The Active Joe

Fastpacking the Pacific Crest Trail - Miles 1980 to 1970

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Sat, 16 Jul 2016 16:50:00 +0000

There's a lot of talk out in the world about the PCT (Pacific Crest Trail) after Cheryl Strayed's book Wild was turned into a movie starring Reese Witherspoon. But those in the ultrarunning and backpacking worlds have waxed poetic over those 3 little words for decades. I myself absolutely loved the movie The Runner about David Horton setting a speed record on the trail's entire length. For all the cool places I've run, I hadn't made it on a single inch of this 2,650 mile trail that runs from Mexico to Canada. I had been on my first fastpacking trip last year (28 miles over 4 12,000 foot high passes of the Four-Pass Loop in the Maroon Bells outside Aspen, CO in 2 days) and while it was hard, I had so much fun. So I wanted to do another trip this year and the weekend of July 14 was looking like my last shot before a busy second half of the summer (producing Rough Creek Trail Run on September 17!), and after I had gotten my health back on track from a series of issues in May and June. I was enamored with pictures of the Three Sisters mountain area of Central Oregon, between Bend and Eugene. My only real exposure to Oregon had been the north side of the state (Seaside, Portland, Mt. Hood, and the Columbia River Gorge).

What ended up happening was 9 1/2 hours on my feet, covering 21 miles of challenges and 4200 feet of elevation gain/loss. That's 200 feet of gain and loss per mile!! Talk about a workout! Now the nitty gritty because the important stuff is really in the details....

The loop around the Three Sisters (which includes 15 miles of PCT that were open) wasn't open yet for this trip. It would have been fun, but there were still a couple sections up high with too much snow and one section where the tree blowdown was so bad that the Park Ranger said that someone had been out there the Sunday before my trip now that enough snow had melted and encountered 150 trees in only a half-mile. So scratch that. Here I had been thinking that watching the snowmelt reports that I was in decent timing - glad I called.

I thought I would do an out-and-back then on just the PCT. I mean, it's the PCT...

I didn't really know what I was going to encounter with the snow still melting off and the mosquitoes getting worse (but supposedly not HIGH season quite yet) and I didn't know the region or terrain. Don't get me wrong - I wasn't unprepared; I had my map and had studied it and downloaded section by section details on the PCT by mile from a website. But subjective narratives and the current year's conditions vs previous made a lot of details fuzzy. I was most nervous about the snow levels (I have basically no snow experience at all) and about the mosquitoes (I am always that person who gets the most bites outside in a crowd, I'm just susceptible to getting bit, and I have a bad histamine reaction too so the bites swell up big). So I was anxious about this adventure.

I arrived Wednesday night to Sisters, OR and stayed in a hotel so I could get a good night's sleep and leave at 5:45 am to head to Camp Lava Lake Trailhead. This would put me at mile 1980 on the PCT. I had already decided to head south.

My pack weighed in at a svelte 18 pounds, excluding water. That covered my tent, sleeping bag, extra clothes, emergency gear, and food. I had everything planned around having 2 days available to hike what I wanted. I was really proud of how carefully I had planned out what to bring and managed to eliminate about 7 lbs from last year's adventure.

At 6:30 am I left the trailhead after filling out the required wilderness permit, putting a copy in the box and stowing the copy (as required) in my pack.

18 pounds is certainly a load but compared to the 23-25 lbs I had carried last year, it felt so much lighter. I was bit once in the parking lot filling out the permit but the mosquitoes at dawn weren't bad.

I hiked through beautiful forest with soft soil and roots crossing the trail. I knew there would be a lot of climbing early on so I tried to just keep a good pace. Since I don't do great with altitude, and the bottom of the course at the start was a mile high in elevation, it took me about an hour to feel comfortable with my breathing.

I love the shadow of the forest on my left across the lava field on my right in the dawn hours!

I passed a couple ponds like this one....

and both North then South Mathieu Lakes...

North Mathieu Lake

They were just stunning in the early morning with wisps of fog hanging over the water, but I took my pictures quickly as I only saw a couple people camping at the designated campsites and the mosquitoes had chosen me as their breakfast.

Then through a volcanic area for a while. I wasn't expecting so much lava rock on this section of the PCT so that was pretty cool. Although later all that rock would start to make my feet pretty resentful. And then at mile 3 I was eating my first food, these EPIC bar bites. It's basically like a moistened meat bar broken into bites (this one bacon-based). Well the last couple bits went down the wrong pipe and .... Oh no.... I was hacking and coughing and my throat hurt and each cough now had a burp like my body really really wanted me to just throw it all up. I put my foot down - NO! I have planned my calories around keeping in this high-carb pastry I ate on the drive to the trailhead and the earth can not have it!!!

This would lead to a sore throat all day which impacted my interest in eating, although I would continue to get calories. So I had my (first) moment of "okay, so things happen!"

Lots of loose lava rock in the lava field areas. Amazing terrain to walk through.

I went around a feature called Yoapah's Crater which seemed to be just a giant dome of lava ash. Interesting geologic feature in the middle of it all. Very different than the rest of the terrain on this hike!

At mile 5 after that bit of lava stuff I came out to a beautiful alpine meadow with a stream. Just gorgeous.

Intersection with Scott Trail

And yippee for water as my 20 oz handheld was ready to be refilled. As I pulled out my Steripen to purify the water and knelt to fill up my handheld in the stream, the mosquitoes were all over me. Stupid alpine meadow! And then before I knew it, the Steripen is blinking red. What?! It hasn't done this before. All I know is red is bad and means all the germs are still there. I try and retry. Later on, after I was back in civilization, a quick googling confirmed stupid human error - between the sun hitting the indicator making me not see the green light go off originally I had then messed up the order of press-first-then-insert-in-water so then the sensor was now wet and didn't want to sterilize the water. But all this is happening while I'm being ravaged by mosquitoes. So I needed to just move on and act fast.

Fine, I've never used iodine tablets before - this is as good a day to learn as any. So I pulled out my 1 Liter Platypus bladder, used my handheld to collect the water to fill it, and then went through the protocol on the iodine tablet container. I would now have no water for 33 minutes (30 to treat and then 3 minutes for the followup tablets to remove some of the nasty taste and color - super happy with the result). So that was going to be the day, huh? Scrambling to collect and treat water amid a swarm of mosquitoes and then going waterless for 30 minutes. Gotcha. I even reached up under my cap brim and squished a mosquito in the edge of my hair at my temple. Gross. So at home I need to practice sterilizing with the Steripen out in the sun 10 times over so even under high stress I don't goof it up.

The next section had 3 miles of lots of lava and snow and moonscape-like terrain.

It was a climb up gradually to Opie Dilldock pass (6900'). Which included an uphill swarth through a lava slope covered in icy snow, which rattled me a little since I am not "one" with the snow.... Or with balance.

Those are footsteps cutting from the middle of the field on the left side and going diagonally up the slope to the right edge of the picture. Each time my foot slid I would tense up and freeze. You could see that some hikers going northbound had just decided to slide down the slope when coming the opposite direction.

Mount Washington to the north in the distance on the far right. My trail on the far left.

Top of Dilldock Pass. It's like I'm on the moon!

ALL the rocky gravel. Blech.

This warped tree just made the terrain seem even more other worldly!

After the pass, there were about 10 short switchbacks in the lava heading downhill. Tromping through more gravely lava rocks, I finally got back to forest soil, which felt so much better on my feet.

Even with mosquitoes everywhere, I can still find my smile! It's still my happy place!

I had an instance here where I was thankful for the app on my phone. "Halfmile's PCT" is super useful. It tells you about upcoming trailheads and landmarks but also springs and campsites. And it has a diagram mode that shows your GPS location on top of a GPS map of the trail (no topography under, just the trail). I hit a sudden fork in the trail and some footsteps went across a snowfield. The other way seemed to dead-end a little ahead. So I cross the snowfield and then couldn't find where the trail goes. I stared at a wall of snow on lava and a stream coming out from it. Thanks to the app I headed west and found where the stream was basically the trail until the stream disappeared under the ice and the trail continued.

Where's the trail?!

The first 8 miles I had only encountered 2 thru-hikers heading northbound. One, maybe about 70 years old, had started in Mexico the previous summer and made it to Etna in California and had picked up there this summer. Another guy, mid-30s, was thru-hiking but had just finished a 4 day stay over in Bend. The impression I had was that thru-hikers treated coming across each other as a chance for a quick chat - where you coming from? Where you going to? Where'd you start the day? How's it going? Friendly and more than I expected. At mile 8, I had my first (and only) southbound hiker. Sam was from Atlanta, GA and friendly. We chatted for a couple minutes and then I fell in behind him as his pace was a little faster than me. He had also done the Maroon Bells and also wore Brooks Cascadia shoes like me! He was telling me how his were already falling apart (yes, I informed him, the uppers fall apart in the 10's. Never had a problem in the 9's!) and we talked about my hike plans and his. We hung together for almost a mile when I told him I couldn't keep his quick pace and wished him luck.

Mile 9 found me in the Obsidian special entry area. You were allowed to hike through without a permit if you entered via the PCT and stayed on the PCT, but you couldn't camp in the area. I was hitting snowfield after snowfield now. Some of which were 200 feet long. Like I would follow the footsteps and start tromping, occasionally sliding, and couldn't see where the snowfield ended. Crazy.

I made it to Glacier Creek and it was time to sterilize water again. And be attacked by a million mosquitoes. I was really tiring of this. It meant that I could never ever take a break or I would be set upon by these varmints. Part of the fun of being in such a pretty place in nature was to get to just sit on a rock or a log or in the alpine meadow and just relax, get the pack off, rest your feet, and enjoy the scenery. This is what I expected because this is what the fastpacking trip last year was. Instead, I had been on my feet all day and any stop was leading to more bites. I was getting highly frustrated.

A half mile after Glacier Creek, I said "THAT'S IT! I've had it." I'd been on the go for 4 1/2 hours straight. I was not in the mood with being eaten alive that evening as I set up my camp, and having to be zipped up in my tent unable to enjoy the outdoors in the evening, and then equally getting bit up tearing down the next morning for another day of being on my feet all day. Not my idea of fun. And if they were this annoying so far, knowing they would get worse as it warmed up really worried me. I added on the lava rock time on my poor footsies, leg fatigue from the unsteady snowfields, and sitting out drinking for 30 minutes every couple hours, and I had been doing the math for a while. I could get back to my car at a reasonable late afternoon time if I kept up the same pace and extended my day from the originally planned 15-17 miles to a whopping 21 mile day.

The decision was made: There would be no camping and no feasts for the mosquitoes (well, no more than there had to be).

Turning around at 10.5 miles, I had ingested about 300 calories. I would eat another 300 going back. I was happy with the food I had brought (EPIC meat bites, shelled and salted pistachios, honey stinger waffles, and honey stinger protein bars) but I had to make myself eat since my sore throat from early morning bothered me most of the time out there.

Halfway on the return back, I reapplied the Off! Deep Woods bug spray, not that it was doing much good. And sunscreened my arms again. I was very careful each time I would pull my pack back on that I tugged down my shirt sleeves. In the very high altitude and full sun of my Maroon Bells trip, I had ended up with a small strip of second degree burn right where my shirt had inched up on one sleeve because of my pack. That was not going to happen again!

Climbing over Dilldock Pass was a lot harder going back northbound. It was shorter and steeper, and the gravelly lava hurt my already swelling feet.

My last few hours out there the wind picked up a little. I could try to time finding a rock or log in the shade with a windy gust and get maybe a minute and a half or rest for my feet before the wind would die back down and the bugs that had been struggling in the wind to reach me would attack. Grrrr.

The last couple hours I encountered what seemed to be more folks like myself - short distance or day hikers. The last 2 miles through the woods by the lakes was excruciating as mosquitoes had found my worst bite spots and would go after those areas over and over again. I was walking catnip (well, if mosquitoes were cats). And I would yelp with each new bite. So I ran as hard as I could and pulling 16 minute miles with an 18 lb pack is quite a run!

South Mathieu Lake in the daytime

I was so thankful to see my car. It was 4 pm. I had been on my feet, with that pack heft, for 9 1/2 hours. How different that time would have felt with a break from the bugs to sit out in nature and rest my legs, right? I drove into town and got a room, showered, ate dinner, then had a Benadryl, applied cortisone cream, and slept.

The next morning, the heat and swelling was down a little on the bites so I could see the damage. As one example, on the back of my right leg is 14 bites. Just in that one area.

I guess long pants and long shirt would help, but with the smaller pack, I did jog many downhills at a trot. That wouldn't be very comfortable in pants. Besides the fact I overheat easily and the afternoon was warm, hitting 86 degrees with no clouds.

So I came at the wrong season for bugs. But in my life's schedule, it was the best season for me. So it comes down to, if we wait for perfect conditions, how long will we be waiting? Instead I made the best of it, had an adventure, took 72 pictures, traveled 21 miles of Pacific Crest Trail, and have new memories for it NOW rather than the potentially perfect condition that may or may not exist in a future year. And, even with 30 mosquito bites, that is always a win in my book! :-)

Coldwater Rumble 52K Race Report

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Wed, 03 Feb 2016 18:09:00 +0000

"This was a stupid idea for a long run." -- Me at mile 24.

My life is increasingly hectic lately, and it wasn't going to be any less over the next several weeks. I had been quietly working on the acquisition of Rough Creek Trail Run from Endurance Buzz Adventures and was basically going to launch the news over the weekend I was gone to Coldwater Rumble. My dog had to be put down (liver cancer), my husband and I had arranged our first vacation without kids in more than 5 years for mid-January, and then once we were back, my kids needed my time and attention. I had already committed to something each weekend day for the following 3 weeks. And my goal race of Antelope Canyon 55K on February 20th was looking at seeing me there with very very few training miles or long run chances. It was set to be a sufferfest of my own making.

So I got a great deal on airfare into Phoenix, Arizona, maybe because the Cardinals had won their football game and so it changed who was playing where/when and they weren't playing at home? I know nothing about football, but this was what I had heard. I flew out the day before Coldwater Rumble, having read a little on the website and not reading every single race report out there as I usually do. I looked at the elevation profile, which had no total elevation gain listed, but unlike Bandera 2 weeks before where I did 37 miles, there were no 300 foot climbs or descents here. My impression from the website was that it was mostly groomed sandy non-technical trail with maybe some rocks. Boy, would that illusion come back to haunt me later. Also, the end result of the elevation change (which ended up being 3100 ft. gain/loss) is just slightly under Bandera 50K, so that was a rolly-hill surprise!

Race Eve

I picked up my race shirt and bib. There are a million distances at Coldwater Rumble (100 mile, 52 mile, 52K, 20 mile, 20K, and 4 mile) on a multi-loop course so all bibs are color coded.

I snapped a quick picture of the start/finish line I would cross the next day.

I met up with friends Robert and Jess for sushi that night. And then was in bed asleep by 9:30 PM, since I planned to be up at 5:30 AM and wanted a full night's sleep.

Race Morning - Seeing Off Longer Distances

I arrived about 6:20 am to get great parking near the start. My race wouldn't start until 8 am, but I thought I'd get to see Jess start the 100 miler and see Robert start the 52 miler.

After seeing Jess off at the 7 am start of the 100 miler, I was able to get this great picture of dawn.

Then I was able to cheer the 50 milers off.

The little dots going up the ridge are the runners.

The first 20 miles

Me at the start line of the 52K

The course for the 52K is one clockwise 20 mile loop, and then reverse for a 12 mile smaller loop that is a smaller portion of the original 20 mile loop. I fell in very early in the climbing of the first couple miles with a guy named Jeff who was doing his first ultra.

It was good company, and we chatted about all sorts of running things. The 20 mile and then 20K folks caught up to us, then we hit the split off from the 20K (who do just the smaller 12 mile loop).

Runners dotted along the climb

The course was constantly rolling. And then at mile 9 we hit the sand. Oh goodness, so much sand. I felt like I wasn't even moving, I could feel my upper legs getting more tired. Jeff left me here, with more sandrunning experience as a local than I have. I had heard there was a few miles of deep sand and hoped this is what was meant by it and that there wasn't worse sand further in!

I came into the mile 11 aid station and refilled my hydration pack for the first time and grabbed a cup of coke. I asked if there was more of that sand and was told that had been the worst of it and it was mostly over. Phew.

I left out of the aid station for another 1/2 a mile of deep sand. Grrr. I was so ready for it to be over. Then it did end, and I could run again on much more tired legs.

We go through a cool section during this split where there are huge pieces of white quartz on each side. My picture really didn't do it justice.

I went through the aid station at mile 16.5 quickly with some coke. A short bit after the aid station, I ran into Jess who was looking stellar and strong at about 24 miles into her 100 miler (she would later win the overall female - she's such an amazingly strong runner).

Even though she was leading the race for the women, she still stopped to exchange hugs and to take my picture!

The end of the 20 mile loop is about 2 miles winding on a trail on the side of the mountainface. A mile after seeing Jess, I run into Robert. He's sporting a Big Cedar shirt too!

Then The Reverse 12 Mile Loop

I came in at mile 20, refilled my hydration pack, had some Coke, put some ice down my sports bra and in my hat, and headed off. I was now reversing the miles I had just come from. There's a good size descent finishing the previous loop, but now I had to climb back up it. It was a slow hike. To keep my mind busy, I counted the 55K and 20 mile and 20K people who were headed towards the finish line.

It was getting warm, I think it hit about 75 degrees, and the course is fully exposed, so at the mile 23.4 aid station, about 3:30 pm, I sat for a moment under the shade of a tent and reapplied sunscreen, dumped a ton of ice in my hat and sports bra, and walked out.

Then, as I walked, I started doing the math about my current pace, my slowing pace, and the time of sunset. I started to worry. A lot. I didn't know if I could make it to the finish before dark. I started to jog. I ran down the hills, ran the flats, and ran uphill. It was slow, but it was faster than a walk. I kept doing the math of various paces for the last 9 miles. I looked on my phone at the time of sunset. But that time doesn't really tell last light. But I also knew I had to go around the mountain to get to the finish, and I would be on the east side, so the sun would disappear even sooner. I thought about calling Steve at home - someone rational and fresh to double check my math and pull up the time for civil twilight. But I needed to save my phone battery because it was the only flashlight source on me. I hadn't anticipated being out on the course so long. I could smack myself for not throwing a headlamp or flashlight in my pack.

I kept running and got to the next aid station. 4.5 more miles to go. I asked the volunteer when the sun goes down here, swigged down a Coke, he said about 5:30 but it stays light out about another hour, and I thanked him and was gone. Less than a minute.

I saw Jess, and we quickly said hi, but I kept moving. The last couple miles felt like they were taking forever. Stepping around on the side of a mountain, going downhill, then uphill again - why are we going uphill? I could almost see the parking area, then dip back into the mountain on the trail to where it isn't in view anymore, and repeat.

Suddenly, Robert is walking towards me. He had talked about dropping when I saw him at mile 23 because he wanted to save his energy for his goal race in 3 weeks. I thought maybe he had just slowed down but was still in the race. But nope. He had dropped and hung out to crew Jess if she needed it and then had come out a mile from the finish to make sure I had a light if it got dark. What a considerate friend!!

He warned me immediately that this last section would feel like it went on forever, and it did not disappoint. Then, there was the last long descent filled with loose rocks.

I crossed the finish line with 33 miles in 9:45 and happily collected my finisher items - a Desert Runners Trail Series coaster and a beer glass!

All runners were able to head over to the pizza tent and choose from 4 different types of wood-fired pizzas made right there onsite. A pretty cool perk. I was ready to get back to the hotel and shower, so I ate my pizza on the 10 minute drive back to the hotel.

All in All

Aravaipa Running (the race producer) always creates well-organized races from my understanding of their reputation and this was no different. The course was well-marked. While I'm not a huge desert girl, the terrain was pretty and interesting. The wood-fired pizza afterwards was a great gesture. And it was a fun sufferfest. On to the next sufferfest!

A Fantastic Training Run at Bandera 100K

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Thu, 14 Jan 2016 16:56:00 +0000

Normally I sign up for the 50K at Bandera. I've run that in 2013 and 2014. I would have run it in 2015 but ended up really sick then. I'm coming off of race directing at New Years Double, which means a 100 hour work week, lots of stress, not enough sleep, and a low mileage month of about 75 miles. I don't love Bandera - I dislike rocks greatly and this course is full of rocks, one year that I ran it had mud and humidity, and one year it was hot. Basically, all my worst conditions rolled into one.

This year I thought I would sign up for the 100K and just give it a shot. Worst case, I knew I could get through 50K. But best case, I could keep moving on my low training and finish!

I traveled to Bandera with Sarah, who would run the 25K, and Daniel, who would crew and pace me the last 14 miles as he was recovering from knee bursitis.

Race morning I was a little nervous but felt I had prepared well in all regards except training. LOL. My gear was solid, and I knew the course. I had drop bags well planned out, and I had mentally psyched myself up.

The 100K is two loops of the 50K course EXCEPT it starts the loop both times at 5 miles into the 50K course. I would learn the order of tackling the land formations, terrain, and climbs would make a big difference in my day.

Start to Nachos (Mile 0 to 5.6)

I said hi to a few friends as we milled about before starting the race. At 7:30 am, it was go time. I was glad Daniel reminded me about my sunglasses, which I had really wanted to remember to wear at the start. It's so easy to forget when it's barely dawn. I placed myself well toward the back.

The first 5.5 miles to the Nachos aid station I felt like a new foal getting used to its legs. There were lots of small climbs and loose rock. The slightly damp ground led to mud being wiped across the rocks and made it a little slippery. I wasn't sure if my lack of balance and sure footing was just getting used to the day or that this was a harder terrain area. It was cool, about 40 degrees with a strong cold wind. A runner named Wid said hi to me, and I saw my friend Dale with all his whooping I've come to expect from the "Texas Yeti." About 3 miles in I had my jacket off, but my gloves would stay on for another 7 miles or so.

I had my trail mix pre-made and I was wearing a full 70 ounces of water in my pack at the race start, so I ran straight through the Nachos aid station, exactly on the faster scenario of times I had set for myself.

Nachos to Chapas (Miles 5.6 to 11.0)

The miles leading up to Chapas at mile 11 went quickly. These were usually miles I disliked in past years. I recalled the #8 trail as having lots of loose rock and having a hard time making ground on without walking in the past but I was warmed up and moved well now. I saw a deer cross about 30 feet in front of me, and that was cool. I came into Chapas and spent only 50 seconds there. Just enough time to grab my drop bag, restock my pack with another trail mix baggie from my drop bag, and grab a cup of Coke then walk out holding some Pringles. I was efficient so far.

Chapas to Crossroads (Miles 11.0 to 16.85)

Within a couple miles I was DONE with my trail mix, which had been my planned food for the first 12 hours of the race. After which I was to eat whatever looked good. I didn't fret and knew to listen to my body. If it didn't want something, I just would have to find something else it did want!

This section to Crossroads includes a lot of field with nontechnical terrain. I thought back to my first year where it was muddy and the dirt here had clung to my shoes like high heels, making the most runnable section impossible. Now I jogged along well. But was being caught by the majority of the 50K midpack, who seemed to take me as a midpack person in their race who was slowing, and would say "we're halfway there!" It was frustrating to hear that all day. I try to be very mindful that there are other distances when I'm racing and not assume we're all in the same race and not throw out statements which could be encouraging to those in your distance but not so for other distances. Because spending half the morning stepping aside for the huge amount of people in the 50K and then those comments do wear you down.

