<knock knock> HELLLOOO?  Anyone here?

Yeah, so clearly I’ve gotten lax on the ol’ blogging front.  Can’t even blame it on the cancer, as thankfully I’ve been cancer-free for over a year.  Rather, I’ve suffered a lack of motivation on the running front, which has lasted far longer than I anticipated.

THE GOOD

Eager to have a goal race to look forward to after having to bail out of the IMTUF 100, Waldo 100K and White River 50, I signed up for the Umstead 100, held in Raleigh, NC at the end of March.  I heard great things about the race, and since it was very close to my sister in Chapel Hill, I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.

With the lumpectomy and radiation therapy, my mileage was pretty low July-September, but I figured I’d amp it up come October.  I did increase it somewhat, but my motivation was still at an all-time low.  Ditto for November, and December, and… well let’s just say by the time I toed the line at the end of March I was just hoping to finish within the 30-hour cutoff.  The result?  I PRd by over an hour, finishing in 25:54.  WHUT?  Buoyed by this I entered the Lumberjack 100 two weeks later.  It was rough, but I squeaked in under cutoff.  This was the confidence boost I needed for my next big adventure: the Bigfoot 200.

THE BAD

I knew I’d have to step things up considerably for Bigfoot, a 200-mile jaunt around Mt. St. Helens, but my performance at Umstead left me cocky.  “I just have to maintain a fast hike,” I told myself.  While I got out on several long runs around Mt. Rainier, my weekly mileage averaged only 35-45 miles in May, June and July.  When I toed the line at that race start I was scared shitless — for good reason.  Within the first few miles it was clear this would be FAR harder than I anticipated, as I gingerly made my way through a mile-long boulder field.  I actually thought I’d get cut at the first aid station at mile 12!  Fortunately I made it with time to spare, but I was fighting cutoffs for the rest of the way.  (I was joined by the sweepers starting at mile 75).  I eventually made it to mile 110, where I had hoped to pick up a friend to pace me, as well as get some much-needed sleep.  However, the volunteers said that the cutoff at the next aid station — 19 miles away — was in 8 hours.  Normally this wouldn’t faze me, but the section had the steepest and longest climb of the race.  I just didn’t think I’d make it without sleep or a pacer.  Defeated, I chose to DNF.

THE UGLY

After licking my DNF wounds and having my pity party, I set my sights on the Rio del Lago 100 in November.  My darling and two of my friends were also running it, and I was looking forward to the party.  However, it wasn’t enough to get my butt out the door to train; my average weekly mileage was a dismal 25 miles in September and October.  Once again I hoped my endurance base would get me to the finish line, but it wasn’t meant to be.  Between taking a couple of hard falls and having to huff it to make a few cutoffs, my body and spirit were broken.  I actually was grateful to not make the mile 84 cutoff, as it meant I could stop running (although by then I could only muster up a fast hobble).

In the three weeks after RDL I only ran once a week.  I felt my joy for running had disappeared; I was far happier with my other hobby: sewing.  However, since that doesn’t do much to keep my weight at bay, I knew I’d have to come up with a plan to kickstart my running.

Enter REDFAM — Run Every Day for a Month.

Mind you, I’m not the streaker type; I scratch my head at those who have maintained years-long and even decades-long streaks, running through sickness and injury.  But hey — it’s only for a month; easy peasy, right?

I had no specific weekly mileage goals, rather, I had to run at least two miles a day.  I also gave myself the option of running just 1 mile twice during the month.  Almost half of my runs for the month ended up being in the 2- to 3-mile range, with another third in the 3- to 4-mile range.  But I was having fun!  There were several times I wanted to bail, especially when it was dark and rainy, but I knew I’d only have to be out there for less than half an hour.  In most cases I literally ran my errands, as my bank, post office and grocery store are within a couple of miles round trip.  I used up my first 1-miler on Dec. 12, a particularly nasty day of wind and rain.  But I also ran a marathon, along with a couple of 6- to 7-mile runs.

My second 1-miler came on the 22nd.  I felt guilty, but I decided I’d up my minimum daily run to three miles from then on.  I almost broke my streak on Christmas Day; Santa had given me a terrible hangover, so I thought I’d give myself a present by allowing myself to rest.  Fortunately my darling convinced me a run would be just the thing to kick my hangover, and he was right.  I finished the month out with 120 miles, thrilled I had reached my daily goal.

So, would I do it again?  As part of a training plan, no; I need my rest days.  But given December tends to be a month where I have the running “fuckits,” I think I’ll make it an annual tradition.  I was able to get in my exercise and still enjoy the holiday festivities.  It got me out of my rut and even helped me get a bit faster.  I wish I could say it kept the holiday weight gain to a minimum, but there was some major over-indulgence.  Perhaps my next challenge should be NoBoFAM. (No booze for a month).

Recuperating.

This coming 4th of July, I will celebrate the independence of a small tumor from my left breast.  Talk about life’s curveballs!  Not something I ever expected — colon cancer runs in the family, not breast cancer.

Although the guidelines have now changed, I’ve been getting regular mammograms every year for at least five years.  A couple of years ago I was called back for an ultrasound as they found an abnormality; I was totally freaked out, but fortunately it was for naught.  So when I got called back after my May 16 mammogram, I wasn’t concerned.  (My breast tissue is dense, so it can be hard to read with just a mammogram).

During the ultrasound the doc was a tad concerned about one area (appeared as shading), but not particularly so.  He said it very well could be how the breast tissue was formed, but he recommended getting a biopsy “just in case.”  Again, I wasn’t concerned.  Hell, I even scheduled the biopsy three days before a 50-mile race!  (My über expensive yet highly supportive bra earned its keep: I ran a 30-minute personal best.)

They said I would likely get my biopsy results two days later.  Friday came and went with no call, but I wasn’t worried.  Monday came and went, and I decided if I didn’t hear by Tuesday afternoon, I’d call.  My darling and I were sitting on the couch Facebooking Tuesday morning when the phone rang; my heart jumped into my throat when I heard my doctor’s voice.  (Typically if it’s good news then a nurse calls).  Once I heard the word “cancer” come out of her mouth I pretty much became oblivious to anything else she said.  (It was like the adults in a “Charlie Brown” cartoon: “WAH WAH WAH WAAH, WAH WAH WAH WAAH.”)

I had to have her repeat what I had; she used the terms “infiltrating lobular, low-grade” and “in-situ.”  She had made an appointment for me to meet with a breast cancer surgeon that coming Friday (the 13th, no less.)  I hung up the phone and burst into tears.  As I dialed my sister to inform her, my darling turned to Dr. Google with the information we had.  As I blubbered to my sister about having cancer, he’s saying, “It’s not cancer!”  Rather, it was “lobular carcinoma in-situ (LCIS),” which is not considered a “true” cancer.  However, it means you’re at a greater risk for developing cancer in the future, so regular screenings and hormone therapy are recommended.

This information helped relieve me a bit, and I decided to hold off on telling my other siblings and my mom until after I met with the surgeon.  But the waiting was the worst part (patience is not one of my virtues).  It also gave me time to turn to Dr. Google myself.  I kept coming back to the word “infiltrating;” while “in-situ” means “in place, “infiltrating,” well, means the exact opposite.  My worries returned but all I could do was wait to meet with the surgeon.

Turns out I had both LCIS and “infiltrating lobular carcinoma” (also called “invasive”) of the left breast.  It’s the second most common type of breast cancer (after ductal carcinoma).  Fortunately it was VERY low-grade (stage 1A), requiring only a lumpectomy and most likely just radiation therapy rather than chemo.  I had the lumpectomy yesterday, and the surgery went well.  The surgeon will present my case to a “tumor board” for recommendations on my ongoing treatment, which I should hear about within a week.  I’ll then most likely have at least three weeks of radiation, 5 days/week.

Overall I’m in good spirits and am happy to have the damn thing out of me.  However, my emotions have been out of whack — I would start crying for no apparent reason — but now that the surgery is over I’m feeling much better.  It was definitely more of a “Fuck — this is inconvenient” sort of sadness/fear than a “I’M GOING TO DIE!” sort.  Once I was diagnosed I made the decision to pull out of the IMTUF 100 at the end of September; it’s a much more gnarly race than Cascade Crest and I knew the training for that would be physically and mentally taxing.  However, I had hoped to still be able to run the White River 50 at the end of July and the Waldo 100K in mid August.  But given my radiation won’t start for a couple of weeks, I pulled out of Waldo yesterday as that was the deadline for getting a partial refund.  (White River is also in question, but I should be able to defer.  If I can’t run, I’ll volunteer at an aid station.  I will, however, run the Tunnel Marathon next weekend; it’s only 26.2 miles, after all )

I’m confident this is merely a blip.  I had been feeling a bit burned out lately (since Cajun Coyote I’ve run three more 100-milers), so this forced break will be good for me.  I’m already thinking of other, less strenuous, adventures for the summer, possibly hiking either the Enchantments or the Wonderland Trail.  Cancer can’t hold me back!

So ladies — please get your boobies checked, or at least be diligent in doing self breast exams.  (My darling has promised to help me with mine   )

Buckle and age group award.

I never expected this race would take more mental fortitude to finish than Cascade Crest.  In reviewing the elevation profile, it make Rocky Raccoon look hilly.  Fortunately I had heard the course has some steep upsie downsies, albeit short.  I knew I couldn’t take the course for granted.

Cascade Crest really wiped me out, and with my father’s death and getting sick a couple of times, my training wasn’t ideal.  However, I did get my long runs in.  (My 50th birthday run was a huge confidence boost).  I figured it’d be best to show up rested and sans injury, and that I had enough endurance where I could at least finish.

We stayed in Opelousas (which we dubbed OompaLoompas), which is about 40 miles from the start/finish.  (The Best Western in Ville Platte, the closer town, was sold out).  Got in late on Thursday, but slept in, grabbed some breakfast, and headed to the S/F to meet up with friends Kelly, his wife Jo, and Burke for a shakeout run on Friday.  We of course had been monitoring the weather; winter storm Cleon swept through north Texas resulting in treacherous icy conditions.  While things were fine in the south we did get colder than normal temps.  It was in the low 40s on Friday; on Wednesday it had been close to 80!

Our shakeout run was an easy 5 miles and showed us the hilliest portion of the course.  Indeed, the hills were short but rather steep.  Since it had rained the ascents were slick with mud.  But I figured that’d keep me to a slow pace.

We drove back to OompaLoompas after the run for a nap and shower, then headed back for the packet pickup and dinner.  The RD was laughing since he decided to serve what they had the previous year — COLD pasta with veggies and chicken.  It was delicious, but given the temps hot pasta would have been better.  The swag was great: a long-sleeved Patagonia shirt, HeadSweats visor with CC logo, pint glass, Forge Racing stickers and a Saloman drop bag.  I also found out they’d be giving out age group awards; there was only one other woman in my group, so I’d be on a mission to beat her.  We got back to our room by 9 p.m. and settled down.

After a fitful night of sleep due to inconsiderate hotel guests who did not grasp the concept of “inside voice” we got up about 4 a.m.  We had organized all of our stuff the day before, so we just needed to gulp down some coffee, change into our running togs and head out the door.  It was indeed pretty cool, but not too bad.

Since we’d be starting out in the dark Matt offered to run with me for the first hour or so.  I gladly took him up on that.  The S/F was pretty mellow when we arrived; there were only 100 or so entered in the 100 mile and 100k and there were several DNSs.  As we lined up Matt was shivering almost uncontrollably, so I told him he should go out at his own pace to warm up; I’d be fine.

Knowing it’d be cold, I prepared well (or so I thought).  I started with a long-sleeved shirt, my Patagonia shell, gloves and a hat; I then had a couple more shirts in my drop bag, along with fleece-lined mitten gloves (fingerless cloves with a flap to go over them), a mylar blanket, Wattle Waddle arm warmers and a rain poncho.  I wore a skirt and compression socks; although people kept asking me if my legs were cold they actually were fine.  However, I said they’d probably get cold should it start to rain (queue foreshadowing music).

At about 3 miles in I picked up a friend — James, who was running his first 100.  His girlfriend had told him not to go out too fast, and I guess he felt I knew what I was doing (silly boy).  He was a talker, but I welcomed it.  In fact, I was pretty chatty myself.  We told each other our life stories to pass the time (but what is said on the trail stays on the trail).  We became the “Living the Dream!” team as we yelled that out each time we entered an aid station.  We finished the first loop in 4:30, which was right on target.

(Okay, so a note about the course.  Although it claims each loop is 20 miles long, it’s actually shorter.  I recorded three laps of roughly 18.8 miles before my Garmin died; I’m rounding up to 19 miles/loop for a total of 95 miles).

I tried to get in and out of the main station as quickly as possible, but it was somewhat disorganized (my only complaint).  They didn’t have a specified place for our drop bags, so we just placed them in front of our car (which was close by).  I’d come in, grab what I needed out of my bag, check in at the timing station, then head to the bathroom to organize my stuff.  I’d then hit the A/S for food and head out, dropping stuff back at my bag that I didn’t need on the run.  For the first loop that took only 7 1/2 minutes.

“Living the Dream!” Team

Second loop was much of the same; James and I would exuberantly yell “Living the Dream” as we hit each aid station.  Since we’d be changing direction for the third loop, we started seeing the front runners a little over halfway through the loop.  I was thrilled to see Kelly in the lead and stopped briefly to give him a congratulatory hug. At one point I saw a woman who looked like she was my age heading toward us; ruh roh!   Could it be my competition?  On paper that woman appeared to be a back-of-the-packer, but the woman I saw was a good two hours ahead of me.  I tried to convince myself she was a 100K runner.

As we started up a particularly long boardwalk just before the mile 16 aid station, I spied a familiar figure coming toward us: my darling!  I introduced him to James, saying he was my trail husband for the day.  My darling unfortunately had rolled his ankle, so he was taking it easy.  I kept my fingers crossed he’d be able to finish.

When we finished our second loop (4:54) I grabbed another shirt and my headlamp as it would be getting dark.  Eight minutes after arriving James and I were back on the trail.  We now got to see who was behind us as we had changed direction.  While I felt good, the lack of midweek training runs was beginning to catch up with me and my pace slowed a bit.  I told James I wouldn’t be offended if he decided to go out on his own but he refused.  He’s blown up in races before going too fast and he figured sticking with me would mean he’d finish.

Because it was overcast we had to turn our headlamps on within about an hour of starting the loop.  My pace slowed even more as I did not want to risk turning my ankle on the leaf-strewn, rooty trail.  But when I wasn’t running, I was at least keeping up a steady shuffle.  I found out at one of the aid stations that my competition was a no-show, so as long as I finished, the award was mine.

