Tribulations of the Trail

Pre-Race: SM100 Part 2

2010-09-02T10:36:00.000-07:00

So I have gotten a little bit farther on this "race plan" business. I have decided where to put my drop bags, I think, yes I have: at checkpoints 2/6 and 5. I don't actually think it really matters that much, because all I really see putting in them is my drink mix. It really seems that the aid stations will have everything else I could need. I struggled with what to put in my drop bag for the Stoopid 50, and ended up filling it with random stuff because I felt like I needed to put something in it. The only thing I really ended up wanting, and didn't have, was my own drink mix. I will of course put my light in my bag at 5. I am really hoping not to need it, but I would rather have it and not need it than not have it at all of course.

I never really understood the people that were insistent on trying to drink all of their calories and eat nothing during a race. However, I seem to be turning into one of these people, but not by choice. I just don't seem to want food during rides and races. My reliance on powered stuff, gels, and bars goes completely against my quest for an entirely whole foods diet, but it just works so well and is easy to carry and all that. So oh well. Another day of existing entirely on sugar.

I am convinced that someday a study will come out saying that drinking Gatorade for 12 hours isn't exactly healthy, but I can't really take my string bean and ham soup, that I am about to eat here at my desk, on a ride with me anyway. I have tried potatoes, but compared to a PowerBar, they just take up too much pocket real estate for the caloric value. I have also tried Dr. Allen Lim's rice cake recipe, which is really quite fantastic, but I'm not sure if I will make the time for that (even though it doesn't take very long). However, the more I sit here and think about it, the more I feel that I might want some rice cakes. Possible addition to the drop bag.

So my food plan is fairly simple, but simple is hard to mess up. Now all that is left is figuring out what assortment of warm clothes I might need for the morning (I am a wimp for cold), and fretting over if I really trained enough or not and if a 6.5 hour long ride 4 weeks ago was really enough before starting to back off the endurance work. But I think I am done caring about that, and the warm clothes will probably just involve me packing everything and deciding that morning. I should probably be more concerned that I don't have a sleeping bag and that it might be in the 40's at night. Hard to think about that when it is over 90 out right now.

Pre-Race: SM100 Part 1

2010-08-31T13:02:00.000-07:00

It is time for me to channel my inner Type-A over achiever triathlete and write a race plan for the Shenandoah 100. Mostly, because every race I have done in the past year or so, I have found a way to be somehow unprepared at race start by over looking something critical. I have arrived at triathlon swim starts without my wetsuit, nearly forgotten money to pay for races, and have been generally unprepared for rain. So this time, I am trying to think ahead a bit more.

The first thing I managed to think ahead on was sleeping on the ground. After my last two camping trips of barely sleeping, I decided that there is no way I can sleep on the ground all weekend without some significant change to my gear. So I finally broke down and bought a self-inflating Thermarest mat. I even threatened to practice sleeping on it at night, figuring that my new inability to sleep on the ground must have something to do with my sleeping technique. I have not yet done that, but I have been using my new Thermarest camping pillow that I only justified buying because it was on sale. Turns out, it was worth the $12 because it is the most comfortable pillow I own. Maybe that just means I need new pillows. Anyway, at least I know that my head will be comfortable the night before the race.

I don't think my bike was this clean when I bought it.

The next thing I managed to think ahead on was making sure my bike was ready to go. This has had mixed results. I bought a new saddle, took it in for a tune up, bought some new grips...and then decided to check on my tubeless tires. I got the tune up done early, but attempted the tires a little on the late side. The sealant was definitely dried up inside, but I also definitely needed an air compressor to get them back on. Which I did not have. I witnessed my boyfriend set his up with a floor pump, so I assumed that I could do the same. Turns out, I was wrong. So days before the race and my bike is back in the shop. Perfect.

Next on my to-do list is actually figuring out everything I am going to eat, and what I am going to put in my drop bags, and where I am going to put them. This is really where the race plan part comes in, because my pacing plan is simple: don't kill myself and just keep going.

