting myself (possibly out loud - you weren't there, so you'll never know) to pay attention and to have quick feet.  As I made the turn on to the mercifully less rocky trail into the finish, I was tempted to check my watch, but refrained in favor of staying focused on the trail (and not breaking my face).  As the finish area came into view, I heard someone yell "Finisher!" and the customary cheer as the crowd encourages runners across the line.  This was followed by my friend Carolyn yelling "Ronnie!  Your wife!" as my husband apparently was otherwise engaged at the moment.  As such, I came across the line laughing, and upon checking my watch to find I had covered that last bit in ~25 min (still sounds long for 2 miles, doesn't it?), meaning I had finished in 8:38-ish, let out a "YESSSS" combined with a fist pump that I hope nobody caught on film.   

I am married to the wearer of the buffalo head in the foreground
(photo credit to Anthony Corriveau)

 All in all, with two minor blips, I'm absolutely ecstatic about this performance, as I have launched the 9-hour monkey into the next zipcode (but because I'm me, making sure he has a parachute lands comfortably on pillows among friends because I don't even want to hurt a metaphorical monkey - yes, I'm aware there's something wrong with me). The realization that I never have to run the 40 is a little bittersweet, though, because...well...it wasn't so bad....

Awww... I love you 40-miler

Author's note: I actually ran a 9:21 last year, not 9:12, so this was a 43-minute PR

 

(/shameless self promotion)

Run at the Rock

Well, redemption day finally arrived.  A tad melodramatic, perhaps (okay - definitely), but this is probably the most amped up I've been for a race in a while.  This really isn't saying a whole lot as I still got the better part of a decent night's sleep and was chatting with people on the starting line until 1 minute before the gun, but I had been thinking about the race for the past couple weeks, and had been legitimately concerned about the health of my newly temperamental and angry hamstring for the past week. I even adjusted my final "speed" workout backward one day to give the hammy a little more time (but still wanting to tune up the one fast twitch muscle fiber I possess in case I should need him - I call him Zach).  Yup - I actually THOUGHT about the race beforehand and executed a reasonable and logical workout plan in the week leading up to the race.  I'll admit that a little more activation of my sympathetic nervous system before a race might be beneficial, but this tends to backfire on me big time (for a brief run-down, see this previous post), so this level of preparation was really pushing the envelope of my running karma.  Also, I have to compensate for Ronnie, who has enough weird nervous energy and pre-race crazy for both of us (why do you put on clothes you're not going to run in only to change into - yes change, not strip down to - your running clothes when we get to the race?).  I feel that by my being more low key about things, we have the right amount of energy if you average us... which would be awesome if we were entering a 3-legged race.  Or maybe that would be terrible?  Regardless, we competed individually at this particular race, so it's a moot point.

Back to the story at hand, though (sort of). We loaded into the car and arrived at the surprisingly frigid Cedarock park (yes, that's right... Cedarock... we have a multi-year conversation going about whether it's Cedar Ock or Ceda Rock because we can't allow Cedarock to be one word...yes, our marriage is based on nonsense like this).

This just can't be one word

Facebook had alerted us to the fact that we would be seeing some friends here, and it didn't take long for us to spy friend #1 all decked out in her Canadian best maple leaf hat and mittens (I wish I had a picture to post here - Canadia would be proud, Kim!!). We then proceeded to pick up our numbers and powder blue sweatshirts and speed walked back to the car to huddle for warmth between bouts of warming up and trips to the bathroom line (at least we knew we were hydrated!)

Arriving at the starting line, we were greeted by a sea of orange and blue BCTC singlets and a number of other friends out to enjoy a challenging course on a lovely day. As the race director counted down the minutes to the start, those of us who had no business on the front line inserted ourselves somewhere in the middle of the pack and we were off! As I bid my faster friends adieu and trotted off down the road toward the woods, I heard the unmistakable sound of jingle bells and looked back to find that I was being chased by a 6'2" elf with surprising foot speed. For a minute I felt like I did in my first marathon when a marine carrying a 4' American flag blew by my bonking self at mile 18, but as he darted around the 10 people ahead of me as well, it became abundantly clear Santa had given him a good dose of mad running skillz for early Christmas and I moved my thoughts back to my original "starting the race" plan (try not to do anything stupid).

These are some of my friends... I am much farther back....