While I liked running the course in this direction in the beginning, I did not enjoy finishing with the hills.  The temperature had dropped and I was tired.  I managed to get my feet wet, so I decided I’d change my shoes and socks at the end of the loop, as well as grab my hydration pack that was packed with more warm clothing.  I warned James it’d be a longer stop, but he was fine with that.

Due to the cold my fingers weren’t working quite so well.  I changed my shoes and socks in the car, also applying Kinesio tape to the balls of my feet since I was starting to get hot spots.  I decided to throw on a third long-sleeved shirt, as well as a headband that went under the hat I already had on.  Finally, I switched out my lightweight gloves for the mitten gloves.  While they weren’t waterproof, they were incredibly warm.  If they got TOO warm, I could just unflap the mitten. As suspected, this stop took far longer — just under 35 minutes.

About three miles in to the fourth loop we picked up a third person: Ramon.  Cajun Coyote was his fifth 100 of the year; he had paced a friend to his first 100K finish, so that’s why he was farther back.  We figured he’d go ahead of us, but he was content to stick with us since it was dark.  I think James was happy to have another person to chat with!  I had several down moments during this stretch; I felt I was keeping Ramon and James back, but they both said they appreciated the company. I did too, especially since they motivated me to run more than I would have on my own, but I also knew I’d be slowing down even more in the dark.

James started to get sleepy halfway through the loop and began stumbling around.  Ramon and I encouraged him to take his caffeine pills, but James was concerned he just have to keep taking them the rest of the night.  Instead he plugged in his earbuds, which completely revived him. In fact, Ramon and I would barely keep up.  (I pretty much was reduced to a fast shuffle).  We had to stop at the last aid station before the finish to change out batteries; my fingers were so cold I could barely get the batteries out of my flashlight.  Once again I felt I was futzing too much and taking too much time.  I must have put in one battery in the wrong direction, as the flashlight wouldn’t work.  Fortunately I had another on me, although that was about to die.  But with fresh batteries in my headlamp I could see really well.

Just as we were finishing our fourth loop it started to drizzle.  The forecast had called for a chance of rain, so I figured it wouldn’t last long.  When we got back to the start/finish James asked the RD if we were at risk of not making cutoff; I felt we had plenty of time (almost 8 hours), but I think James was concerned about how slow I was moving.  While he, Ramon and I took off together, he soon was far ahead.  (He’d go on to tear up the loop, finishing it in just under 4 hours for a 26:05 finish).  I got ahead of Ramon during the hills at the beginning; it was clear we’d all be running our own pace for the 5th loop.

The rain was heavier than anticipated, making the course quite slick.  And while I had been fine in my skirt when it was dry, my legs became quite cold.  I stopped to fetch the rain poncho out of my pack, but as I put it on it ripped on my headlamp, leaving a gaping hole at the neck line.  I tucked it in to the top of my pack, but it was clear I still needed something else for warmth.  As I took the poncho off to retrieve the mylar blanket in my pack, the poncho ripped even more, rendering it useless.  Oh well, at least I had the blanket.  As I stood there tying it around my waist I somehow slipped and fell.  What a freaking klutz!  As I ran I had to keep futzing with the blanket since it stuck to my legs and made it difficult to run.  I finally got it in a position that worked, however, it meant a portion of my legs were still exposed to the rain.

I had told James that when the sun comes up during a 100 it’s like you have a new lease on life: you can turn off your headlamp and the morning sun really brightens up your day.  Well, on this day that would not happen, as there was NO sun.  Sure, I could turn off my headlamp, but it was still gray and rainy.  Just when I thought the rain had stopped it would pick up again, plus it never warmed up.  My torso had become extremely chilled and I prayed they’d have a garbage bag at the aid station.  About two miles from the A/S the thunder and lightning started and I worried they might shut the race down.  I had come too far for that to happen.

Just before I hit the station I had to go down a steep dip and then up the other side.  As I was making my way down I slipped in the mud, landing on my butt and getting my mittens wet.  When I reached the aid station they handed me a garbage bag and asked if I wanted to warm myself by the fire.  At that point I just wanted to keep moving.  I’m sure I was quite the sight with the mylar blanket wrapped around my legs and the garbage bag on top.  I knew I was on the verge of hypothermia, but prayed I’d be fine as long as I moved.  I tried to think positively, but was incapable of doing so.  All I could think about was what would happen when I finished the race.  I get extremely chilled on a normal day, but after spending 6+ hours in freezing rain?  While I had both my Snuggie and down coat at the end, I wasn’t sure they’d be enough.

The next eight miles were tortuous.  While the thunder stopped, the rain continued and it got darker.  I was chilled to the bone as my feet were continually wet (the trail had become almost a river with all the standing water).  While the garbage bag provided some relief, I was still quite cold and decided the mylar blanket would be better served up top.  However, I had to clutch it around my body, which meant my hands weren’t free to catch myself should I fall (and fall I did).

I finally reached the last aid station and gulped down some soup.  The poor volunteers were huddled around the fire, trying to stay warm.  The table of goodies was soaked, including a bowl of pretzels that swelled up with moisture.  I didn’t stay long as I was eager to finish; I only had just under 4 miles to go.

Wouldn’t you know it — it was the worst 4 miles of the race.

My spirits were already dampened (HA!), and then the rain became the most intense it had been the entire loop.  The trail was a river and although it was less than two miles to go  it seemed endless.  It was then I suffered the most insulting fall of all. I got to one of those evil dips; as I started down it I slipped yet again, landing with my butt totally up against the backs of my feet so that my knees were completely bent.  My already wet mittens got thoroughly soaked and muddy, and of course it was tough to get out of that position. I managed to pick myself up and soldered on. I knew I’d be close to the finish when I reached a paved road that I’d cross; I’d then have about a quarter mile more single track before I reached a second paved road that would take me to the finish line.  It seemed I had been running for miles, but the first paved road never materialized.  I actually thought I might have gotten off course.  Finally I saw it, but of course the trail wound around for about another quarter mile before I could actually cross it.

Just as I was doing so Ramon came up behind me and scared the bejeezus out of me.  (I had been looking behind me several times to see if anyone was catching up, but hadn’t seen anyone).  I shouted out encouragement and told him to finish strong and get warm.  As I hit the single track again I could hear someone beeping at Ramon; the finish line was near!  I got within a few yards of the second paved road to realize it was Matt who was beeping.

Even though I had wanted to break down in tears several times during that last loop, I wanted to save my energy to keep warm.  But when I saw our car I totally lost it.  Matt got out and started heading toward me with arms out-stretched; he too started crying as he saw the utter distress on my face.  I collapsed in his arms, telling him how incredibly cold I was.  He kissed me, saying he’d be right at the finish line with the warm car.  I scurried up the final 1/10th of a mile, crossed the finish line and yelled out my number.  I didn’t even bother picking up my buckle; Matt immediately whisked me in to the car where I broke down into deep, moaning sobs.  I couldn’t believe the sound coming out of me; it was almost other-worldly.

Matt wrapped the Snuggie around me and I managed to get my wet shoes and socks off.  But I was shivering so uncontrollably that it was difficult to function.  I finally got all the wet clothes off and got in to dry ones.  My extremities were tingling and I was incredibly uncomfortable.  I didn’t want to face going out in the rain again, so Matt collected my buckle and age group award.

It was a good hour before I warmed up and was able to face anyone.  I still didn’t want to get out of the car, so Matt pulled around to the A/S so that I could thank the RD and say goodbye.  We stopped in Ville Platte at Sonic Burger, and I immediately fell asleep afterward on the drive to Lafayette.  Fortunately our hotel room was ready for us; I climbed in to bed — down coat and all — and crashed again while Matt went in search of beer.

Finish times: Matt — 22:57, me — 28:10.

Much deserved frosty beverage.

]]> https://eatdrinkrunwoman.com/?feed=rss2&p=641 0 https://eatdrinkrunwoman.com/?p=633 https://eatdrinkrunwoman.com/?p=633#respond Thu, 14 Nov 2013 02:08:56 +0000 http://eatdrinkrunwoman.com/?p=633 I dedicate this report to my Dad, A. Raymond Rogers, who gracefully bowed out of this world on August 27 at age 87. I am grateful I had the chance to tell him about my latest adventure before he passed. I now share it with you.

We last left our intrepid heroine trying her best not to drive her darling bat shit crazy. (He would argue that happened long ago).

Due to client vacations, I was fortunate to have a light work week leading up to the race. Not the best thing for my wallet, but it gave me time to order, and pack, and reorder, and repack (and, um, reorder and repack) my drop bags. I heard horror stories of food running out at Leadville this year, so I packed enough gels and other nummies to feed an army. The aid stations are well stocked with “real” food, but I wanted to be prepared lest something didn’t sound appealing. My goal was to eat at least 100 calories every half an hour, and increase my caffeine intake as the day wore on. (I even packed some Starbucks DoubleShots in my drop bags at mile 33, 53 and 80). I would be running alone in the dark for several hours and did NOT want a repeat of my Rocky Raccoon sleepies. I met my friend Tracy — who was also running the race — for cupcakes the day before, then ate a hearty, yet healthy lunch and dinner. By 8:30 p.m. it was lights out.

While Cascade Crest can arguably be one of the tougher 100s out there, it has a very civilized start time: 10 a.m. Granted, most runners probably don’t get a heck of a lot of sleep the night before, but at least there’s no running around at Oh God Thirty gathering one’s things. Since they serve breakfast before the race, I just had some coffee and a banana at home. We were on the road by 7:30 a.m. for the hour+ drive to Easton.

Despite my trepidation over making cutoffs, I felt really good about the race. Sure, I knew I could have done more training wise, but at least I was showing up to the race healthy and injury-free. After grabbing some fruit, pancakes and sausages I milled about with the the other runners, catching up with people I hadn’t seen for a bit. (I figured the “home court advantage” would serve me well; not only did I know at least a third of the field, I also knew at least 1 person at every aid station. It would be a welcome sight to see familiar faces who would provide me with encouragement and motivation along the way).

At 9 a.m. we gathered for the race briefing where Charlie Crissman formally handed the reigns over to the new race director, Rich White. He provided an update on the course, as well as explained what we could expect in terms of markings (heavily marked at intersections with a few confidence markers thrown in). However, given a major portion of the course would run along the PCT, he said that section wouldn’t be as heavily marked. (This would come in to play for me). We lined up at the start with about 15 minutes to go, and after both the U.S. and Canadian national anthems were sung we were off!

The first couple of miles are on flat gravel roads and it’s easy to get caught up in the excitement and go out too fast. I lined up toward the back and kept an easy pace, not worrying about getting passed. My friend Lisa ran with me for just over a mile, then pulled ahead as we started our first killer climb. That’s right — it wasn’t long before the course showed us just how tough it’d be. We’d gain just over 2,600 feet in four miles; while the first half mile is on a gravel road, we’d soon turn on to steep, rocky single track that was rutted by dirt bikes.

I felt really strong on this section during the training run, but the excitement of the race sent my heart rate soaring. I eventually had to step off the trail to allow several runners to pass; I didn’t want to get caught up in trying to keep their pace. Soon after the water-only station at mile 4 my left ear became plugged. I tried holding my nose and blowing air out, to no avail. Soon the dizziness started and my pace slowed considerably. I once again had to pull over to let people pass. I was able to get my ear to clear by bending over, but once I stood up it’d plug up again. I tried not to let it bother me, but in the back of my mind I questioned whether my race would be over even before it had truly begun.

Although I had no idea what could be causing the issue, I decided to up my calorie intake from every 30 minutes to every 20. My ear did clear somewhat as the course descended, only to plug again on the climbs. Just before the Cole Butte aid station at mile 11 I got passed by Brandon, the RD for the Badger Mountain 100 and 4-time finisher of Cascade Crest 100. I asked him if there were any runners behind him and he said no; we were it! I got somewhat deflated since I was once again dead last, but he said that as long as we were able to keep up the pace we were going, we’d make it under cutoff. I used those words to motivate me and kept soldiering on. (Unfortunately Brandon was coming back from injury and ended up DNFing).

In preparation for the race I created a pace chart for a 31-hour finish that provided targets for each of the aid stations. I didn’t want to be a slave to this chart, but figured it would help me gauge my progress. Given my training and past race times, I figured I’d be finishing close to 32 hours, but held out hope that a 31-hour finish was within reason. (UltraSignup, however, did not have much confidence in me. It predicted a 33:07 finish — more than an hour over cutoff!) I had hoped to reach Cole Butte in about 2:45, but ended up coming in dead last in 3:09. However, I got a boost by seeing a familiar face, even though he didn’t know who I was. When I first ran the White River 50 in 2011 another runner obliterated Mt. Rainier in the quintessential Glenn Tachiyama race photo (fortunately my husband has mad Photoshop skillz and was able to recreate it). I figured out who the runner was, and lo and behold he was standing in front of me at Cole Butte offering to fill my water bottles. He was taken by surprise as I ran up to him asking, “Are you Kellen?” I told him the story and we both had a good laugh.

I headed out of the aid station before Brandon and soon caught up to another runner, Leitha, on a downhill portion. She had DNFd Cascade Crest twice and was determined to make the third time a charm. Her husband had been in a car accident the year before and is now a quadriplegic, so she was running in his honor. The downhill was bothering her knee, so I snuck ahead when she stopped to walk. However, she caught up again during the next steep ascent when I once again had an attack of the dizzies. My every 20 minute fueling seemed to be working though, and I knew the trail would soon level off. I prayed my ear issue would resolve itself.

The yogurt-fruit smoothies at the Blowout Mtn. aid station were a treat, and it was great to see even more familiar faces. A few yards out of the aid station I saw a guy stretching his hamstrings on the side of the trail; I asked him if he was doing okay and he said he had to fill up on food at Blowout since he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. This surprised me since Blowout is at roughly mile 15 and we were almost 4 1/2 hours in. However, he assured me he was okay, so I continued on. (He too would end up DNFing).

I thankfully was feeling great as well. My ear issue had resolved itself and I was now on the PCT portion of the trail: nice rolling single track. While I knew things could easily go south again, I simply concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, continuing my 20-minute fueling breaks. While my darling planned on meeting me at the Stampede Pass aid station at mile 33, I had a feeling I might also see him at Tacoma Pass. Sure enough, I entered the clearing to see his smiling face. Such a great boost! Eric Sach, the station captain, had saved me some turkey & avocado wraps, so I ate a couple then and there while my darling filled my water bottles, then grabbed a couple more for the trail. My darling was concerned to hear I was having a rough go, but I assured him I was doing much better, despite arriving more than a half an hour later than I had hoped.