Crossroads to Crossroads (Miles 16.85 to 21.85)

I came into Crossroads still a little ahead of my faster time scenario. I gave my pack over to two volunteers to refill. Initially the volunteer wanted me to hold the pack out while he filled it, but with my tremor disease, it would have been a shaky wet mess. So I simply said "I have a disease which makes my arms shake so it will be easier if I hand the pack to you [another volunteer] and let you two handle it." And I thanked them enthusiastically. I said hi to Sami who was volunteering, and then Steven Monté was sitting there in a chair! This guy had started 30 hours before us and his intent was to do 3 50K loops solo and then do the 100K with all of us. It turns out he did his 3 loops, laid down to nap before the 100K started, and then way overslept. So he didn't go back out. I teased him loudly, calling him a wuss. ;-P More Coke and a piece of quesadilla and I headed out.

I wasn't worried about my faster time because I knew the Three Sisters after the first time you hit Crossroads always slows me down a little. I had been leapfrogging with Wid for a while, but here was where we started to end up in sync more often on the course. That 5 mile section went faster than I expected, and it was back to Crossroads again.

Daniel and Sarah were there, and I was happy to see them. My low back was starting to hurt (I'm prone to back pain at times with my fibromyalgia, and it also was probably exacerbated by the drive down the previous day). So I came into the aid station calling for Coke, a slice of quesadilla, and a chair. I laid on the ground with my feet up in the chair, which should have been uncomfortable with my pack on, but it was like heaven to stop the low back spasm. Medical came over to make sure I hadn't collapsed. LOL. I just grinned and ate my quesadilla while looking up in the sky. My attitude was good for 21 miles in.

Crossroads to Last Chance (Miles 21.85 to 26.1)

The next 5 miles I started to notice my tender feet getting sorer but there was still a lot of runnable. I knew Lucky Peak was coming - I hate that one because of the steep descent after it with all the sliding from the loose dirt and catching loose rocks. I hung with Wid for a lot of this section. The last couple miles of this section though I started to get cranky. I needed calories but I also was focusing way too hard on the last 5 miles of the loop coming up. When I pulled into Last Chance aid station at mile 26, I told Wid to go ahead and I would catch up. I said I needed a cup of Coke, a cup of ginger ale, and then to sit and eat gummy bears until my mood improved. To me, cranky equals needing calories. I cheered Paul Terranova as he came through, then chatted with his wife Meredith.

Last Chance to The Lodge (Miles 26.1 to 31.1)

So I leave Last Chance knowing the next 5 miles have two strong climbs that I had been having trouble recalling specifically because in the 50K it's the first 5 miles of the course, so you're happy and fresh when you hit it. This section was basically awful with the loop in this configuration and as a back of the packer, I also had the sun right in my eyes as it was trying to set and had to keep one hand up shielding myself so I could see the loose rocks of each climb. That annoyance added to my bad mood.

I came into The Lodge at the end of the loop and saw Daniel and Sarah cheering. I was right at the time of my slower scenario but that didn't leave me much time for this aid station. BUT I knew I was no good going out if I didn't improve my mood so I needed to take whatever time I would need. It would be 16 minutes, longer than I would have liked. I was efficient with what tasks I needed to accomplish - I got my drop bag, put on my two headlamps, put on my jacket, got my pack back on. Then I had hot chocolate and ramen with mashed potatoes mixed in, then a cup of Coke. And I chatted with my friends. I slowly started to see my attitude improve.

The Lodge to Nachos (Miles 31.1 to 36.7)

I left there and within a mile had caught back up to Wid. I found the new foal feeling was well founded from the first loop as this was a harder terrain section as I feared it would be. About 2 miles into this 5.6 mile section, it was dark enough to turn on lights. I turned on my chest light but could go another half mile before turning on the headlamp atop my head. My mood was souring though as the sun going down had made me super sleepy. I was slowing down and starting to freak out in my head about future cutoffs. The cutoff at Nachos was generous but it would start to get dicey after that.

I went to turn on my headlamp on my head and nothing happened. I recalled before I had left for the trip, the lamp hadn't turned on and I just thought it needed a recharge. It's a Black Diamond Sprinter that uses the charging station, not alkaline batteries, and I had used this headlamp a billion times in the 5 years I've had it. I own several headlamps but that's my major go-to lamp. After charging it, I saw the green light on the charging station and had unplugged it and, in my hurry to finish packing, I didn't test that the light turned on. I guess it was finally just dead dead dead. It freaked me out. This section often had washes that crossed the trail and it wouldn't be too hard if you were sleepy to wander the wrong way. The trail would also often split into 2 or 3 paths that eventually came back together but the splitting in the dark is disconcerting. Further I had a spot in the first loop where I had paused where the trail seemed to dead end into a wash. But there was someone right behind me who also paused then stepped to one side and saw a ribbon on the other side of a bush and that told us which way to go. It had been really windy all day and on this second loop in the dark, I hit that exact spot of confusion from the first loop, and I went the correct way but the ribbon was gone! And in general, there were bigger expanses between ribbons so now I started to freak out about the ribbons blowing away.

I would get behind and then catch up to Wid. I would say how long to the next station and he would say "I thought we'd gone further than the last time you updated!!" It was frustrating for us both.

One time that I had Wid go ahead I decided to get my flashlight out of my pack and stop for a potty break. I knew I had batteries at Chapas in 7 more miles or so, but I wished I had some in my pack and wished I could remember how many batteries I had put in that drop bag. Was it enough? What if it wasn't? I was mentally wearing down, and through the grog of sleepiness, I was also getting panicky.

When I came into the Nachos aid station at mile 37, I said to the volunteers that I wanted to sit and think. They asked what I needed. I said I needed to make a decision about continuing. I was thinking about how much harder I thought the loop was in the orientation of the 100K versus the 50K, and how very few are slow enough like me to have to do that previous 5 miles at the start of the second loop in the dark. I was mentally defeated. A great volunteer Jacque talked through things with me. I was 25 minutes to the cutoff, but given my paces the last 5 miles, I wasn't going to make the next cutoff unless I had a sudden rally. My hydration was good. My nutrition was good. My muscles were good, and I was happy that my tender feet were sore but totally bearable. I said that I thought I was just done for the day, I was happy with what I had accomplished, but I had time until the cutoff so to not mark me as a drop yet. There was time for me to try to change my mind. After about 10 minutes I called it. I was done.

Jacque was nice and drove me to the guest ranch we were staying at right outside the state recreation area. Daniel was surprised to see me. No tears from me. I was okay with how it all went down.

Final Reflections

I could have just signed up for the 50K. I got another 6 miles more than if I had! And some great practice at approaching a race day from the viewpoint of being out there a lot longer.

It ended up being a fantastic training run coming off a lackluster last month of training, and I think it will be a great jumping off point for the next couple months!

Reflecting on 2015: A Tougher Runner but with Some Hiccups Along the Way

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Wed, 06 Jan 2016 23:15:00 +0000

The year sums up with what toughened me up and the hiccups to prevent me from accomplishing more.

The toughening up -

3 ultras - 1 with scree field! 1 with altitude.
1 marathon
1 trail 25K
2 trail half marathons - 1 with altitude.
Crewing and pacing a 200 mile race. And learning to live for 5 days with basically no sleep.
Camping in 29 degree weather.
20.5 mile run through Bryce Canyon - including trail wayfinding and running in snow!
22 miles (over 3 runs) in the Marin Headlands
28 miles and an overnight solo fastpacking trip in Colorado, over 4 12,000-ft-elevation mountain passes.

The hiccups -

Spent all of January recovering from double ear infection and strep throat
Felt "off" in May and went to the doctor
Spent half of August and all of September ill until the doctors found I had an incredibly low Vitamin D value and started treating me for Vitamin D deficiency.
Directing two wet icky races, which are always harder to clean up and bounce back from.

So here's how the year went down. What a full year!

January 1st of 2015 began with the second day of New Years Double. Both days, the temperatures hung right at 32-33 degrees, with icy rain the second day. After having a cold over Christmas, being outside in all of that for two straight days left me with a double ear infection and strep throat. Any hope of running Bandera 50K or any distance at Rocky Raccoon 100 or 50 miler was shot. Most of January was spent recovering from illness.

In February, I started building back and Jeremy invited me to head to Arkansas to crew him at LOViT 100 miler. It was a cold, rainy, wet, muddy two days of racing, and I ended up jumping in to pace him the last 18 miles.

March means spring break and the family headed to the east coast, working our way along beaches from Jacksonville, Florida, up to Hilton Head, South Carolina.

At the end of March, my base was back somewhat, and I wanted to race somewhere new but convenient. So I went to Oakland, California and ran the Canyon Meadow 50K through redwood forest on a very pretty day.

April started with the first time I could run Hells Hills in several years (it didn't overlap with my Fairview Half race directing), so I headed down there with Elaine and Mike. Mike and I ended up running the whole 50K together!

I directed the Fairview Half the next weekend, and it went off without a hitch.

I had committed to a big camping trip in May, having never camped a day in my life, so Aubrey and I headed to Isle Du Bois (Lake Ray Roberts) one Saturday and camped overnight.

My big trip for May was flying into Denver to drive 9 hours with a bunch of crazy ultrarunners to Bryce Canyon for a weekend of camping and running. Sherpa John of Human Potential Running Series organized the trip. I had met him once briefly and had another acquaintance Steve going - otherwise, it was all strangers. The first night we camped was 29 degrees and snowed several inches. I was happy that all my new camping gear kept me warm!

The next day, I was like a puppy on roller skates running through so much snow on the trails for the first time, but I ended up completing 20.5 miles from one end to the other of Bryce Canyon, all alone the majority of the time. It was amazing. We camped another night and then drove back to Denver where I then flew home. I made lots of new friends, and it ended up connecting me with my sponsored athlete to send to Western States in 2016.

In June, the family headed to Colorado for a long weekend vacation. I was planning to run the South Park Trail Marathon, but the night before, I ended up with a really awful allergic reaction to something there in Colorado and spent the rest of the trip dosed up on Benadryl! So I ran the half marathon, which was still a bear of a race. Basically go straight up up up at altitude then turn around and run back to the start. And such beautiful views.

At the end of the month of June, I was back at Western States 100 for my 4th straight year.

My sponsored athlete, Robert, had a rough race day and needed to drop at mile 30.

I was able to then go see Rob Krar repeat his victory at the Auburn track.

The next day I drove all the way to the Marin Headlands to run their trails for the first time. It was amazing to think people have somewhere where they can run a 6 mile loop and get 1500 feet of gain/loss!

In July, Jeremy and I traveled to Idaho, both racing there for the first time. The Beaverhead Endurance Run 55K (for me) and 100K (for him). While Jeremy ended up having to DNF from altitude sickness, I pushed through almost 16 hours on that course to complete the 55K. It involved a mountain thunderstorm, a course mostly around 10,000 feet elevation, lots of ascents and descents, and most impactfully, a scree field for 3 miles from around miles 24-27 that just blew my mind. I'd never done anything as difficult as that, and I reference back to that place when I need strength.

At the end of July I had my first solo light backpacking trip. I'd like to call it fastpacking but (1) I wasn't that fast and (2) my pack ended up a little heavy for most fastpackers, at about 25 pounds. But for 2 days, I made my way through the 28 beautiful miles of the Maroon Bells Loop in Colorado outside Aspen, where I climbed over 4 12,000 ft high mountain passes, camping about 16 miles into the route. It felt great to take the plunge to just go do this alone and know I could take care of myself and think myself out of whatever situation I found myself in.

Our family headed to Seattle, Washington and Vancouver, Canada for vacation the first week of August.

I then met up with Jeremy for his adventure running Bigfoot 200. He finished in 108 hours of crossing the Cascade Mountain on some worn and some unknown new-to-humans trails. I slept about 15 hours over 5 days driving all over the remote national forest area to crew effectively, and then paced 45 hard miles during the race with him. It was a blast! It was also completely exhausting and I'm not sure I feel like it's something I want to do again.

Because after that race, the next 2 months were spent trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I had actually been into doctors in May asking the same question, but now the symptoms were so much stronger. Severe fatigue, falling asleep randomly, lethargy, cuts that weren't healing. We now think I had a Vitamin D deficiency that must have suddenly gotten so much worse from the trauma of Bigfoot 200 week.

Once we took enough blood from me to figure out that was it, the super doses of Vitamin D they put me on made me a new person. But by then, my base was gone and my weight was still up 10 lbs! I produced a great Showdown Half in October and then started working with a dietician. The 10 pounds were gone within 8 weeks thanks to her help. But in order to focus on that, I was still recovering from Vitamin D deficiency and had resorted to daily walking to at least stay active.

During September, I ran the Rough Creek Trail Half Marathon, even though I was clearly not better and suffered from serious fatigue at mile 10. But I was happy when I finished!

At the end of October, I produced the Big Cedar Endurance Run. I was so beat down when the weather decided to kick all my runners in the balls for a second year, and this time it meant flash flooding 17 hours into the 100 miler where water was up at their chest level. Big Cedar second year was canceled. First year had 12 100 mile finishers. And cleaning out from a muddy wet race is just the worst. I can't just throw everything back in storage - it has to be cleaned, dried, soggy cardboard tossed, it's just a mess.

So in late November, after the Big Cedar mess, Sarah and I headed down to Wild Hare. I woke up race morning with a big knot in one calf, maybe from driving down, and dropped down to the 25K. It was a muddy race somewhat anyway, and I had more fun hanging with Sarah all morning.

In December, I had lots of travel. I went to Auburn, California and was present at the Western States 100 live lottery drawing, and I was able to run 4 miles of the course the day before the lottery.

Sarah and I went to the Houston area and completed the Brazos Bend 26.2 Trail Run. It was much more like a road run than trail - completely flat, well groomed dirt or gravel fire road. My feet felt beat up at the end but otherwise, we were good.

Then, I went to San Francisco mid-month right after that marathon and was able to get two good days of trail runs in at the Marin Headlands, on trails I hadn't done on my June trip there.

Then I ended the year producing another awesome New Years Double, the fifth year for the Double! The weather was almost as cold as a year ago BUT no rain. Perfect racing weather!

To Infinity and Beyond!

Now on to 2016. What will happen this year? Well, given I never saw the 2015 hiccups coming, who knows? But I bet it will be fun and memorable, because that's always a major focus of mine!

Lost: My Mojo. If Found, Please Return

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Mon, 14 Sep 2015 19:51:00 +0000

So I came home from Bigfoot 200, and I struggled for days to just get past the anxiety and adrenaline of feeling responsible for the care of another person for 102 hours. The first night I woke up in the dark in the hotel room and wasn't sure where I was, what day it was, where on the course Jeremy still was. I didn't realize the race was even over. I was very confused. And for a few days, I would toss and turn. Steve would hear me say things like "Just 13 more miles to go!" in my sleep. Bizarre.

Jeremy's hard-earned buckle and DFL award

Plus I had spent 15 hours sleeping over that 5 days, 102 hours, of crewing and pacing, and paced 45 miles with 11,000 ft elevation gain and 13,000 ft of elevation loss. Which had also added up to more time on feet than I had since Rocky Raccoon a year and a half ago. And more mountain climbing per mile than I had ever tackled on my own.

185 miles in. Me timing the 10 minute trail nap he was allowed
here in the middle of the woods, while the cut on my leg actively bleeds.

But Jeremy's race was an amazing experience, and I was super happy to play a part in helping him finish 200 miles across mountains.

Mt. Adams in the background!

So with that, along with a few personal stressors that were going on, when I got home August 13, my body seemed to decide to stop cooperating on me.

My metabolism cratered, and my trainer confirmed that my weight had indeed shot up NINE pounds and it was not water weight.
I was so fatigued that for a week after getting home, I would suddenly and randomly fall asleep. One day, I inadvertently ended up with THREE naps. I hadn't even meant to fall asleep each time. I would sit down and seconds later .... zzzzzz.....
Running seemed impossible. I started walking daily with just a few tenths of walking. But my energy level could barely support the walking.
I had sustained a big cut on my shin from climbing a downed tree during the race. And it just wouldn't heal. 3 weeks afterwards, it still looked like it was just several days old.

Yep, 34 days old. Still looks only slightly better than
when I first got it. It wasn't THAT bad of a cut when I got it!

Sorry for the TMI, but it's important for the whole picture.... I had my period during the entire Bigfoot experience and my next menstrual cycle was much shorter than I've ever had.

My body was saying enough. So I cut way down on the craft beer that I *LOVE* and upped my daily walking and told myself to be patient.

The weekend before last I was finally running a little more and walking a little less, and out on trails too (thanks to Sarah and Suann for joining me). A few pounds have come off as my metabolism slowly going again. And then I got the back-to-school summer cold from my daughter. Ugh. So last week was an amazing 6 miles. :-/

But this week I'll get back to it. My work is ramping up considerably so I won't be able to ramp up fast or to much at this time anyway.

However, this is all just a blip on the radar. I'll be back soon enough and adding races to the calendar. And it was a good experience to go through to remember that our bodies put up with a LOT on a regular basis and if you add stress and some crazy physical antics, it will tell you to check yourself!

All. The. Fears. - First Fastpacking Trip this Weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Mon, 20 Jul 2015 23:21:00 +0000

I have my first "fastpacking" trip this weekend, which now that I've tried out the pack and knowing the route is an average of 300' of gain and 300' of loss PER MILE, may be more a "slowpacking" trip. I'll be doing the 27 mile Four Pass Loop of the Maroon Bells area outside Aspen in Colorado.

My anxiety has been growing and growing. I feel completely unprepared (which isn't true) and low on confidence. I'm a high-anxiety worrier anyway, so here's all the awful things, and me having to deal with each fear.

ALL. THE. FEARS.

I didn't pack the right gear. I've never been backpacking and don't feel like I know what I'm doing. Deal with it: I have researched a lot, asked a friend for her gear list from a recent trip, relied on another friend for recommendations like knife and good military style compass, and I'm keeping it simple yet comfortable where I could since it's only one overnight (no camp stove or fire. Just bars, GUs, jerky, and trail mix!).
I have no business backcountry camping many miles from a trailhead all by myself. I've camped TWICE ever. Deal with it: I'm really happy with the tent I selected, I've practiced setting it up, and one of my skills in ultras is my ability to be okay being completely alone for hours on end!
I like to plan, but backcountry camping means finding a campsite on the fly and what if I can't find one. There are lots of rules about where you can camp, and it's high tourist season of lots of people camping everywhere. Deal with it: This is one of those gloriously irrational fears of every serious planner. Uh, there's thousands of acres of space. I know not to be within 100 ft of trail or water. I know not to be in marked restoration areas. There have to be unoccupied flat areas with wind break that will be suitable, and I will find it when I need to!
This pack is heavy. How will I haul this up and down for 27 miles? Deal with it: I picked a great pack. My test run showed me I could run a little with it, and it sits well on me. I fitted it correctly and packed well (tent up and down along my spine, bear canister at the top with the food, sleeping bag attached at the bottom underneath the pack). The ultimate deal-with-it: I just will suck it up even if it's heavy because I'm an ultrarunner and that's what we do.
I've never been above 10,800 feet altitude while running. This has 4 mountain passes in the 12,000 to 12,500 feet elevation range! I won't be able to breathe. I'll have to go like a mile an hour. Let me say again - I won't be able to breathe, my lungs will explode, I'll be woozy and fall off a mountain, my head will explode from the headache. Deal with it: I'm not going to die if I just take my time. If there's anything I've finally learned from races at altitude, it's that. I used my altitude tent to acclimate decently to about 9,000 feet. It has shown me at races that it takes the "edge" off higher altitude. And while I am still susceptible to altitude problems, a low-dose aspirin beforehand helps the headache, and I'm okay if I go slow.
I'll get lost. Deal with it: I have turn by turn directions from the forest service, I have a basic map. And now a friend of mine sat me down and taught me how to use my compass to actually figure out where I am on a map and then how to use it to sight out where to go next. I also met someone from Denver at the Beaverhead Endurance Runs race a week ago who had done the loop and said the signage was fine.

That covers most of the freakouts that have landed in my brain recently. And as you can see, I'll be okay. I just have to keep telling myself that if a problem comes up, I'll just DEAL WITH IT!

Our Running Lives are Composed of More Than Race Finishes

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Sun, 19 Jul 2015 16:10:00 +0000

So ever since my race last weekend, I've been struggling with feeling really run down. I did two midweek runs, one on trails, but this weekend, the bed and relaxing baths have been my friend. My left hip was still tender yesterday, then I napped Saturday afternoon, and then I overslept big time for my run this morning, getting a solid 8 hours of sleep.

I can't understand why I'm so tired and worn out when I've only run 3 ultras this year, and only 1 in the last two months. It's funny the measuring stick used to decide if we've accomplished something. We so often judge it by race finishes and not the various experiences and the efforts surrounding races and experiences!

So a friend told me to sit down and write all the things I've done this year so I can understand why I feel like I do. He sees all the pieces and wanted me to appreciate them as well. Newsflash - this year alone I've traveled 7 times for running and ran in 2 states for the first time (Utah and Idaho)!! So here's my list...

January - after directing New Years Double, double ear infection and strep infection with a bad cold knocked me out most of that month. Blergh!

February - Paced 22 miles from 8 pm to 2:30 am at Run LOViT 100 Miler in Arkansas after crewing the whole day

March - Traveled to Oakland, California to run the Canyon Meadow 50K. 3800 feet of elevation gain/loss

April - Traveled to and ran the Hells Hills 50K, just two weeks after the previous 50K.

Then, I directed the Fairview Half Marathon. My first time camping was also later that month!

May - Flew to Denver, drove 9 hours each way with a bunch of fellow ultrarunner crazies, camped 2 nights in Bryce Canyon National Park where it was snowing and 28 degrees. Ran 22 miles through Bryce Canyon. Altitiude to deal with the whole weekend as we were between 7500 and 9500 feet the whole time. Elevation gain of about 4500', loss of about 5500'.

June - June 1st I started sleeping in the altitude tent some but wouldn't use it fulltime until a couple weeks later. Mid-June, I traveled to Denver for a family vacation weekend. Drove an extra 1 1/2 hours each way to run the South Park Trail Half Marathon. 16 miles, all between 9900 feet altitude and 10800 feet altitude. The course was 8 miles going up 1750', then turnaround and come back down the same way.

2 weeks later, I went to Western States Endurance Run and had all the activities surrounding that race, especially because I'm a sponsor (The Active Joe).

After my runner had to drop 30 miles in, I ended up doing a big driving trip and running trails in the Marin Headlands north of San Francisco. 6 miles with 1400 feet of elevation gain and loss!

July - Jeremy and I flew to Salt Lake City then drove 5.5 hours to Salmon, Idaho. The next day, I ran the Beaverhead Endurance Runs 55K. At 8000-10,000 feet altitude the whole time, and 5900' of elevation gain and 8900' of elevation loss, I spent 15 hours, 52 minutes on what ended up being mostly very technical terrain, including scree fields.