Fair Hill Classic

2010-08-06T12:27:00.000-07:00

This time, I thought, I won't let everyone pass me right at the start. I'll try to maintain a decent spot...or any spot that isn't last or second to last. I tried to start out a little harder than usual, trying to convince myself that I was better than the people behind me. I didn't really believe myself, and after not very much time on the single track, I had let what seemed the like entire 35 and under Sport class pass me. Shortly after that, the 35 and over Sport women came blazing by me as well. Every time I thought I must be last, another person passed me. The most annoying person who passed me was a women who yelled as she passed "What are you?" What am I? What does that even mean? I thought for a second and said "sport?" I figured she could tell I was a woman. This seemed to answer her question, and after passing me in a hurry, she promptly slowed down to about the speed I was going.

I spent about half the next several miles stressing about being last, and trying to tell myself just to enjoy the ride. In my head, I was plotting out my letter to the Bike Lane telling them how I am not as fast as maybe they thought, and that they can in fact kick me off the team with no worries. I also devised a letter in my head to the guys that made me think I could be fast in the first place, basically telling them that they were wrong, and when we ride together, that I must be farther behind them than they realize.

Eventually, I started really forgetting about being last, and started to really just have fun riding. Around mile 15 of 20, we came out of the woods and turned up a long, hot, grassy hill. Everyone was slowly grinding up and some people were even walking. I think that may have been where I had my turning point: the point where I realized that everyone else was getting tired and I wasn't. I picked it up on that hill, passing several people, including some women.

Knowing that there were only 5 miles left, and that I may not be as far behind as I thought, I started summoning my end of ride cycling motivation--most often used at the end of road rides when I am (1) clinging on the much faster wheel in front of me so I don't have to get back on my own, (2) trying to catch up to my boyfriend who dropped me AGAIN at the end of a ride, or (3) just really trying to get the ride over as quickly as possible. This caught me up to a few more women, most notably, one who took off in second place at the start. Around the last turn to the end down a gravel road, I took advantage of a draft from a pretty big guy and passed one more woman as we flew into the finish.

Somehow, I snagged 4th place. After a second to last and a last place Sport class finish at Wakefield in the previous weeks, my goal was simply to not to be last, and I was not last by several places. I was pretty ecstatic. I was even pretty ecstatic before I learned that I came in 4th because I finished the race better than I had started.

Really, I think I am just too consistent for my own good. I lack a faster speed to use in shorter races, and I can only ride as fast as my poor cornering will allow. However, I am still going the same speed when everyone else is slowing down. I guess that I just need to do longer races...

12 Hours of Cranky Monkey

2010-07-09T14:11:00.000-07:00

I was nervous. I hate to admit it, but even the smallest mountain bike races seem to make me nervous, I guess because I have barely been doing these things for a month. As the raced neared, the enormity of it began to dawn upon me. This was a 12 hour race that I decided to do a week ago. I was responsible for half of it, as I would be alternating laps with my teammate. I can handle 6 hours of riding, but 6 hours spread out over 12? Not sure how that was going to work out. But I would soon find out.

As we arrived in the pit area of the race site, some pretty fancy set ups were starting to take shape. Pop up tents, real tents, grills, lounge chairs, bike stands, tables, and people driving up in large trucks, SUVs and vans. We were the only ones to arrive in a MINI Cooper and rig up a backpacking tarp.

My teammate, Jared, rode the first lap. Good thing, because I probably would have let everyone pass me. When it was time for my lap, I was in place with all the fast guys and fast guys teammates because Jared is just too fast. That resulted in me getting passed a lot, and doing my first lap a little faster than what was probably best, and me getting a little stressed out.