... closer to this guy

I had a vague recollection of my PR on the course being somewhere in the 2:05 range, so my goal was to be as close to 2:00 as possible (who doesn't love a nebulous and thus highly achievable goal?). As I
checked my watch at the few mile markers I saw, though, it appeared I would be going through the halfway point around ~62 or 63 min, which was puzzling because I felt like I was moving along pretty well. Fortunately, I was able to drop a sub 6 min 7th mile to get back on track, going through the 7-mile mark a little under 61 minutes (or perhaps that mile was a little short? ...hard to say...okay, not really...that last mile was more than a little short). The second loop was a slightly stickier, gooier version of the first loop, but with more new friends, including new friend Mandi, who is also running the Uwharrie 40 and looking at a summer 100. I think I may have conned her into accompanying me on some Umstead runs between now and then... fingers crossed that she wasn't just trying to get me to stop talking.

As I made my way up the final hill toward the finish, I glanced at the clock at the finish line to find it hovering around the 2:04 mark, meaning I may or may not have PR'd on the course. So much for instant
gratification. As our merry band reconvened, we made our way to the food tent and scoped out the finishers list to find that our friends had a very productive day, with David Roche setting both the
7- and 14-mile course records (encumbered by a shirt, even!!), and many others netting overall and age group awards. I know it's kind of jerky to say, but it's nice to have a bunch of friends around cheering each other on as everyone picks up their awards. Mandi and I ended up finishing 1-2 in our age group to join the merry band of Run at the Rock giant mug award owners (someday, we'll all have to get together for giant coffees!)

this picture does not do justice to the giant-ness
of these mugs

For those who care, I matched my previous PR on the course. To the second. I was initially a little irritated at this, but two voices of reason pointed out the following: 1) I would be REALLY irritated if I
had been 1 second slower than my previous PR, so I should look at the glass as half full, and 2) I was in pretty solid running shape when I set that PR, so I should take this as a positive sign of progress. So
I say thank you to my two voices of reason, and I do feel less irritated, but that doesn't mean I'm not still thinking of all the spots where I could have gutted out a few more seconds. That's healthy as long as it's motivational, right?

So, to sum up, it was a lovely day for a run, a good course, and I feel more or less redeemed. The only downside to the day was Mandi may have sacrificed a pinky finger to the trail gods in an attempt to test gravity and get a close-up look at the terrain as she made her way down a muddy hill :(.

Skinny Turkey Half Marathon

After the Shut-in disappointment, I was pretty determined to redeem myself at Run At the Rock, so I trained really hard (for the whole 4 weeks between the two) with an eye to realistic pacing and some pseudo tempo runs (run one of my "long runs" each weekend a little shorter and with fast people).  It seemed like a decent strategy, but I still wasn't super confident in my ability to pace myself with any level of intelligence.  SO I decided I should do a tempo run with known mile markers just to check in. The Godiva Thursday run would have been ideal in this regard, but alas, this little revelation occurred the weekend of Nov 19... you know... the weekend before a certain pesky eating holiday that meant no Godiva run.

Inexplicably, my mind drifted to something my running enabler friend Doug had mentioned during the week prior about a Thanksgiving half marathon in Extreme North Raleigh.  I had initially rejected the idea as silly because the course involved two (different) out-and-backs on ROADS and Extreme North Raleigh is FAR.  But alas, it would probably be the best way to get a feel for how hard I should go out (effort-wise, not time-wise) at Run at the Rock, so I went ahead and signed up with the goal of finishing out my regular training week and running 8:15s for the first 10 miles and seeing how things went from there.

My regular training week ended up being a little harder than normal thanks to a second hard-ish long run Sunday (to try out my awesome-tastic new hydration vest) and a more intense than expected speedwork session Weds morning (who put those two giant hills in that second 2k?), so I was feeling a little sluggish and beat down Thurs morning, and I was definitely apprehensive about my ability to even maintain 8:15s.

Luckily, the first two miles are downhill, so maintaining 8:15s was SUUUPER easy... also, so was maintaining 7:45s... heh.  heh.  uh oh.

Fortunately, I was able to rein myself in to a couple of miles in the 8 min range and didn't feel too much worse for the wear.  The next couple miles involved some hills (including ascending the mile 2 hill) and some disgruntled gentlemen who weren't super excited about being passed by a girl.  The second half(ish) of the race wound through a nice older Wakefield neighborhood with some good rolling hills and then wandered up a straight road I never caught the name of only to turn around in front of some old gas station/store and come back to the start/finish (where we would need to re-ascend the mile 1 descent).  In the back of my mind, I kept track of all the downhills on the way out so I would know what I would have to contend with on the way back (did I mention there were two giant hills in the second 2k of the workout the morning before?  I was beginning to think this might come back to haunt me as the hill counter kept ticking upward).  I figured the leaders would be coming back at me about the time I hit 8 miles (their 10), so I was a bit gratified when I breezed by the 8 mile mark with no leaders in sight.  About half a mile later, I saw a familiar wiggly gait coming up the road toward me following the lead bike and went to high-five my lovely husband, Ronnie, who was apparently winning the race!  This was almost a beautiful moment except instead of the expected "good job!" or "love you!" I heard "Are you okay?" escape his lips.