Although I had not run the section from Tacoma to Stampede Pass during the training runs, I had run it a few years prior. I remembered traversing a clearing with some power lines, then coming across the Stampede Pass aid station shortly after entering the forest again. But what I hadn’t remembered is that there are THREE such clearings! But I finally descended into the station to find my darling waiting for me with my drop bag. The cutoff for this station was 8:30 p.m. and I arrived at 7:36; still a half an hour over where I hoped to be. Since it’d be getting dark soon, I lingered a bit longer, changing into a long-sleeved shirt, getting my lights together and eating some soup. I also downed the DoubleShot which really hit the spot. (I stored it in a small collapsible cooler with an ice pack so it was nice and cold). I also ate a rice ball I made with seasoned seaweed, cucumbers and umeboshi plums, which tasted SOOO good after all the sweet gels I had been consuming.

I was also surprised to see quite a few other runners milling about; turns out I wasn’t as far back as I thought (or perhaps I had simply started making ground). I switched out my bottles for a hydration pack, kissed my darling goodbye and headed on out. The next 15 or so miles would be familiar as I had just run them three weeks prior. However, I also knew the trail would look different in the dark. I made it about a half an hour before I had to turn on my handheld flashlight, then another 20 or so minutes before the headlamp came on (I find the headlamp provides great overall illumination, while the flashlight offers spot illumination). At this point I started leap-frogging with my friend Craig, who was dealing with various niggles and therefore was keeping the pace easy. He wore external speakers, and although I wasn’t familiar with the music he was playing, I welcomed it. (Was reassuring to have someone close by as darkness descended).

Eventually he got ahead, and I was once again running alone. I arrived at the Meadow Mtn. aid station at mile 40 just before 10 p.m. (almost 12 hours in) where my friend Karen fed me Chef Boy-ar-dee ravioli and filled my hydration pack (canned ravioli never tasted so good.) I was still 30 minutes behind my goal pace, but well ahead of any cutoffs. I gulped down the ravioli and was out within about 5 minutes. A few miles out of Meadow Mtn. my flashlight died, and unfortunately I had not packed any batteries (they were all in my drop bag at mile 53; D’OH!) Fortunately my headlamp and long-lasting batteries, but the illumination just wasn’t as strong as with both combined so my pace slowed as I maneuvered around a trail that became much more technical. As I was starting up the climb to Mirror Lake I heard a couple of runners ahead of me, but couldn’t see them. The trail started to become a bushwhack, so I knew I had gone off course. Sure enough, I turned around to see a course marking leading me up. I got off course again about a mile or so past Mirror Lake; I suddenly was running by a bog that I knew wasn’t there during the training run, so I turned around and found the actual trail. (While the PCT is VERY obvious during the day, at night it gets a bit more tricky. Losing my spot illumination didn’t help things). The trail seemed rockier than I had remembered, and I once again thought I had gone off course. Thankfully I finally spotted a PCT blaze, so I knew I was on the right course.

I pulled into the Ollalie aid station at mile 47 just after midnight; by now almost 50 minutes behind my goal. Unfortunately they had no batteries for me, but they DID have some delicious pierogies, which I gobbled down with some yogurt sauce. I only had about 6 miles left to go before I’d hit the Hyak aid station where I could pick up both batteries (or a new flashlight altogether), and more importantly, my darling as a pacer.

During the training run we traversed a narrow, scree-strewn trail before heading onto more single track to the Snoqualmie Pass ski area. However, during the race, the course turned left before the traverse down a steep, rocky jeep road to the “ropes course” — an even steeper bushwhack with fixed ropes to guide us. Halfway down the road I saw a headlamp pointed toward me and heard, “Hi honey!” Now that’s what my darling says, but it didn’t sound like him. I answered, “Hello? Who is that?” He once again says, “Hi honey!” Turns out he was so concerned about me that he ran three miles (including through a tunnel) to meet up with me! I was so happy to see him and was grateful he was behind me as I maneuvered through the ropes course. It wasn’t too terrible, but the last rope was pretty slack and my feet came out from under me, making me land on my butt. No blood, no foul though. The ropes course deposited us onto the flat gravel John Wayne Trail, and eventually into the 2-mile long Hyak Tunnel. I made great time, passing 2-3 more runners (although they would get ahead of me again when I stopped at the fixed bathrooms at the end of the tunnel).

The cutoff for the Hyak aid station was 3 a.m.; I arrived at 2. My friends Linda and Jenny quickly tended to my needs, grabbing my drop bag and getting me some hot soup and food. I also crawled in to one of their tents to change my jog bra as the one I was wearing was soaked with sweat. (A great tip from my friend Karen: wipe off the area under “the girls” with a wet wipe and reapply Body Glide. No more chafing!) I downed another DoubleShot while my darling opted for hot coffee and we headed down the road. But no sooner had we taken a few steps when we realized neither of us had filled out hydration packs! That would have been a disaster given it was 7 miles uphill to the next aid station. Crisis averted, we were soon back on track.

This section started off with roughly 2 miles of pavement, turning into a gravel forest service road as it climbed. There was only one intersection to worry about, which was about 4 miles from the aid station. When we hit a fork in the road we were to turn left; I thought the this was well-marked, but two friends of mine took a wrong turn and ended up running an extra 3-6 miles. We also ran into our friend Stacey and her pacer Roger; she was not having a good day and decided it would be easier to turn back and drop at Hyak. We arrived at Keechelus Ridge about 4:30 a.m. where I quickly grabbed some food and headed back out (my hydration pack was still half full so I decided to wait until Lake Kachess to fill it). I was looking forward to the 7-mile downhill section, but my legs started to ache and I couldn’t pick up much speed. Although I normally do not like to take pain killers during a run, I figured now was a good time. A few runners passed me during this section (including one of my friends who had gone off course), but once the Tylenol kicked in I crept ahead again. I got another boost once the sun came up a couple of miles before the Kachess aid station.

The downhill pounding did a number on my bowels, and it became clear I wouldn’t make it to the aid station port-o-pottie. I pulled off the trail and did my business, doing my best to clean myself up with Wet Wipes. (My ever-so-dutiful husband had me hand over the Ziplock bag with the soiled wipes; he earned major brownie points). I stopped at Kachess just long enough to grab some food, fill my hydration bladder and duck in to the pottie to wipe and lube my arse.

The next section is called the “Trail from Hell,” a 5-mile stretch along the banks of Lake Kachess. Apparently it used to be truly hellish as runners would encounter a bunch of blowdowns that were tough to maneuver around. But it’s now more like the Trail from Heck; twisty & turny with enough tricky sections to make it tough to run. The first half-mile section is the most challenging as one must bushwhack down to Box Canyon Creek (although even that section had been somewhat cleared), then log hop across and scramble up the other side. Knowing I’d have to slide on my butt through a couple of sections, I put on some lightweight biking gloves, a la Karl Meltzer. While I wasn’t moving particularly fast, I felt good. More importantly, I wasn’t worried about making the last cutoff at No Name Ridge.

Halfway through the Trail from Hell I caught up to my friend Vivian, who was having a tough go. She and her husband had just hiked the 270 miles of the John Muir Trail, and I don’t think she was fully recovered. Soon after I came up on my friend Lisa and knew she must be struggling as she’s normally much faster than I am. Sure enough, she took a nasty spill coming down the ropes course and wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to finish. When I to Mineral Creek I plowed right through as I had dry shoes and socks waiting for me at the aid station. (My friend Kim had tried to rock hop this section during the training run and unfortunately slipped and broke her wrist.) When we got to the Mineral Creek aid station my friends Terry, Delores, Toi and Kevin were there to take care of us. While I thought we had plenty of time to make the 11:30 a.m. No Name cutoff, they lit a fire under our asses. My darling grabbed my drop bag and refilled my hydration pack, while Kevin dished up some quesadillas and Terry helped me change my shoes & socks. (The Injinji toe socks are great from preventing blisters, but they’re a pain in the ass to change in a hurry, particularly when one’s feet are wet).

Both Vivian and Lisa caught up to me, as well as Kim’s dad Mike. (He had wanted to drop at Hyak, but Kim refused to give him a ride! She let him sit for half an hour to eat, then scooted him out of the aid station. Her plan worked as he caught up to us on the Trail from Hell). Vivian left the aid station about 5 minutes before me and I started fearing it’d be Bighorn all over again. (She was the last person allowed to leave the Dry Fork aid station where I had gotten pulled. I arrived at the station just as she was heading out; we were less than 5 minutes apart at the time). Once again I was fighting cutoffs, but there was no way I was going to give up; I had come too far. I figured if I was looking strong by the time I got to No Name, I could perhaps convince the sweeper I was able to continue on. My friends Laura, Allison and Owen would be there to back me up.

While the climb to No Name isn’t particularly steep, I wasn’t able to run much. But I kept up a strong power hike, averaging about 17-minute miles. My Garmin died on Keechelus, so I had to rely on my darling to keep me informed on my progress. He assured me we were doing fine, but I was still worried. However, our group had now grown to at least 12 people (six runners and their pacers), and I figured there was no way the sweeper could keep us all back. No Name is a very remote aid station, so we’d have to catch rides with the volunteers once they packed up. That strengthened my resolve to keep going even if I had to get my bib pulled.

My concern was for naught as I reached the station to the cheers of Laura, Owen, Allison, Francesca and Adam with almost 20 minutes to spare (the sweeper hadn’t even arrived yet). Still, they were an efficient pit crew; as I sat down to shake a pebble out of my shoe, Owen drew a tattoo on my arm (No Name had a tattoo parlor theme this year), my darling filled my bottles and Francesca shoved pieces of bacon into my mouth. I was in and out in less than five minutes, however, once I was out of sight of the aid station I settled into a fast walk to get my heart rate down again. The toughest portion of the course was yet to come, so I wanted to give myself somewhat of a break.

The next 10 miles include the dreaded “Cardiac Needles” — several steep, yet short climbs and descents that truly wear on one’s legs and mind. The Cascade Crest runner’s manual claims the first one is the longest and steepest, and during the training run I had to agree; it seems endless! But during the race I was surprised to find it wasn’t bad at all… only to realize I actually WASN’T on a needle yet. But even with fatigued legs it was clear my hill training was paying off; the climbs were by no means easy, but they weren’t a zombie shuffle either.

I dropped my hydration pack at the Thorp Mtn. aid station for the climb up to the forest service cabin to retrieve my magic ticket (proof that we made the entire climb). Glenn Tachiyama positioned himself just before the summit and snapped a great pic of me hugging Glenn Mangiantini, who was concerned I wouldn’t make cutoff. Just as I was reaching the bottom of Thorp Mtn. Vivian and her pacer were starting the climb. She looked pretty rough, so I shouted encouragement, saying we had this. (She thanked me after the race, saying it was just what she needed to hear at that point). I passed a couple more people and swore every time I got to another needle. (No one has ever been able to count the exact number of needles, probably because the race directors manage to add a few come race day. At least it seemed like that to me).

My spirits brightened once I hit the French Cabin aid station as I knew I only had one more needle to tackle (the bacon and cheese croissant they served also helped). I was surprised to see my friend Ras sitting at the station, but fortunately nothing was wrong, he merely needed to take a bit of a break. Sure enough, with about 7 miles left to go he and his pacer Heather came up behind us. They ran with us for a while, but I waved them on as I knew I couldn’t keep up. (I wanted to save my energy for the steep descent in to the Silver Creek aid station).

During the training run I had a really rough go on that descent. It was everything I abhorred: steep, rocky, slippery with loose sand and seemingly endless. I had slipped during training, so I tried my best to keep “nose over toes” as I made my way down. While I certainly didn’t bomb down this section, I was proud of myself for running it faster than during the training run. Still, my darling was concerned we were cutting things too closely; he knew I’d kick myself if I didn’t finish in under 32 hours. I arrived at the Silver Creek aid station at 4:46 p.m., giving me 1 hour, 14 minutes to finish in under 32 hours. This last section — roughly 4 miles — starts off with roly poly doubletrack, then flattens into a smooth trail with some dirt roads, then a section of paved road, and finally onto a somewhat rocky section along the train tracks to the end. I was feeling spry and knew I’d be able to pick up the pace. I popped my ear buds in and cranked up my “power” songs; the horse could smell the barn.

When we hit the paved road I saw Ras and Heather just ahead. When they looked back and saw me they sped up; we laughed since it was obvious they didn’t want me to pass them! I teared up as John Denver’s “Take Me Home, County Roads” came on, especially at the line, “Take me home, to the place, I belong.” For me that place was the finish line. As I turned on to the final rocky section, I remembered what my friend (and tattoo artist) Owen had told me: be careful! You’re so close to the finish that people can see you, so the last thing you need is to trip and fall. But I hopped over the rocks with ease, picking up my pace even more as The Killers’ “For All These Things That I’ve Done” came on. I whooped as I pulled off my hat and swung it above my head, crossed the finish in 31:39 and yelled out, “UltraSignup can kiss my sweaty, stinky ass!”

Ever the prankster, Rich tried to tell me they had run out of buckles, but I was having none of it. I grabbed it out of his hand, clutched it in my own and hobbled over to a chair, grateful for it to be over. Ras came over to congratulate me, saying while he indeed had sped up when he saw me, both he and Heather thought it was someone else! Their conversation went like this: “Oh, someone’s trying to catch us, better speed up.” “Boy, I wonder how Betsy’s doing. I sure hope she finishes.” “That runner’s gaining on us; better kick it into high gear!”

It was an incredible journey and the most hard-won buckle to date. Will I run it again? Unlikely, but not because I didn’t enjoy the experience — I will be joining my friend Laura as co-captain of the No Name aid station. But who knows, those needles may call my name once again.

Cascade Crest is the big leagues, and even though I’ve run a few gnarly trail races (Yakima Skyline, Beacon Rock, White River, Waldo), I knew I’d have to step things up.  I gave myself ample time to recover from Rocky Raccoon, and didn’t start my “formal” training until the beginning of May, although I worked in a few races in March and April.  The first was the Chuckanut 50K; pumped up on antibiotics and steroids to fight a lung infection I managed a cold, wet slog, barely beating last year’s time.  Next up was the American River 50 where I ran a PR in 11:22.  However, things went downhill after that.

While my lung infection had cleared, I still had a persistent cough — something that had plagued me for almost two years.  Thinking it might be acid reflux, a year ago my doctor put me on Prilosec; while the cough diminished it never went away.  We were both eager to fully eliminate it, so in mid April I started a 30-day grain elimination diet, thinking it could possibly be caused by an allergy to wheat and/or grain.  Knowing it could affect my races I waited to start it the day after running the Yakima Skyline 25K.