Between laps it was HOT. It was already HOT and it was only 10:00. I already completely lost my appetite, and I was already dehydrated. Not looking to be a good day. By my third lap I was sure I was done. I thought about how I was going to totally let Jared down, making him finish the race on his own. I had a headache since lap two and it pounded over every bump in the trail. I figured I could squeeze out one more bad lap, but it wouldn’t be pretty. We were planning on 11, me doing 5 and him 6, so if I at least did 4 I wouldn’t be a complete failure, if I could even do 4. I thought about the people doing the solo race and wondered how I could be such a baby, and I pictured Jared looking at his watch wondering what was taking so long, and suddenly doubting my worthiness as a teammate. Finally I returned, and as I gave him our timing chip, I expressed my feelings of death and trudged back to the tarp to stew in the heat.

However, when I got back to the tarp some marvelous things began to occur. The school behind our tarp was starting to produce some shade, shade that was much cooler than what was under the tarp. I changed out of my wet clothes, finally got out one of my two frozen water bottles, drank the entire bottle, and for the first time washed off my arms and legs with the nearby cold hose water. I was a new person. I scarfed down what food I could (still not hungry), took some ibuprofen for my headache (didn’t want to but couldn’t avoid it), fixed my squealing brake pads, changed back into riding clothes, and scurried back to transition. I told Jared that I felt better, we chatted for a bit, and I was off.

Up to this point we were neck and neck with another co-ed duo team. Jared was faster than their guy, but I was slower than their girl. She had actually passed me in the exact same spot on my last two laps, and before our next lap, she declared that the race was on. This time, however, she did not catch me. Lap 4 was like a different world, I felt like my time was so much faster that I was worried Jared would not be at transition if he was going off of my terrible Lap 3 time. Being one of the most prepared people I know, he was of course there. We had officially opened the gap. The next lap was a similar story, with us gaining a few more minutes, thanks again to a frozen water bottle and a hose. I was not exactly going faster, I was going about the same (except for Lap 3 of death), but as results would later prove, she got a bit slower with each lap. As Jared went off for his 6th and our 11th lap, I knew we secured 2nd place. Turns out, he really didn’t need the 6th lap, we would have gotten second with 10, but 11 looks WAY cooler.

I will not even mention the people who beat us...ok I will. They were insanely fast. 13 laps. I didn’t even think that was possible. Apparently, the girl on their team is going pro. Hopefully, that means that next year she will be doing a fancier race and I will not have to race her...or ride really far behind her. I don’t think you can even call me and her racing.

As the pain of enduring the day subsided, and we sat and had a beer, and then went on to the awards as the sun went down, I started to realize that it was a really fun day. And as I could barely walk up the hill for a bagel the next morning because every part of my body hurt, I started to think how I was glad that I only had to wait three more days for my next race. This mountain bike racing stuff seems to be highly addictive.

Rock Soup: The Stoopid 50

2010-06-22T20:29:00.000-07:00

Today's special: Rock Soup. Our Rock Soup is made of various sizes and shapes of never ending rocks, bathed in a delightful mud broth. Our lovely soup is severed to all types of mountain bikers that enjoy visiting the Rothrock State Forest. If you are lucky, your Rock Soup may even be served with a face-full of azalea bushes.

I do not know why I was surprised when it started to rain. I lived in State College for four years and carried an umbrella with me every single day because I knew that on any given day, rain was a possibility. Not only was it a possibility, but it was likely. I actually have specific memories of sudden showers. One was so torrential, that I arrived to work with my corduroys completely soaked up to the top of my legs to where my jacket started, even with an umbrella. I think maybe my head stayed dry, but that was it. Once in the summer I just gave in to the downpour and walked home barefoot in the pouring rain, and on 4th July I watched the fireworks outside of my apartment building with my friends in the rain while singing patriotic songs. We were, in fact, singing in the rain. I do not think that any other 4-year span of my life resulted in so many "rain" memories. So again, I am not sure why I was surprised when it started to rain.

Maybe I wasn't surprised, but instead it was the realization that yes, this race was going to be every bit as hard as I expected and perhaps more. I had ridden most of the single track sections two weeks before. I considered to to be just on the edge of my ability level. It was a challenge, but very doable, and still fun. I did not factor in, however, if it rained. Which would potentially make it just enough more difficult, to be completely out of my range of technical skills. Sometimes, I hate to admit, I do not think things through fully. Like when I majored in architecture, and then part way into my freshman year I remembered that I did not like drawing buildings. Opps, oh well. At lest I didn't shoot down a hill head first into a tree because of that one.