Ummm. Hunh?  I think so... So then there were a few moments of deep self-examination upon which I concluded that a) I was fine, b) Ronnie was probably delusional from being in the lead, and c) this was definitely going to get mentioned a BUNCH of times in the coming weeks!

The rest of the race went pretty smoothly - I made it up all the hills (though I did feel the legs a little bit toward the end) and did not do anything heroic and stupid that would jeopardize my ability to obtain sweet sweet redemption the following weekend.  The only slightly disappointing bit was I missed my "stretch" goal of feeling good and finishing under 1:45 by 2 seconds.  TWO. SECONDS.  Sigh.

Also, I would find out the next day that I may have slightly strained my hamstring with the combo of back-to-back hard-ish runs and launching off at 7:40 pace on a cold morning with no warm-up.  You'd think I'd learn at some point, but... well... no - you wouldn't think that at all.

Shut-in

SO.  Once again, I was lured into signing up for the Shut-in Ridge Trail Run with the promise of a lovely weekend in Asheville in early November (which sounds absolutely outstanding when one is sweltering in Durham in August).  I wasn't sure at the time how ready I would be given that I had really just started running again after my body made it absolutely clear that I should NEVER sign up for a road marathon again (for the full story see http://cotrailrunnernc.blogspot.com/2011/07/return-to-motherlandor-how-to-hurt.html and http://cotrailrunnernc.blogspot.com/2011/07/return-to-motherlandor-how-to-hurt_30.html ).  That, however, would not deter me, as due to various injuries and/or hard races run just weeks before, I have turned this race into a nice hike on more than one occasion before (like 3 out of the 5 times I've signed up).  A lovely hike in Asheville in early November is also very nice (actually, probably nicer than the grueling grind up Mt. Pisgah that comes with "racing").  That being said, training this early fall had been going well, and I was feeling pretty good about my running, so I entered the weekend thinking a PR was plausible (note foreshadowing here - with a sense of foreboding).  I tried to temper my high hopes with the realism that I hadn't raced a step since the road/toe incident above, and I thus had no real idea where I was fitness-wise aside from making through 8x"hundreds of doom" on the track and some random back-to-back long runs that felt surprisingly good.  I was not terribly successful in this tempering.  I'll admit I had some pretty lofty visions going into the starting line.  I also had a touch of caffeine-induced mania/invincibility, as I also discovered in the past couple months how much awesomer one feels running after a nice coffee filled with sugar and french vanilla.

Don't I look invincible here?

In hindsight, this may not have been the ideal venue to test how well that coffee effect transfers to races.  Now lest you think this is going to unravel into a story about GI distress and "roughing it" in the truest sense of the phrase, let me assure you it is not.  Instead, it will be a story about discovering one's own mortality at inopportune times.  So let me set the stage for you:  for those unfamiliar with the race, Shut-in is a lovely 18-mile jaunt up Mt. Pisgah with something on the order of 6000 feet of elevation gain (and 3000 of elevation loss).  Also, the aid stations only have water.  Lots of people combat this by having crews to bring them goodies, take their clothes, talk nice to them, etc., but unfortunately, my most likely crew candidate tends to be about an hour ahead of me on the trail, so as a couple, we have learned to be self-sufficient on trail. This is usually not a problem, as I'm no stranger to the 20+ mile long run with nothing but Gu, water, and the occasional deer to cheer me on, but at the ~9.5 mile mark on Saturday, I sure could have used a coffee refill.  But I digress. 

Still feeling bionic

Let's talk about the first half of the race first, because let me tell you: it was AWESOME.  I felt light, lithe, and lively (I don't know if that's exactly true, but I liked the alliteration, so I'm keeping it).  Alliteration, aside, I did feel something bordering on invincibility, which was great fun and led me to stupidly scamper up the first couple of hills ahead of my much smarter buddy, Nancy.  The invincibility continued for the next several miles, and I actually continued to feel pretty darned awesome through the nice flat area leading up to the 9.5-mile aid station. During this stretch, I also found a very nice lady to run/talk with, and we chatted about common running acquaintances and what it was like for her to be raising two children while living on a small college campus (the short story - it's awesome).  Unfortunately, as we chatted and marveled about the weather and the views, I think we sped up a wee bit, and about a mile short of the aid station, I started to get that nagging "um...I'm getting a little tired..." feeling. If I was smart, I would have let the nice lady go and downshifted just a wee bit to keep the energy outflow in check.  Unfortunately, "smart" is not something I'm often called with respect to running, and I was socially invested with this woman, so I pushed on, reasoning that I would stop at the aid station, collect myself, and bid her adieu as I throttled back on the wee climb that is Ferrin Knob (about 800 vertical feet over ~1 mile). 