Last year I swore I’d never return to that race.  While the scenery is gorgeous, I don’t do well on steep, rocky descents — something this race is known for.  But with Cascade Crest coming up, I hiked up my big girl pants and gave it another go.  I was a good half hour ahead of last year’s time when disaster struck: after a particularly gnarly climb I decided to push the pace once I hit level ground.  My foot clipped a rock and I went down… HARD.  Both knees sustained deep gashes, enough to require a tetanus shot.

A week later I toed the line for the Capitol Peak 50-miler.  Between my trepidation over falling and my lack of energy due to my diet restrictions, it was a personal worst.  My only consolation was receiving a handmade mug for coming in DFL.  Two weeks later I once again earned that distinction — sans mug — at the Lost Lake 50K.  My 10-hour finish demoralized me and I questioned whether I was capable of — or deserved to be — running Cascade Crest.  There were more than 100 people on the wait list at that point, and I figured they were far more prepared than me.

The diet experiment left me lethargic and irritable, and although my cough had indeed quieted down, I didn’t think an allergy was to blame.  I started reintroducing grains back into my diet and my energy soon returned.  The fear of falling, however?  THAT stayed with me.  (Didn’t help that I took a couple more tumbles).

Then came my Bighorn 50 disaster.

Based upon rave reviews from friends my darling signed up for the 100-mile race and I for the 50-mile.  I was concerned about the elevation (tops out just above 9,000 feet), but I figured the worst that could happen would be I’d have to slow down a bit and my breathing might get a bit heavy.  Sure enough, my heart rate climbed somewhat on the ascents and my legs felt dead.  I pushed through as best I could.  However, I did not anticipate the rocky terrain.  As the course descended down into a manageable elevation the trail became steep and strewn with rocks — again, my nemesis.  Just when I thought I could pick up some time I found myself gingerly picking my way down.  I barely made the first cutoff at mile 18.

Despite feeling good I couldn’t muster up the strength to do much running; my legs had no energy.  The next cutoff was at mile 34.5 (Dry Fork Ridge); I nervously scanned my watch periodically to monitor my progress.  As I descended into the mile 29 aid station I could see the Dry Fork station far in the distance (this is big sky country and you can see for miles).  I prayed I could make it in time, but alas, it wasn’t meant to be.  I powered up the last climb to the station, thinking perhaps one of the volunteers would see me and think I was capable of continuing on.  Nope!  Although I was less than 5 minutes over cutoff, they pulled me.  I was devastated.

With that weighing heavily on me I seriously considered pulling out of Cascade Crest.  Seemed none of my races — or even training runs — were going well and I felt unworthy.  But I allowed myself a pity party and eventually got back in the game.  Had a couple of great training runs on the White River 50 course, as well as a a 30+ mile run on Tiger Mountain with approximately 8,000 feet of elevation gain.  My hill training paid off as I ran a 14-minute course PR at White River, gaining most of that time on the climb from Buck Creek to Suntop. The following weekend I ran several portions of the CCC course — the start to Goat Peak on day 1, Stampede Pass to Hyak on day 2, and Lake Kachess to Silver Creek on day 3.  I was so happy I did, especially since I got to experience the Cardiac Needles.  Still, it wasn’t the confidence boost I was looking for and I feared I’d be swept for not making cutoff.

With three weeks left to go there was nothing more I could do to improve my fitness, so I concentrated on eating healthfully and getting lots of rest.  I ran a handful of short, easy runs just to keep my legs limber.  I also tried to keep my taper madness at bay lest I drive my husband/pacer/crew insane.  Not sure if I succeeded, however

Next up: It’s show time!

Badass runner. Copyright 2013, Matt Hagen Photography.

Karl Meltzer is wrong — running 100 miles IS far.

My last attempt at Rocky Raccoon didn’t go so well.  I left Hunstville hobbled, dejected and cringing at my rookie mistakes.  I vowed to get the DNF monkey off my back.

So resolute was I to return I managed to register for the 2013 race even before the link went live on the Tejas Trails website (don’t mess with a woman on a mission).  As a result I was third on the list!  The race sold out within a couple of months, but not before several friends also signed up.  It was shaping up to be quite the vengeance party.

Unlike in past race reports, I won’t bore you with the minutiae of my training.  In short, I’d give it a B+.  Didn’t run as many miles as planned, especially during the week, but I committed to my long runs.  (Between Oct. 1 and Jan. 12 I ran five 50Ks, two trail marathons and a 50-mile training run).  Most of my runs were on trails, and I also worked in a couple of multi-loop runs to simulate the Rocky course.

My training almost got sidelined a couple of times due to a cold, but fortunately it wasn’t too severe.  The second time it hit was during my 3-week taper, and since there wasn’t much I could do to improve my fitness, I focused on rest and recovery (and obsessing about my race pacing, the weather, my gear choices, etc.)  By race week my cold was basically gone, save for a pesky cough.  But the burning in my chest was gone and my breathing had returned.  I was pretty confident I could waddle my way to the finish line within the 30-hour cutoff.

We arrived in Houston at 8:30 a.m. on Friday after taking a redeye through Atlanta.  (I know, I know; perhaps not the best idea but the flight was cheap by using our Alaska Airlines miles).  The flight to Houston from Atlanta was surprisingly empty, and my darling and I both were able to stretch out across the rows for some shuteye during the 2-hour flight.  I also slept during the Seattle to Atlanta flight and hoped it’d be enough.  (Queue foreshadowing music).

We met up with our friend Kim at the airport, headed into Houston for lunch, then back to the airport to pick up another friend Lisa.  We pulled in to Huntsville at about 2 p.m., checked into our respective hotels and then headed to Huntsville State Park for packet pickup.  Bib numbers were assigned in order of registration, so I was lucky #3.  As the volunteer handed me my bib he says, “Boy, you registered early, didn’t you?”  You betcha!

After the race briefing several of us met up with some professors of exercise science who were conducting a research project on rates of perceived exertion (RPE) during a 100-mile race.  They would be setting up a video camera on the course 17 miles into each loop; each time we passed we were to call out our perceived exertion on a scale of 6 (sitting on a chair) to 20 (maximum effort; can’t go another step).  They promised it wouldn’t be a distraction and that they’d post a cheat sheet for us.

Dinner was once again at Chili’s, but fortunately we got in before the hordes descended.  I laid out my clothes, double checked that my drop bag had everything I needed and turned out the lights by 8:30 p.m.  I slept reasonably well, but awoke before my 2:45 a.m. alarm.  (Because the state park would be charging an entry fee this year, I envisioned long lines getting in to the park.  Therefore, I wanted to arrive no later than 4:30).  Breakfast was yogurt with homemade granola, washed down with some Starbucks Via.  Pre-race jitters were slight; I was ready to do this!

We scored a parking spot close to the start/finish and I dropped off my bag.  As I was wandering around I heard a runner asking if they handed out cups or plastic bottles of water at the aid stations.  Excuse me?  What do you think this is, a marathon?  It didn’t look like he had any bottles to carry with him, so I just shook my head as I headed back to the car.  (He was a 100-miler, but I have no idea if he finished).

Rocky Ray, rarin' to go. Copyright 2013, Matt Hagen Photography.

I pinned my good luck monkey charm, Rocky Ray, to the back of my pack, confirmed both my headlamp and flashlight were in working order, and headed back toward the start line with about 15 minutes to go.  Unlike last year, the weather was absolutely perfect.  We started with just the slightest chill, but I knew I’d warm up quickly and therefore wore a short-sleeved shirt.  The forecast called for temps warmer than I prefer to run in (70s), so I stashed a tank top in my bag in case the shirt got too hot.  (I also had a couple of long-sleeved shirts and light jackets for the night).  Kim and I lined up toward the back, I kissed my darling goodbye, and at 6 a.m. we were off!

My goal was to run the first couple of loops in roughly 4:40 — a 14 min/mile pace.  I carried a cheat sheet of times I should be arriving at each aid station in case my Garmin mileage was off.  I consistently hit them about 7-10 minutes early; even though I was trying to slow my pace it was tough since I felt so good!  I minimized my aid station stops as much as possible, grabbing food to walk with rather than stand and eat.  I also dropped my headlamp and flashlight in my DamNation drop bag with the intention of picking it back up during loop #3.

I ran a lot of the loop with Lisa and regaled her with the horror stories of the previous year, pointing out the particularly nasty spots.  I clearly sounded like a broken record, as when I got to yet another trouble spot, I started to say, “Last year…” She stopped me mid-sentence; “Was it bad?” she asked.  “Yes!” I replied.  Then it dawned on me — I was being mocked!

When I got to the researchers I did my best Nigel impression, saying “This one goes to 11.”  (I’m sure I wasn’t the only one to make that joke).  I felt great, I hadn’t tripped too much on the roots, the temperature was still reasonable and I was keeping on top of my fueling and hydration.  I finished lap 1 in 4:27 and made a quick pitstop to change my socks and replenish my gels.  It really helped to have my darling there crewing as I was much more efficient.  Even though it had warmed considerably, I decided not to change into a tank, but grabbed my Waldo visor and slathered on sunscreen.  Seven minutes later I was heading out on my second loop.

Always smiling! Copyright 2013, Matt Hagen Photography.

A word about the roots: they’re tricksy.  They’re by no means as bad as what I’ve seen in pics of the HURT course, but they’re relentless.  They sneak up on you and grow with every loop.  When you’re not stubbing your toes on them you’re slipping off, irritating already raw feet.  As a runner passed me on a particularly bad section I noticed he was wearing sandals; not wanting to be snarky I simply asked if he had run in them on this course.  Nope!  Once again I shook my head.  (Several of my friends saw him later in the race, continually stubbing his toes; he DNF’d after 4 laps).  About a mile from the aid station one of the roots jumped out at me and I tumbled to the ground in a big poof of dust.  No major damage save for a scraped knee and sand embedded into the nipple of my water bottle and stuck to my freshly sunscreened arms.

Unlike me, this runner floated over the roots. Copyright 2013, Matt Hagen Photography.

I was proud at how I was handling the heat, (I’m sure any Texans reading this are saying, “What heat?”) but was happy to fill my bandana with ice the second time I hit DamNation on that loop.  I prefer to hold the bandana in my hand and dab at my neck and face rather than keep it tied around my neck; seems to have a better cooling effect.  Given the heat and the fact I was 37 miles in to the race, I upped my RPE to 13 — just over somewhat hard.

I finished my second loop in 4:47.  My darling tended to some hot spots on my feet, covering them with Kinesio tape, and I changed into my Injinji socks.  I also used my damp bandana to wash the sand off my arms and my darling handed me a clean one to take with me.  After a quick pitstop at the port-o-potties, I grabbed some food and was out in just over 17 minutes.

Rocky's still hanging on! Copyright 2013, Matt Hagen Photography.

The temps had started to cool, but my face was still pretty sweaty.  I dabbed it with my “fresh” bandana, only to have my face feel like it was on fire.  I then remembered having the same experience with this particular bandana; had it somehow been dipped in sulfuric acid?  I didn’t want to ditch it in case it came in handy later in the loop, but I grabbed a paper towel at the next aid station to dab the sweat off.  I also took a salt tab for the first time in the race; last year I popped them like candy and my hands swelled like sausages.  But I figured I was getting in enough salt from the potato chips and bacon at the aid stations.  I grabbed my headlamp and flashlight when I first arrived at DamNation since I wasn’t sure if I’d make the 6-mile loop before it got dark.  Although I could have made it, the flashlight came in handy at illuminating those tricksy roots.  My RPE for this loop was 15 and I finished in 5:17.

My darling was waiting at the start/finish with his headlamp on, ready to pace me.  I changed out of my Hokas into my Cascadias and threw on a long-sleeved shirt.  I also switched out my cheapie headlamp for my Petzl Myo XP.  The miles had started to take their toll, so I figured I’d be walking a lot of loop #4.  However, my darling assured me that was perfectly acceptable; after all, I was about 2 1/2 hours ahead of where I was last year.  After about a mile of fast walking I was able to start running again, although I slowed for the nasty rootses.  I could feel more hot spots forming on my toes, but fortunately my darling had a blister kit on him and he took care of them at the first aid station.

My legs started getting achy a few miles later, so I decided to pop a couple of Tylenol.  I normally don’t like to take drugs during a run, but I figured a couple wouldn’t hurt.  I upped my RPE to 17, but vowed I’d have renewed vigor for my final loop and therefore would lower that number.  With less than three miles to go to the start/finish, I longed to sit — even for just a few moments.  I knew to “beware the chair,” especially since I’d be heading out on my final loop, but I was hoping it’d give me just enough of a reprieve to finish strong.  Upon finishing (lap time: 6:15) I headed straight to the port-o-potties.  That stop provided just the break I needed, so after replenishing my gels we were off!

I was so happy to be on my last loop that I started running again (or at least shuffling at a fast pace).  I cheerily wished the Nature Center volunteers goodbye, thanking them for their service but saying I was happy I wouldn’t be seeing them again… at least this year.  My Garmin had died during loop #4, so I had no idea how fast I was “running,” but I felt spry.  However, a funny thing happened in the three miles between Nature Center and DamNation: I started to get very, very sleepy.

I had been keeping on top of my nutrition and hydration, plus I had downed a few cups of coffee along the way (the Park Road coffee was particularly tasty and strong).  But sleep deprivation caught up to me and I was soon stumbling along like a drunk.  I kept telling my darling I just wanted to curl up on the side of the trail for a quick nap; thankfully he refused to let me do so.  The temperature had dropped and it was becoming quite cold; had I stopped we both would have been shivering (he had already given me his jacket to wear).  I’d stop every so often, leaning over with my hands on my knees for a couple of seconds of sleep.  I couldn’t wait to get to DamNation for a catnap.  Finally we arrived and I joined a few other runners who were huddled around a heater.

Although I never truly slept, just shutting down for 10 minutes gave me the energy to continue on.  However, it also meant my core temperature had dropped considerably.  While I had plenty of warm clothes in my bag at the start/finish, I only had one long-sleeved shirt at DamNation.  My darling once again came to my rescue, giving me his arm sleeves, hat and gloves.  He, meanwhile, wrapped a mylar blanket around him to stay warm.  A couple miles out of DamNation I had warmed enough to give him his gloves back.  But more importantly, I had passed the spot where I had to drop the year before.  HALLELUJAH!