By the end of the race, I felt like I had been placed in a can with rocks and shaken around for an entire day. All that and I didn't even finish the stoopid race. I was "sort of" cut off. "Sort of" because as I approached the road crossing before the last section of single track, the volunteers stationed there informed me how many miles and how much time I had to reach the aid station before the cut off. Since the math didn't quite add up, I took the short cut back to the aid station, expecting them to be really cutting people off at the cut off time.

Turns out they were being pretty liberal about it. Being used to triathlon and road race rules, I was not exactly expecting this. I felt that I was somewhat misled, and the thing that bugs me, is that I had already finished the hard part, the rest of the race was all roads. However, had I taken the real trail, I probably would have been there late enough to be cut off for real, but I don't really know. And had I gone on, I probably would have wished that I had stopped.

On the brighter side, or possibly the even darker side, I learned that I can run 31 miles faster than I can mountain bike the same distance. And now, somehow, ideas of the Shenandoah 100 have made their way into my head, replacing my previous thoughts of Ironman Lake Placid. However, just because I have an idea, doesn't mean that it is a good one.

Elizabeth Furnance: Round 2

2010-05-09T19:35:00.000-07:00

Friday night, with a beer and a map of George Washington National Forest in hand, I was ready for some serious mountain biking planning. I spread my waterproof, tear resistant map out on the floor, as it was bigger than any of our tables, had some beer and did some studying. I studied the map for almost an entire beer. After my extensive analysis, I decided that John and I would do the route that we had already decided on before I bought my map.

Our last trip to Elizabeth Furnace started out well. However, we apparently took the wrong trail, ending the ride in "scree and unridable misfortune," according to the book I bought after we returned. So we were making another attempt. Again, the beginning started out well. We even checked out a few extra trails and fire roads, that went nowhere at all of interest. Finally, tired and ready to be finished, we arrived at the turn we were supposed to take last time. My trusty map labeled this section as "moderate." The trail we took last time was labeled as "difficult" and according to my interpretation of the map legend, while you are technically allowed to ride the trail, it isn't exactly recommended. So I felt pretty good about "moderate."

I was soon cursing the map creator. The trail quickly started heading up a very steep and extremely rocky hill. There wasn't even ground between the rocks, just rocks, and rocks, and even bigger rocks. Many bordering on the classification of "boulder." The uphill may have been ok on its own (but probably not), and the rocks may have been ok on their own, (but probably not), but the combination was impossible. I would have to become no less than 100 times better and completely perfect rider to make it up that hill. I would have to quit my job, move into one of the nearby back country campsites in the forest, and attempt that hill everyday to even have a chance of making up without stopping. And the map creator labeled it as "moderate."

After we finally made it to the top of the ridge, the trail slowly became more rideable. But at this point we were starting hour four of being out on the trails, my legs were tired before we even started, and things that should have been appropriately challenging, were unnecessarily intimidating. So it was still a slow and difficult trip down, but at least I rode most of it.

We finally made it back to the campsite, where the showers were closed and not functioning and the only running water was one hand pump by the entrance. Somehow, I think I was expecting that. No part of Elizabeth Furnace seems to be for an easy day. The trails are crazy rugged, the fire roads are long steep climbs, and the camping is really camping. But luckily, there was a 7-11 not too far away, and of course, they had plenty of beer.

A Message to My Job

2010-05-02T19:32:00.000-07:00

Dear Work,

I am writing you to let you know that my cycling habits are of great importance to my health and well being. I will be participating in a mountain bike race in about six weeks, and without adequate time to improve my skills, I will surely hurt myself. I assure you that I can respond to twice as many data calls, write better proposals, and look more presentable at meetings if I am not in a full body cast typing with a pen that I hold in my teeth.