I've been preparing for my first ever fastpacking trip to Colorado. Not a run, not backpacking. It will be a 20 lb pack that includes my camping gear and over two days I'll be doing 27 miles in the Maroon Bells/Snowmass Wilderness Area outside Aspen on the Four Pass Loop trails. It's 4 mountain passes up above 12,000 feet altitude (I've never been above 10,800 ft), and it will total 8000' of elevation gain and loss. I'll be camping in the backcountry for the first time, and I'll be camping alone. I feel like I have a lot of anxiety about all the new things of this trip. And there's been a lot of work to get prepared, including buying an ultralight tent, buying a Spottracker so my husband knows I'm safe out there, getting a new pack geared towards fastpacking, and just wrapping my head around all the challenges of the trip.

As of today, I've been sleeping in an altitude tent for the past 7 weeks to take the edge off in high altitude races/running. I sleep at 9000 feet elevation, which results in my oxygen saturation in my blood to sit around 90-94% (depending on other variables). And to some amount your body is constantly having to adapt again after being at sea level during the day. The drawback of what can be referred to by some as "legal blood doping" of growing more red blood cells is that it's really hard work on the body. It's exhausting.

After the Colorado fastpacking trip, the altitude tent will be put away for the year. That tent has been invaluable. This has been my 3rd year using it. But I am definitely looking forward to restful nights of sleep!

Beaverhead 55K - Volunteers Worth Their Weights in Gold

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Tue, 14 Jul 2015 23:34:00 +0000

I want to write a race report when I get a moment, but I wanted to take the time out for a story from Saturday from the Beaverhead Endurance Runs 55K race in Salmon, Idaho.

The 10 miles leading up to the Janke Lake Aid Station at mile 23.5 were pretty miserable. A sometimes trail, talus crossings, overgrown sections of sage bushes and pasture grass with lots of rocks. Lots of big climbs.

Talus crossing

Then a long while of cold steady run with strong cold winds (as soon as the rain started, I put on my rain shell jacket, my gloves, and pulled my buff over my ears under my running hat).

"I love cold rain!" Keep smiling and fake it 'til you make it!!

I tried to keep my mood up, remembering how remarkable the place was that I was running. I spent miles 10 to 23 using a mantra I created during that section: "Suffering is a little easier when you're somewhere this beautiful."

Headed up the pile of rocks

So when I came into the Janke Lake aid station about 9 hours into the race, I was feeling pretty worn down. I was not sure if I could do the next section (long scree field, climbing to the highest point on the course which was above 10,000 feet, and a drop down of 3000 feet in two miles) which was scaring me. The volunteer met me 20 feet out from the aid station in a field at the top of a big climb and asked how I was doing.

The aid station was at the top of this long, yet very nontechnical (thankfully for half a second) hill

I had been assessing my needs for this aid station for a while and had a plan. I said, "I'm cold. I'm tired. I'm a little sleepy because I think the altitude is starting to get to me. I'm scared that I'm about to spend 4 hours doing what's supposed to be the hardest part of the course. I need to sit and take the time here to eat and drink and get my head right."

They sat me down in a camp chair. I said, "I just need to get really psyched up about what I'm about to do next."

They didn't judge. They didn't fret that I was considering dropping, because I really wasn't. Two guys immediately put my legs into a sleeping bag and had me put on one of their jackets.

They made me up a bowl of potato chips, pretzels, and M&Ms, and got me some Pepsi. And then we went through all the things I knew but needed to hear again.

I've made this cutoff? "Yeah by 2 hours!"
And it's the LAST cutoff? "Yes, now just take your time and finish."
And what time is it? "4:30. You can get the scree field done before nightfall!"
"See that mountain over there? You're just climbing that. That's the scree field." Of course I can't see the scree, and hey, that mountain doesn't look so bad.
Brilliantly done, volunteer!

Then, we saw two lightning strikes in the distance. Bring on the next freakout. I was worried about getting hypothermia out there. But I was also worried about lightning strikes while being on the scree field. You're completely exposed, and they had covered this in the trail briefing. First, a volunteer assured me the path of those storms and clouds have been passing to the north of the mountain I was headed to. Then, a female volunteer walked me through how to handle lightning again: "Get down on the slope side of the scree some. Get off the top. Squat down low with just your feet touching the ground. Cross your arms and put your elbows on your knees so the current runs through the most direct path."

Nothing like a lightning strike briefing to make you feel better. LOL

Dark clouds ahead

As I sat and ate and chatted, I finally said, "See? I'm starting to feel better." I was smiling and laughing again, and my attitude was much improved.

Towards the end of the 12 minutes or so I spent there, the older gentleman asked me if when I was ready to go, could he take me this 10 feet out of the way to look off the cliff so he could show me Montana. Way to help get someone psyched back up!

We got the sleeping bag off me, the volunteer's jacket off me, and strapped back on my pack with their help because my gloved hands were tired and having trouble with the straps. Then, the volunteer walked me over to the cliff and pointed out Janke Lake and we looked out on the whole state of Montana. It was really really cool. He said, "How about we take your picture?"

Yep. I look COLD. That gusting cold wind would tear right through you.

Another volunteer was concerned that I was saying I was still cold. This was really worrying me. He ran off and returned with two hand warmers he had just started. We wanted to warm up my core so we put one in my compression shorts on my tummy and one in my sports bra below my armpit. Thankfully, the sun would start to come out shortly after that, and it would warm up again.

Getting a little happier now

I thanked them so much and headed out. I owe them a lot. I ended up spending 4 hours and 40 minutes on the next extremely scary 4.5 miles avoiding falling off cliffs or seriously injuring myself, thanks to my complete lack of grace and balance.

More on my race when I have time, but I had to share this. If you ever volunteer in an ultra, please realize that these little gestures help runners immensely!

The Whole Western States Experience

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Thu, 11 Jun 2015 15:55:00 +0000

I love Western States 100. Its history is a big deal in the ultrarunning community. They are a nonprofit organization dedicated to promoting trail stewardship, maintaining the Western States trail year round, and facilitating medical research into ultrarunning's effects on the body. All those reasons are why I became a sponsor of the event 2 years ago through my company, The Active Joe. In 2 weeks, I'll be returning there with Robert Lopez, The Active Joe's sponsored athlete for this year.

While some are done with the hype of Western States or the lavish aid stations and crewing, it's just what this race is. And every time I go, I have several small experiences that show me the quality of our running community, and of what this race provides.

This was actually a draft blog post from after last year's race that just contained some notes. I've rediscovered it this week and flushed it out because I realized it had so much great stuff to share.

One overriding thing you will see in this retelling is how much the community takes care of each other. Yes, it's a competition. But no one will ever try to push anyone else down to pull themselves up higher. Well, they really shouldn't, and those who do are few and far between. I really hope the ultrarunning community never loses that!

Memories and Experiences of 2014 Western States Endurance Run

Mile 30 - Robinson Flat

Being the only one with cell service up on the mountain so I ended up the go-to person for live tracking for a bunch of strangers as word got around to the crews that my phone had some bars.
Helping a friend in the race at mile 30 when I gave her a cheer and she yelled "Can you do me a huge favor?" The cool thing at Western States is that no one will ever answer this with a no. I was excited to see and cheer my friend Melanie, but it was really cool to see that she was equally happy and excited to see a friendly face. As for the favor, I posted to her wall and tagged her boyfriend to let folks know she was feeling well so far after a back injury had led to no running for the 3 weeks leading up to the race.
Advising non-runners on how to crew their runner at the first major crew access aid station. Robinson Flat is a fun one because it's the first time that non-running spouses and parents are there to help their family. Many are not entirely certain what they've gotten themselves into. As runners came in, other crews made up of runners would pitch in, ask the important questions we know to ask, give pointed encouragement only a runner could, and advice fellow ultrarunners would know to give in that situation. We all wanted those first time crews and non-running families to succeed, and we would all try to help advise them on the track to pursue!
Having other crews step in to help each other. My friend Chris was pacing and crewing his friends Walt and Jay, but he helped out when Jenn and Jeremy each came through this aid station.

Mile 55 - Michigan Bluff

Seeing people flock to bug spray someone offered up. I was bit 2 times seconds after getting out of the car at mile 55 at Michigan Bluff. So I doused myself in bug spray, and Laura and I headed on the half-mile uphill hike to the aid station. We were joined by some other crews. Near the top, someone was spraying on bug spray. One of the people who had headed up with us asked if they could borrow it. Then like 4 others were like "Oh my goodness, yes, could I spray myself too?" This isn't rude to ask. Everyone looks out for everyone else out there!
After Jenn came through the aid station and left, all while another guy was still sitting in the aid station, I looked at him and said, "Why are you still here? You need to go!" And not feeling like a jerk because the reaction was, "Yeah, I know. One more second. I'm going, I'm going!" You really wish everyone could finish the race. It's not a competition for most of us out there.
They had stopped running the shuttle when we arrived at this aid station so we were able to park close. When I was leaving and Laura had started pacing here, I offered the one open seat in the car to a mom with two teens. She couldn't believe it. I drove her the mile down to her car and she headed back up to pick up her kids. We take care of each other. Even perfect strangers.

Mile 62 - Foresthill

Getting to spend the most time with a runner friend I'd had face to face in the couple years I've known him as we watched runners come into Foresthill at mile 62. I ended up at that aid station at the same time as my friend Kai, and we were able to talk about all sorts of things, details of our running, stories of our lives, for that 30+ minutes. It was really great to get to know him so much better than I had before.
Waiting after my runner Jenn came through because I had seen my good friend Jeremy's splits into mile 55 on the tracking website and knew his pace was slowing and being worried. I walked a half mile back to walk him in and see how he was. Ultimately he missed cutoff, but I am really glad I was there for my friend in the middle of nowhere at midnight when he had to DNF and knew I could be there for him without sacrificing my ability to crew and pace Jenn effectively.
Not vomiting as Jenn lanced a massive blood blister under her big toe nail while I used my headlamp to give her light and tried to look away all at the same time my face and light were pointed right at it. Ick. Engrained behind my eyeballs when I close my eyes.

Mile 80 - Green Gate

Having to parallel park in the dark at 1 am with a rental car that is a bigger vehicle (small SUV) on the side of a dirt road when I have very little experience parallel parking and yelling out my window begging the folks in the car behind me to help guide me into the spot so I didn't hit anything. And of course they helped.
Hiking 1.5 miles, with a 715 foot descent, on rocky dusty dirt road into the aid station, with a bunch of other crew and pacers, because that's just what you do to take care of your runner. And you don't think twice about it.

Mile 99 - Robie Point

Having an Air Force guy who had chatted our crew up a few times throughout the experience see us and run with us for a half mile, letting us know he had seen Laura at the finish line. His excitement for Jenn energized us both as we had hit the pavement and it was so hot and sunny.
Seeing runner friend Jesus at the aid station and him running with us, letting us know there were 4 turns into the finish to make and snapping some great pictures of us.

And of course, seeing the start, crewing the whole thing, supporting Laura as she paced Jenn 20 miles, then pacing Jenn myself for 20 miles, and then her finishing the race and collecting her buckle? So awesome. My pacing report for the last 20 miles is here if it's helpful to anyone. :-)

Happy Running! 17 days to another year of Western States!

Scared But Still Moving

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Wed, 10 Jun 2015 15:09:00 +0000

It's okay to be scared. It's what you do with that feeling that matters most.

Sunday I'll be running the inaugural South Park Trail Marathon by Human Potential Running Series in Fairplay, Colorado. It's also the first long distance race my family will be around for. They'll stay at the resort an hour and a half away and hopefully the 4 year old and 7 year old will be entertained at the pool and in the restaurants because I'll be gone all day.

The family wanted to get out of town for a long weekend. I wanted a trail race since everything here in Dallas has been wet or fully underwater some of the last 3 months. Affordable airfare hunt led us to Denver, and my friend John Lacroix is producing South Park Trail Marathon the same weekend! Perfect!

Photo taken by John Lacroix

What Scares Me About This Race

But I'm blogging today just to say that I'm scared of this race. I've never run above 10,000 feet (this race starts just under 10,000 ft and goes UP). And I didn't really get to use my altitude tent for this event as I chose the race with just two weeks notice.

Then there's the climbs and conditions, all at above 10,000 feet...

From the Race Director in our latest informational email:

"You WILL get wet! You will get muddy. You will be going through rotting snowdrifts. You will be marching through short areas of flowing frigid water. Right now we have you maxing out at 12,030’ elevation on the course. You will experience 3,400’ of gain and 3,400’ of loss over the course."

Here's the profile:

Yes, so that's over 3,000 ft of gain in 13 straight miles. I try to find something to compare it to and the closest I have is Deadwood Mickelson Marathon which was about 1300' gain in 13 miles but was only at about 5,000 ft elevation. Which I remember led to feeling like I had baby deer legs for the next few miles of serious downhill.

I probably wouldn't be as worried about the climbing if I hadn't had some soft tissue damage to rehab a week ago in my knee, and then managed to completely throw out my sacrum in my low back a few days ago giving me awful muscle spasms (sports chiro fixed that up but the back muscles are still a little angry). So I basically feel like I'm falling apart. Note that the chiropractor has cleared me for this race. My body is angry but not broken.

Thankfully, Race Director John is being kind on his incremental and final cutoffs...

"We are more interested in your ability to push yourselves, have an adventure, and finish, than we are your ability to make a cut-off. Therefore, some of our cutoffs do indeed come with some leeway. At the end of the day, please listen to ALL Race Staff if they tell you it’s time to call it a day. We’re here to help you succeed, not end your day!"

So the snowdrifts, the flowing frigid water, the climbing, and the altitude SCARE me. But here's the thing: I still signed up. I'm still going.

While I may not have a lot of confidence right now, and shouldn't given all the things I just listed along with my inconsistent training, I always have confidence that I know how to keep moving. I can always put one more foot in front of the other. I am confident that I'm a pretty good racer from the viewpoint that I'm strategic, a good planner, and can work through issues as they come up. I am confident I can hang out alone comfortably for 8 hours - counting that in my skill set because some ultrarunners can't. Look at their race history and how they latch on to others during a race.

Race Plan

So my plan is to hike however slowly I have to for the first full 13 miles. If my heart is pounding in my head, I should slow down even more. Don't worry about timing or pace (which I know will look terribly slow and make me want to panic that I should go faster). That elevation profile is not built for running the first 13 miles. But it will be the downfall of some mid to back of the packers who try. Because it takes a lot of work keeping pride in check for runners to HIKE for essentially 4 hours.

Photo taken by John Lacroix

But my goal is to feel good about running back to lower altitude and use my traditionally strong quads to run the last 13. I want to save my energy for the last 13 miles.

Besides only running up to 10,000 feet, I've only ever driven up to 12,000 feet BRIEFLY and that was on my last trip to Colorado with this race's race director. Since I don't handle altitude terribly well, let's go push my limits and see how it goes! It will be beautiful and a fantastic experience even if it's a painful one too!

You gotta ask yourself: What's the worst that can happen?!

Grabbing Me By The Balls: Trans-Bryce Run Trip This Weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Mon, 04 May 2015 01:30:00 +0000

Two months ago I was wanting to get my running ramped way up again. I would look at race calendars, but nothing was "grabbing me by the balls", so to speak. Actually, that's exactly how I speak. That's the phrase I use when looking for a goal. The "you must do this!" feeling where your heart says that you aren't sure what will become of you if you don't go. Where it's scary but you are more scared you would shrivel up and die if you didn't go (which of course is an exaggeration but this describes the longing).

"The mountains are calling and I must go." -- John Muir

And in the past, I've been highly driven by the call of those experiences. I trust that. It motivates. Day to day training holds little appeal for me. But to go move efficiently through a beautiful location that is not car accessible? Wow. There is power in that!

I've had that feeling before. Gorge Waterfalls 50K in March 2012. Bighorn 50K in June 2013. Volcanic 50K in September 2013. Rocky Raccoon 100 (attempted; 80 miles completed) in February 2014 (for the challenge, not the scenery). Light at the End of the Tunnel Marathon in July 2014 (3 miles of it in a pitch black railroad tunnel which is a huge leap for this claustrophobe). But nothing since then.

I had been reviewing race calendars for the spring/summer, but nothing specific was getting my attention. And then out on a Colorado ultrarunners group I follow on Facebook, I saw a post one early March day by Sherpa John, whose Tommyknocker Ultra 50K I had run in Colorado back in September. He owns Human Potential Race Series, which puts on several ultra races in Colorado.

The link on the post was for a running trip - not a race. A group of ultrarunners leaving Denver on Friday, May 8. It would be a carpool trip of 9 hours to Bryce Canyon National Park. The group would camp Friday night. Saturday morning we would split into groups starting at different intervals based on what we wanted to run, drive to the start points, and run point-to-point back to the campground. Those doing all the miles would do 48 miles with 15000 ft of elevation gain and 16000 feet of elevation - the full Trans-Bryce route. Lots of altitude, climbs, and rougher trail. I wouldn't be surprised if some of them are hunting an FKT (Fastest Known Time) on that route. This isn't a race - a few water drops along the way, everyone should buy a map, and it's each person's responsibility to stay on the trail. Then, camp Saturday night and drive back to Denver on Sunday.

Note that the Bryce 100 race is one full month later (therefore much hotter) and not actually in the National Park. It's NEARBY the National Park. There's no race opportunity IN the National Park. We're not a camping family so when would an opportunity like this come along?

My jaw dropped as I read all the info. This sounded so awesome..... and scary at the same time. Scary only because of getting outside what's comfortable. Not scary like "fearing for my life and safety" scary. I had found my "grab me" moment for an upcoming run goal to demand my full attention.

It involved.... 40 ultrarunning strangers (I had met 3 of them before but briefly). My shyness wasn't sure about being thrust into such a large group who know each other already.
It involved.... camping. Which I had never done as of when I signed up in March. But which I had been saying for a year I needed to work on because I felt a pull to try fastpacking, and being able to camp would be sorta kinda ESSENTIAL for that.
It involved... self-sufficient running, basic orienteering, wayfinding, water filtering and purification, and basically "take care of yourself." This was the part I was actually the most comfortable with and yet still very uncomfortable because I'd rarely used those skills all together.

I didn't hmm and haw for long. I walked my husband through the plan. He was on board. I walked my best friend through the plan. His response was... "You mean CAMPING camping?" "You know this isn't Motel 6 camping?" Thanks for the vote of confidence. ;-)

I chatted with my friend Steve from the Front Range Ultrarunners Group who was also going. It was $50 to cover all the camping fees/ logistics / park fees. Then split the gas costs of carpooling. I said I would check on airfare from Dallas because this was seeming like a cheap trip so far for this kind of adventure. When it popped up as $145 roundtrip for direct from Dallas on American Airlines, I yelled "SOLD!" And signed up immediately. I did know I would do a subset and not the full 48 miles. It looks likely it's 24 or 32 miles for me this Saturday.

I did the training I could with the other priorities in my life that are above running, including a race to produce in April and working around an injury I gave to myself that I had to rehab quickly after it happened from lifting and hauling things to and from a Uhaul. I pulled out my altitude tent since I don't handle high altitude well (this is roughly 8000-9000 feet), but it was for a reduced time and not as long in the tent per day as I usually tried to spend. So I expect the benefit to be limited. I visited REI and had them help me acquire a sleeping bag and pad. I went camping with my friend Aubrey a week ago to try out my gear and try out camping (pssssh.... I actually enjoyed it!!). I've bought my map, I already had a compass and emergency whistle, and I've packed my Steripen (to purify water from creeks on the route). Now to just go there and enjoy the beautiful weekend in a new place and meeting new people who love the same sport I do. How awesome does that sound?!

BUT I still have a huge fear of the unknown. This upcoming weekend in Bryce feels like a gigantic unknown. Today I said to Steve, "I'll stay here. It's a safe place where it's safe here." Ha. I'm so excited I could pop, yet I'm also nervous and worried in how uncomfortable the unknown and unfamiliar is.

So here I go, on a new adventure on Thursday! Wish me beautiful views, and I will try to bring back beautiful pictures on the run!

Happy running, folks!

Pacing the 2015 LOViT 100 Miler

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Mon, 02 Mar 2015 16:30:00 +0000

In this previous post, I talked about crewing the first 82 miles of the LOViT 100 Miler at Lake Ouachita in Arkansas for my friend Jeremy. As I said there, I wasn’t planning to pace him at this race for fear of rolling an ankle or being left behind (as he is much faster than me on technical terrain, even with 80 miles on his legs!). But through tough race conditions, we agreed I would pace the last 18 miles.

Probably blurry because we're shivering - it was COLD.

Not mine. But happy I could help someone take home one of these!

The Waiting Game

Our friend Lalita had given me a ride from the finish line to the Crystal Springs aid station at mile 82. Several amped-up pacers and a few crews waited eagerly for their runners. We had been told in the tough conditions they would give the runners an extra hour on the original 6:45 pm cutoff for that aid station. Then, word got around that they would let you go out regardless as long as you had a pacer or crew to watch over you. But how late coming into mile 82 would they let him push it?

Right before 8:00 they started saying that the aid stations ahead of us might be shut down before we got there, but they would let us go out anyway BUT when our runner arrived into mile 82, we couldn’t let them sit. We were supposed to get their needs met very quickly and get them out of the aid station. Or we risked that they would get pulled by race management anyway. And for good reason, because if you are having a seriously hard time moving, they don’t want you finishing a bunch of hours after the cutoff or getting stranded and needing to be rescued. It’s their discretion to pull anyone who looks like they aren’t going to keep a good pace going.

So each time a person acting as spotter would yell that they saw a headlamp, all the pacers would come rushing out of the pavilion to wait and watch. Johnny Eagles and his pacer came in and I asked her if she had seen Jeremy. A very basic description is all that is needed: “he looks like a mountain man.” “Oh yes, we passed him about 10 minutes back. You should see him soon.” LOL.

I had debated layers but with so long in the cold, I went with FIVE upper body layers and tights. I had on a short sleeve shirt, then long sleeve shirt, then my waterproof shell to lock in that core warmth, then my puffy jacket, then my Big Cedar 100 waterproof rain jacket as another layer against wind. Yeah, it was a cold weekend.

When Jeremy arrived, I had all my gear packed for Lalita to take to the finish, I had myself all prepped and packed and my headlamp and flashlight ready, I had his headlamp and flashlight out, and I had new shoes that I knew he wanted to change into. He came into this air of complete chaos and fear as everyone was rushing and hurrying their runners out. I told him “You can’t sit long because we have to go now or you won’t get to go back out.” Like a NASCAR pit stop, another guy and I frantically changed his shoes and socks. Our friend Dat (running the 100K) came in then, and I was so hurried I didn’t even acknowledge him.

Miles 82 to 87: Wet Feet and Meeting the Charlton Switchbacks

We hiked into the dark. He stopped and said he needed to fix something. He messed, I asked him to let me take his flashlight, he refused, I asked, “What are you trying to do?” He said, “I’m not sure.” Ah, ultrabrain. I said, “Let’s go then.” From my point of view, that was really as kooky as he got. No other truly absentminded moments. But I laugh every time I think about it.

At about a mile into this section, there was a small creek crossing. Jeremy stood on the edge and cursed and looked for a way to get through with dry feet. After wet feet all day, he had enjoyed dry socks for half a second. I said, “There’s really no way around it. Let’s just go.” Straight into the ankle deep water. Brrrrrr.

On this out-and-back course, when he had started the race, it was all small creek crossings he could rock hop across for this section. And at this time, with all the rain that had come, my feet were soaked for the next 18 miles. There were so many small crossings with no way to avoid getting wet. I remember that Jeremy tried on to avoid plunging in, and he succeeded, but it was balancing across a log a bit, and I waded right into the water alongside him in case he slipped. At another, a big rock he went to step on immediately rolled, and we were thankful he hadn’t put his weight on that leg yet, or he would have been hurt.