The sun came up toward the end of the DamNation loop which energized me even more.  I stopped briefly to eat and ditch my headlamp (my darling carried my drop bag to the end) and waved the volunteers goodbye.  Just as I was heading out I decided I should drink one more cup of coffee for good measure; the woman who handed it to me remembered me from the year before when I dropped, so she quickly kicked my ass out.  “Fine — I know when I’m not wanted!” I happily yelled as I waddled out.

I felt stronger with every step and started passing several people.  I got ahead of my darling when he took a pit stop and I was overcome with emotion: I was going to get my buckle!  I’m sure I was a sight as I was running and crying at the same time.  As I approached the researchers I think they were surprised to see me running, especially since they were at the top of a small hill.  I yee-hawed as I passed, happy to report I was back down to a 13.  Soon after I caught up with another friend, Kristin, and we ran together for a spell.  But she had gone out a bit too fast (she was hoping for a sub 24), so she let me go on.  With about two miles to go my darling also went ahead so that he could capture my finish.

The roots almost took their last revenge on me with a half mile to go, but I was able to catch myself.  I made the final turn to the finish line and kicked it into high gear, crossing the finish in 27:00:24.  Joe Prusaitis, the race director, came over to take Rocky off my back.  He asked if I wanted to bury him, but I said he was my little friend who kept me going when things got rough.  In fact, he earned his own buckle:

So, what’s next?  Well, unfortunately I remembered my UltraSignup password, so I MAY have signed up for a local race at the end of August (gulp)

My darling and I put on the first race: the Wattle Waddle & Wittle Waddle.  While we intended it to be a low-key “fat ass” type of race — it’s on Thanksgiving Day, after all — unfortunately our maniacal and fanatical friends keep begging us to increase registration numbers.  In 2010 we limited it to 102 runners (the number of people who came over on the Mayflower); despite selling out only 78 people showed up due to a snowstorm.  We upped the number in 2011 to 150, and we had 148 finishers.  This year we capped it again at 150, but upped it to 200 due to popular demand.  While we had several no-shows, we also had people trying to get in day-of-race (for $50 cash we gave ’em a bib).

Day 1 — Wittle Waddle

Since we were still trying to find volunteers to man a couple of aid stations the week of the race, I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to start my race.  (I was either going to start super early, then man a station myself, or run afterward).  But fortunately we got the needed volunteers and I could start pretty much on time.  However, just as I was about to go we got a call from the far aid station — he took off with just one jug of Gatorade and no water.  I hopped in my car, delivered the goods and got back to start about 40 minutes late.  However, it worked in my favor as I was able to cheer on the runners on the out & back.  (I also tried to disqualify them for several violations, but for some reason they didn’t take me seriously).

When I got to the mile 6.5 aid station, I found out our volunteers had a verbal altercation with some residents of the neighborhood.  Apparently they always hold a community turkey trot starting right where our station is located (it’s on a public paved trail).  The kids started swarming the table, grabbing at the chips and candy we had out for the runners.  The volunteer politely asked them to stop, but then one of the mothers started saying how it wasn’t fair that we’re not sharing. “It’s Thanksgiving!” she said.  Are you fucking kidding me?  These are people who live in a very affluent neighborhood, yet they’re encouraging their kids to take food they haven’t paid for?  Unbelievable.  Fortunately one of our more gruff runners came up just then and read the moms the riot act.  And if they try that shit next year, we’ll just have to remind them that WE have a permit to be there

This race was run just for fun; I didn’t care about my time (although I made sure my results are listed under “Empress Turkeytush”).  I walked and chatted with several runners and picked up trash along the way.  I also made a port-o-potty stop, but with about 3 miles to go nature called again.  I figured I could hold it until the finish, but running simply got things moving through my system more quickly.  I hate getting to that point — the faster I run the quicker I can get to a toilet, but the faster I run the more I run the risk of pooping myself before I get there.  Finally the finish came in to sight and I headed directly to the port-o-potty rather than check in to get my time recorded.  (I figured I could always get Weegee to change it any way!)  Finished in 2:28:47.

Day 2 — Grandpa’s Wishbone Run

Just as we were thanking our lucky stars the rain was kept at bay for the Wattle Waddle we awoke to a downpour on Friday.  Oh well, this was a trail race and they’re meant to be muddy and wet, right?

There were a lot of trail newbies in this race, so I tried to maneuver myself up front.  Still, I got caught behind a conga line for the first 3/4 mile, but the trail eventually opened up and I was able to get ahead of the noobs.  I’ve run the course several times; it’s not particularly technical or hilly, just a fun combination of twisty turny single track and wider roads.  The latter typically has huge puddles; while we could normally maneuver around them, given the deluge it was impossible.  I bushwhacked along the side of the largest and longest one, but realized I might as well go through it the second time since I still got wet.  (The halvers run the loop twice, the fulls four times).

As with the day before, a bear started chasing me with a couple miles to go.  When I had run the Quadzilla two years before I wasn’t able to make it to a toilet in time, but fortunately I found a relatively private spot (and leaves that didn’t appear to be poisonous).  This year I was able to make it, although I had to go about a quarter mile past the start/finish to get to it (the RD had placed a couple of port-o-potties in his yard just down the street).  I had intended to do some extra mileage that day any way, so I didn’t care.

The rain, however, was relentless.  I started my first loop with my rain jacket, but since the rain had stopped and I started getting hot, I took it off.  No sooner had I done that then the rain picked back up.  I eventually put my jacket back over my now soaked shirt.  <sigh>  The rain would continue to tease us throughout the day.  Just when we thought we’d get a reprieve it’d pick up again.  By this time all any of us could do was laugh; no sense in getting angry!  When I got to the pond I plunged right through; it was cold but rather refreshing.  The rain had started washing away some of the course markings, so many of us made a few wrong turns.  I eventually found my way back to the finish; I was planning on heading out for another half lap, but when I saw our carpooling friend was done (and that Weegee was already in the car trying to stay warm), I too decided to call it a day.  Finish time was 2:54:46.

Day 3 — Ghost of Seattle

This race runs on the original Seattle Marathon course along Lake Washington Blvd.  It’s flat and relatively boring (although the views are nice), but the RD is a great friend of ours and throws a fantastic party (free beer and chili dogs at the end!)  Once again we had perfect weather, so I decided I’d get my bonus miles in here.  Weegee had to arrive early to help out, so I took off for an extra 3.65-mile loop around Seward Park before the 8 a.m. official start (and got my morning poopy out of the way; yay!)  I once again had no goals for the race, but figured I’d simply see what my body could do.  I ran the bonus loop at a somewhat leisurely 9:30 pace, and started off the official race at roughly the same pace.

The past two days’ worth of miles started to catch up with me, so I slowed to about a 9:45 pace.  I was running with a friend who was doing the Quadzilla, so neither of us wanted to push it.  However, just before the turnaround I found myself pulling ahead of her.  I still wasn’t going that fast, but I was feeling great.  By mile 11 I was running a 9:18 pace, then sped up to a sub 9!  (I ran mile 13 in 8:32).  Crossed the finish in 2:06:13 and headed straight to the tent for my celebratory dog and brew.

Day 4 — Seattle

This would be the second time I was running the Seattle half (actually third, but the first time was on another course — not the Ghost course, either).  It starts at Seattle Center, goes through downtown on Fifth Avenue, then onto the eastbound lanes of I-90 and through the Mt. Baker tunnel.  All runners exit off of I-90 after the tunnel, but the fulls eventually make their way back on for an out & back over Lake Washington after doing a loop of Seward Park.  The course winds through the neighborhood flanking the lake, then goes up several hills and back into downtown.

The day started off cold and foggy, but no rain.  I met up with a group of Half Fanatics for pics, then hit the port-o-potties.  (Running a quad requires a lot of eating, which creates a LOT of by-product).  Although it was cold I was fine wearing two long-sleeved tech shirts, a headband and gloves.  Given I had pushed the pace the day before, I figured today would be slower, especially since the Ghost is flat and Seattle has some decent hills in the second half of the race.  I lined up just behind the 2:15 pacer.

My splits are somewhat wonky since I lost satellites going through the tunnel, but I was once again at about a 9:30 pace (I passed the 2:15ers at about mile 4).  Nature called yet again <GRRRR>, but as I was leaving the tunnel I spied a couple of vacant port-o-potties about a block away.  They were on the course for the full marathoners; the half course turned just before.  But I figured going off course just a tad was preferable to waiting in a long line.  Sure enough, as I got back onto the half course I saw another toilet with about 7-8 people waiting.  Suckers!

With my business taken care of I found my pace quickened.  The hills start at about mile 8; we first hit a steep, albeit short section on Galer, then turn for a longer, yet more gradual climb onto Madison.  I’ve vowed to always run those hills, and today was no exception.  (It’s really fun to power by people who are flagging!)  By mile 10 I was hitting a 9:11 pace and I was picking up speed.  After the last of the hills on Interlaken I really opened up, once again hitting an 8:30ish pace).  There’s one last cruel hill on the course as we go underneath the highway; I almost thought I’d pass out as I crested it (passing the 2:05 pacer as I did so), but kept it together and did my best to sprint across the field to the finish.  Finished in 2:04:10!

Although it’s rough to have to get up every morning to race, the Quad really is a ton of fun.  And limiting to the halves means I’m not totally wiped out at the end!

Success!

When it became clear I’d be running my 100th race of marathon distance or further in 2012 I started thinking about the perfect race to commemorate said feet, er, feat.  I wanted to challenge myself, so I considered the Cascade Crest 100.  I liked the thought of running 100 for my 100th, plus the timing was right for hitting #100 without having to cram in a bunch of races.  Problem was, the race scared the bejeezus out of me.  While I had become much more confident on the trails, this was varsity-level stuff.  Even with year-long preparation, I wasn’t sure I’d be up for it.

When a friend of mine suggested the Waldo 100K, I knew I found my race.  I’d still be running 100 for my 100th, it too was perfect timing (it’s a week before Cascade Crest), plus it would provide the challenge I sought without chewing me up (at least I hoped).  In order to earn the coveted Waldo hat, runners had to finish within 16 hours of the regular start, or 18 from the early start.  I knew from the get-go I’d not only need the extra time, I was concerned about making the 18-hour cutoff.

Training

I designed my 2012 race schedule with Waldo in mind, opting for longer trail runs wherever possible.  The first quarter was light in terms of races given Rocky Raccoon, but by mid March I was back in the game, with the Chuckanut 50K, Gorge Waterfalls 50K and Yakima River Canyon Marathon just a week apart.  I was somewhat disheartened when it took almost 5 hours to tackle the Yakima Skyline Rim 25K in April, but I kept telling myself it was a great strength training hike (it features approximately 4,300 feet of elevation gain — half of which is just in the first 2.25 miles).  I followed that with three 50-milers in 7 weeks — Capitol Peak, Sun Mountain and Echo Valley — throwing in two marathons (Tacoma and North Olympic Discovery) for good measure.  The end of June my darling and I turned the Seattle Rock ‘n Roll Marathon into a 50K by running from our house to the start (we were expecting a parking kerfuffle with the new course), then ran the Great Cranberry Island 50K in Maine at the end of July, where I PRd by almost five minutes.

Despite having run Javelina and 90 miles of Rocky Raccoon, I anticipated Waldo would be more challenging due to three factors: 1) elevation — it features more than 11,000 feet of gain and an equal amount of loss with three major climbs of more than 2,000 feet each and two minor climbs of more than 1,000 each; 2) altitude: the course starts at 5,120 feet and tops out at 7,818 at the top of Maiden Peak.  Much of it ranges between 5,000 and 6,000 feet; 3) heat: despite the higher elevations, it’s still August.  Temps in the 80s or even 90s weren’t out of the question.

Unfortunately I wasn’t able to train on the course (it’s a six-hour one-way drive), so I tried to replicate course conditions closer to home.  The Issaquah Alps provided great hill training, especially the 2-mile Section Line trail on Tiger Mtn. (it most closely resembled the last mile climb up to Maiden Peak — relentlessly steep with no switchbacks).  I also hit Scott Jurek’s former favorite hill repeat trail — Mt. Si — although I hammered it a bit too hard, leaving me with thrashed quads that curtailed my Tiger Mtn. 3 Summits run two days later.  (I had intended to run the 3 Summits three times, but I was a blubbering mess after just one loop).  Once the snow melted I headed to the White River 50 course to run 20 miles on the first half of the course, which includes a climb of more than 3,000 feet over 8 miles.

Running at altitude proved to be more problematic given the snow level.  I got in a couple more runs on the White River course while volunteering for that race; by then the snow was cleared so I was able to get up to 6,000 feet.  I then ran 19 miles in the foothills of Mt. Rainier from Sunrise to Lake Eleanor and back; the trail starts at 6,400 feet, tops out at 6,800 and then descends down to Lake Eleanor at about 4,800 feet.  I knew none of these runs would acclimate me, but they at least gave me an idea of how I would react.  Aside from some light-headedness and more labored breathing, it really wasn’t that bad.  I’d just have to be prepared to go at a slower pace.

Summer came particularly late to the Pacific Northwest, so I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get in any heat training.  But fortunately the temperatures got into the high 70s/low 80s by July, and I headed out on my training runs during the full heat of the day.  I got some particularly hot & humid weather during our trip to Maine, and since the GCI 50K didn’t start until 11:30 a.m., we were running in the heat the entire race.  While I still prefer running in cooler temps, these runs taught me what I could still run a decent race.  As with the altitude, it was just a matter of slowing down.

Pre-Race

The week of the race my darling kept monitoring the Taylor Bridge fire near Cle Elum as it threatened the Cascade Crest 100 course to be held a week later.  The RD sent emails updating the runners on the fire’s status, and I was surprised when I received one on that Wednesday.  But then I realized it wasn’t from the Cascade Crest RD, it was from Craig Thornley, the RD for Waldo.  Turns out MY race was also being threatened by a nearby fire.  When I clicked on the map showing where it was, it was smack dab in the middle of the Waldo course. D’OH!  I tried not to stress too much, but I started preparing myself for the worst.

On Thursday the Waldo Facebook site was a flurry with posts from concerned runners, and Craig and crew did their best to calm us down.  They assured us they were working with the forest service on an alternate route, if necessary, which they’d post by Friday at noon.  However, on Friday morning we saw the forest service had closed several of the trails that we’d be running on; not good!  Craig once again assured us they were working on a reroute, however, we wouldn’t know for sure if the race was going to happen until we were well on the road.  We decided to take a chance, figuring we could always drown our sorrows at the Ninkasi Brewery in Eugene should the race be canceled.

I kept checking both the Waldo website and the FB page every half hour and by 11:30 we had our answer: the race was on!  The reroute would add three miles, but they extended the cutoff time to earn a hat by one hour.  SCORE!  So rather than drowning my sorrows at Ninkasi I celebrated the good news with a pint (but just one).