It is often easy to assume that more hours spent working will result in more work being completed. However, the rocky steep trails of Pennsylvania are going to be far less forgiving than my Northern Virginia desk chair, and 50 miles of mountain biking requires a bit more activity than walking to my car. As a result, I need to be adequately prepared, and more than 8 hours at my desk does not improve my chances of successfully navigating a serious set of rocks, tight turns, or clearing giant logs. An hour or two less time working today could be all the extra time that I need to perfect that wheelie or manual, which will directly reduce my chances of going headfirst over my handlebars, breaking my collar bone, and missing hours of work because I am in the hospital.

As a result, I am sure that you will agree, I should leave work early on sunny days.

Yours truly,

Karen

A slow start, but at least it's a start...

2010-04-25T17:16:00.000-07:00

This season has gotten off to a rather slow-feeling start for me. First, there were feet of snow and time consuming renovations that caused me to miss my first two trail runs of the year. Finally ready to get back on track, new trail shoes in hand (which I've never had before), I twisted my ankle on the first 100 yards of a mountain bike ride. Several weeks later, it is still sore, but has not really slowed down my riding too much. It did however, cause me to miss my next and favorite trail run, the Mt. Penn Mudfest. While I was still technically able to run, I figured that with the current state of my ankle, and the typical state of the trails in that area of PA, I would likely leave the event with one less foot on my body. It was hard to skip this race, but hopping around on one foot for who knows how long, would have been harder.

I'm not exactly 100% better yet, but I am going to say once again, as I say just about every week, that I am finally ready to really get serious. However, this time I have no choice, I just signed up for a 50 mile mountain bike race in PA in June. I have a lot of work to do...

The Seneca Creek 50k: The Day I Didn’t Get Eaten by Suburban Mountain Lions

2009-07-24T10:22:00.000-07:00

In high school I set a personal goal for myself never to run a marathon. For years I successfully accomplished this goal, but it wasn’t easy. On four occasions I had planned on doing a marathon, and then found a reason not to. Injuries, lack of motivation, and disinterest all helped me stick to my goal of never running a marathon. I didn’t run the Myrtle Beach Marathon twice. Impressive isn’t it? However, this past March I began my fifth attempt and came my closest yet to running a marathon. I actually started the race this time, but at the very last minute I decided that the marathon was not for me and ran a 50K instead.

As I stood around and waited for the start of the Seneca Creek Greenway Trail Marathon and 50K I looked at the other runners milling around. Everyone looked pretty casual, like how your neighbor might look just heading out the door for an easy run. Sizing up the competition, they didn’t look so tough. But then I remembered that the short option for this trail race was a marathon, and that most of the people here would be doing a 50K. I’m not sure what I pictured ultra-runners to look like, but I guess it was somehow more than skinny people in t-shirts and shorts with simple waist packs and fuel belts. They looked so unintimidating and casual that I had to remind myself that many of these people had completed 50 and 100 mile races, and despite my grand confidence in my running abilities, that maybe I should perhaps be a little intimidated, or at least maybe a little nervous. Up until this point, the longest race I had ever run was a half-marathon.

However, somehow I was not nervous or intimidated. The culture of a trail run vs. a road race is a little like when the skeptic east coast city person is shocked by a stranger on the street saying hello while visiting a small southern town. “Do you know that person? Why did they say hi to us? Are you sure that you don’t know them?” Similarly, the trail runners are a more laid back friendly bunch. At road races, most people seem to keep to themselves, and at triathlons people seem to be literally flexing their muscles trying to look tough. People push around bikes with wheels that cost more than my mortgage and water bottle cages that cost more than my groceries for two weeks. Clothes with more technology than my eight year old laptop adorn the bodies of most, while at a trail run you probably don’t want to wear your best gear because there is a pretty good chance that your favorite shirt will come back mud covered and possibly with holes in it. Maybe even bloody. Maybe it won’t even make it back at all. You really can never be sure what might happen.