2 miles into this section was “Pipe Springs”. Seriously, just a pipe coming out of a low wall in the middle of freaking nowhere. This began a 2.5 mile out and back singletrack section to the mile 87 Charlton aid station. We would run the downhills and walk the ups. And on this course, there wasn’t anything but down or up. Anything you even thought was somewhat flat was still just a prolonged gradual up or down you soon realized. He always kept a pretty solid consistent pace going.

The downhills all made me a little nervous. Wet, slick leaves hiding roots and loose rocks under them. And traveling in the dark, I realized my trail experience is growing because I really just had to trust that however my foot fell, that my ankle would react and spring back as needed, and I lifted my knees a bit more than usual because catching a toe on a rock was a great way to go sprawling forward on your face.

Jeremy was concerned about me doing the switchbacks into Charlton. A bunch of descending switchbacks that were narrow, with a cliff drop on one side, and littered with loose rocks and big roots and plenty of leaves here and there to hide those too! And once you made it down to the aid station, you had to climb it all back up since this was an out-and-back section from the main path. Jeremy had considered doing the drop down alone and having me wait at the top. But then we were worried they would see him without a pacer and not let him continue.

So I tackled the switchbacks, squealing here and there on the way down. Nothing like a descent like that where you feel like you are leaning forward toward the fall with each step – I hate it. Jeremy had done this whole thing that morning at mile 42, and he told me that going back up would feel shorter and easier. It was a climb, but he was definitely right. Elizabeth, who Jeremy had leapfrogged with all day, had passed us a mile before the aid station. When they didn’t pass us going up the switchbacks when we were going down, I started to really worry that they had held her at mile 87 and wouldn’t let her and her pacer continue.

Down at the Charlton aid station, we immediately asked if we could continue, and they said YES. But we were told the other aid stations were packing up, so we needed to fill our hydration packs full and they would fill a gallon Ziploc with food to put in our packs for the remaining middle-of-the-night 13 miles. I was offered food but said no a bunch. The advantage of doing long runs without any fuel was that 13 miles, even 13 slow miles, without food didn’t bother me. And I had a couple small snacks in my pack. But then Lalita offered up some sort of Caffeine-Kahlua (“but cooked off”)-Chocolate Brownie bites coated in powdered sugar. Then she retracted them because I shouldn’t have caffeine with my essential tremor disease. I was like “Screw that! Give me those!” and then proceeded to eat 5 of them. Brushing off the powdered sugar from my gloves, I looked like the happiest girl at the cocaine party!

Walking out of the aid station, he said, “You promised me a photo.” Yep, I was withholding a selfie of his wife and child that I had said I would show after mile 87. So we huddled around my phone to look at that before we hiked back up the switchbacks. I told him at the next aid station at mile 92, I would have a video of the baby that his wife Sara had sent me. That late in a race, a little bit of happy like that can go a long way!

Miles 87 to 92: Scary Truck and the Longest Forest Service Road in Existence

We started back to Pipe Springs, and it was fun to have a couple places of “oh yeah, this section”. The things that preserve a place in your mind are interesting – this one spot stands out for some tiny undulating dunes of forest soil with these wispy baby pine saplings in the whole area, all just 4-5 inches tall. In between this normal pine forest environment. It seemed a little alien to me. On the way back, on recognizing them, I said that they looked like they would grow into truffula trees from Dr. Seuss’ Lorax.

Occasionally I would let out a big sigh. It’s a tactic I use to keep my upper body relaxed. It was especially needed during pacing though because I was wearing one of Jeremy’s old hydration packs and it sat right on my trapezius muscles at the base of my neck, making my shoulders tense up! I had fit the pack to me well, but the straps just hit right there. It made me long for my Ultraspire Surge pack that I love because the straps sit wider, towards the shoulders. Jeremy leads when paced, and he would ask over his shoulder, “Are you okay?” He does well with focusing on that the other person is going to be okay so it wasn’t a surprise, but it was funny to be checked on by the person who has been up and moving for 28 hours.

After reaching Pipe Springs, we turn left (“when you get to back to Pipe Springs on the return, TURN LEFT!!” echoed in my head from the aid station volunteers’ warnings) onto a forest service dirt road. And we were on this road forever. Scratch that, it just felt like forever. I could finally see the stars in the gap in the sky created by the road and pointed out Orion ahead of us. Jeremy told me to not push him to run right now because his feet hurt, and I hadn’t planned to do that anyway. He was still moving, and consistently so, so I had hunkered down that it would just be a long night.

Out of nowhere, a big truck came around a curve. Not just a pickup, but not a big rig. But it was a BIG truck. A trucker’s truck. While the guy might have been wondering what we were doing hiking out there, I was really confused about why the truck would be out here and especially at this time of night! I assumed it couldn’t be for anything good! As we hiked along, the truck slowed to a stop and then turned off its headlights. Uhhhhh. It’s 11 pm in the dark in the middle of nowhere in the woods. As we approached, I may have uttered some comments about leaving Jeremy to be violated if this was a bad man in the truck. I was ahead of Jeremy and I hear from the blackness of the cab, “Ya all good?” And I said confidently, “Yeah, we’re good!” And his lights went back on and he drove off. Phew. I was not in the mood to be the victim in a horror story, and I’m not exaggerating when I say it was truly that creepy.

During this time, Elizabeth’s pacer Grayson ran up ahead of her and caught up to us, with the music of his little speaker system blaring. Elizabeth had strained her ankle early in the race and it was really starting to bother her such that she had trouble putting weight on it. Grayson wasn’t sure what to do if they hit a spot where she couldn’t continue. I had him get out his phone, and I first gave him the race director’s phone number, then I gave him my phone number, and then I said to make sure she starts using a branch as a walking stick so she keeps moving. He came back a few times after that to check on mileages of where we were and how far apart the remaining aid stations were.

After FOREVER on that forest service road, including a stop where we changed out Jeremy’s flashlight batteries, we came to the FS47A aid station. And there were still people there! They were told they could leave, and they stayed. And they had a big bonfire and food, and what made Jeremy really happy – thin mint cookies! He said he needed a minute at the fire, and I acted stern but I edged over to the fire too. I was wearing tights and learned a lesson. After a few hours of being in close to freezing temps, a minute in front of a hot fire left my legs burning like I had ants in my pants. Like all the blood had rushed to the capillaries on my skin’s surface at once and it did not feel good. Note to self: no bonfire stops when wearing temps in freezing temps.

It was extra cold here and it was interesting seeing how most of this course was a direct east to west traverse. We could cross several microclimates over those hours out there. Kinda cold to suddenly some warm air to freezing cold again where I could clearly see my breath to some light fog to one spot where Jeremy said it had to be below freezing and when I asked how he knew, he pointed to the leaves on the side of the road that were all shimmery and coated in frost. My reaction to that: “That is so much better than shiny spider eyes.” That is the shimmering jewel-like flickers you see when at Rocky Raccoon 100 in the middle of the night!

Staying in a Good Mood

People ask what a pacer and their runner do all those hours – silence? Talking? One-sided talking? The whole time we were out there Jeremy was actually in a good mood. That’s a hard thing to do that far into a race and when your hip flexor is killing you and your feet are totally macerated and blistered that every rock, and every step, hurts. I shared stories of the day of what I’d done, then turned to stories of what mutual friends of ours were up to this weekend. I talked about who had inquired about how his race was going and who sent cheers his way. We told awful jokes. He told me about things that had happened during the race so far. Since he was a little grumpy and quieted when paced at Ozark Trail, I was expecting the same this time but was pleasantly surprised at the better mood!

We would get in a rhythm of moving and I would get silent for a bit, and then he would say, “You’re quiet. Are you okay?” “Oh, yeah, I was just singing a song in my head.” Then I’d hum a few bars then sing a few lines. I tend to sing songs over and over and over in my head and then another will pop into my head and I’ll move to that one. This time, it was “Inside Out” by Eve 6, “Ain’t It Fun” by Paramore, and “Shut Up and Dance with Me” by Landon Austin. Surprisingly, no songs from Frozen this time.

Miles 92 to 96: Up and Down a Mountain, GPS Check, and Rocky Road

We had to climb 3.5 miles to Hickory Nut Mountain and the next aid station. It never seemed like that big of an ascent. There were several short moments of steep hills, but it didn’t seem as bad as the elevation profile had looked to me. Near the top, back on a forest service road, we hit a junction. The signs just didn’t feel crystal clear. One had an arrow to the aid station but it was the head of the arrow without a tail, and it felt like points of the arrowhead went to both ways of the junction. But we were also both really tired. We chose our path, and I got to have my anxiety rise as I worried about having Jeremy take any more steps than absolutely necessary. I pulled out my phone, pulled up the course map, compared it to our GPS location, and then ultimately ran up ahead on this long uphill road until I saw the lights of the aid station and could yell back to Jeremy that we were going the right way.

Matthew at this aid station had peppy music playing and a laser projector lighting up the sky to the music. To get back to the trail, we had to sit and jump off this stone wall. That put us onto a few miles of downhill muddy rocky road. It was not the fun kind of downhill with the spacing of the rocks and the occasional slick mud that made us glissade. And because we argue a lot, at 1 am it was completely reasonable to bicker about the pronounciation of the word “glissade.”

We passed some leafy shoots that were like tall tendrily vines with even spaced white triangular leaves. In the glow of headlamps, I remarked that they looked like butterflies. It was surreal.

As we picked our way through that awful mud road, I commented that if you had told me 5 years ago that I would be in the middle of the woods in Arkansas in the middle of the night all alone (collectively) hiking in freezing temps, I would have laughed my head off.

We came out to the last half mile of pavement which had some pretty steep uphills as a last way to stick it to the poor 100 mile runner. And then Jeremy used the last of his legs to run the final tenth of a mile into the finish line. Dustin and Rachel, the Race Directors, were waiting for us, along with Lalita and our friend Nicholas.

He Finished!

Jeremy sat down in a chair with his new 100 mile buckle. I was offered food but wasn’t really hungry at all. He munched on a cinnamon roll, while we all chatted about the day. It’s funny how it felt like the most normal thing in the world – to be sitting in freezing temps in a pavilion on the lake at 3 in the morning, talking about running.

I went and pulled the car up and started all the heaters full blast, and Lalita helped me load the gear. After finishing the race at 2:51 am, and for me, having been up almost 24 hours, I was surprised how awake I still was. I got him back to the hotel, we both got a chance to shower, and then I had my first ever 4:30 am beer before bed.

I’m really happy Jeremy asked me to come on the trip because face time with friends is always the best. And while I wish his hip flexor hadn’t given him trouble, in the end, I was glad that I ended up pacing because it really was a fun / miserable 18 miles on the trail. ;-)

Hats off to Race Directors Dustin and Rachel Speer. They were very well-organized, did an excellent job of communication leading up to the race, and took individual care of each of their 36 race starters across the two distances. Especially in better weather, I definitely recommend people check out the LOViT 100K and 100 Miler.

Crewing the 2015 LOViT 100 Miler

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Fri, 27 Feb 2015 02:37:00 +0000

My friend Jeremy Day was signed up to run the LOViT 100 Miler, named for the Lake Ouachita Vista Trail outside Mt Ida, Arkansas, on February 20, 2015. So I came along to drive him home after the race and to crew him during the race, helping out however I could so he could finish and collect another 100 mile belt buckle.

I’m going to post in this blog entry about crewing the race, and I’ll follow up in a couple days with a blog post about pacing the race (updated: pacing report here). My hope is that (1) this helps those who crew, pace, or run LOViT 100 Miler in the future, and (2) more people learn that crewing is one tough job! I hear so many jumping and frothing at the mouth to crew and pace strangers without realizing the time and energy involved.

The Set-up and Getting to the Race

This race was unusual with its 6 pm start on Friday. That would mean about 19 hours of the 30 hours to cutoff would be in the dark. Unfortunately, it was also going to be cold and wet.

Jeremy and I had discussed that I would not pace him at this race. Besides the logistics of getting a ride to an aid station, neither of us were crazy about the possibility I could roll an ankle on the slick technical terrain. But Friday morning, after he had been up with his 7 week old son off and on during the night, Jeremy was worried about getting sleepy during the race and warned me he might end up wanting pacing. Luckily, I had brought running clothes (thinking I would get out for a run nearby between crewing moments) and then he brought one of his extra hydration packs that I could use just in case.

I arrived Thursday to spend some extra time with the Day family and love on baby Oscar.

He is such a cutie!

On Friday afternoon, we traveled the 3 hours to the host hotel just a mile from the start/finish line, and Jeremy was able to get a short nap on the drive and again when we arrived, before the 6 pm start. There were 13 starters in the 100 mile. I said hi to my friends Lalita, Dat, and Chris. The 100K (which Dat and Chris were running) would start at 6:00 the next morning and have 23 starters. It was a small event with a personal feel - depending on your pace, this can be lonely, but the individual attention by volunteers and the race director is pretty special.

Race Start, a Surprise Visit, and a Restless Night (for me!)

When race directors Dustin and Rachel sent the runners off to start the race, it was 34 degrees and raining. It was forecast to rain all night until midway into the next day. Jeremy doesn’t require a lot of crewing help usually so, with the unusual timing of this race start, I had told him I wouldn’t see him again until mile 47 because I planned to get a full night’s sleep until 5:30 am.

I went to dinner at the resort restaurant and, while looking over the crew document, I realized the aid station for mile 9 was only a few minutes’ drive away. I thought that with an entire night ahead of rain and darkness, it would be a nice surprise to see a friendly face when he wasn’t expecting it, and it could be a chance to fix anything (like deciding he wanted different layers once he was out there running) or get something from his supplies that he had forgotten. So I bundled up and grabbed Jeremy’s supply bag and drove out there. I was walking up to the aid station just as he arrived! He was good with what he had but seemed happy with the surprise visit, and I headed back to the hotel.

The rain was pouring down when I returned to the cottage and I felt bad that I wasn’t helping through the night hours. It’s hard to accept responsibility for helping someone for just part of the race, especially the later parts, where things not taken care of early in a race can start to go downhill fast. Not that he isn’t perfectly capable, but a crew member can just be that extra little objective voice to keep things on target, especially speed, hydration, nutrition, and temperature regulation. So I set an alarm for 1:30 am, thinking that if his pace was slowing, I would run out to the aid station (the same one I had been to for mile 9). I then proceeded to wake up every hour. L I would check the online live tracking (which was phenomenal and timely). At 1:30 am, he was still running on the pretty fast side of the time range we had discussed, so I hemmed and hawed but assumed I would miss him by the time I drove out there (turns out I was right). I went back to sleep and tossed and turned more. At 4 am, after more bad dreams and waking up every hour the whole night, I got up for good.

Miles 42 and 47 - In Good Spirits

Now I had time to go to Charlton aid station at mile 42 when he wasn’t expecting to see me until mile 47. Driving to the aid station, I went through rain and also experienced the worst fog I’ve driven in in years. And I made a bonehead move of passing the mile 42 aid station, driving all the way out to mile 47 because I was sleepy and groggy, and then having to hurry back in the fog to the mile 42 aid station.

My friend Lalita (who was crewing friend Elizabeth who is a similar pace as Jeremy) was there when I arrived. It seemed like she managed to be at all the aid stations all the time! Magic? While waiting, Lalita squealed as a field mouse ran through the pavilion, and I was told I had missed the big campground rat who had gotten curious about the aid station before I arrived!

Jeremy was in great spirits at mile 42 and seemed surprised to see me already. He definitely didn’t look like he had spent 12 hours in the rain!

I headed off to the Crystal Springs aid station at mile 47. The aid stations were never more than 7.5 miles apart, and most of them were 4-5 miles apart. Driving from one to the next was never more than a 22 minute drive! Usually crew were allowed at every other one, but this was the one place that you could access two in a row. Jeremy was still doing well but asked at that point that I might want to plan to pace from mile 87 because he was feeling a little sleepy already. He gave me a bunch of wet clothes to dry out with his car’s heater after he changed into dry stuff. I also took his headlamp and flashlight from him.

In the middle of the glamorous task of
changing headlamp and flashlight batteries

I traveled back to the hotel to grab a shirt Jeremy had forgotten to pack in his bag of supplies, and I grabbed him a coffee at the country store to try to perk him up a bit now that the store had opened for the morning. Then on to the Brady Mountain Aid Station at mile 58. This was the longest stretch between seeing him, with 11 miles.

Miles 58 and 65 - The End of the Rain, Time for Something Drastic

When Jeremy arrived at the aid station, he got to see the creek crossing just 20 feet from the aid station. There was some cursing as he waded across the shin deep cold water.

He is only smiling because I demanded that he do so.

It was now noon and, after 18 hours of rain, the rain probability had dropped to almost 0%. With the help of two of the guy volunteers, Jeremy changed all his top layers. Wet clammy skin plus dry performance fabric equals a sticky time trying to get new clothes on!

I said I would meet him again in 7 miles. At Mile 65 was the Avery Recreation Area aid station, with a pretty view of the river with the dam and spillway. Jeremy was right on the cutoff pace tied to the 30 hour final cutoff when he arrived. The volunteers weren’t bothered because he was still moving. He seemed relieved. But we were both worried going forward. He decided to do something he called “drastic” – he went from the 110 oz LARGE pack he had been carrying (to train with it for Bigfoot 200 coming up in August) and had me grab his 20 oz handheld. Lighter now, he hoped to make up a little time.

I showed Jeremy a picture of his 7 week old baby that I asked his wife to send me, and he headed off again. I would see him again back at the Brady Mountain Aid Station at mile 71.

I went to a convenience store and grabbed Butterfinger Bites. A favorite candy of his, in addition to the pictures from his wife of the baby, it was in my arsenal of psychological tools I was ready to employ to keep him moving if needed!

Mile 71 – Just Keep Moving! No DNFs Allowed!

I waited at the Brady Mountain aid station eagerly with Lalita and Josh (both of whom knew Jeremy). Lalita was crewing Elizabeth who came into the aid station very focused and close to cutoff pace. But in what makes this trail community awesome, in the middle of downing some food and while she's working through her own race issues, Elizabeth looked up and saw me, and probably my concerned look, and said “He wants to drop. Don’t let him.” Uh, ok. Now I was really nervous.

He came in, just a little behind cutoff pace. And yes, he was talking about DNFing. He had fallen early in the race and hurt his hip flexor. And with another 60 miles on his legs, he was in a lot of pain and having trouble with each step. He couldn't imagine being able to continue with how painful it was feeling.

I love this moment when I think back, not because he was hurt of course, but because Josh, Lalita, and I rallied and triaged and troubleshooted (troubleshot?) and that's what the ultrarunning family does! A lot of pep talks and tough love on the emotional side. I showed him another picture I had been sent of his infant son. I had brought him more coffee and had him drink that. On the physical side, we found a foam roller for his hip flexor, then Lalita and I each offered up a hip flexor stretch (hers hit the target area!), Lalita poked around at his hip flexor trying to massage it out, she found a tennis ball and rolled it with that, and then he was moving a little bit better…. And we kicked him out of the aid station.

But not before I told him I would pace him at mile 82 instead of 87. “Are you sure you can do that?” he said, referencing that we had agreed 18 miles of that much hilly terrain would be difficult for me at my current training. In the middle of his pain, he seemed genuinely concerned about me. “Yeah,” I said. “I can keep up forever at the pace you are now going.” He he he.

He crossed the shin deep stream he had cursed on his way out to this aid station. He was prepared with dry socks from his drop bag at the previous aid station at mile 68 to change into after crossing the stream. He sat down on a rock to change socks, and Josh said he was taking too long. He said, “Hold my gloves.” He proceeded to jump across this 5 foot wide creek crossing! After helping Jeremy, where I gave him crap about “it can hurt a little more by running or you can do 22 minutes per mile walking and it hurt a little less. So I expect a run.” And he hobbled down the trail away from us.

Prepping To Pace at Mile 82

Lalita was so nice to help me out with the logistics of pacing (which are SO much easier on a looped course than an out-and-back like this one or a point-to-point). I parked my car at the finish line and she gave me a ride back to the mile 82 Crystal Springs aid station. And she further took care of me by stopping at the country store to make sure I ate a burger before my long night of unexpected pacing ahead AND bought that burger for me when I lamented that I had left my wallet locked in the car at the finish line!

Then I just worried for hours. Each headlamp that appeared in the distance was a moment to hold my breath and hope he was still moving forward. 11 miles of waiting. Then it was the cutoff for that aid station. Then it was after the cutoff.

And I’ll separate my pacing into a separate post to come next! (Updated: Pacing Report HERE)

Brian

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Tue, 14 Oct 2014 12:54:00 +0000

I'd like to share what I learned in this past year. A friend took his own life one year ago tomorrow. I had seen him just 3 days before when he paced one of the races I direct. I originally met Brian through him volunteering at my first ever race on my own back on 1/1/11.

This anniversary of his death is really hard to talk about, but I feel the discussion is beneficial to put out to the world. This post formed over about 2 weeks of turning it in my head.

In the sudden shock of his death, there were a lot of tears and heartbreak, but ultimately big changes came out of it for me, many of which I feel were positive:

Let others know where they are valued in my life. In the aftermath of his death, I had not realized that I was in his top tier of friends. Frankly, he would have never communicated that. In hindsight, his love was in his actions and comments but never direct. Not knowing this, I had put him in my midtier of friendships (very very few being in the top tier). After his death, several of his friends along with myself waited for that echelon of best friends to emerge - when they didn't, we found out we were that to him. I learned that for me, I didn't want people in the position I was in of finding out your value in the worst possible circumstances. I want to make sure the important people in my life know where they stand at all times. In the last year, I'm more giving of my "I love you"'s and declaring to people that they are important in my life (Note: even if I feel my actions and communications already say that).

I want more validation of my value in friendships. I dislike this fallout. But I'm sensitive. I went from having a friend, a standard decent loved-our-routine-communication friend, to spreading his ashes. I want to know if I'm an acquaintance, a friend, a good friend, or a best friend. Not being sure where I stand is difficult. I don't want to force friends to state where our relationship is at. But occasionally in this past year it creates an additional level of stress out of my need for validation. I was thankful in the two weeks after his death when a good friend just got it on her own and sent me "I want you to know you are important in my life."

Family is important. There was a stress in being the only one of his runner friends who had met his widow and child (and had only done that once). And they are both wonderful. I found myself in the wake of Brian's death wanting to be more familiar with the family of my friends. One of my best friends had me meeting the spouse within a couple weeks of Brian's death and I planned a Christmas party where everyone had a chance to spend time with each others' spouses. When all your friends are runners and you see them on the run, at a race, or going on race trips, it's surprisingly easy to be good friends with someone and not know their family.

A cry for help gets immediate attention. The moment Brian posted his goodbye on Facebook before committing suicide, I was headed to the doctor for an appointment. I thought he was making a really bad joke at first. Then I couldn't find the punchline. Then I was leaving a message on his voicemail. Then I was asking for someone to go check on him. And then it's a blur. A really bad blur. I've had the occasional vaguebook of an acquaintance or friend on Facebook that raises my hackles. And I will check on you. I'm sensitive now.