We arrived at the Willamette Ski Area to find several runners who had already set up camp, but fortunately we scored a decent spot.  We set up the Tent Mahal — our ginormous 10-person tent — as well our kitchen area.  (I figured my own food would be way better than what we’d get at the pasta feed).  Since my back doesn’t always appreciate hard ground, even with a pad underneath, I had splurged on a couple of fold-out cots which were incredibly comfortable.

We hit packet pickup just after they opened and gave kudos to Craig for everything he did to ensure the race happened.  (As expected, he had gotten little sleep the night before).  I also got to hug one of my inspirations, Meghan Arbogast, who is co-RD of the event.  Meghan had run one of our races, Dizzy Daze, as a training run for the world 100K championships.  (She smoked the 50K course with a 3:41).  After dinner we headed back to the lodge for Craig’s trail briefing; as I sat on the steps I kept looking around to see the big names in ultra-running: Hal Koerner (who unfortunately was sick and wasn’t running, although his wife Carly was), Tim Olson, Joelle Vaught, Yassine Diboun and Ian Sharman.  It was starting to feel real!

After the briefing I set out my drop bags and headed back to the tent to hit the sack.  It was still light out, but I knew the 1:45 a.m. wakeup would come way too quickly.  Despite the highway traffic noise just yards away, I was able to settle in to sleep fairly quickly.

The Race

We both jumped awake once the alarm went off and my darling set about to making coffee.  I headed up to the restroom in the lodge and was surprised to see a couple of runners already dressed and ready to go; and here I thought I was being silly for having such an early alarm!  I ate my yogurt and granola while getting dressed, and gave my darling my final instructions on where to meet me with some turkey & avocado wraps.  Suddenly it was less than 10 minutes to the start; YIKES!

About 30-35 runners gathered for the early start.  It was already fairly warm, so I decided to leave my arm warmers behind.  (I had a long-sleeved shirt and a rain jacket in one of my drop bags for later in the evening).  Craig counted down and we were off promptly at 3 a.m.

There’s little risk of starting off too fast on this course as it immediately starts climbing up a dusty forest service road, gaining just over 1,200 feet in the first two miles.  I was warned about the dust, but fortunately it wasn’t too troublesome.  After the climb we turned on to some downhill singletrack, and while it wasn’t technical I still took it easy since I hadn’t done much night running on singletrack.

I arrived at the Gold Lake aid station at mile 7.4 in 1:41; I grabbed some gels from my drop bag, filled my bottle and immediately headed out.  (It was a pretty quiet station since it was still early in the morning and it was right next to a campground).  Although I was doing a bit of walking due to the dark, I was still moving at a decent clip.  By the time I hit the Fuji Mtn. aid station at mile 12.4 I was able to ditch my headlamp.  Since I still had water in my bottle I didn’t stop for long since I’d be able to fill up after the 2.5-mile out & back up to the peak.  My hill training was evident as I made the climb; while I wasn’t running I was feeling very strong.  Once at the top of Fuji I caught the first glimpse of Maiden Peak; I tried not to think about having to climb that some 40 miles later.

I got halfway down before the leaders came barreling toward me, Jacob Rydman in front with Tim Olson not far behind.  (I had hoped to at least make it to the peak of Fuji before I saw them).  Once back at the aid station I refueled and placed my drop bag with my headlamp in the bin heading to Gold Lake, where I’d pick it up just before mile 50.  The leaders soon passed me — Jacob still in the lead — and I commented to Tim that it looked like he’d done this before.  (He laughed; he’s such an incredibly nice guy!  He would go on to pass Jacob in the last couple of miles for the win)  Ian Sharman, one of my ultra crushes, passed me about two miles before the Mt. Ray aid station; I found out later he dropped there since he had hammered too many races in the weeks prior.  Yassine Diboun passed me soon after; I’m just amazed how fast and smooth he and the other front-runners are.

I was thrilled to see my darling at Mt. Ray (mile 20.5); he gave me a hug & a kiss, filled my bottles and made sure I had enough gels.  I wasn’t ready for real food yet, but told him to meet me just before the Twins aid station at mile 25.5.  I was in good spirits, I felt I was on top of my nutrition/hydration, and I was still running a steady pace (I hit Mt. Ray in 5:12).  The weather had cooled considerably, to the point where I wished I had a warmer shirt, but the light drizzle was refreshing.

By the time I saw my darling again I was really craving the wrap sandwich as I had gotten sick of sweet things.  However, even the sandwich was tough to get down; I’d take a few bites knowing I needed the calories, but had a hard time washing it down.  I’d then stick the rest in my pack for later (it took me almost 4 hours to eat the entire thing!)

I arrived at the Charlton Lake aid station, mile 30.4, just before 11 a.m.  I had stored a tank top and a cool-off bandana in that drop bag in case it was hot, but ended up not needing either since it was still cool and windy.  By then I was following a pattern: run steadily until I hit the aid station, then walk for at least 1/4-1/2 mile as I took in calories.

About halfway between Charlton and the Road 4290 aid station (mile 35.6) I spied something I hadn’t anticipated: the sun.  Sure enough, just when I determined I wouldn’t need any of the things to keep me cool the sun decided to make an entrance.  Fortunately I had a regular bandana tied to my pack, plus the wonderful volunteers at 4290 had large sponges and buckets of ice water.

Ahhhh...

When my Garmin hit 39.3 miles I exclaimed to another runner, “Only a marathon to go!”  He didn’t seem impressed (although I don’t think he quite heard me given his headphones).  It was at this point I felt confident I’d earn my hat; even though I still had 26.2 miles to go, which included the gnarliest climb of the day, I had nine hours in which to do it.  It was a tremendous boost of confidence.

I hit the Twins aid station for the second time (mile 43.1) at 2:26 p.m. — more than 2 hours under cutoff.  While I was still sick of gels, the coke and fresh watermelon were pure heaven.  I also gulped down a cup of lukewarm chicken noodles soup, got sprayed down with water and grabbed a Popsicle for the road.  But the best treat was to have my darling run with me.  I wasn’t in much of a mood to talk, but just having him there was comforting.  Plus I got some awesome photos as a result!

Bottom!

By then my focus was solely on the climb up to Maiden Peak.  I wasn’t dreading it, but I was ready to get it over with.  The stretch between the Twins and the Gold Lake aid station (mile 49.6) seemed especially long, but eventually the campground popped in to sight.  I was expecting limited aid there (the original route doesn’t have us coming back a second time), but was thrilled to see a fully stocked station with energetic volunteers bedecked in Hawaiian garb.  I grabbed my headlamp and wrapped a light jacket around my waist (it was the last station for a drop bag), filled my bandana with ice, fueled up, kissed my darling goodbye and headed out.

Nom, nom nom

The Maiden Peak trailhead was a few hundred yards out of the aid station and I saw it’d be six miles to the top.  I was surprised to find the first few miles were quite runnable, which just a couple of short climbs.  But I knew I’d get to the tough stuff soon enough.  It was still pretty hot, and I found having the bandana wrapped around my neck wasn’t quite cooling me off as much as I’d like.  So I unwrapped it and dabbed my face with it every few minutes.

I reached the Maiden Peak aid station, mile 53, at 5:15 p.m. and was told it’d be another three miles to the actual peak.  While I was tired, my legs were still feeling pretty strong, so I soldiered on.  I started hearing thunder, but wasn’t particularly concerned.  However, another runner came up behind me and expressed his nervousness.  I guess I was too tired at that point to fully comprehend how serious the situation could be.

As I hit the steepest section I muttered to myself, “Okay, here we go.”  Sure enough, it was an incredible trudge.  I’d walk a few steps, stop for a breather, then walk a few more.  I’d check my Garmin every few minutes to see how far I’d gone, only to be discouraged that it’d be a tenth of a mile.  But finally I spied a couple of people in some lawn chairs, so I assumed I was reaching the top.  Turns out I was a quarter mile shy of the peak, however, I wouldn’t be continuing up due to the thunder and lightening.  When one of the volunteers said, “We can’t let you go up, you’ll have to turn down here,” I told him I loved him.  After all, I’d still be getting in 65 miles that day.  It would have been great to see the view, but not sure how much of one there’d be given the weather.  I certainly did not feel cheated.

While I wouldn’t be experiencing the full Leap of Faith section down from the peak, I got enough of it to realize people weren’t kidding when they said it’s the toughest, most technical part of the course.  It’s the kind of trail I hate — steep downhill with loose rocks and sand, interspersed with large pointy boulders.  I gingerly made my way down and was thankful when the trail evened out about a half mile down.

My darling met me again just before the Maiden Lake aid station, mile 58.1.  He was really concerned about me as he could see the thunderstorm moving toward Maiden Peak, just as I was climbing it.  He was relieved to hear I didn’t have to dodge any lightening strikes.  He had told the volunteers at the aid station that I was running my 100th race, so they all cheered for me as I entered.  It was such an incredible boost!  My darling ran with me again for a few miles, with the intent to run ahead just before the end so that he could catch my finish.

While the trail was basically a net downhill at this point, there still were a couple of small climbs.  I was barely shuffling along; my hips and lower back were giving me grief and all I could think about was collapsing in a chair at the end (with hat in hand, natch).  I hit the 100K mark in 17:30, and decided to try to finish the 65 miles within the original 18-hour cutoff.  But once it got dark I slowed considerably, in part because I was afraid of tripping, but my lower back was really starting to hurt.  I knew I’d be getting my hat, so I just focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

As the lights of the ski area appeared I was able to pick up my pace.  I could see the finish line, but it wasn’t patently clear how I was supposed to get there.  It looked like there was a path off to the left, but then I realized I just needed to run across some lumpy dirt and gravel.  Meghan met me at the finish line as I crossed in 18:02:22, gave me a huge hug and let me choose my prize: a hat or a visor.  (I chose the latter since I have a ton of hats).

I hobbled over to a picnic table and my darling wrapped me in a blanket and handed me a beer.  I didn’t feel particularly hungry, but knew I should eat.  Fortunately they had a great barbecue spread and I chowed down on a burger and some pasta salad.  I wanted to stay at the finish to see more runners coming in, but started getting some severe chills.  My darling led me down to our tent and wrapped me in another blanket and both of our sleeping bags.  I wanted to take a sponge bath since I was incredibly sticky and stinky, but couldn’t bear to get out of the sleeping bag.  The chills got worse to the point where my teeth were chattering and I was shaking uncontrollably.  My darling kept asking if I wanted him to climb in the sleeping bag with me to warm me up, but I figured it’d be too uncomfortable.

I eventually worked up the nerve to sponge off, but jumped right back in to my sleeping bag afterward and drifted off to sleep.  I awoke at 3 a.m. still sticky and stinky, but since the chills had passed I hobbled up to the lodge for a proper sponge bath.  (Since no one was in the bathroom I stripped down and washed up in the sink).

The next morning I celebrated properly with a couple of strong bloody Marys, and after a hearty breakfast at the lodge we packed up and headed home.  I’ve barely taken my visor off since!

]]> https://eatdrinkrunwoman.com/?feed=rss2&p=577 4 https://eatdrinkrunwoman.com/?p=567 https://eatdrinkrunwoman.com/?p=567#comments Thu, 09 Feb 2012 04:18:21 +0000 http://eatdrinkrunwoman.com/?p=567 I had it too easy at Javelina. All the pain and suffering I’ve heard about in 100-mile races? I came through virtually unscathed. Sure, I had some low points, but overall it was an incredible experience.

Leave it to the Raccoon to bring me back down to earth.

When some good friends mentioned they’d be signing up for Rocky Raccoon, my husband immediately jumped on board for the 100. I, however, was torn. Take my chances and sign up for the 100 despite not having run one yet, or stick with the 50-mile? I knew the 50 tended to sell out, so I didn’t want to wait until after Javelina in November. I emailed Joe Prusaitis, the RD, to see if I could upgrade if all things went well and he confirmed I could.

Six days after Javelina I sent him a check to cover the extra cost.

Eleven days after that I pulled my right hamstring — in yoga, no less.

Between that and some major overindulgence during the holidays my training was not ideal. In the nine weeks prior to Rocky I logged just over 320 miles; 100 miles less than what I logged for Javelina during the same timeframe. I also didn’t run anything further than a marathon, although I did get in two. I figured rest & recovery would better serve me and hoped the endurance I’d built up would pull me through.

Since my husband was also racing I’d be going solo — no crew or pacer. Therefore, I took extra care in planning out my drop bags. Hubby saved my ass a couple of times during Javelina when the batteries in my headlamp and flashlight died, so I packed two sets for each of my two drop bags. I also threw in a couple of extra flashlights and a headlamp. With rain in the forecast I packed three rain jackets, two large garbage bags, a rain poncho, several pairs of socks and two pairs of shoes. I also brought enough gels to feed an army.

During Friday’s race briefing Joe said the trails were in perfect condition, however, a storm was predicted to come through early in the morning. They weren’t kidding. We awoke to thunder, lightening and a steady rain that intensified as we drove to the start. We arrived just before 5 a.m. and secured a parking spot relatively close to the start line, but decided to wait out the storm in the car. As the rain pummeled down all we could do was laugh. We sure know how to pick ’em, huh?

By 5:45 the rain started to die down and we walked over to the start and set down our drop bags. While it was rather warm, I threw on both a trash bag and my poncho in an attempt to stay dry. We then huddled under the main tent with hundreds of other runners, nervously joking about what lay ahead. At 6 a.m. sharp Joe yelled “Go!” and we were off.

I made my first mistake from the get-go. I wanted to save my Petzl Myo XP for the nighttime, and I figured my cheapie headlamp would get me through the hour and a half of morning darkness. However, I neglected to throw in extra batteries or a flashlight into my pack. What a numbskull move! The headlamp provided little illumination while on my head, so I ended up carrying it. However, it got progressively dimmer. I’d turn it off when running with others to save the battery, but I prayed it would last as long as I needed. Although sunrise wouldn’t be until about 7:30, fortunately it became light enough just after 7 and I was able to run without the light.

Given the deluge the course was a sloppy mess. I attempted to keep my shoes dry by running around the puddles, only to sink into the mud. Eventually I learned running through the puddles was the way to go; even though my feet would get wet the puddles were relatively shallow, unlike the mudpits to the side. But by the time I learned my lesson the damage had been done; my shoes were caked with mud both inside and out.

As promised, the course was extremely rooty and I stubbed my toes several times and had a few slight ankle rolls. Then, about two miles from finishing lap 1, I bit it. Fortunately it wasn’t that bad; seemed the worst was a small scrape on my right knee. I brushed the dirt off my legs and handheld water bottle and soldiered on.