Soon after the start of the race I began pacing off of two guys. After a few miles I figured that I should say something rather than be that weird girl staying right behind them and obviously within earshot of their conversations that consisted of topics ranging from the terrible hotel they stayed in last year, to teaching sex education to 5th graders. We chatted for a bit, and it turned out that we had been to several of the same trail runs in Pennsylvania over the past few years, including some of my all time favorites such as the Mt. Penn Mudfest and the Half-wit Half-Marathon. I am learning that the trail running world is a small one.

I was at this particular trail run because training to run 26.2 miles of paved roads around in a circle at a pace of about eight minutes and twenty two seconds per mile seemed awfully boring. Instead I was opting to run a bit farther point to point through the woods from Damascus Regional Park to Riley's Lock in Maryland at the mercy of trail conditions and weather. This really sounded much more fun to me. I pictured big hills, rocks, creek crossings, and possibly even wild animals (I had heard a story about a deer from the year before). In previous trail races I have had interesting experiences such as navigating trails in the dark, sections of trail that required climbing or sliding rather than running, knee deep creek crossings, interesting weather, and a runner wearing a pig hat and singing songs about Pennsylvania. My road race experiences pale in comparison in the category of “interesting.”

Surprisingly however, running 31 miles actually turned out to be a little boring. No monstrous hills to exaggerate later, all of the creek crossings could successfully be done without even getting my feet wet, minimal amounts of mud, perfect weather, and no wild animals. Well, almost no wild animals. There was an unexplained group of muddy people wearing deer antlers who looked like they had been in the woods all night. They obviously were not expecting us.

I went through the first rest stop about 10 minutes earlier than my very conservative estimate, shocking my friend Diane who barely had time to find her camera. The trail was pretty tame, which contributed to my faster than expected pace. However, if the trail was as difficult as I am used to doing over the steep hills and technical trails of Pennsylvania, I would probably still be out there. So really, the “easy” trail was a good thing. Still, I must admit that I am a little disappointed that I can’t report trail conditions such as steep hills, covered in roots, covered in rocks, covered in wet leaves, with icy rain and piercing wind. Instead, it was more of a “beautiful spring day with birds chirping along a peaceful wooded trail” type experience. Not as dramatic, but a little more pleasant for a long day of running.

Perhaps I should go back to how I succeeded in not running a marathon on this fine spring day. Leading up to the race I constantly fluctuated between the marathon and the 50K option. In the weeks leading to the race I may have told someone I was doing a 50K or a marathon, depending on which mood they happened to catch me in. That morning, I was the mood for the marathon. However, talking to my new running buddies swayed me back to the 50K once again. I don’t exactly recommend this race strategy. At mile 15 I had to make the final decision on if I wanted to take the trip around the lake that added the extra few miles for the difference between the marathon and the 50K. When I arrived at the aid station and decision point, a volunteer told me that one woman was ahead of me for the marathon but I would be the first to start the 50K. How could I resist being in the lead? So I turned left instead of right and went for 31 miles instead of 27. Shortly after making the decision, I turned back around and grabbed a handful of cookies. I was going to need more food.

This decision slightly messed up my friends who were there to watch the race. When I showed up to mile 20 later than planned, I causally informed my friend that “Oh, I decided to do the 50K,” like it was no big surprise. I wasn’t that surprised. He may not have known about my personal vendetta with the marathon.

Shortly after the decision point I caught sight of Dan, one of the guys from earlier. I had lost the two of them around mile 11. I expected that in a race of this size and length I would be running alone a lot. However that was not the case. Instead, I probably ran with Dan for about 20 miles. It certainly helped to have someone to entertain me. Also, as I started to get tired, it was comforting to know that he was tired too, because 50 and 100 milers were really more his thing apparently. I stuck with him until at least mile 26. I just remember him saying that he thought I had run my first marathon by now, and me grumbling something about how I could have been finished by now.

As walking started to hurt just as much as running, I began to question my sanity. And when I wanted to lay down on the trail and to be left to the mountain lions (which may or may not exist in that part of Maryland) I thought about how not a day went by in high school cross country that I would question what I was doing, and then think that I would quit the team immediately following my run, or that I would not mind getting hit by a car because that would mean that I could stop running. But I never did stop running and, thankfully, I still have yet to be hit by a car. And even more thankfully, my bones are not being chewed up by mountain lions somewhere along a 31 mile stretch of trail in Maryland.