Every person can have a wide influence. But you didn't know him. Half the time I feel like I didn't know him. And definitely we didn't know he was having the feelings of suicide. But for those who really didn't know him, grieve and recognize that people have battles you aren't aware of, but don't push it all too hard. It's awkward. If you want to know someone's true wishes, talk to the people who were close to him. And then respect what they tell you. Responses toward his death made me uncomfortable in not wanting to speak for him but knowing how he would have felt about some things people wanted to do in his honor, I had to speak up.

He lives on through us. My first attempt at 100 miles was an odd thing without him there. He had pushed me to flip the switch on trying a 100 miler, and I never committed while he was alive. Another year of the Fairview Half Marathon happened in April, but I won't forget how happy he was at his performance that day in 2013. And now I prepare to put on my first 100 miler for the North Texas community. I think often how he would have been one of my first registrations. He liked pushing the boundaries of being comfortable. He would have been proud.

There are ripples coming off all our actions. Never forget that.

2014 Tommyknocker Ultras 50K - All This To Win a Bottle of Whiskey

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Mon, 08 Sep 2014 17:48:00 +0000

I wanted to win the bottle of whiskey. That's what I decided 30 seconds into this race. More on that in a second.

A happy day in the mountains!
Photo credit: Human Potential Running Series (From Their Facebook Page)

I had chosen Tommyknocker Ultras 50K in Woodland Park, Colorado as a fun end-of-summer race with some challenge to it. I then trained very little (relatively) in August for this level of challenge.

Race shirt

Tommyknocker Ultras 50K and 100K was an inaugural race up in the Colorado Rocky Mountains sorta near Pike's Peak. It was rolling hills, nothing too big, but totaling up to 5100 ft of gain and loss in about 34 miles (a "long 50K"). The race starts at about 7700 feet, quickly rises to about 9000 ft and then stays around there the whole race. The course was fairly nontechnical - ATV dirt roads through and around Pike National Forest.

Because the 100K started at 2 am (we started at 8 am), it was nice to know that even on my slowest day I was going to make the 12 hour cutoff. Race week I learned how small the event would be - ultimately 35 starters in the 50K and another 6 in the 100K.

Friday night was the race eve dinner (included in the entry fee) and trail briefing by the race director, Sherpa John. I just happened to be standing next to someone in a Bandera shirt, I struck up a conversation, and I had found another Texan - Michael from Houston!

In the race briefing, we were warned that the grade of the road would be rough - too steep to run comfortably but not steep enough that walking would seem incredibly slow. We also learned about the DFL awards and the special orange rock on course.

The "Dead F*cking Last" award was a little plaque if you were the last to finish in your distance, and it came with a comp entry for any of their races in the next year. Also, there was a bottle of 100% corn moonshine whiskey at the last aid station 3.5 miles out for everyone to enjoy if they wanted out there. The very last overall finisher would not only earn the DFL award but would get to take home whatever remained of the whiskey.

What a fun idea and an awesome souvenir. I started to think maybe that was worth aspiring too (especially as these small races tend to come with a pretty fast field of competitors).

The bottle of whiskey in question.
Photo credit: Human Potential Running Series (From Their Facebook Page)

The special orange rock was a rock spray painted orange that would be placed on the course. If you carried the rock with you to the finish line, you received a check for $250. Later we would find out the rock was about 3.5 miles from the finish and weighed about 25 pounds!! Someone had taken it to earn the money by the time I got there so I was able to see it at the finish. Another fun idea!

The Special Orange Money Rock -
Photo credit: Human Potential Running Series (From Their Facebook Page)

35 minute drive back to my hotel in Manitou Springs where I was sure it must be beautiful but all I had seen so far was clouds covering the mountains and rain!

Race Start - Miles 0 to 3.5

An 8 AM start with a small casual race meant that I felt like I had a TON of time in the morning. I parked in the tiny parking lot and stood around in my jacket in mid-40s temps chatting with other runners and volunteers. It was a beautiful clear sky but there were strong chances for thunderstorms midday. The problem with a race at altitude with clear skies when it's in the 40s and you'll wear a jacket until right before the start? I was braindead and forgot to put on any sunscreen!! Last minute someone had a bottle of it to pass around and I put a little on my face quickly.

We start the race with Sherpa John hitting a rock with a pickaxe. Pretty fun way to do a "gun start".

Photo credit: Human Potential Running Series (From Their Facebook Page)

Within 30 seconds I found myself firmly in last place. Yes! The DFL award WOULD. BE. MINE! I knew I was undertrained, I knew the course would climb about 1300 ft in the first 3 miles. So let everyone else go out too fast; I was here to enjoy the whole day!

The first 0.78 miles was on the main dirt road before turning into a campground to move to ATV trail road. A race vehicle trailed behind me since I was the last runner, but I was actually getting really annoyed as I felt they were sticking way too close. Back of the packers know more than others what it feels like to have a sweeper or pace vehicle breathing down their neck! I was happy when we hit the campground, and the vehicle ceased its chase.

The woman in front of me (later learning her name was Nicholette) was always just about to cross over the next ridge every time I caught a glimpse of her in her bright orange shirt. Her shirt matched the buff I wore around my wrist. We had been warned that we needed to wear something bright, preferably blaze orange, because of the bow hunters that would be in the woods. We were also warned about gunshots we would hear, and I did hear them all day long, but they weren't hunters, they were people doing target shooting.

Nicholette at the top of one of a bazillion hills on this course

We shared the trail with the occasional vehicle heading to or from a camping area, infrequent race vehicles, and lots of ATVers and dirt bikers. Everyone was super courteous.

Lots of cambered road the whole way

I passed a cute little grove of aspen trees amid all the pine ones and snapped a picture.

3 miles in I finally came to a clearing high enough where I had a 360 degree view of the beautiful day.

Climbing up to the clearing

I took a picture of the mountain to the south, not even realizing at that point that it was Pike's Peak.

At mile 3.5, I came in to the whoops and hollers from the volunteers and added my own, "DFL, baby!" I saw the bottle of whiskey I hoped to take home, grabbed a stack of 8 Pringles, and was immediately out of the aid station. With carrying a full pack of water, I was able to only have to fill it TWICE in 34 miles - at miles 13 and 21.

Miles 3.5 to 8

You could tell we had a lot of rain the last week because there were huge puddles in the road.

I was surrounded by lots of pine trees and aspens, along with a whiff of honeysuckle I think I caught once. Everything was green, and the sky was so blue. I passed a couple creeks and could hear water often in the early miles.

I ran things that were downhill or slight uphill, and I walked everything with a discernible uphill grade. I knew this constant up and down was going to wear down my glutes, hamstrings, quads, and calves over the day, so I stayed conservative. My goal wasn't to run fast and hurt a ton; my goal was to enjoy the experience. Especially after two 100 mile attempts this year, I'm still needing some happy trail time to offset those hours invested.

The climb into the next aid station was a doozy. Play spot-the-aid-station in the pictures (hint: red canopy tent).

The area all around this aid station had been the location of a big wildfire about 15 years ago.

Miles 8 to 13

At mile 8 (Haymans), I saw my friend Steve who was volunteering at the aid station. In my goal for DFL and ultimately the final finisher to take home the whiskey, I asked how many 100Kers remained. I felt like an elite: "*huff huff* how many ahead of me? How far behind am I?" Except the COMPLETE OPPOSITE. Steve told me another had just dropped and 3 were out there. The way the course worked they were doing 2 extra loops from his aid station before completing the last 24 miles with the 50Kers, so my goal was to be passed by 3 100Kers now.

Pre-race Sherpa John had told us two runners in the 100K had turned wrong and added a bunch of miles, resulting in one upset runner heading home and the other who called it quits but was starting the 50K with us that morning!

Steve told me at the aid station that now I could finally see Pike's Peak with the clear day. I said, "But I don't know which one it is!!" The locals laughed. He pointed out the big mountain to the south. The view from his aid station was one of the best of the day.

I wanted to stay on top of calories so I pulled out a snack size ziploc from my pack, and we filled it with potato chips. I posed with a picture with Steve, who by the way I hadn't seen since we ran Gorge Waterfalls in March 2012, and headed out.

An uneventful next 5 miles of more curvy rolling dirt road to bring me into the Phantom Creek aid station at mile 13.

I think someone said this was called Signal Butte. Our trail went to the left. Not up it, thankfully.

I caught Nicholette here and informed her she needed to hurry up because I wanted the DFL award. A man who was just out in the park came up and asked if there was "like a 10K race or something going on?" Nicholette and I burst out laughing as the volunteers explained the mileage of the races that day. The next stretch to come would be the longest of the day at 8.7 miles so I pulled out another Ziploc from my pack and stashed two Snackwells devils food cookies (delicious when I snacked on them later!)

Miles 13 to 22

From here, Nicholette and I began to leapfrog a lot this next segment. She was always ahead, and then I'd catch up, and she'd head off again. We chatted a little, but I explained it wasn't easy to chat on uphills for me if I expected to breathe at all! A mile out from the next aid station, and we were run/walking together at this point, pretty even. It was her first 50K. Actually her first race over a half marathon distance!

A guy named Ricky I had met that morning suddenly comes up on us. He tells us that 6 of the 50Kers had gotten lost and gone an extra 8 or so miles. 4 of them had dropped out. Well, that was alarming and would take Nicholette and me into a state of hyper vigilance for searching for markers.

We had a big steep descent followed by a big steep ascent in the middle of this section. My plans to equalize the total average time with a faster downhill were completely squashed when it was all loose gravel going down. And then we had our first creek crossing, where I mostly avoided wet feet, before ascending. The second of the lost 50Kers who continued passed us here along with a guy who was just being a safety runner out checking on everyone on course. We'd see him again later at the last aid station.

Bottom of the valley

Tromped through a little grass to the left and mostly avoided wet feet.

The altitude really didn't bother or affect me, except on the climbs. I would just get winded a little too easily, and the steeper ones I would get the slightest bit of a headache. I took that as a good sign that the 4 weeks in the altitude tent sleeping at 10,000 feet had worked well!

Pike's Peak again

About a mile or two out from the aid station, a volunteer came out on his mountain bike to greet us and chat as we made our way in. I remembered John from pre-race when we were all standing around chatting. We had laughed as he had worked to figure out how to use his Jetboil to make coffee. Super nice guy.

My bike escort
Photo credit: Human Potential Running Series (From Their Facebook Page)

First a little rain, then suddenly one of the loudest thunder claps I've ever heard. We all jumped! Then the hail started, and I was happy I had my shell rain jacket tied around my waist and my hat on. I put on the shell - regardless of any other actions that day, a big goal was to keep my core warm as the rain would chill me and the temperature would drop.

Dark clouds rolling in

The hail wasn't too painful unless it came at an angle and hit my legs. It only lasted about 20-30 minutes and was fairly small pieces. It finished just as we pulled into the Magnum aid station at mile 21.7. I happened to recognize a guy I knew through Twitter, Jerry, here. That was a fun out-of-the-blue introduction. Nicholette seemed to be spending a little longer at this aid station so I headed out alone. While the previous section had been the longest, this next section wouldn't be short at 8.25 miles (which I swear was actually almost 9 miles).

Photo credit: Human Potential Running Series (From Their Facebook Page)

Miles 22 to 30

It continued to rain on and off for the entire rest of the race. Just a short bit after the aid station, the race moved to a more isolated section of trail. No ATVs or other vehicles seemed to be allowed here and there weren't camping spots so it became very quiet. I was descending into a valley on twisty narrower dirt road. I stopped for a quick potty break which is definitely the opposite of quick when you're a girl ... With compression shorts on.... And am soaking wet from rain.

Sky cleared up for a few minutes

The flagging started to get more infrequent, and I started seeing yellow CAUTION tape rather than the orange flagging tape we were supposed to be watching for. Was this for something else? Isn't Caution a warning to maybe not go that way? These were the out loud conversations going on. Then I spotted another orange flag and let out a strong descriptive phrase of relief.... And then back to yellow Caution tape! Maybe this was last minute reflagging from moose eating flagging or vandals! I was desperate for something definitive and knew I had about 5 miles in the right direction before the aid station would provide it.

It was here, between my potty stop and slowed pace in determining what route to take at each intersection that Nicholette came around a corner and see me ahead in the valley and yelled to me. I waited back a bit. I did a water crossing that soaked my feet (with 10 miles left in the race). I then yelled back to tell her about a hard to see single yellow ribbon at the next intersection. I then made another water crossing. Nicholette yells up to me "We were only supposed to have two water crossings TOTAL. That was our third. Are we on the right path?" She echoed the negative thoughts in my head. My anxiety level was high. I really wasn't in the mood for bonus miles.

I waited back, and she caught up. We went on together playing "spot the orange (or probably yellow, and we hope they're for us) flags" as we went. Oh look, a yellow flag in the middle of an intersection. Left or right? Ugh? At the top of the ridge we see both paths came back together. Wasting time for no reason deciphering flags, but how could we know that? We discussed staying together because two sets of eyes were better than one.

Nicholette pulled out her phone to see if it had enough signal for a compass reading. We were going due north. I knew the map and general route and knew we were supposed to be heading north and would eventually intersect the course again.

A mile since our last orange ribbon, and we pass a camping site. Nicholette yells hello to the people sitting outside. One guy yells back, "you're on the right path." He said several had come through as lost and concerned as we were. He yelled something about in a mile but we couldn't catch what he said.

A mile later of playing "spot the infrequent yellow flags", we reached another dirt road intersection with a spray-painted orange arrow. THIS is what we were looking for. Something definitive to say we were in the right place.

A mile from the aid station, we started the panic again. Around every turn, no aid station. But it was supposed to be 8.2 miles, maybe even less by GPS on the Gamin! Finally at 8.7 we came upon the last aid station, Manchester Creek.

We chatted with the two guys. We talked about who was left out on the course still. Supposedly the two 100Kers were still behind us. Especially now that I knew I would not be taking the whiskey home, Nicholette and I both decided to do a swig of it.

According to the aid station, we had 3.7 miles to the finish. Funny how tenths of a mile become important when you're tired. I insisted as we moved forward that it could only be 3.25 miles by GPS because this was an out-and-back in the race, and I measured it at the start to that aid station.

Miles 30 to 33

Mostly downhill on this out-and-back section of the course. Nicholette didn't remember any of it from when we came through at the beginning of the race.

My friend Steve drove out and happened to meet us 0.25 miles to the finish. After the last aid station, Nicholette and I had decided neither of us would make a final sprint for it and would stick together at this point and cross holding hands. Two DFLs.

We crossed the finish line as we planned right about at 11 hours. Nicholette had completed her first ultramarathon. Once Sherpa John confirmed we were the last 50Kers, he agreed to make another DFL award. As the non-local, I took the one that already existed home. Nicholette would get delivered the new one. And he was cool with letting us each have 50% off a race next year, versus one comp entry. Very very cool.

The finisher item at top is glass and a magnet.
And then the DFL Award Plaque (view from around Mile 8 on the course).

Final Stats?

100K – 5 Starters and 3 Finishers (60% Finishers Rate)
50K – 37 Starters and 26 Finishers (70% Finishers Rate)
Finish Time: 11:04:00

And the whiskey? Ultimately, there were two 100K finishers after us. So no whiskey bottle souvenir for this adventure. But it was a fun distraction on what I set out to make a fun race.

My legs were so completely tired from the up and downhill, my feet felt pulverized by the hard surface, and my toes and toenails ached from my feet moving around in my shoes on all the hills. And I had the sunburn too. But I had so much fun, enjoyed the full day, and spent the day in some of the prettiest scenery I could choose for that weekend!

August 2014 Running Review: Choosing to Be Undertrained

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Sun, 31 Aug 2014 23:28:00 +0000

Ack, even the title makes me squirm, but I'm owning it. My mileage for August was one of my lowest in the last three years. I had a bit of a start when I saw that and then I slowly made peace with it. Well, 80% of my mind has made peace with it. The other 20% is always wanting to DO ALL THE THINGS and is upset and disappointed in myself when I don't.

Where Did the Time Go?!

I chose to put my energy in August into things that weren't lots of miles. And it really was an awesome month. So what have I been up to?

* One week of vacation to tour the state of Maine for the first time with the family meant lots of early toddler hotel room wake ups, lots of finding great little breakfast restaurants, evenings of fun dinners out, and absolutely no running. I don't miss running when I'm gone for a week when my life is full with other things! But talk about a hit to the month's mileage!!

* I've been feeling burnt out on training for things and tired of the heat. It wasn't fun anymore. Motivation was low this month even if I had all the time in the world with nothing competing for my attention.

* I had a 5 day run trip planned for late in the month, so I spent extra time with the family knowing it would even out some of the time away. Weeknights I was around more for dinnertimes and bathtimes. I spent weekends having breakfast with hubby and kids or spending time with hubby's family, which is very important to him, and working weekend miles in here and there or dropping some weekday miles altogether.

Brunch time - cousins!

* I launched a brand new race heading into August - the Big Cedar Endurance Run, scheduled for November 21-22. It's a big undertaking with any inaugural event, but as my first ultra event to produce and first trail race, it's a very different event to put together than my road races. To say it's time consuming would be putting it mildly.

* I spent 5 days in Montana crewing and pacing a friend's 100 miler (Ghosts of Yellowstone 100). Yes, he was supposed to be running 38 hours, and I was supposed to be getting a technical fatigued 25 miles of pacing (a nice long run), but the race day didn't go as planned. No regrets as we had fun in the really cold wet rain that weekend hanging out, sightseeing when we could avoid the rain, and eating out. My first trip to Montana AND an enjoyable time with a good friend who isn't local so I don't get to just say "hey, let's meet up for a run" or "wanna grab dinner?" any time I feel like it.

* I came back from Montana with signs in the universe that felt like extra emphasis needed to be on my family. Rekindling an idea to take my oldest daughter on a trip, just her and me, after happening to find a book about exactly that ("We'll Always Have Paris" by Jennifer Coburn). (I LOVE travel writing.) A friend's blog post about the heart-wrenching moment where her 6 year old asked her right before a race to stop leaving.

* I produce 3 races in the space of only 80 days starting with The Showdown Half Marathon and 5K on October 11th. And often my running falls apart completely. I want to continue to get better at balancing it. I've spent a lot of August getting ahead, or at least not falling behind, on all the details I like to infuse that personalize my races so that I hope to run some throughout the fall.

Friends have helped me feel on top of things. Rodica gave me this dolly, which she asked Aubrey to stencil my company logo on. They gave it to me the day they graciously gave up an hour to help me move things around my storage units!

Where Does This Leave Me?

So with 6 weeks since my last marathon, and undertrained as a result of my own choices, I head into my next ultra in a week. After months of doing an awful job of following training plans by my coach, this week I had no assignments. I actually ended up with my most consistent running week in a long time, motivated only by myself. Except the mileage is much lower than the goal always is each week of assigned plans. However, I still choose to celebrate

I ran 6 of the last 7 days,
I didn't fret about other things in my life while I ran,
all my running was during the workday where I managed all week that rare thing of being able to mentally step away during the day to run, and
I was there for my family by managing to run all week during the workday.

So Saturday I have Tommyknocker Ultras 50K, a 34 mile trail "50K" in the mountains of Colorado. Altitude + climbing + potentially warm with exposed trail. But I picked it for the scenery, and I don't have many concerns about finishing in the time limit. Beautiful locations while moving through the environment makes my heart really happy. Therefore, I will pack my gear, head off on another adventure, and continue to grow and embrace that in the balance of life sometimes race day is just not what you set out for it to be, but it can still be amazing anyway! And no excuses - I made these choices!

Pacing the Last 20 Miles - 2014 Western States Pacer Report

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Wed, 02 Jul 2014 17:23:00 +0000

At 3 am Sunday morning, I had hiked in 1.5 miles on a rocky dirt road to Green Gate, mile 79.8 of the Western States Endurance Run 100 Mile course. I was anxiously awaiting my athlete, Jennifer Kimble, to arrive. I used this time to prep some of my own gear. I was going packless (having slept wrong and tweaked a muscle in my neck early in the week plus wanting to be light on my feet) so I had my 20 oz Amphipod bottle and was cramming S-caps, pills, wipes, and gels into my pockets and Spibelt. I sat in the camp chair I had hiked in along with our gear and shivered a little. It was probably mid-50s but with fatigue and only 1.5 hours of sleep, it felt cooler. I drank a couple cups of coke from the aid station to get some caffeine and snacked on a couple Oreos.

Spoiler alert: She finishes the race!!

At about 4:30 am, Jennifer and Laura (who had paced the previous 24 miles) came into the aid station. She had just crossed the American River at Rucky Chucky two miles before and was soaking wet with a long extended climb into this aid station. She looked worn out but golly, she was also 80 miles into a hard mountain race. We changed socks and shoes and her top. She wanted her long sleeve, which was in her pack, but it had gotten wet in the river crossing. She put on a dry pullover from her drop bag instead.

In the past, miles 80-90 are HARD for Jenn, and she's had a tendency to sleepwalk and drag. Laura had done a great job of keeping calories in her, so that when she arrived, she was awake enough to be pushed. It was a great team effort!

At 4:44 am, 1 minute before their 30 hour finish time cutoff, we headed out. Now the 30 hour finish time was not set on an overall pace. It predicted you would be faster on the downhills and slower on the uphills and tried to tell you based on that when you would need to get through the aid station and still make it with the elevation change still to come. But after fighting cutoff times all day, we were still in that spot, walking out of the aid station 1 minute to that cutoff. And I know fighting cutoffs was really hard on Jennifer. It creates such a high level of stress. I am very accustomed to being aware of time cutoffs and having to fight them - it's no fun at all. We were going to fight them all the rest of this race too!

Below the red line is where I paced and we had to make up time!

Green Gate to Auburn Lake Trails (Miles 79.8 to 85.2)

We spent the first 5.7 miles to the aid station getting comfortable with where she was at and learning to work together as a team. Laura had given me the 20 second version of how their 24 miles together had gone. Now Jenn and I needed to come to an agreement about what pacing was going to look like here. Plus we spent the first hour in the dark most of the way to this aid station. She ran when she could and walked when she had to and I didn't push it much. She ate her gel and since she was running in front of me I couldn't see what she was doing. I asked, "Did you actually eat that gel?" She was like, "Uh, yeah." And I told her the story of a pacer who ran behind their runner for a bunch of miles and then gets into the aid station and finds all the gels and S-caps and water are still on their runner. The runner had been FAKING eating and drinking the whole way. People do weird things 80 miles into a race. So every once in a while, I would double check verbally that the movement I saw was indeed her taking an S-Cap or eating a gel!

Coming into ALT (Auburn Lake Trails) aid station, I told her we were going to be super fast here and then after this aid station I was going to start pushing her hard. She was hungry and wanting real food. We were coming in 1 minute before the 30 hr timeframe. A volunteer was 50 feet from the station and I asked him to name off hot foods. She perked up about chicken and rice soup, so we go whizzing into the station, I get my water refilled, her bladder still had enough in her pack, we get the soup, she grabs a quick snack, and then I grab a handful of saltine crackers for us to snack on and we walk out, soup cup in hand. It worked really well.

Auburn Lake Trails to Brown's Bar (Miles 85.2 to 89.9)

I told her that for these 20 miles, every aid station split would get shorter and shorter, so I would remind her every time that she wouldn't have to do a split that long ever again (that day). 5.7 miles, 4.6 miles, 3.6 miles, 3.3 miles, 2.1 miles, 1.3 miles. Boom.