My goal for loop 1 was to come in about 4:35, which I pretty much nailed (4:37). However, I broke my rule to not linger at the aid station. I figured my stretch goal of 25 hours wouldn’t be possible under the conditions, so I wanted to keep myself as comfortable as possible. Therefore, I took the time to clean off my feet, knock some of the mud off my shoes, change into dry socks, hit the port-o-potty and grab some food. Thankfully the rain had stopped so I ditched my oh-so-fashionable trash bag ensemble. Nineteen minutes later I was heading out on lap 2.

While I wasn’t feeling particularly good — various parts of my body had annoying niggles — I was at least able to run. I walked most of the “hills,” plus the puddles slowed me down (it didn’t take long before my dry socks were soaked). But I tried to stay in good spirits as I knew that would be key in getting me through. I struck up conversations with various runners, encouraging those who were running their first 100 or 50 and commiserating with those who had done this before. It was also great to see my friend John at the DamNation aid station; he was quick with a hug and words of encouragement. I kept leapfrogging with one man who was running Rocky 100 for the 16th time; he had run more than 180 100-mile races! He confirmed the trail conditions were the worst he’d ever seen. When he stopped to scrape the mud out of the inside of his shoes I took his lead; while I couldn’t get it all out it provided some relief.

As the day wore on so did my body and it was tough to stay positive. Every time I thought to myself, “I have HOW many more miles of this?” I tried to brush the negativity aside and replace it with the mental image of Joe handing me my buckle. Finishing this race meant so much to me: it would be my 90th of marathon distance or further, it’d give me the state of Texas and I wouldn’t have to add another race in my quest to make the Waldo 100K in August my 100th race. I thought about things I could do at the main aid station to help make the journey a little less miserable. I wanted to wait until after lap 3 to change into dry shoes & socks, however, I decided I’d rinse the muck out of my shoes & socks after lap 2. I spent WAY too much time doing so — 45 minutes — but it did indeed feel great. Sure, my feet were still wet, but at least I didn’t have muddy grit rubbing my feet raw.

Even though I wasted a lot of time at the aid station I was making good time. Since it would be getting dark during lap 3 I grabbed my good headlamp, my battery stash and my flashlight. I started off with a brisk walk, but after a mile or so I picked up the pace and started running again (albeit slowly).

I believe it was during this lap where I noticed my hands were starting to swell. Same thing happened at Javelina, but since it was coupled with having to pee a lot I figured I was salt depleted rather than dehydrated. Although I carried just one water bottle during Rocky I was drinking from it liberally, so again I figured I needed more salt (I’m a heavy sweater). I had already been taking salt tabs every hour, but I increased my dosage. Unfortunately that led to nausea, and I came very close to hurling. Thankfully I had some ginger chews with which settled things down. But I still had a hard time choking down my gels, even though I knew I needed to take them.

As darkness descended I slowed again to a brisk walk, mainly due to the roots which were tougher to see at night, especially when the trail had been churned up by so many runners. But I also ached all over. I stopped a couple more times to kick the mud out of my shoes, plus it seemed I had to pee every half hour. Given all the slowdowns I realized I may be at risk for not making the cutoff (we had to start lap 5 by 6 a.m.). Problem was, I just couldn’t muster the energy to run. My mental image of receiving my buckle was replaced with collapsing in a chair with exhaustion at the finish (but with buckle in hand). When asked how I was doing, I’d reply, “I’m doing.” I was determined to keep going until I was told I no longer could.

I finished lap 3 at 11 p.m. Our friend Jess were there to help me out (she had to drop after 40 miles due to Achilles pain). She changed the batteries in my flashlight and got some food for me while I cleaned off my feet and changed into new shoes and socks. Unfortunately that drop bag wasn’t waterproof, and even though I had my shoes in a plastic bag they were damp. Fortunately the socks were in a Ziplock so they were dry. Jess relayed the Facebook messages cheering me on, including one from an experienced ultra running friend who said it was good for me to have such a rough time given how I sailed through Javelina. I took no offense as I had thought the same thing. She then admonished me for spending so much time cleaning my feet; time was a’ wasting and she wanted to make sure I made cutoff. I started lap 4 at 11:20 p.m., which would give me just over 6 1/2 hours.

While I still couldn’t muster up the energy to run, I vowed to keep all my breaks to a minimum. But the damn peeing just wouldn’t stop! (Turns out several people had the same issue). Fortunately it was dark so I just squatted on the side of the trail. Even though I was mostly alone I never felt scared. My lights would create some weird shadows, however, causing me to see things there weren’t there.

I got a boost toward the end of the lap since I not only knew I’d come in under the cutoff (barely), I saw other runners who were on pace for a sub 24 finish. One guy looked rougher than me, although he was hobbling just a tad faster. He asked what time it was, and when I assured him his sub 24 was in the bag, he thanked me and picked up the pace ever so slightly. I had seen my husband several times during the race; while he had to give up his stretch goal of 20 hours, there was still a good chance he too would get sub 24. In fact, I expected him to come running up behind me any minute.

I came into Dogwood with 20 minutes to spare and stopped briefly to ditch my headlamp (there was only an hour or so of darkness left, so I just carried my handheld). I also had someone rub my left calf as it was starting to get extremely tight. Just as I was heading out at 5:45 a.m. my darling was finishing; he did it! I gave him a quick kiss and hurried off.

As runners approached I’d let them know how many minutes they had to the finish. Most were on their last lap, which meant sub 24. But one runner, a guy walking with a trekking pole with whom I’d been leapfrogging, was also finishing up his 4th lap. I assured him he too would make the cutoff, but I knew he’d be the last one. That meant I was second to last; I actually thought it’d be fun to come in DFL (dead f@#king last).

I hit the first aid station with 15 minutes to spare, and DamNation with 20. However, I still had 14 miles to go. The loop out of DamNation was about six miles; I’d have to run it in about 2:20 in order to make the second cutoff. It was getting too close for comfort, but I hoped I’d get the “horse can smell the barn” effect I often do at the end where I’m able to pick up the pace for a strong finish.

About a mile out of DamNation things went south fast. My calf started to seize up and I had to stop several times to stretch and rub it out. DNF’ing was becoming more of a reality. Here I was all alone (I wasn’t sure if Mr. Trekking Pole had made the other cutoffs), the weather had turned cold and a wind picked up. I knew things could turn ugly. I continued on, but thought about turning around as I’d hit DamNation faster. About two miles out of the aid station Mr. Trekking Pole caught up with me. When I told him what was going on he suggested I turn around. I didn’t even have to think about it; I knew the jig was up. Had I kept going it’d be four miles until I could get help. No buckle or Marathon Maniac stat was worth jeopardizing my health and safety.

It was a slow, painful hobble back, taking me almost an hour. We had been warned not to drop at DamNation since it was somewhat remote, but I knew they were getting ready to tear it down and there’d be several people who could take me back. My image of collapsing in a chair came true, but not for the right reason. Another gal had to drop there as well, and we were blubbering fools as the incredible volunteers wrapped us in blankets and got us some hot soup and cocoa. John was especially kind, taking my hand in his, assuring me I was a strong runner who made the right call.

I borrowed a cell phone and called my husband to give him the news. Yet another woman came in and dropped; we waited until one of the trucks was loaded with drop bags before we too were loaded in (by then I couldn’t put any weight on my leg). When we arrived at Dogwood Jess and another friend helped me out; since my husband was gimped up with horrid blisters he could only stand and watch, tears in his eyes seeing me in such pain.

After getting washed up at the hotel I looked down at my left shin to see some swelling. It was also extremely tender to the touch. I now think I damaged it during my fall on lap 1, and running 70+ more miles on it took its toll. While the pain is subsiding, I get an incredible cankle if I stand too long.

I have absolutely no regrets for dropping out, although I am incredibly disappointed. I’ve allowed myself a couple of tearful pity parties, but I know I’ll eventually get over it.

So, will I be back? You bet! Anyone know when registration opens for next year?

The aftermath:

This blister popped during my last lap.

Best. Finish. Ever!

My 27 hours, 42 minutes and 30 seconds in the Arizona desert were some of the most challenging, yet rewarding moments in my life.  My mood ranged from sheer elation to fatiguing funk – sometimes just minutes apart – but my journey to that point fully prepared me for any obstacle that presented itself.  When the low points started descending upon me, I conjured up the sage advice I received from my fellow ultrarunners, dismissing the doldrums with ease (or at least stuffing them far down into the pain cave).  Failure was not an option; I would continue on until no longer possible.

When there’s no where else to run
Despite racking up several marathons and ultras, I didn’t think a 100-miler was in my future.  But less than 2 hours after expressing that sentiment to a couple of my ultrarunner friends during a 12-hour race last year I was coveting the JJ buckle another friend had just earned.  She raved about the race, saying it was great for first-timers.  Because it was held around Halloween (or “Jalloween”), costumes are encouraged.  Given costumes were de rigeur for my first marathon, the Marathon du Medoc, this was particularly apt. The fact one could earn a buckle for finishing at least 100K was another plus (severe knee problems had forced my friend to drop to the “wuss out” option, but she still proudly wore her 100K buckle).

Since the 2011 date hadn’t yet been set, the next day I was Googling “2011 full moon schedule” knowing the race would be held on the full moon weekend closest to Halloween.  The first option – Oct. 15-16 – wasn’t ideal as I knew the temps could still be quite toasty (I’m not a fan of heat).  But I was ecstatic to see the second option – Nov. 12-13 – as it not only might mean cooler weather, the race would start on my birthday.  I checked the race website religiously over the next couple of weeks, waiting for the date announcement.  Impatient, I emailed the race director.  I jumped for joy when he confirmed it would be in November.  I must have been one of the first to sign up once registration opened.

I need direction to perfection
I dubbed 2011 “The Year of the Ultra” where I’d be taking on longer distances and more challenging terrain than ever before.  Before Javelina I was to run the White River 50 in July, a tough yet stunning course with an elevation gain and loss of 17,400+ feet.  I took a stair-step approach to my training, first tackling shorter races on demanding courses.  The shorter distances improved my form & technique on technical trails without overwhelming me.  Once I built up my confidence I moved up to longer distances.

After completing White River I turned my focus to Javelina.  I ran the ET Midnight 51K in Rachel, Nevada for some night running (the race starts at midnight under a full moon), then worked in a couple of back-to-back runs over the next couple of months.  Because my longest run to date had been 55 miles during a 12-hour race in May, I wanted to get in at least one run of 100K before Javelina.  So on our 11-year wedding anniversary I dragged my dear husband out for a REALLY long run.  Unfortunately I went out too fast and faded about 35 miles in.  Knowing he’d be called upon to light a fire under my ass at Javelina when my motivation flagged, my darling cajoled me into running another 15 miles after encouraging me to take a break and change my shoes and socks.  While it would have been nice to get in the full 100K, at least I got some practice with continuing on when my body was screaming to stop.

My weekly mileage was in the 55-70 mile range, although I had one 80+ week where I ran a marathon on Sunday and a 50K the following Saturday.  I typically got in at least one mid-week run of 10-15 miles, and also started incorporating some speedwork toward the end of September.  These runs were lower in mileage (4-6), but my goal was to run at a pace where I was pushing myself yet still was somewhat comfortable.  My monster week culminated in a 26-mile run on the first half of the White River course that featured 2,500 feet of climbing on singletrack switchbacks, followed by a 12-mile run on a paved trail the next day, and ending with a trail 50K the day after.  During my taper I worked in a couple more 10+ mile runs, along with some shorter tempo runs.

Another head aches, another heart breaks
It had been a while since I experienced a true taper, and I began to go bat-shit crazy.  I not only was consumed by the weather reports, I obsessed over my lap splits (I developed a spreadsheet with pace splits for 26-, 28- and 30-hour finishes).  My wish for cooler weather seemed like it would be granted, although it was moving TOO far in that direction as the forecast called for rain as well.  It was clear I’d have to pack far more than what I anticipated.

The overall aches and slight sore throat started the final week of the taper, so I began downing the vitamins, especially the vitamin C (even though I knew I’d just pee it out).  I abstained from alcohol, opting for water and chamomile tea.  While I had taken up yoga again to try to gain some flexibility, I skipped the class before the race since I figured the extra sleep would better serve me.  In fact, any time I felt the sleepies coming on, I laid down for a nap, even if just for 20 minutes.  As for race jitters, my biggest concern was knowing I’d experience several low points; I just didn’t know what would cause them.  I simply had to have faith I’d be able to work through them and that they would eventually pass.

Time, truth and hearts
Since I wanted to have a full day to chill out in Fountain Hills before the race, we caught a late flight to Phoenix Thursday night, arriving just after 11 p.m.  My sister Kim was in town, so she gave us a ride to our hotel.  We slept in on Friday, grabbed some breakfast at the hotel restaurant and met Kim at the arts & crafts fair a block from the hotel.

None of the merchandise really appealed to me, until I spied a booth with hand-tooled belt straps.  I had purchased a $3 belt at Goodwill in Seattle so that I could wear my Javelina buckle home (ever the optimist!), but I wanted to eventually upgrade to a nicer one.  I asked the belt-maker how long he’d be there on Sunday, thinking I could hobble over after the race.  Just as he was answering (5 p.m.), I heard behind me, “Are you Betsy?”  I turned around to see Kelly and Jo, a poster on RWOL and his wife.  (Kelly was running his 2^nd 100-mile race, two months after finish the Leadville 100 in just under 26 hours.  A fantastic performance in its own right, it’s even more remarkable considering he ran his first 5K just 14 months before!)  We chatted excitedly as runners do, until I saw Kim was getting bored and wanted to move on. I hadn’t seen her in over a year, so I bid Kelly and Jo adieu.

Nom nom nom

Since this was no time to cut calories, I went off on a quest for food.  Problem was, most of it was your typical fair food – fatty and fried.  Thank goodness I found a Thai place with grilled chicken skewers, which I gobbled down with a large bottle of water.  After meandering through for another hour (still nothing caught my eye, save for a shawl I bought for Kim), I was ready for more food.  By then we were at the “gourmet” area, where I tucked into some bison meatloaf and mashed potatoes with green chiles and fresh corn.

Javelina goody bag

After lunch we met up with some other running friends at the hotel and headed to the packet pickup at race “jeadquarters” at McDowell Mountain Regional Park.  Once there it really hit me: “I’m going to run 100 miles!”  I collected my goody bag and bib and my husband got a picture of me at the start line.  Several folks had opted to camp out; while it meant not having to deal with parking the next day, there was a good chance they’d have to contend with rain.  I was happy with our choice of staying in a warm bed.  After a hearty dinner of sushi I snuggled into that bed and was surprised to get a decent night’s sleep.