This is what I felt like... a sad, powered off robot
...made from cardboard boxes.

Unfortunately, it turns out that my new friend was also socially invested and wanted to climb with me, so I probably (or obviously, depending on your perspective) didn't throttle back as much as I should have... and by this point, all traces of coffee-induced superhumanity had worn off, so I was feeling like movie robots sound when someone unplugs them.  Thankfully, I think my new friend sensed the imminent unraveling (or perhaps she actually heard the wheels fall off as they bounced down the mountain?) and moved on ahead as I dragged myself up to the crest of the hill and more or less spilled down the other side.  During this time, the smarter friend Nancy from earlier in the story caught me and scooted on by, reminding me that she is really just an excellent runner and climber, and also much much smarter than me. Fortunately, she's also a lovely human being and did not actually call me a dumbass out loud as she passed by. The other positive thing I can say here is I did succeed in taking it easy through this section, and did find a second wind after the next aid station, meaning I was able to catch back up to and hang in there in Nancy's general proximity for the next 5 or so miles. The only other interesting note during the grind that was this section was that I tripped at one point and very nearly fell off the mountain (one leg went over the edge of a rather cliff-like dropoff, but thankfully, the rest of me fell toward the mountain and I lived to run another day). 

Unfortunately, one more challenge remained, and my earlier dip into energy reserves meant I didn't have much in the tank for the final 2 miles, which involve another 1000-foot gain over ~1.5 miles and then a lovely, quad-busting descent down leaf-covered rocks the size of medium-sized rottweilers.  From previous hiking years, I knew going in that you could pretty much walk the entire section in 42 minutes.  This was both comforting and soul-crushing as I pulled out of the last aid station, but I soldiered on with four-inch strides for the next 40-ish minutes (see??  I ran enough to finish TWO WHOLE MINUTES faster than I would have if I had just walked the whole thing!). 

Remember I *didn't* walk the whole thing...

All in all, I'm not terribly happy with my time, and I'm definitely not happy with my strategy/pacing, but it was a lovely weekend to be out and about in Asheville, and at least I have some idea where I am fitness-wise (oh THAT's what tempo runs are all about...).  Up next: Run at the Rock, where I seem to excel in years where there is ankle-deep mud (fingers crossed).  Until then, happy trails, all!

2011 Godiva Shut-in Runners

Return to the motherland...or "how to hurt yourself with what are, at first glance, really great ideas" Part II

Okay, it wasn't actually blizzarding in Steamboat - it was blizzarding on Rabbit Ears pass getting into Steamboat.  Steamboat looked much more pleasant.

It turns out that was only the beginning of the pleasantness.  In true motherland fashion, it was roughly 75 and sunny every day we were there.  We ran on beautiful trails, up mountains, around waterfalls, through unicorn nests, etc. for an entire week.  It really was an incredible week, as we were able to spend it with an assortment of our best friends from a variety of stages of our lives, but as gushing isn't funny, I'll leave that segment of the trip at that.  On the funny side, we were inspired by Josh and Becca, who are fancy and buy art when they go on vacation so they have something to commemorate the trip, and bought a moose carved out of a log by some guy with a chainsaw... because we're klassy like that.

pretend this is a moose.  and not holding a welcome sign.
yes, i'm too lazy to go upstairs and take a picture of the real moose.
and also too lazy to use capital letters.

On packet pickup day, we walked to the 'expo' venue and picked up our stuff.  We also met the Honey Stinger guy, who was to become our new best friend.  We ran into him approximately 14 times over the next 48 hours and will be working with him for the Umstead marathon next year. So if nothing else positive came from this whole trip, the marathon got a gel sponsor.  We also figured out that the bus pickup on race morning was about 3 blocks from our house and the race finish was about 1.5 blocks.  Talk about random dumb luck (okay - Steamboat's not that big, but seriously - 1.5 blocks??? That's some serious serendipity there.)  Once we had our packets, we scoped out the rest of the expo, which consisted of our Honey Stinger friend, some guy peddling some sort of oxygenated water (??), a new recovery drink, and a tent outside from a local running store.  The water guy warrants additional mention because was all sorts of happy to talk your ear off and had a table full of his fancy water, but I'll be darned if I saw him give away a single sample.  He seemed weirdly protective of his stash.  Or maybe didn't want to give the whole field an advantage???  If you listened to him, you would be convinced that you would pretty much sprout wings and fly to the finish of the race if you drank his miracle water, which, as far as I could tell, was filtered a million ways and then had oxygen bubbled through it.