I pushed her hard but she did most of the pushing herself. I would just keep the pace strong behind her so she had to go or get run over. Ha! But we would powerhike up a hill, and then at the top she would immediately start her run 2 seconds before I would be about to say "Let's go." A couple times we were in sync as I would start to say "Deep breath and push" and she'd have just started running in the middle of that anyway. She did such a great job. I think she knew she'd get an earful if she didn't go. She only had a couple times were I suggested a run but she needed just a little more recovery. Otherwise I never even had to employ timed run-walk intervals. If it was downhill or flat in that last 20 miles, we basically ran it and not a light jog either. We both knew we were racing the clock.

I would give her reminders each half mile from the aid station. "3.5 miles to the aid station..... 3 miles left...." Approaching the mile 90 aid station, Jenn lost it as we could hear the music 0.7 miles out but there was a chasm on that side where the music was coming from. So you have to pass the music and then do a switchback on the other side of the canyon. She is freaking out after we pass the music that now we are going away from it and finally 0.3 mi away just stops in the trail and yells "Where is the aid station?!" I point into the middle of the thick trees and totally deadpan, "There. I see it through the trees. Right there! Let's go!" I didn't see shit. And she said, "oh ok" and started running. Phew. Crisis averted.

We get into the mile 90 aid station, Brown's Bar. We are 7 minutes up now on the 30 hour cutoff time of 6:30 am. That's wonderful news but there are so many aid stations in the last 20 miles that it's easy to lose any lead you have. I am frantically getting water refilled while Jenn grabs a cup of coffee and some food, and I can hear a volunteer who is directly in front of her looking her straight in the eye saying "You are going to finish this." I turn and realize Hal Koerner is standing right there giving Jennifer a pep talk. Oh! 4 time Western States winner Hal. I say, "Yes, she is" and I hustle her out of the aid station.

Brown's Bar to Highway 49 (Miles 89.9 to 93.5)

We get a minute down the path and she says weakly "Was that Hal Koerner?" And I respond, "Yes. He really wanted your autograph but was too embarrassed to ask." And she gave a weak laugh. Good, that's a good sign. Any positive reaction means she is getting calories and still with me.

I spend a half mile emphasizing that we have single digits left now. We are encountering other runners in this section which breaks up time as well. We have 3.6 miles to Hwy 49 Crossing where I keep reminding her that lovely Laura will be waiting for us! It's wide jeep road here for parts and my original stance is to be just to her side and back in the edge of her periphery but she says I can walk beside her. We know one of the two big climbs is coming up just before the aid station, so we keep pressing. At one point she wants to walk for a minute but I push her that I need her to run right now. I don't want her to have to rush the climb too bad. I keep emphasizing that we are building time so she doesn't kill herself pushing the two significant climbs.

The climb is all loose rocks - not fun. And I know her feet are hurting but she just puts her head down and climbs. Then a nice descent into the spectators and volunteers cheering us into the aid station. We're now 14 minutes ahead but know this aid station will take a little more time than the last two (it takes 5 minutes). It's starting to get warm so ice into the water bottles and they dunk my buff in ice water to put around my neck. Jenn gets rid of the pack. We have a 10K to go and lots of aid stations so just the handheld from here. She tries to eat what she can from the good assortment of foods there. I down two fruit smoothie cups they have. I'm not a big fruit person but those were really really good. A little emotion as Jenn is HURTING and a big crew hug of the 3 of us together, and Laura and I push her out of the station.

Highway 49 to No Hands Bridge (Miles 93.5 to 96.8)

There's a climb out of there, a big one, and we get a few tenths in and Jennifer says she wishes she had taken Aleve back there. I said, "I can go back." She says, "Are you sure?" I say, yes, you keep walking. I RACE back down the steep hill and come into the aid station yelling to Laura like a maniac. I'm so happy she's still packing up. She gives me the Aleve, and I race back out of the aid station and push up the hill, completely exhausting myself. I finally catch Jenn, hand over the meds, and huff out, "NOW if you don't finish, I will whip you with an Aleve bottle for getting me to do that!"

We have 3.3 miles, and after that big hill leaving the aid station, mostly gradual downhill. We run through fields of tall dry grass, and the sun is really starting to worry me through the exposed sections. I don't do well in heat. I foresee problems for me here, but I'm glad Jennifer is unaffected. We run a lot of this segment trying to gain a little time on the clock before the big climb coming after this aid station. When we come into the No Hands Bridge aid station, we are now up 11 minutes on the 30 hour time. A big relief.

Jenn starts walking across No Hands Bridge, a cool bridge over the ravine there. I fill up the bottles with ice water and run to catch her. The sooner I can catch her, the sooner she stops walking and starts running again!

No Hands Bridge to Robie Point (Miles 96.8 to 98.9)

We have 3.2 miles left in the race, just over a 5K. Here is where I tell her that the big climb into Robie Point is coming up during this 2.2 mile segment. And that I've done the math and that, especially with how the 30 hr time cutoff takes slower climbs into account, even if we do 23 minute per mile the rest of the way, we will make it in time. But of course we agree we won't do that pace.

So we push that Robie Point climb. And I admit between pushing the climb, the fact I've raced this 20 miles at her dragging pace and close to my 50K PR pace on flat terrain, and now the searing heat of 10 am on a California day of exposure, I am starting to melt. My heat issues come out full throttle. Jenn gets a little ahead.

At the top, we have 1.2 miles of pavement left. And we're 14 minutes above the time cutoff for 30 hours. She pauses for 10 seconds to let me catch up. I am actually really suffering from the mid-80s exposed temperatures at this point, but I push down the dizziness and nausea, and we run.

Robie Point to the Finish (Miles 98.9 to 100.2)

We encounter a guy we had met earlier in the course who was spectating. He is running backwards on the course but when he sees us he runs with us for a quarter mile and tells us he had just seen Laura at the high school track waiting for us! He's super encouraging.

Then we see an acquaintance from Facebook named Jesus. I had met him very briefly before when he came to Dallas to run my New Years Double race this past year. He runs the last half mile with us. He happily gets some photos of us running together, we pause for a selfie, and he tells us there are only 4 turns left and then she's done.

Once you get to the Placer High School track in Auburn, you make a loop around 3/4 of the track surface into the finish. We hit the track, and I am ready for her to leave me. At Ozark Trail 100, Jeremy had this crazy fast sprint he pulled out in that last quarter mile and he left me in the dust, and I'm expecting similar. But no, we go at the pace we've been doing, and I'm relieved and happy I get to stay with her to the end. And we're both for this last half mile in complete shock that this is actually happening.

The last hundred feet, crew and pacers pull off to the side outside the fencing with a big "No Crew or Pacers" in the finish area. I'm a little superstitious anyway. I don't want to cross under that finish line arch until possibly someday that I would be strong enough and lucky enough to run the race.

Jenn crosses the finish line at 29 hours, 42 minutes. 18 minutes before the cutoff. 18 minutes from not getting a buckle. She's made it.

Click in for details

Post-Race

We're happy and completely exhausted. I take a while to get over my heat issues, having to rest in shade, Jesus gets me a cold Coke, and then going and sitting in the air conditioned car for a little bit. I've been through the heat stuff before. I just hate how susceptible I am. Jenn is still having a surreal moment but showers and gets cleaned up. Laura and Jesus look over us both.

Finally the buckle presentation ceremony happens an hour and a half later. It's so exciting to have my company, The Active Joe, called out in the list of sponsor greats that include Montrail and Mountain Hardwear. But then it's terribly awesome to see Jenn accept her bronze belt buckle and cross the stage in the ceremony tent.

So yes, I can honestly say, I'm not sure I've ever raced that hard in terms of that combo of terrain and elevation elements, for that distance, plus the psychological aspects of managing another person who has been through the wringer for 80 miles already. What an incredible experience. I'm so happy that Jennifer accepted being The Active Joe's sponsored athlete for the Western States Endurance Run, that she allowed me to crew and pace her during that journey, and that she ultimately earned her finisher buckle!

Stats:

5 hours, 40 minutes.
20.4 miles.
4,000 feet gain. 4,200 feet of descent.

Grand Canyon 100 - Shattered Expectations

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Mon, 09 Jun 2014 16:24:00 +0000

After not finishing Rocky Raccoon 100, I wanted an interesting race that wouldn't be harder than a 100 miler has to be. I chose Grand Canyon 100 on May 17 - while it was an inaugural race, it was a race director who has other non-inaugural events he produces, temperatures were supposed to be no higher than 65 degrees typically on the plateau on the North Rim, it wasn't too much altitude (8000 ft on average), the terrain not too technical, and the climbs were supposed to be difficult without being mountainous (12,600 ft gain). The weather in the two weeks leading up kept showing temperatures in the mid-80s so I knew that was an added complication going in.

It would end up being a very different day than I imagined. The DNF hurt. My DNF at Rocky Raccoon 100 hadn't hurt. I didn't really cry about that one. I had a good race, got unlucky with blisters, had pushed through to suffer for 30 miles with them, and then timed out for completing my last 20 miles. I was proud of that race day. But everything about Grand Canyon 100? Well, this DNF involved a lot of tears.

It hurt bad enough that I needed a few weeks to sort through and process, and I can finally write the race report and reflect on the good and fun things instead of being all sour about it.

The Long Trip There

My mom commented while I was on the phone with her during this trip that people have no idea the logistics required to even go do races like this. Trail ultramarathons, particularly the beautiful scenic ones, tend to be in isolated areas, so the travel to get there can be extensive.

For this, Jeremy (my pacer/crew), his wife Sara, and I flew into Las Vegas on a Thursday night. Dinner on the strip but very little partying.

Jeremy and Sara

On Friday we picked up the rental car in the morning and drove 4 hours to Kanab, Utah. Hotel check-in and a short rest while I finalized my drop bags, and then the drive to the race site for packet pickup and turning in my drop bags for the aid stations.

The drive to the race site was a country highway through open cattle land where you would find cows in the road during the day and rabbits would play Frogger at night. Then another 20-something miles of rutted bumpy dirt forest service road into the Kaibab National Forest. It was a roundtrip 100 miles and 1 hr 15 min each way.

We drove to the closest viewpoint after packet pickup. I would come through the Crazy Jug Viewpoint at 8 miles in. Sara and I had never been to the Grand Canyon, and it was amazing when we stepped up to the edge of the viewpoint and took it all in.

Crazy Jug Viewpoint

Happy to have a friend's support out there!

A long drive back to Kanab and a stellar pre-race dinner before bedtime. We highly recommend the Rocking V Cafe - gourmet fare in a little bitty town? Their southwestern cornmeal-crusted mountain trout was delicious!

Race Morning and Miles 0 to 8

On the road at some awful hour like 4 AM. Yawn. Getting to the race site was uneventful and thankfully the slight break of dawn was good assurance that a headlamp to start wouldn't be necessary. It was cold at that elevation (about 7500 ft at the start), maybe about 35 degrees, and I kept on my warm puffy jacket and huddled with the others around the fire boxes they had.

Filling hydration bladders and gearing up. Excited!

There were about 50 of us between 50 milers and 100 milers. 28 in the 100 mile including myself. It was time to start the race, so I gave Jeremy a quick hug and handed off my jacket. In the first mile I get thinking about how frozen my hands were. No use in having gloves because I wasn't going to be cold for long.

I wrapped myself up in my own thoughts and listened to the conversations of all the Utah folks who knew each other. Another mile in and when a few stopped at a viewpoint, I asked a guy, "Are you Cory?" He was and I yelled a quick introduction of myself as I went by. "Fast Cory" and I share a mutual friend, and I had found him on Facebook ahead of time and introduced myself so I would know someone at the race. The running community is pretty cool like that.

At 3 miles we left some dirt road to move to single track. It was tight between bushes and two-way traffic as we headed out to Monument Point, our first viewpoint. It was a lot rockier than I expected and the climbs had begun. Cory was nice enough to take my picture at the viewpoint at mile 4.5, then we all marked our bibs with a star from a Sharpie left there and turned around.

At mile 8, we went out to the Crazy Jug Viewpoint, where I didn't linger because we had visited there the night before. I got checked in with my number because it was a small out-and-back and moved on. I refilled my water at the aid station and grabbed a few snacks but didn't spend long.

NOT A TRAIL (Miles 8 to 15)

Two miles of dirt road into nice trail. And then.... a big climb up soft forest soil between scraggly bushes. NOT A TRAIL. I was ready - they had said the course was pretty runnable except for a technical section from miles 10 to 15. I had done technical. I knew I could handle technical.

But this wasn't just some rocks. Or even bouldering. Or hundreds of roots. This was NOT A TRAIL. For 5 miles, they splatted the forest, up and down valleys, through rough and overgrown sections, with little marker flags. I admit it took a couple miles before I figured out - this is not going to end. This is the full 5 miles. We bushwhacked through the cambered sides of hills, with a foot of pine needles and when there weren't pine needles to squish down in and ruin your gait, it was soft soft forest soil, not packed like on a trail. Between soft soil and cambered surface, I twisted my ankle a half-dozen times.

This antique section of forest was described well in another participant Kelly's blog post where he said "The next stage of the race takes us onto a trail section that hasn't seen a trail runner since Christ was a carpenter." Ha. Kelly is actually a total running stud who had a shot at winning the 100 miler but on this awful terrain he pulled a groin muscle and ended up finishing the 50K.

We hit downhills full of soft soil with lots of small rocks, and I would curse when my foot slid and I would hear curses back and uphill behind me as we all negotiated the terrain. The climbs would be steep and you would set your foot where others had for a foothold so your foot didn't slide back down a little in that soft dirt.

See the two little people at the top? No one had been on this
trail before they came through and flagged it. I'm sure of it.

When I got into Parisawamppitts aid station at mile 15, I was mildly cranky and starting to get hot. But Jeremy hooped and hollered, and I was happy to see him. "That 5 miles was awful. That was not a trail." Jeremy confirmed everyone else was equally shocked, disappointed, and jaded coming into the aid station. That made me feel way less prepared.

We get up to the aid station table. "What do you need?"

Me: "Ice."
Jeremy. "They don't have ice."
Me: "Ice."
Aid station head: "We have eggs and sausage and...."
Me: "Ice?"
Jeremy: "They don't have ice."
Me: "I just really want ice."
I wasn't throwing a big fit. It was just that my sole focus was ice. And now I was petrified that maybe none of the aid stations had ice!

It's 9 am and getting hot, and I'm worried. It's 6.5 miles to the next aid station and it will only get hotter on this exposed course. I eat some food, then Jeremy walks with me the tenth of a mile to where I have to go do a one mile out and back to the Parisawamppitts Viewpoint before continuing on. Jeremy says he'll wait there until I come back.

Some of the tightest single track I've done with branches grabbing at my clothes and a lot of boxing-style duck and weave moves, while moving through rocky spots and lots of up and down climbing. I get to the viewpoint, grab a selfie, and mark my bib with the red Sharpie marker. It's slow going on this section and a kick in the butt after those last 5 ridiculous miles.

Selfie with a handheld water bottle is easier said than done.

I eventually get back to Jeremy, and he's jumping ahead of me, snapping pictures. It did make me smile and laugh. I think I asked if I was going to be okay. He told me I was. I headed out for the next 6.5 mile stretch.

Yes, I was still smiling.

To Fence Point Aid Station (Miles 15 to 21.5)

Uneventful except for getting hotter and hotter. So I'll use this 6.5 mile stretch to talk about heat exhaustion and my strategies to get through it. Heat exhaustion is often associated with dehydration, but that's just one way to get it. A raise in your core body temp is really what is going on, and what I've learned over time is even when well-hydrated, some people are just susceptible to heat and that raise in body temp that leads to heat exhaustion. At 8000 ft altitude plus a lot of time with little shade, it becomes a problem.

I wore a buff around my neck that I could wet or put ice (if there was ever an aid station with it) inside. I wore a visor to keep the sun and heat off my face. I wore a light colored shirt rather than the dark The Active Joe shirt I really wanted to, which would have just absorbed the heat. I had on my hydration pack with 70 ounces of water. I carried a 20 ounce Amphipod handheld water bottle with an insulating sleeve.

When it started to get hot, my strategy out on the course was to put the buff up over my head and cover my ears. Then I would use the 20 ounces in my handheld, rationed out to the next aid station, to occasionally squirt the water on the top of my buff on my head and onto the back of my neck.

It worked well and kept the heat managed. Not GREAT but managed. All participants were complaining about a little lightheadedness and nausea. My nausea was almost non-existent, and I wasn't very lightheaded, but I felt very heavy and sleepy and my legs were like lead. I couldn't get a good run going as I trotted along. I could feel the sun sucking out all my energy.

At Fence Point, Jeremy was waiting, and I said we needed to get my core temp down quick. I sat in the shade of the tent for a couple minutes eating and drinking while we iced my buff down and put it on me. Thankfully, they had ice. We put cups of ice into my sports bra and put ice in both my handheld and my hydration pack. I was determined to get through this heat, even if it took a 10 pound back of ice every 6.5 miles to do it! My attitude was good.

I met Angela there who had a mountain bike and was crewing her friend. Jeremy had given her a ride to the aid station. Jeremy said the back roads made it difficult to get to the next aid station and make it to the following one in time. So Angela volunteered to crew me at the next aid station.

To Locust Point Aid Station (Miles 21.5 to 24.5)

Pretty uneventful besides trying to avoid death (just a little melodramatic there). I just kept moving through the direct sun and heat. It felt like my brain was boiling. Yep, that's what early stages of heat exposure feel like for me. My head was on fire and I thought it was going to spontaneously burst into flame. The last couple miles I fell in with another person in the 100 named Jennifer. She was from San Francisco, where I've run the marathon twice before and for two years served as an ambassador for the SF Marathon, because I love the race so much. So we had some great stuff to chat about. Before we got to the aid station at Locust Point, we stopped to take pictures of each other at the viewpoint.

Angela was there as promised. She was such a doll! She helped me get my core body temp down again and put ice everywhere we could. This was the point in the day with the sun directly overhead so it was so warm. Temperatures in the mid-80s. Jennifer had gone ahead out of the aid station. She had a faster pace than me and wasn't suffering in the heat quite as badly as I was.

To Timp Aid Station (Miles 24.5 to 31)

This section had numerous small valleys we would go down into, through where the sun's rays penetrated and heated up the grassy meadow, then climb back out of. They were like little fingers of the Grand Canyon pushing into the forest. And like a canyon they were also HOT.

Around mile 28 I passed a guy who was laying in the grass in a slightly shady area. I asked if he was okay. He said he was and just taking a rest. I asked if he had crew at the next aid station that I could notify of how he was, and he didn't. The heat was sucking the life out of everyone.

About mile 29, something miraculous happened. A cloud covered the sun, I hit a high plateau with some good shaded forest, there was fairly flat single track trail, and it was hitting about 4 pm where the angle of the sun was becoming way less harsh.

And ZOOM. It's like I was flying. My speed picked up to normal paces, my legs felt incredible, and I seriously couldn't stop laughing. Loudly but no one was around to hear. I was giddy with excitement. Finally, I had waded through 20 miles of awful heat to get my "second wind". I was hopeful for what would happen as the sun continued to set.

I came running into the aid station at quite a clip, and Jeremy seemed supremely happy to see me moving so well and the smile I had to go with it.

At the aid station, we refilled water, retied my shoes, and I ate. The heat had done a number on my physiology though because my essential tremor was in rare form. The best evidence of the hardship of the day on my body. I stood by the aid station table downing Oreos and couldn't accept the cup of coke he offered until I was ready to sip because I was going to shake all the liquid out of the cup. My tremor is typically light and just left hand and left foot, but I was under so much stress that my entire body just shuddered nonstop. It was frustrating but didn't slow me down.

I left the aid station in good spirits. Jeremy was heading back to the start/finish site and would take over pacing at mile 50.

To Stina Aid Station - Miles 31 to 38

I left the aid station just ahead of Bill, the runner Angela was crewing for. He had fought bad nausea all day. I had a run going and he was doing a fast walk so I stayed ahead of him. Until about a mile down the road. We were in shaded single track in the forest but all of a sudden it felt like all the heat of the day was trapped in the canopy of those trees. And it enveloped me and I turned to the side of the trail, came to a sudden halt, and dry heaved. Bill passed me and I couldn't catch his powerwalk after that.

That second wind of mine was already gone. My body started to act like it was beyond exhausted, but I kept a trot and brisk walk going. I came out onto a forest service road around mile 33. This terrain was easier although it had a lot more rolling hills. And I could feel that it was starting to cool down.

But I started to feel more nauseous and more light-headed with each step. I just kept moving forward and every once in a while would stop to dry heave.

After a couple miles, I still had a little over 2 miles into the aid station. I hadn't been able to eat any of my chews with the nausea. Throwing up was a bad calorie deficit situation to end up in. I needed to start fighting this awful feeling head on.

So I pulled out the papaya enzyme I keep on hand for upset stomach and chomped down a few of those slowly. I gave it another 10 minutes and it just wasn't working. Fine, sometimes that works but sometimes it doesn't. Maybe some salt hitting my stomach would calm it down - another trick I've learned from experience.

I took an S-Cap and within another few minutes my stomach was feeling less on the verge of a reversal of fortune. I could now eat a GU. I went for one with caffeine and increased electrolytes. I needed calories, I needed energy, and I hoped maybe the caffeine would help the lightheadedness too.

But no, 1.5 miles from the aid station, and the lightheadedness was not recovering itself. I saw a kaibab squirrel (unique to this area with a giant fluffy tail) for the first time scurry across the road much further down in the direction I was headed. I was definitely woozy because I had to play the game of "did that really happen?" and decided that it indeed had.

I couldn't pinpoint why I was feeling awful. My legs felt awesome. My feet, even with the rougher rocky terrain and my usual issue of being a tenderfoot, felt amazing. No hot spots, no tender points.

I think my body had fought a hard battle ALL. DAY. LONG. It was signaling the white flag, and there wasn't a lot to do to stop it.

Making the Tough Decision

When I pulled into the Stina Aid Station it was manned by two high school students. That's it. Just them. I told them the issues I was having and that I was going to take 5-10 minutes to sit and sip ginger ale and frankly "try to get my shit together." I sat and sipped and talked to Bill who had decided to pull there. It was now getting dark and because I was getting there later than I had hoped, I luckily had a flashlight stashed in my drop bag, but I didn't have any headlamps.

I asked the aid station guy what the situation would be like if I had to drop at this aid station. Would I have to hang out here for hours? "Well, we have no cell service or radio signal here. We have to drive 3+ miles down the road and then TRY to get a signal, then we can radio to get someone to come drive you back to the start/finish."

Okay, wait. I'm at an aid station manned by only two kids. In a race where there are ONLY 50 between the 50 and 100 miler and I'm back-of-the-pack, so there's a handful max of people at this point in the course who may or may not be behind me. It's getting dark in the next hour and I have 12 miles to go on just a flashlight on empty remote forest service road. And if I get a couple miles out and I'm still dizzy and have to come back (my initial plan A when I pulled into the station), they couldn't radio for medical if someone was seriously wrong. And search and rescue would be interesting since no one was being informed of if and when I had checked into this aid station. Guhhhhh-REAT!!!!

I sat for a couple minutes, processing all this. And then I told him I was dropping. I was already off pace to continue past the mile 58 cutoff at this point, and I was seriously uncomfortable about the conditions I just named above.