Because I had set everything out the night before, there wasn’t much to do that morning except eat breakfast and down a few cups of coffee.  I was thrilled when I looked outside to see a clear sky; perhaps the forecasted rain would be kept at bay (queue the foreshadowing music).  I donned my “costume” – a sheer black skirt and calf sleeves with spiders sewn on, gaiters and hat with a web overlay and a web-print cape with yet more spiders.  The air was rather cool, but still quite pleasant.  Still, I threw on a Snuggie to stay warm until the race started.

Spiderella!

I want to shine on in the hearts of men
As the witching hour approached runners began lining up at the start line.  My goal was to take it super slow for the first two laps – 3.5 hours or so – and then try to hold on as best I could.  I kissed my darling goodbye and lined up at the back of the pack.  It’s SHOWTIME!

I could tell many of the runners around me had the same strategy to take it easy in the beginning as I didn’t feel the frantic rush I often do.  I settled into a steady, comfortable pace and walked even the shortest, most gradual hills.  But within the first mile I experienced a wardrobe malfunction – my cape had flipped around, causing the spiders to stab the backs of my legs.  I had hoped to wear it the entire race, thus making me eligible for the “best costume” award, but my No. 1 priority was to be comfortable.  I took the cape off and ditched it at the Coyote Camp aid station at mile 2.

After leaving Coyote Camp the trail got steeper and rockier, but the scenery was stunning.  I recalled the mantra of a fellow RWOL forumite for his first 100-mile attempt:  “I am the luckiest man in the world right now.”  Talk about a positive attitude!  While he ended up having to DNF at mile 75, I was impressed with his fortitude and ability to stay optimistic even when things got really rough.  Knowing I’d go through similar lows, I kept reminding myself 1) I CHOSE to do this, and 2) I was so fortunate to be in a position to even attempt such an endeavor.  And besides, it was my birthday!  (Being the attention whore I am, I made sure all the aid station volunteers and anyone else within earshot were aware of this).

Because the race is so well supported – there were three remote aid stations, plus the main one at Javelina Jeadquarters – I opted to carry two handhelds instead of a hydration pack.  I also packed my Nathan vest in one of my drop bags, but never needed to use it.  I stored several gels, a headlamp and a rain coat in my Jackass Junction bag, and more gels, another rain coat and warm clothing in my main bag.  Since I had a tendency to bonk during my long training runs, I ate a gel or some other bit of food every half hour.  And even though we had cool temperatures, I carried a baggie of salt tabs in case of an electrolyte imbalance.

The course comprises six 15.4-mile loops with a 9-mile partial loop at the end (101.4 miles total).  We switched direction every loop, which meant we would see the frontrunners.  About 2 miles out of Jackass Junction (the halfway point of the loop) I spied a shirtless Hal Koerner barreling toward me.  He made it look so effortless!  (He’d go on to smash the course record, finishing in 13:47).  A couple of miles later I saw the women’s frontrunner, Liza Howard, gliding along; she too would break the women’s course record with a time of 15:46.

Hal Koerner

Liza Howard

Meanwhile, I kept to my steady slow pace, knowing it would enable me to finish strong.  I sauntered in to Jeadquarters in 3:26, stopping just briefly to kiss my darling, fill my bottles and grab some food.  Although the first half of the counterclockwise loop is uphill, it’s a gradual, smooth trail.  I ran as much as I could, but still wanted to take it easy since I had several more miles/hours to go.  The temperature started to rise a bit, but I was still very comfortable.  I made up some time on the downhill section after Jackass Junction, although given the rocks I took more gingerly steps.  I grabbed my cape at the last aid station and finished lap 2 in 3:39.

Finishing my second loop

You know you gotta help me out
I was ready for “real” food by then, so I grabbed a sub sandwich and a few pickles.  I was still in great spirits, and had no chafing or blisters.  But soon after leaving the Coyote Camp station I began to feel some severe bloating in my belly.  Had I eaten TOO much?  I tried working up some burps, to no avail.  As the pressure built I remembered a tip from another RWOL forumite: “Is it a problem or inconvenience? Find a solution for the problem, block out the inconvenience.”  While I was certainly uncomfortable, I wasn’t going to let a little bit of gas ruin my race.  I not only stopped taking in food as frequently, when I reached Jackass Junction I sat my ass on the john and let ‘er rip.  A fart never felt so good!  Newly energized (and de-gassed), I tore up the trail down from Jackass Junction.  As friends came toward me and asked how I was doing, I gleefully replied, “I farted!”  However, I refrained from sharing that information with Hal, who passed me THREE TIMES on that one loop alone.

While our pacers could join us starting on our fourth loop, I thought I’d wait until completing that loop before asking my darling to come along.  But as I was nearing the end of my third loop I had a change of heart; I wanted him to see at least some of the trail in daylight, plus it would be a nice birthday present to myself.  Even though he wasn’t quite ready to hit the trail when I arrived, he teared up to hear I wanted his company.  Since we’d hit nightfall during this loop, I tied a long-sleeved shirt around my waist and put on my headlamp.  We each grabbed a slice of pizza and headed out.

I was just over 45 miles in to the race, but still felt pretty strong.  My walk breaks became more frequent, but my darling was impressed with my stamina.  He’d pause briefly to grab a gel or adjust something, only to see me several yards up the trail. I was on track for a 26.5-hour finish, so I continued to surge on.  A little over an hour in to that loop it got dark enough for the headlamp, but the temperature was still perfect.  By the time we neared Coyote Camp I was thankful my darling was with me as the batteries on my headlamp began to die and I had neglected to grab some from my Jackass Junction drop bag.  Ever the Johnny-on-the-spot, he switched out the batteries while I grazed and made a pit stop.

The end of this loop would be a critical one: not only would it be the longest I’ve ever run (100K), I also had the option to stop.  Going in to the race I was concerned it would be a huge temptation as I imagined I’d see runners lounging in deck chairs enjoying frosty beverages.  But I tuned out everyone else and concentrated on grabbing what I needed from my drop bag.  Even though people caution you to “beware the chair,” I allowed myself a very short break as I gobbled down a burger before heading out on the 5^th loop.

You’re gonna bring yourself down
This is where my race got tough.  Just after passing through Coyote Camp I began to feel droplets of rain.  I still wasn’t cold, so I kept my shirt tied around my waist.  But then the droplets turned into a steady shower, so I threw it on.  I also started to feel a hot spot on one of my toes, and I knew I’d have to take care of it at Jackass Junction.  The hot spot got more intense, so when we saw the Tonto Tavern aid station had been set up (it was for the last partial loop), I asked if they had anything to treat blisters.  Alas, it was a water & food only stop, although the volunteer did offer me a snort of tequila.  (I declined).

With just over three miles to go before hitting Jackass Junction, I tried to ignore the hot spot as much as possible.  By now the rain was really coming down, so I had something else to grouse about.  Soon the lights of Jackass Junction came into view, which meant a few moments of reprieve.  I plopped myself down in a chair by a heater and pulled off my shoe and sock.

Holy moley – what a doozy!  I had about a dime-sized blister on the side of my second toe.  I gave everyone the heebie-jeebies as I set about cleaning it up.  While the aid station had bandages and duct tape, I had to use the pin on my bib to pop it.  (My darling sterilized first it in the heater).  I sat stoically as the pain seared through my toe.  We slathered on some Neosporin and covered it with the bandages and duct tape; it would have to do until I could get my foot properly cared for at Jeadquarters.

The rain and cold had started to take its toll, as several runners huddled around another heater waiting to be taken back to Jeadquarters.  Unfortunately one of them was a friend of ours; she doesn’t do well at night and the rain took any fight she had left.  She still would leave with a 100K buckle, but I know she was disappointed.  After downing a hot cup of chicken broth I threw on my rain coat and trotted down the trail.

While I expected there’d be rain – they’d been predicting a storm all week – the intensity shocked me.  This was Arizona!  It’s supposed to be sunny and hot.  The downpour lasted a couple of hours, mucking up the trail and dampening my spirits.  While I was relatively comfortable on top, the rain plastered my skirt to my legs, causing them to get really cold.  All I could think about were the dry warm clothes waiting for me at Jeadquarters.

But a couple miles out of the main aid station the rain thankfully subsided and my skirt dried out.  I was still soaked through up top, but I quickly changed out of my wet shirt and jacket and threw on two long-sleeved shirts and another jacket while the medic tended to my feet.  In addition to replacing the duct tape on my blister with a more appropriate bandage, he also re-taped the balls of my feet, first spraying them with Tuf Skin so the tape wouldn’t slide off.  I then changed into a pair of Injinji toe socks and my larger Cascadias and prayed these would solve my feet issues for the remainder of the race.

Don’t you put me on the backburner
Although I had just one more long loop to run, I knew it’d be a slog.  The dry clothes and shoes certainly helped, but I was beginning to get pretty punchy.  The downpour started up again, so I threw on a large garbage bag at the next aid station.  I also allowed myself a quick sit, savoring a cup of hot chocolate with my peppermint Gu.  The carnage continued, as several more runners were huddling around the heater, contemplating pulling out.

While I wouldn’t say I felt good, stopping wasn’t even a consideration.  My dreams of a 26 1/2 hour finish were dashed, but I felt I could still reach my goal of finishing between 27 and 28 hours.  Other than the rain, my only other issue was having to stop several times for bio-breaks.  By now I was hitting the port-o-potty at every aid station, plus I had to make another pit stop among the cactus (my dutiful husband helped cover up the present I left in the desert.  He must love me very much).  Given how much I had to pee, I wondered if I was drinking TOO much.  But I kept checking my fingers for bloating and everything seemed okay.  However, as we were nearing the end of the 6^th loop I took off my handhelds to see a couple of sausages staring back.  While the bloat hadn’t yet reached my fingers, it was quite obvious in my hands.  I downed a salt tab and began drinking Gatorade exclusively.

I’ve got soul but I’m not a soldier
Practically everyone I’ve talked to who’s run a 100-miler says sunrise is one of their favorite moments of the race.  Not only can you ditch the headlamp, the dawn brightens your mood and rids you of your negative thoughts.  It certainly energized me, especially since the rain had finally stopped.  Once we passed the Tonto Tavern aid station we saw several runners with glowstick necklaces signaling they were on their last loop.  I yelled out encouragement to each of them, knowing I’d soon be there.

I had a couple more obstacles to overcome first, however.

About a mile out from Coyote Camp my darling started receiving texts from our friends asking for an ETA (two of them had already finished, but they planned on coming back to Jeadquarters to see me finish).  Another was a good friend of ours, Wes, who had come down from Flagstaff to videotape.  My darling stopped to reply, but when he tried to catch up to me he rolled his ankle in the rocky section.  While it looked like a bad one, he told me to continue on; he just needed a few moments to recover.

By the time I hit the CC aid station he was no longer in sight.  I didn’t want to continue on without seeing how he was doing, so I borrowed a phone from a volunteer to call him.  He hobbled in just as I reached him; even though he reiterated I should continue on, I decided to walk with him the 2 miles back to Jeadquarters.

Just out of Coyote Camp the trail became extremely mucky with shoe-sucking mud.  It caked onto the bottoms of our shoes, adding what seemed like 10 pounds to each foot.  The stuff was tough to scrape off, and we began to kick every stump, log and rock we saw to try to rid ourselves of it.

Wes was waiting for us as we rounded the final corner into Jeadquarters.  He was getting ready to run his first marathon in a couple of weeks, so he asked if I wanted him to pace me the final 9 miles (my darling was out due to his ankle).  However, I decided I wanted to go solo, losing myself in the special playlist I created to push me in the last couple of hours.  I filled my bottle, gulped down another salt tab, snapped the glowstick around my neck and plugged in my ear buds for what I figured would be the last 2 1/2-3 hours of the race.

I wanna stand up, I wanna let go
While all the songs on my playlist were uplifting and motivating, one was a standout: “All These Things That I’ve Done” by The Killers.  I originally heard it on a video of Joan Benoit Samuelson winning the first women’s marathon at the 1984 Olympics.  It’s carried me through several races, and in the months leading up to Javelina I pictured myself crossing the finish line with it pulsing through my ears.

Spurred on by the music I picked up my pace considerably as I headed down the trail (both Garmins had died, so I had no idea of my actual pace).  When I reached the mucky section I tried as best I could to maneuver around it.  I also warned people coming toward me to do the same.  As I passed the Coyote Camp aid station I yelled out, “No offense, but I’m so glad I won’t be seeing you again!”  The volunteers cheered me on as I skedaddled along.

While I was still taking walk breaks, especially along the rocky section, I was making great time.  As I would come up on other runners many of them would do a doubletake as they hadn’t expected anyone to be that strong at that point in the race.  But something takes over me as I near the end: I’m a “horse can smell the barn” kinda gal.

Once I made the turn at the Tonto Tavern aid station I made a quick pitstop in the bushes, but fortunately no one passed me.  I picked up my pace even more as the trail became a smooth, gradual downhill.  Although I didn’t keep track, I must have passed at least 15 other runners by then.

All these things that I’ve done
Although I had played The Killers’ song twice already, with just over a half mile to the finish I stopped to queue it up again.  One of the course marshals saw me stop and yelled, “Keep going!  You’re almost there!”  I yelled back I was putting on my power song, and sure enough, as the initial piano key strokes started playing I leapt into a sprint.

Gleeful finish

The rest was a bit of a blur; I remember seeing Wes at the corner again, sprinting himself so he could get me at the finish line.  Spectators lined the trail cheering me on.  When I saw my darling I threw my hands up and burst into tears.   The race director handed me my buckle as I grabbed my darling for a big hug and a kiss.  My friends surrounded me with huge smiles on their faces, congratulating me.  I plopped down in a chair and relished the moment.

While my 27:42:30 finish put me in 116^th place out of 174 entrants, my 2:14:53 last lap placed me 23^rd overall!

 Over and out, last call for sin
While everyone’s lost, the battle is won
With all these things that I’ve done
All these things that I’ve done
(Time, truth and hearts)
If you can hold on
If you can hold on

Postscript: It’s now a little over two weeks later and I’m finding recovery from a 100-miler takes a LONG time.  I’ve only run about 28 miles since, and it wasn’t pretty.  But I’m hoping I’ll be able to ease back in soon.  After all, I’m already signed up for my next 100-miler: Rocky Raccon in February!

Because the Tuf Skin is so sticky, my Injinji socks created a unique blister.

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