So race day finally arrived and our house full of assorted friends began to ready ourselves for what looked on the published course profile as a run off a cliff.  This included a 300-mile bus ride to a lovely little outpost in southern Idaho, where some weirdo was maniacally peeing on a wagon wheel while holding a thermometer.

This actually isn't even the start - I have no idea why they
have this in my official race photo set

At about 7:15, we were instructed to put all our drop bags on a bus, which then cruelly drove off down the road, leaving us half naked in the cold morning air, waiting to initiate the destruction of our quads. (did I mention we were to be running off a cliff??)

As we made our way through the early miles of the race, I realized two things: 1) I was not in marathon shape and was relying on inborn talent that did not exist, and 2) the apparent cliff in the race profile had masked some not entirely insignificant uphills.  Regardless, I was making not entirely embarrassing progress through about mile 15 when the somewhat annoying 'something's not quite right' feeling in my left foot turned into what felt like a cherry bomb exploding in the vicinity of my second toe inside my shoe.  I stopped momentarily to determine if I had stepped funny and just fired off a weird nerve impulse or if I had done something dramatic, convinced myself it must have been the former, and loped off down the road, a little slower than before, but still making forward progress.

forward progress...sort of

When I reached the aid station at mile 17-ish, I stopped for some stinger chews and gatorade, and as I tried to start off again, it became abundantly clear that this was not going to be a possibility.  I literally could not run, and even walking was causing intense pain in the region of the toe that I was pretty sure at this point had actually exploded in my shoe.  So there I sat, 100 yards from the aid station, wondering if I was actually going to have to settle for my very first DNF.  The very strong argument against such a thing was "You CAN'T DNF.  YOU brought all these people here.  How much of a tool would you be if you didn't finish???"  The possibility was just too much to bear.

my new slower pace allowed me to
fully enjoy the scenery

So I sat down by the side of the road and took off my left shoe to assess the situation more fully.  I found that my toe was already turning a different color and my foot was a different size and shape than it was when I started (the downside).  The upside, however, was that it didn't hurt nearly as much now that my evil shoe was out of the picture.  So there I was on the side of the road, performing some quick calculations to determine whether I had time to walk the last 9 miles in before the cutoff.  After determining that I did if I kept myself under ~18 min miles, I headed onward, barefoot, aiming to reassess at the next aid station (which was 2.5 miles down the road).  I met a number of very nice individuals this way, including a bike monitor who checked up on me periodically for the next 4 miles and a police officer who drove by twice, trying to convince me I should just take a ride back to the finish.

you can tell I'm excited because you can see
my belly button

Unfortunately, something about the way I walk and the status of the pavement caused me to develop ~2 inch blisters on the backs of both heels after about two miles, and I was forced to put my shoes back on.  Luckily, the fresh air had done my toe some good, and it was content to hang out inside the shoe as long as I didn't try to run anymore.  So that's how I finished out the race.  Clipping off 15-minute miles, taking in the scenery (which, to be fair, was quite lovely, and I probably would not have enjoyed as much had I been attempting to race back into town).  Luckily, my friends fared much better, with Ronnie running a solid 3:06, Jim close behind at 3:11, Becca taking 2nd female overall, and everyone else turning in reasonable performances.  Except maybe Josh, who also apparently had some special moments of his own out on the course, but now has empirical evidence that you do need to train for more than 7 days if you want to run a good marathon.

So all in all, toe-sposion aside, I would call it a successful trip - we learned some things, we had some good times, and I can now cross Colorado off my states list if I ever decide to get into that sort of thing.

...for those who are interested, we never did figure out exactly what was up with my toe (after ruling out a clear break and determining the course of treatment would be pretty much the same regardless, we decided to forego additional imaging), but I got to spend 2 weeks in a super sexy surgical shoe, and avoided horsefly season at Umstead almost entirely with the minor caveat that I then got to spend most of July learning how to run again.  Oh.  And I am taking this as a sign that my body had totally rejected roads as a running option.  No big loss there.

I'm pretty sure this guy beat me