The Ride of Shame

Once I made the decision, it was maybe an hour and a half until Bill and I were back at the race site. We had to wait for one of the high school guys to drive miles away to radio that two people were dropping. Then the race made the decision that he would drive us to the next aid station 6 miles away, but with how remote this all is, it was a 30 minute drive. I kept my cool through this. I had changed out of my wet outer layers into items from my drop bag at the Stina aid station. I had pushed away the emotions of what was happening.

At the next aid station, we had just arrived and I heard someone call our names. Jo loaded us into her big SUV and we started another bumpy backroad excursion to the start/finish. We chatted with her, what a nice person, and we had been to some of the some races and I knew Aravaipa Running in Arizona well from Javelina Jundred last year. I mentioned that I was eager to get back to the start/finish before I emotionally broke down completely and also I was thinking Jeremy was going to be pretty mad at me. She had actually spent part of the day hanging out with Jeremy so that was a funny further connection. Also, Jo's husband is Kelly, the stud runner I mentioned much earlier in the report with the funny synopsis of those 5 bushwhacked miles.

The Sobbing

Back at the race start/finish site, I thanked Jo and left her vehicle and walked to where pacers and crew were standing around waiting for their runners. Jeremy saw me and yelled, "What are you doing here?" Not in a happy way. I said I had dropped at Stina. "What happened?" he said loudly.

"I don't want to talk about it. I want to go." I turned and walked to the car, and my emotions were crashing down. I was barely keeping it together.

I got to the car, and I sobbed. SOBBED. For a while too. I just lost it. I was frustrated and disappointed, I felt like a wimp and a wuss and any other name you wanted to call me in that second, I felt like I had let down Jeremy as my coach, and then that I had let him down as my friend because now he had come all this way to not get to do 50 miles on that gorgeous course.

Jeremy ran to the portapotties before the long drive back and I continued sobbing in the car. I heard my door open and Jo practically crawled into the passenger side to give me a big hug. I had just met her and she was telling me not to cry and that it was okay. A little prodding and asking me about different foods (my stomach was still not completely over the nausea) and she convinced me to wait while she went and got me a warm flatbread and a cold Coke. I nibbled on that flatbread the whole hour and 15 minute drive back to the hotel.

Shattered Expectations

Jeremy had heard from the fast people their incredulity that the course, which had changed a couple times, was really "only" 6300 ft of vertical gain/loss in 50 miles. I've done some races with climbs so the 6300 felt on the low side to me as well. Many thought it was closer to 8300. (In the end, my Garmin fritzed out royally and I lost all my data which really upset me.) So that would have put it at almost 17000 in a 100 miler. And you add to that the bushwhacking for 5 miles through ancient forest for what was described as "more technical" trail. The rest of the "runnable" trail was still rocky in spots and at times reminded me of Bandera (terrain I don't love). And the heat was supposed to be 65 degrees, not 85 degrees.

Jeremy said a lot of things on the drive back, but one stuck out, besides reassuring me that I needed to stop worrying about disappointing him in not getting to pace. He said this race was just not what we had expected it to be. I picked a beautiful race, but we had agreed on it because it really was tough but manageable - not too hot, not too much altitude, not too much gain, not too technical. In the end, it really wasn't those things. And my body had just had enough. THAT made me feel better.

When I think back, that 38 miles was harder than any 50K or 50M I had finished (15 of them). And I am proud for how I kept moving through obstacle after obstacle presented.

I know I was smart, and being smart sometimes sucks. Nothing, no buckle, is worth making a stupid decision with a husband and two small kids at home. But good gosh if I don't wish I had injured myself in a very physical and apparent way. Something clear cut.

In the end, it was a hard day for many. About a 45% drop rate in the 100 miler.

What's Next?

I don't know. Everything for future planning was basically put on hold for this race, in pursuit of this 100 miles. Within a couple hours of the DNF, I was on the edge of contemplating when to try 100 miles again. And by the next morning (after I had another good cry when my legs and feet felt incredibly good and not sore at all), I was thinking more about the next attempt. A hunger has been awakened to rise up and take on this challenge, and getting to 80 miles at Rocky Raccoon just makes it a more insistent feeling.

But in the meantime, I strained my back two weeks ago during strength training at the end of the sets when I was fatigued and just picked up a 25 lb dumbbell wrong. Maybe that was a good thing ultimately to make me less reactionary coming off this DNF and to settle myself.

I'll be pacing Jennifer for 20 miles at Western States 100 in a few weeks. I have a fun race, the Light at the End of the Tunnel Marathon, where you run 3 miles in an unlit tunnel, outside Seattle in mid-July. Then I have a smattering of road marathons this fall where I may use them as speedwork or to just go enjoy a scenic location (all destination races).

A Complicated Runner Seeks Reset Button

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Wed, 28 May 2014 02:27:00 +0000

I'm a complicated runner. As are most runners I know.

I like hard scenic challenges. A lot of my running is geared towards that. The majority of the time I'm okay with having the gumption to go for something, with not playing it safe, with not always completing races, and with having to make difficult choices (like being smart and DNFing when you fear passing out on the trail and the nearest aid station has no ability to radio for help).

And I feel like all I've done this year is go for the things that are so far from guaranteed, the things that are a big challenge (with often a big reward), the things where the chance of success is small. I don't regret my racing or my choices. But I'm tired. I'm tired of things being so hard.

Prelude: I don't perform well in heat, warm weather with altitude, or full sun. I can be fully hydrated, tracking my urination, and I've learned that my core body temp just goes up quickly when I get warm. Quickly. And then it's an epic battle to keep heat exhaustion at bay when you're already susceptible.

My running year (2014) so far has been

Bandera 50K which was a warm day that was hard on me but a new big course PR too,
Rocky Raccoon 100 miler as my first 100 mile attempt, with a DNF at mile 80 after 30 miles of blisters
Atoka A-OK 25K trail race, which had 19 degree temperatures and snow flurries and recovering dead legs from Rocky
Gorge Waterfalls 100K, where 50% of the field including me DNFed this difficult course with tight time cutoffs
Possum Kingdom 55K, where it got HOT and ended with my longest sub-50 mile race finish ever of over 11 hours
Ouachita 50K, that unexpectedly included bouldering up rocks to the summit of Pinnacle Mountain and was another HOT day
Grand Canyon 100, where I DNFed at mile 38 after heat that was much worse than the usual temperatures that time of year left me lightheaded and exhausted from what felt like an all day battle. At the end of it all, 45% of the field DNFed the 100 miler. I was not alone.

And my difficulties do not mean I haven't been working hard. Look at those races above! I'm not sitting around eating bonbons every week. My miles for the first 5 months of the year are higher than this point last year. And last year was my biggest running year to date.

I know deep down I'm not a weak runner. I know I put in time. I know I keep major injury at bay. I know that I'm a smart runner. But I waver at times in my confidence, and DNFs and hard race days make me feel weak and wimpy and like I'd rather be stupid and play the "death before DNF" game.

I've been here before. Last year. After a strong Deadwood Mickelson Trail Marathon as a training run two weeks before the difficult Bighorn 50K with a proud finish in that event, I felt like this when I DNFed Tahoe Rim Trail 50 Mile from heat exhaustion a month later. My reset button was the fun, low stress, and (RELATIVELY) easy E.T. Full Moon 51K race a few weeks later.

I think I need to hit the reset button again.

I've seen amazing things, taken in beautiful scenery, and had grand adventures. But I'm tired now. I am lost and craving a race where I can have a high chance of success and can take it easy. Running is fun because it's a challenge but running is also fun when you are just out there reveling in being active and moving through the world. Is it wrong to want that too? Why is it so hard for me to balance these things? I'm so often 100% or 0% on something - an intensity I'm known for. You know whether I'm interested or not. I'm rarely so-so on anything.

Time to reset.

2014 Grand Canyon 100 Race Preview

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Thu, 15 May 2014 14:39:00 +0000

Saturday I am attempting to finish 100 miles. My first attempt was back in February, and I timed out in 80 miles after 24 1/2 hours. I didn't really flip the switch to decide to try a 100 miler until sadly my friend Brian took his own life back in October. He had pressed me for over a year to do a 100 miler. It's been over 6 months since his passing, but I think about him from time to time as I've been preparing and training, and I've wondered what he would think and what he would have to say about all this.

So a couple weeks ago, I decided that right before the race, I would do a preview of the upcoming event since it's an inaugural race most runners won't be familiar with, and I'd do it in the style that Brian used to do his race previews on his blog before each one he ran. So here we go...

WHERE ARE WE GOING?
The Kaibab National Forest on a plateau near the North Rim of the Grand Canyon in Arizona. The home to the largest contiguous Ponderosa Pine forest in the United States. The home of *FUN FACT* the Kaibab Squirrel, a funny looking squirrel who is a cool little example of evolution due to geographic isolation.

WHEN?
I leave tonight, the evening of May 15th, for Las Vegas. There's a 4 hour drive on May 16th. The race starts 6 am, May 17th. And I have to finish by 2:00 pm, May 18th.

WHY?
Grand Canyon 100

Finisher Belt Buckle (pic from race's FB page)

NO REALLY, WHY?
Because when I didn't finish the 100 miler at Rocky Raccoon February 1, I didn't sit in my house and cry for a week. I immediately searched out my next chance to go after that finish line again. I wanted my friend Jeremy to pace me again (he was a really great pacer at Rocky), and since he's inconsiderate enough to be doing the Grand Slam of Ultrarunning with 4 100 milers between June and September, he told me my choice was sometime in May or wait until October or later. I didn't want to wait that long so I read up on all the 100 milers in May in the United States, and even in Canada, and chose this one.

A good part of the course goes along the rim of the Grand Canyon! (pic from race's FB page)

Reasons I picked this one of the May options:

I've never been to the Grand Canyon,
it fit my goal of having a scenic race,
I'm excited to try a 2-loop race of 50 miles each loop,
I'm happy I get to have a pacer for the entire last 50 miles (and the timing fit in my pacer's racing schedule)
The weather for this time of year on the plateau is normally lows of 35 overnight and highs of 65 degrees,
The 12,600 feet of gain/loss is hilly but not impossible,
The 32 hour time limit is 2 more hours than I had for Rocky Raccoon.

Start/finish line has an old west feel. They will even put us in one of the cattle holding areas and swing open the gate to start the race! LOL (pic from race's FB page)

Here's the elevation profile of that 12,600 ft of gain/loss:

WHO ELSE IS GOING?

Only 25 other people in the 100 miler. There are another couple dozen in the 50 mile race (1 loop), and another 30 or so in the 50K race that starts an hour after us (shortened loop). There is no one going that I already know. But there is one other person from Texas (from Dallas) who I have mutual friends with, as well as a Utah runner who I also have mutual friends with.

Thankfully, I won't be alone. My good friend Jeremy who helped pace me at Rocky Raccoon is in for this adventure again and gets to pace the whole second 50 mile loop as I move at a glacial pace.

WHAT'S THE FORECAST?

Supposedly, the weather is typically 35-65 degrees over the 32 hours. However, the forecast for this weekend is actually looking much hotter. Highs in the 80s, and overnight lows in the 50s. I am susceptible to heat exhaustion so I'll just have to be careful.

It is just a couple days after the full moon and with clear skies, the stars should be bright and beautiful.

HOW DO WE WIN?

If no one else shows up AND I manage to finish. Ha. Brian was a fast runner. This question made a lot more sense for him than for me. And he measured win by an actual physical win. The "win" for me will be finishing. I've trained, I feel mentally good, I've rested well during taper, I've visualized scenarios and my finish, I've planned out my gear and race execution, and I have a great pacer/crew. Now I just need to go get it done and keep pushing away the worries about the variables that can derail a 100 miler that I CAN'T control.

Why Run 100 Miles?

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Thu, 15 May 2014 01:05:00 +0000

Ultrarunners who pursue running 100 miles at one time all have some sort of screw loose in the head. It's just not an obvious thing to do, so why do we go "Yes, I want to do THAT!!" I think what makes us tick is completely fascinating. So I thought I'd post a little insight on why I have made that jump into being completely crazy and to try to run/walk/crawl for about 32 hours a couple days from now.

Because They Told Me I Couldn't - Pure Defiance

14 years ago I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, I was bedridden, I was dosed up on various drugs, and it was suggested I undergo a series of surgeries to fuse the vertebrae in my back together. The doctor said I would never run (I wasn't a runner back then anyway), and I would probably not walk past the age of 35. I took my health into my own hands and have managed my condition since then. A lot of my drive in running comes from a defiance to all those doctors I saw, some of the best in Dallas, who thought a bedridden life of pain was all I had ahead of me. A piece of me wants to shove it in their faces with every single finish. The "Because I Can" for me is more of a "Because You Said I Couldn't".

Because It Could All Be Gone Tomorrow - Chasing Time

With my condition, I've found keeping an active life keeps the worst of it at bay. Good days lead to more good days, and bad days can quickly spiral into more painful bad days. I still have fibromyalgia flareups a couple times a year. A week of pretty intense overall body pain, it's a reminder of what I don't want to be a norm in my life. With the doctor's prognosis, there's always a piece of me that is racing to keep one step ahead of the monster. It's what sometimes increases my intensity of wanting to do more NOW that I have to fight because trying to do it all right now at this instant is impossible and exhausting. It's what keeps that thought in the back of my mind that this could all be gone someday and possibly someday sooner than those without fibromyalgia since so much is still not known about the condition. I want to do big awesome things like lots of my friends but part of the drive to do it is derived from this.

Because I'm Stronger Than I Thought - The Internal Push

My first attempt at 100 miles had the worst mental pain of my life... no exaggeration. I had serious ultrabrain around mile 72, but even with the overwhelming screaming in my brain of "JUST STOP", I still kept taking one step... and then another... and then another. That completely baffles me. How do we do that? I find myself weirdly excited to get to that mental place again, to be completely amazed at what a body can do even when the mind is not completely on board.

Because It Opens Up a World of Possibilities for People - Reshaping Reality

Even just talking to people, runners and non-runners alike, about the attempt to run 100 miles and what it realistically entails, is interesting because you get to watch the reactions and their body language. And frankly, for a lot of people, it breaks their brain. It's so outside the scope of reasonable possibilities for what a person can do. Sometimes I feel that way about it too. But once they shake off the fact that this just reformed reality for them, there's an interest and appreciation that our bodies and minds are capable of something like that. And the next phase is, well, what else can a person do then? It's amazing to be able to be part of something that can reshape opinions of people and open us all up to an entirely new world of possibilities in our lives.

Because I Like Being An Inspiration of What Average Athletes Can Do

It's one of the things I hear over and over again, and truthfully, I love to hear that I touched someone's life. Who doesn't? The elite fast runners are pretty awesome, but I'm more inspired by the average ultrarunners around me working running into an already full life, balancing families, putting themselves out on a limb for incredible experiences, and focusing on creating gigantic memories. I honestly feel like part of my purpose in this world is to help facilitate running - through running clubs I've headed up, by creating races with finish lines for people to aspire to cross, and by putting that same passion into my running. The 100 for me shows that anyone can dream big, that it's okay to go after things that aren't guaranteed, that's it's okay to enjoy the journey even if there's no finish line, and that you can balance pursuing multiple priorities (running, family, work). This would ultimately be very unfulfilling personally if this was my only reason to want to run 100 miles, but it is definitely one of the reasons.

Because the Mental/Planning Aspects of a 100 Miler is Something I Enjoy

I grew up being the smart nerd kid in school with absolutely no physical abilities at all. One reason I love running is appreciating as an adult that I can do physical things, regardless the fact of whether or not I'm good at them. I'm comfortable with my place in the running world a majority of the time as a back of the packer. But trailrunning, ultrarunning, and as I've discovered, the attempt of running 100 miles, allows me to bring some skills to the party that I feel play to my strengths and skills I enjoy employing. As a mathematician, my ability to step through the logic of a process is a big help. And the mental part of being alone for hours on end, executing a plan, playing games with yourself, is amazing and fun for me.

Because It's Really Neat to Do Something So Few Try

Let's be real. That's just awesome. To do something others can't imagine trying and others won't try. I don't think it's a good enough reason to do one if it's your only reason, but going down the list, yeah, it's there.

Because It's an Efficient and Fun Way to See Some Scenic Locations

I've been intrigued about point-to-point 100 mile races. Can you imagine over 30-45 hours getting to see 100 miles of what is often incredibly scenic terrain?! Seeing it in a way that is often inaccessible by car? While right now my 100 miler attempts (the previous one and upcoming one) were on looped courses, I have a lot of interest in the possibility of getting comfortable enough to do a point-to-point race.

This reason is also just a reason I love trailrunning generally. After really enjoying the location of the Bighorn 50K race, I was also a little sad I hadn't done the 50 miler (not that I feel I was prepared for that). I just know that there's miles of that race course I haven't seen yet. With some 100 mile race courses, the viewpoint is the same.

Because I Love A BIG Challenge and Making Myself Uncomfortable

And 100 miles is definitely a big challenge. I love to see what I'm made of, to teach myself I can be outside my comfort zone, and to achieve something I wasn't sure was possible. I've tried for years now to annually ensure I do something very far outside of my comfort zone. What seems little and insignificant to one person can be a huge leap for another, and these were my leaps:
2009 - Ziplined over waterfalls and through forests in Hawaii (I have a fear of heights)
2010 - Hot air balloon ride in Napa Valley
2011 - My first marathon (San Francisco in July).... and second (Kauai in September).... and third (Chicago in October), and well as my first and second 50Ks two weeks apart (Rocky Raccoon 50K and Wild Hare 50K in November)
2012 - I volunteered in the freakishly cold American River, with water above my waist, in a wetsuit, in the middle of the night for hours at mile 80, the Rucky Chucky, at Western States Endurance Run 100 Miler. I can't swim and am very uncomfortable in the water.
2012 (again) - I ran my first 50 mile race (Run Woodstock in September)
2013 - I think Volcanic 50 was the most uncomfortable experience of that year. With big elevation gains and miles of abrasive lava rock boulder fields, it was a difficult race and completely not like anything else I had tried. In the end, I didn't mind timing out and DNFing after the experience I gained being out there.
2014 - the year of the 100 mile run! I still have a hard time believing I kept moving for 24 1/2 hours and 80 miles back in February.

So Let's Go Have An Adventure!

With all those reasons in the forefront of my mind, I fly out tomorrow for another adventure, chasing down a 100 mile finisher belt buckle! Whether I complete the race or not, there will be vivid memories created, new sights taken in, and an experience that will allow me to keep growing.

Tomorrow I'll post a preview of the inaugural Grand Canyon 100 for those who want to know more about the race.

Climb A Mountain, Get The Miles Done - Ouachita 50K Race Report

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Sun, 27 Apr 2014 21:06:00 +0000

Ouachita 50K was a last minute race week decision as a way to get big weekend miles without the distractions of family and the comforts of home that draw me away from completing my biggest long training runs.

2 weekends before had been the hot, rocky, rolling hills of 11 hours and 34.8 miles at Endurance Buzz's Possum Kingdom 56K. And last weekend was a trip to Tyler State Park for 22 miles of hilly trails on Saturday and pushing through 2 1/2 hours and 11 miles on Sunday. Add big bad multi-hour treadmill hill climb workouts the last two weeks? I'm setting the stage here basically that this was the end of 3 tiring peak training weeks for me. This race was the culmination of a quest for miles and challenging miles and MORE miles. (And yes, I need to go back and write race reports for Gorge Waterfalls and Possum Kingdom races. Some other day.)

My friend Cruz carpooled with me on the 5 hour drive to Little Rock, and we made it in such good time we went ahead and drove to the race site to get our packets.

Cruz, my running partner for this race

There are a lot of wonderful things about this race, but I have to say the women's shirt was particularly awful. It was a pale pink 100% cotton sleeveless top with this neon electric screenprint. The men's shirts were at least a technical running fabric, although the color scheme for them was very loud as well and not at all coordinated to the women's shirt (the men's was bright purple side panels and electric green chest/back).

Ouachita: the 80's called. They want their shirt back.

Race morning we picked up our race bib, which I wish they could have handed out the previous day with the packets but that's a nitpick. Cruz and I wondered if we would need a headlamp for the 6 am start - a pain to carry all day for only needing it for such a short time. But there was just enough pre-dawn light that no one needed a light at the start.

The first and last parts of the race were 2.9 miles each way on blacktop asphalt to access the trail. At a half mile in and at the back of the pack, we suddenly heard loud shouting and the big midpack spanning the road scattered and parted in the middle. As we arrived to the chaos, someone yelled to borrow a phone and another person volunteered theirs. A car was parked in the middle of the road and I thought someone had been hit.

It turns out a car came around a curve very fast and one of the front runners put out his arm waving to the guy to slow down and got hit by the sideview mirror, taking the mirror off the car entirely. But the runner kept going and sounds like he won 2nd overall?! The guy who had stopped to assist was yelling for a phone so he could call the police. The driver was standing outside his car looking annoyed. And I heard a couple guys who had rejoined the run saying one of them had jumped into the car when the driver got out and taken away the guy's keys! A scary start to the event. I'm glad no one was seriously hurt.

Seen on the way to the trailhead

Cruz and I chugged along at a casual pace. Cruz is much faster than me but he wanted to focus the day on time on feet, so what better plan than company for 31.1 miles with a back-of-the-pack edging-on-overtrained runner?! We knew there was a big climb up Pinnacle Mountain coming up at mile 5. We were eager to get on the other side of the 1000 foot ascent to run the marathon that came after it.

Ouachita 50M elevation profile (50K is first 16 miles and last 16 miles shown)

Headed to the mountain

And we had no idea what we had gotten ourselves into. We started the ascent with lots of boulders and rocks here and there, and then some staircase type rocks and up and over that to see what was beyond...

...And it was bouldering. What?! That is not what I thought I signed up for.

Wait, what does the race website say about that section in the course description? "A picturesque climb over Pinnacle Mountain". Well, when I see climb, I'm thinking it's a staircase-like rocky hike up. Not actual down-on-all-fours clinging against rocks because of the steepness. My fault for making assumptions! At least I had done this before, at Volcanic 50 last year, but this had a lot more UP to it although the rocks were smoother, rounder, and much less abrasive than the lava rock.

But here there were spiderwebs often between the boulders, and sometimes I could see spiders. Ewwwww, don't step there; don't put my hand in that crevice!

Looking down on the boulders and also our awesome view

I looked at our pace a couple times during the uphill and it was 43 minutes per mile. Such slow progress. We had some fun with a couple runners behind us as we all joked and laughed our way up the mountain. At least keep up the good attitude!

Just keep climbing!

I managed to get my trail shoe at one point wedged between two rocks. That was interesting. I yelled to Cruz, but 10 seconds of yanking and trying to twist my foot and I managed to free myself. I laughed while it was happening because I really wanted to panic in that moment instead.

We reached the summit, the official photographer was taking pictures, there were a handful of spectators there, and we asked one with a cheering sign to take our picture. I said I would hold her sign while she took our picture, so we just used it to pose for the camera, ha!

"I'm getting OFF this mountain!"

View from the summit

I thought the downhill would be easier, but no. More boulders. And by then I was feeling a little shaky, more nerves than anything else and a lack of trust in my balance and ability to not catch a foot and fall. I kind of eased myself down, sometimes sitting and scooting my butt down to the next giant boulder.

Balancing act coming down from the summit

Slowly making progress

I was happy we were past that and could now just run. Except for all the rocks constantly strewn across the trail. Between not wanting to get injured (like a bruised arch from landing on a rock or a strained hamstring from catching yourself in a stumble) and wanting to avoid a fall before my next goal race, I admit I stayed very timid on the trails here. But throughout I mustered a decent run whenever we had a less rocky section. However, I also kept just having the feeling I wanted to take a nap the whole race. I was eating calories at the aid station and Honey Stinger chews inbetween, but I think I was so worn out from 3 weeks of hard training that nothing could get me over that hump.

About 7 miles in, all of a sudden a beautiful big golden retriever with a bandanna came bounding along the trail towards us. Not another person in sight. We had another runner with us but I was leading our group of 3. As the dog approached I braced and YELLED "NO!" at the top of my lungs. You can never be too sure of what dogs will be aggressive even if they look like big cuddlebugs. The dog stopped, shocked, and headed off in another direction. No clue where his owner was.

A few miles after the mountain climb, we did a short spurt on a highway with a view back at Pinnacle Mountain

We crossed a beautiful old iron bridge along the way.

The course is out-and-back except for the mountain climb at the beginning. By mile 10 the temperature was starting to rise. At some undisclosed mileage after that, we discovered the "Double Secret" Aid Station hosted by the Little Rock Hash House Harriers!

This was awesome since this was going to be a 6.3 mile split between aid stations each way. It really helped break up the distance. Of course, as hashers, they had Pabst Blue Ribbon beer to offer everyone as they came by. I said, "Um, maybe on the way back." But nope, I never did try it.

By the time we got to the turnaround at mile 16.9 (not exactly halfway since the course differs out and back by the mountain climb we did on the way out), it was getting hot. Temperatures would hit mid 80s without a cloud in the sky and peak heat about an hour before our race finish. The Northshore aid station at the turnaround was wonderful and friendly. Those people were all smiles. I stuffed my sports bra full of ice and put a full cup into my buff which I put over my head. I would do that at all the aid stations into the finish after that one.

Small sections were in full sun and I was melting in it. And in the trees, the sun would peek through but it wasn't awful as long as the breeze was lightly blowing. Each time we went through some time with no breeze, I would finally say, "Ugh, where did that breeze go?", and the breeze would start back up! It happened 5-6 times, and Cruz joked I had curried favor with the gods.

6 miles from the finish I started getting pretty overheated and nauseous. I slowly sipped water and when we got to the aid station in the shady woods 4 miles out, I said I needed to take the time to lower my core body temperature. I get overheated so easily, even though my drinking was frequent and spot on all day. While a frequent cause of heat exhaustion is dehydration, it is not the only cause, contrary to popular belief. Some people are just susceptible to the rise in core body temp that results in heat exhaustion if left unchecked.

So at the aid station, we filled my sports bra and the buff on my head with ice, and I sat in a chair sipping icy Coca Cola. I untied my shoes, pulled up the socks a bit, and tightened and retied the laces while I sat. The tremor in my left foot while I did this was going crazy. This was my first race since being diagnosed with the essential tremor, which is exacerbated in fatiguing conditions. I teared up a little as I retied my shoes because the shake was so bad that it was terribly annoying and distracting, and I didn't really need another thing going on with me in that moment, along with the full realization that this will have to be managed at most ultras from now on.

I had already started adjusting my process at each aid station after I spilled water trying to refill my pack a few aid stations in when my hand was shaking as I tried to close the top of the hydration bladder. I started asking volunteers to help me with the hydration pack bladder and refilling process, or to pour the coke into a cup for me if they didn't jump to offer to do it for me. Everyone is so accommodating that no one questioned it. I was thankful for the help. Again, always manageable, but I have to think through those things more now.

The final 3 miles were back on the blacktop asphalt we went out on at the start of the race. It was unshaded and rolling hills with little to no shoulder. And unfortunately lots of two way resident and recreational park area traffic. Not everyone did the greatest job of handling runners hugging the white line of the edge of the road. Some were awesome; they slowed and put on their hazard lights and then moved into the other lane once opposing traffic passed. Some came within a foot or two and didn't slow. Or worse, they sped up.

Melting in the sun, moving along with our new friend Susan

I told Cruz I thought I was going to spontaneously combust. That I was boiling from the inside out. I was feeling so nauseous now and had slowed to a very slow-paced little run as my top priority was keeping my stomach contents where they belonged. Occasionally I would stop and turn to the side and dry heave for a second. The rest of the time I breathed through it to keep my stomach in check.

Cruz and I finally made it to that finish line in 10 hours and 2 minutes. We collected our nice handmade finisher medal from the race director, Chrissy Ferguson.

This race was a great learning experience with

doing the mountain climb early in a race,
handling the rocky conditions when I have repeatedly said how much this tenderfoot hates rocks,
practicing more with keeping heat exhaustion at bay, and
gettingsome serious time on feet for another weekend in a row.

One big positive too was feeling like my legs and feet held up well between the running, walking on rocks, and climbing. Although as usual, my feet felt pulverized. No blisters though!

And now, I get to taper. 3 weeks of tapering to be exact. Lower mileage, clean eating, lots of resting, mental prep, and packing. I have been looking forward to this all week. That's how I know I worked hard recently!

* Several of these pictures were contributed by Cruz Pitre. Happy to have a fast runner to hang out with because he could take stop and take a bunch of pictures and then easily catch up to me! *

The Best of the Worst Possible Diagnoses

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Thu, 17 Apr 2014 01:59:00 +0000

So for a little while, I've been having hand and foot/leg tremors. But when "the shakes" started getting worse and worse, I finally headed to the doctor. The waiting game was scarier than I had expected the last couple weeks. But I finally have answers and was given the best of the worst possible diagnoses, and I'm actually celebrating that. I'll have to deal with this my whole life, but it will be able to be managed. The story was longer than a reasonable Facebook status so I thought I'd just share the journey out here.

Development

At first I thought maybe this started after the 80 miles I ran at Rocky Raccoon 100 a couple months ago. But I can think back to an instance of a leg tremor a year ago. And then the day before Rocky Raccoon 100 in early February, my friend Tony asked if I was nervous when my hand shook trying to take a race site picture. "No, it just does that sometimes."

After Rocky Raccoon 100, I was exhausted, and then a lot of things happened that all added to stress and lack of sleep. The one most notable item being producing the Fairview Half Marathon - that requires a lot of work and attention.

The hand and leg tremors would come and go, but they were getting to be bigger and more frequent. During the family's spring break vacation, I expressed to Steve some serious concern and wondered if I should get it checked out.

The next weekend I was in Portland for a race with friends and was able to show Lesley, Jeremy, and Sara what was happening when we went to dinner and my hand that held the fork shook very noticeably. They all agreed it was time to call a doctor.

Labs, Appointments, and Tests

My family doctor said we would first see if it was thyroid or B12 deficiency, both of which could cause tremors. 6 vials of blood and 24 hours later, nope. All that looked clear, so it was time to see a neurologist.

By the time I got to the neurologist, living with this apparent tremor had become really interesting. One morning, I struggled to put in one of my contacts because of the shaking. The neurologist took me through about 35 minutes of different neurological and motor skill tests. It was draining. Interestingly, after a long series of hand and finger movements and actions and tests, my left leg that was hanging off the exam table started trembling. Fatigue brings on the tremor quickly and forcefully.

In the end, the fact that my tremor was highly asymmetric (mostly my left side) concerned him. Time for a brain MRI. He was looking for the possibility of Parkinson's Disease, Multiple Sclerosis, or the option that I had an issue with my brain structure that was actually dampening the tremor on the right side and creating asymmetry. If that was all negative, I was left with what's called a benign essential tremor - the progressive shakes without other debilitating symptoms.

While the doctor wasn't an ultrarunner and thought running long distances was crazy with or without my symptoms, he gave me the go-ahead to run the Endurance Buzz Adventures Possum Kingdom 56K trail race the next day (April 12) and to keep planning for my next 100 mile race in May.

I did the brain MRI on Monday which was uncomfortable with my claustrophobia as I spent 30 minutes in a tiny tube with the loudest sounds ever blasting all around me, closing in on my tiny world. But the waiting game after was worse.

Imagine waiting for something but with the on and off again noticeable symptoms of the problem. Constant reminder. And every possibility except for the essential tremor was very scary. A rough couple days since the MRI!

Diagnosis

The doctor's office called this afternoon, and my MRI scan didn't show the anomalies he was watching for so he has ruled my condition an essential tremor. As the doc explained it, an essential tremor is still an incurable progressive neurological disease. Not much is known about why the brain might send overcharged electric signals to some of the muscles. It is also not known how quickly it will progress or how far it will progress.

All they can do is manage the symptoms as it gets worse. When the symptoms are more than I want to deal with in my daily life, there are two kinds of medicine they use to try to manage the symptoms. One is blood pressure medicines, which the doctor expressed hesitancy with since I have a great low pulse as a runner and really awesomely perfect blood pressure. And personally, messing with the heart and blood flow is not something that sounds great. Then, the doctor said the other option was anti-seizure meds but he wasn't crazy about that plan either.

If it progresses at some point that medicine can't contain the symptoms, there are brain surgery options to try to dull or eliminate the symptoms.

Where Do I Go From Here?

So for now, I'll just deal. I had gone back on caffeine for a few weeks leading up to Fairview Half and since that can make it worse, I'm cutting that back out. I was also told to really work to manage my stress level and get sleep when I can. While awaiting the diagnosis, Steve, Jeremy, and I were all proceeding with making plans for my next 100 mile race since I was given the okay by the neurologist. The tremors might be worse late in the race with the combo of cold, adrenaline, caffeine, fatigue, and lack of sleep, but there's nothing to indicate it's unhealthy or unsafe, just that it may be a bigger annoyance or very uncomfortable.

In the meantime, don't ask me to pour drinks, carry your very full beverage glass, or ask me to take our group selfie (at least if you don't want it to be blurry). And the rest we'll figure out as we go!

After the scary possibilities and grieving my circumstances off and on the last couple weeks, I'm in a good attitude about this diagnosis and glad I did a good job of not putting my life on hold.

Let's Go DNF A Race!

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Wed, 26 Mar 2014 18:26:00 +0000

This is not a sandbagging post. This is not a pessimistic post. This is a REALISTIC post. I'm going to a race this weekend to DNF (term means "Did Not Finish"). It's not a maybe, it's a definitely. If it was a goal race that had been all of my focus for the last 6 months, the story would be different. But that's not really where I slotted this race in my life, instead focusing on my first 100 miler attempt 2 months ago, so you accept what comes with those choices.

Gorge Waterfalls 100K is this weekend. I've run the 50K before, two years ago, but I really wanted to go and see how far I could get on this other course. So I signed up back in December, knowing fully well I also didn't know how Rocky Raccoon 100 would go at the beginning of February. And that I didn't know how I would feel after.

How has life been on the other side of my first time running for over 24 hours? Tiring. Stressful. Like a half inflated soccer ball. Drop me, and I thud down onto one flat side. I've not recovered fast from that race. And I've been pulled in a couple directions being 100% in when I need to be with my family and being 100% in for my participants when I need to be for the races I produce.

My last two runs a couple days ago were the first time I didn't feel like a heavy weight was part of me while I ran. And I felt fine afterward. So I'm finally coming back.

But Gorge Waterfalls has TIGHT time cutoffs for my back of the pack pace. The 100K is a 16 hour cutoff. I've known about it all along, and I'm grateful Race Director James agreed to do his incremental cutoffs based on consistent splits rather than positive splits. Why even look at the race? Because James puts on stellar races, although yes, races for fast people. Because this race course is still my favorite course I've run.

16 hour 100k cutoff means an 8 hour cutoff for 50K. I finished the 50K out there in 2012 in 8:30. I've only had one trail 50K faster than 8 hours, at a much easier race. My 50K split at Rocky Raccoon 100 was about 7:45, but again, that course is much faster for me than Gorge will be.

Add in a 1500 ft climb and then descent at mile 3.

Add in technical terrain.

Add in a 4 am start with 3 hours in the dark. Add in incremental cutoffs. Add in wet weather in Portland all week and potentially race day on Sunday.

So my plan? Yes, DNF.

But my hope?

To get through the incremental cutoff at mile 5.9.
To get through the incremental cutoff at mile 12.9.
And to get through the incremental cutoff at mile 21.8. A 15:30 pace through all that. I can do that at a hard racing pace if everything goes great. If things don't go great, I'll be pulled earlier than mile 21.8.
So I'm going there to plan to race my heart out to mile 21.8, then hope and pray to hold on enough to the turnaround at 50K in. I would really like to see all the course one-way.

I considered not going to the race, especially with the stress and lack of sleep for directing my next race one week later. But for one thing, I committed to friends, verbally and financially, to go. For another thing, I keep reminding myself that any mile on the trail is a good thing. Whether it's 6 miles, 13 miles, 22 miles, 31 miles, or more. It's hard to keep coming back there at times.

So let's go see some freaking amazing waterfalls and a beautiful course! And let's go DNF a race!

The Good and Bad of Syllamo

noreply@blogger.com (Libby Jones) — Sun, 16 Mar 2014 01:05:00 +0000

Sometimes things don't go according to plan. And that's okay. But when the reality wasn't even in your scope of possibilities, it's kinda heartbreaking.

I decided early race week to go to the 3 Days of Syllamo race in far northern Arkansas. Day 1 is a 50K, Day 2 a 50 mile, and Day 3 a 20K, all on these remote trails in the mountains. I knew it was a hard race. I didn't know how hard. Or that my race would end sooner than I would like.

View one direction at a high cliff at mile 7

The Plan / The Trip

My plan was to do Days 1 and 3 of the race (so 31.1 + 12.4 miles). I committed in advance of a friend (who ended up not being able to go ultimately) so I reserved a nice big cabin that I had all to myself. I'd never done anything close to "roughin' it" so this is now the closest I've gotten to that.

My Cabin

Pretty view

Pump house number 11 cabin... with prop

It was a 7 hour drive to Mountain View, Arkansas. Uneventful - for some reason, running long distances has also made me an awesome roadtripper (time is relative!).

I went to packet pickup Thursday night and met a couple folks from Kansas City.

Packet pickup

Then, dinner and bed. Oh, but not before a complete freakout about getting lost on the course. This race was notorious about people getting lost, especially on Day 1. And packet pickup confirmed there were about 50 people running Day 1. And I knew a couple people were lost last year until about 9:30 at night. And I knew there was no cell service at the race site. And and and... More on that in a minute.

Race Morning

I got there super early and hung out in the car until trail briefing time 5 minutes before the start. You could see everyone else was equally freaked out about getting lost. A detailed conversation from the race director about the trail markings and questions from everyone there with lots of chitter-chatter amongst the participants. Melissa Linan then tells me a few years ago someone was lost for 2 days... they had to cancel the Sunday race for search and rescue efforts. Great, now I'm really freaking out.

Summing Up This Race

I thought about going through this race as I usually do, mile by mile, memory by memory. But instead, I'm going to focus on the huge recurring stressors in this race:

Course Marking
Terrain / Elevation Gain
Time Cutoffs

Course Marking

It was as bad as everyone warned. In 20 miles, there were MAYBE 50-70 TOTAL flaggings. We're definitely spoiled with Tejas Trails races where confidence markers are everywhere. But this was the essence of minimal. You could go MILES without a marker.

If you are slow, you don't have the luxury of going off -course. Those incremental cutoffs (tied to an ultimate 9 hour cutoff at the finish) will get you. I knew this. I knew I *had* to stay on course.

The only marker you would get was an intersection and even then, it would not always be crystal clear which way you were supposed to go. Is that a trail? Or a deer trail? Or a rain washout area? Oh, and they've had leaf fall through this forest, so the whole course is like a Magic Eye picture. If you aren't looking at it at the right angle, you can't see the trail at all. It just looks like a leaf-strewn forest.

Find the trail here... I dare ya! It's not easy.

Luckily, experience on my side, I had gone through that at training at Isle Du Bois in the fall, and pacing at Ozark Trail 100. That gave me some confidence.

What didn't give me confidence?

Aid station at mile 4.5 when the volunteer says, "There's a bunch of intersections on this loop. Pay close attention to the markers."
Mile 5 when we're out on a loop that reconnects us at mile 9 to the aid station we just left at mile 4.5. And two guys are running TOWARD me. The guy in front sees my look of panic and yells "Wait. Don't worry. We accidentally did the loop backwards."
Mile 5.5 when Darcy Africa, yes, one of the fastest women in the US, Darcy Africa, came up behind me, yells a Hi, passes, and says she got lost for a few miles. I yelled that it must feel good to be back on the course. And then I panic. People are seriously getting lost if I'm in front of Darcy this far into a race.
Mile 10 when another gal caught me and sped by.
Mile 12 when a guy named Ben catches me and had lost 2.5 miles to the course so far. And he had run the race before.
When you are constantly checking the ground for the occasional soft forest soil spots between the rocks and roots, to make sure running shoes had been there before you.

I knew I couldn't afford to get lost. So any possible intersection I would pass and do a 360 degree check of the area to make sure I headed the right way. That's a lot of lost time, but not as much time as getting lost.

Terrain / Elevation Gain

I knew this would be the most gain I'd had in such a short span. Gorge Waterfalls 50K was about 6500 ft gain. This was to be 7000 ft. And this was more rolling than Gorge's two big climbs plus some extra.

It wasn't that it was rolling hills - it was that it was rolling hills on rocky terrain + under-utilized trail. The terrain was rockier than I expected. The rock spacing was nice that it was still very runnable. But my feet were constantly landing on a rock.

Look down and I miss the potential first trail marker I've seen in miles. Look up and I miss a rock and fall. These are great options.

And that under-utilized trail part? It meant that I had to laugh about Bandera, the ultra termed "the trail that bites". Screw sotol cactus, because the trails of Syllamo bite. With what? With the overgrown branches, brambles, and briars. I have the ripped/pulled sleeve of a shirt (which a volunteer used manicure scissors to cut the 6 inch fabric pull off at mile 4.5) and the welts on my legs to prove it.

Well, this was my first big miles back since the 80 miles at Rocky Raccoon 6 weeks ago, and I could feel it. I kept the pace conservative once I saw what the terrain was.

By the way, there were three creek crossings in miles 13-15. Not the minor crossings of multiple times before and after that. These were 50 feet across, almost knee deep crossings. And the first one? Slickrock under the water. I actually slipped and had to submerge both arms, and handheld water bottle, into the water down to touch the rock to keep myself from falling. The next couple crossings were pebbles plus sandy shore so way easier. All creeks were about 40 degrees (according to the race director) from the big ice/sleet they had recently received. And they numbed my feet!

But the constant rocks did a number on me. Something around mile 16 happened and I headed downhill (figuratively) with pain in my left arch. While this is the leg that has dealt with plantar fasciitis off and on, I'm in maintenance phase with that. I see a sports chiro regularly, stretch as often as I can remember, and I'm cleared for all running. So I think the rigidity with all the old trauma / scarring on that arch plus that terrain means I suffered some sort of contusion or trauma on a rock. I was fine - I was fine - then between miles 15-17 I turned from fine into favoring my right foot and wincing off and on from sharp pain in my left foot.

Plantar fasciitis doesn't ever hurt me DURING the run, just late in the day sometimes and first when I wake up (so I do ankle rolling before I jump out of bed to prevent more micro-tears). This isn't like that. It hurt like TRAUMA. (And the day after, it feels like a bad bruise. I want the doctor to confirm before I get back to running of course though.)

Which at mile 19.5 meant that I missed the last incremental cutoff before the finish by 5 minutes. Sigh. Even if I had made the cutoff, the right thing to do with my foot was to drop to be completely honest.

Cool rock wall we ran against...

...that led to this neat rock staircase. Note I was too busy trying to
avoid cutoffs to get a ton of pics of the constant rocky terrain.

Time Cutoffs

Constantly calculating splits. Fun times. I was consistent through mile 15. Recalculate by how much my Garmin has been off from the aid station splits. Okay, still on a 16:30ish pace. I need sub around-17:10 pace to make all the cutoffs.

Until my pace degrades as my left foot hurts terribly. And I watch that "oh, good, I have 30 seconds per mile over 15 miles to spread over the next 15 miles" fade into oblivion.

Even funnier is watching the faster people pass me and not be worried about cutoffs even when they had lost 2.5 miles to the trail markers.

I hadn't expected the terrain of this trail. My fault. Most of my 50Ks have been under 9 hours (the cutoff). However, I also did a 9:30 at Bighorn and a 9:52 my first year of Bandera. Technicality slows me down significantly anyway.

So when I came wincing into mile 19.5, the fellow said "What do you need?" And I said, "I didn't make time cutoff." I had known it was coming for 2 miles. It dominated my thoughts. He said, "Huh?" And looked at his watch. Sure enough, I was his first to not make cutoff so he didn't even know the time had passed.

I can't fully elaborate on the stress that comes with fighting closely against time cutoffs. And at least I'm used to it. For being a stage race, Race Director Steve Kirk is kinder on his cutoffs than the race director for the Chattanooga Stage Races (been there, done that, have the DNF to show for it).

To Summarize... The Good and Bad of Syllamo

First, to get it out of the way, the bad:

I didn't finish a race I never intended to DNF... and this DNF came without blood spurts (North Face New York) or hallucinations (Tahoe Rim Trail) or anything fun to characterize it. Something got screwed up in my foot and I lost time and I lost too much time.
I would have emotionally loved to have finished this race. I timed out and DNFed Rocky Raccoon 100 6 weeks ago, and I am fully aware that the tight time limit of 16 hours for the 12000-ft gain Gorge Waterfalls 100K in 2 weeks will result in a DNF somewhere along the course. I wanted a finish here.

And then, to refocus, the good:

I proved to myself that trail experience does pay off. I never got lost on the trail when others did. I got into the race and said, "Oh, this is Ozark Trail or Isle Du Bois" and I knew what to do.
I chose to loose small amounts of time in multiple moments wayfinding course markers, over 30 minutes of time lost on a trail that wasn't part of the race.
I stomped across multiple significant creek crossings. My lube job on my feet worked great. I handled soggy heavy freezing cold feet until my feet warmth dried the socks again. My shoes were still wet the morning after (note for stage races: pack multiple trail shoes!)
I kept moving until I got to a cutoff. And in reality, I'm glad for the cutoff because I needed to stop and otherwise I would have probably kept going and seriously injured myself.
A huge experience that will aid me in the future.
Stunning scenery like here at mile 7 where we hit a high point over the White River.

View looking back at mile 7 on a cliff

Next Up:

Gorge Waterfalls 100K in 2 weeks. I'm happy because I get to enjoy a weekend with Lesley and Jeremy, running one of my favorite races (when I ran the 50K) ever. I'm upset that I know I can't finish it. It's an awesome thing to qualify for Western States and for many 100Ks that means finishing in under 16 hours. James (the Race Director) has such a strict cutoff for the whole race that it's, yes, 16 hours. For 12000 ft of gain and loss. It's a bear of a race. And James wouldn't do it any other way. He makes tough races, and none of us mind that. But I go into it hoping to get through the turnaround at mile 31 so I'll have seen the whole out-and-back course all of one way, and then try to make it as far as I can back before I get caught up in an incremental time cutoff.

I'm going to try hard to continue focusing on the beauty of Gorge Waterfalls and not the likely DNF.

Keep running happy!