I eventually slipped from first to fourth for the women to finish with a time of 5:43. I emerged from the woods in slight disbelief that such a race would ever really end. As I neared the finish I was pretty sure I heard more than the two people I came to the race with cheering me in. Those friendly trail runners at it again! After crossing the finish line, I promptly declared my potential need for therapy to my friends. But surely I wasn’t totally crazy if over 200 other people were out there with me. Why would all these people come to run about 27 or 31 miles on trails through the woods at a race that gives out nothing but a race number at a time of year where the weather could be anything from 70 degrees and sunny to inches of snow (which both occurred in that week) along the outskirts of the D.C. metro area in Maryland? Because these people just really love running, and for some reason so do I. They weren’t there for medals or t-shirts, just for a good run.

So I may not have had a medal to grab at the end, but I am not sure that a medal really could have summarized the experience anyway. A muddy pile of leaves and some sticks may have been more appropriate, but I don’t really have a good place to display such a thing anyway. And I may not have a t-shirt that is probably too big for me to proudly wear to bed, but that t-shirt’s eventual fate would likely have been to clean my bike, ending its life chopped up and covered in black grime. Which now that I think about it, could be a similar fate if worn trail running.

A Run With Dean Karnazes, "Just Never Give Up"

2009-07-23T14:14:00.000-07:00

Have you ever run so far that you had to have pizza delivered to you while you were running, and then ate the entire thing while you were still running? This sounds kind of crazy, but this is not an unusual activity for ultra-marathoner Dean Karnazes. I got the opportunity to join a run led by Dean from Georgetown last fall, and meeting him greatly changed the way I think about endurance. At the time, I did not know much about Dean. All I knew was that he had run 50 marathons in 50 states in 50 days. I thought this was pretty amazing, but after learning more about him, this just sounds like a regular 50 days of running with some travel thrown into the mix.

Incase you are not familiar with Dean’s other accomplishments, I will take the time to name a few. He has raced in the most extreme of weather conditions including running 135 miles across Death Valley in 120 degree heat to score a first place finish. When it is this hot, running shoes melt on pavement and bread toasts in your hand. On the opposite extreme, he ran the first marathon to the South Pole without snow shoes while combating temperatures of 40 degrees below zero. He has run distances that most people only ever cover in their car, such as running a 200 mile relay race with a team consisting of just him. After completing the 200 miles, he didn’t put his feet up and relax; he headed to an amusement park with his wife and two kids for the afternoon. The next morning he was back at work behind his desk by 7:45. The next year, he decided 200 miles wasn’t quite enough, and upon reaching the finish, he added a marathon to his run for a total of 226 miles. He has since run farther of course. As a result of his endlessly long runs, he has mastered running through the night going days without sleep, and eating entire pizzas, burritos, cheesecakes, or whatever he can get his hands on while on the move. Dean does not stop with just running; he is also an accomplished windsurfer, an avid mountain biker and has completed several Ironmans.

With less than four percent body fat and a resting heart rate of less than 40, Dean is in unquestionably good shape. However, his superior fitness is only one part of what powers him through the difficulty of running impressive distances in nothing near ideal weather conditions, through the night, and over difficult terrain. When describing the Western States 100-mile Endurance run, Dean stated that “To complete it, your mental resolve must be indomitable. You’ve got to bundle up your self doubt and fear and stuff them in your shoe, cutting lose your rational mind as your body is pushed into inconceivable levels of endurance.” Dean’s unwavering determination and refusal to quit carries him forward when it seems almost physically impossible to go on. Dean does not question if he can do something, instead he strives to find out if it is possible. With more hard work, determination, and pain than most people are willing to endure, he does it. And when things get tough, giving up is simply not an option for him. Dean’s outlook, which Starbuck’s found inspiring enough to print on its cups last year, is “run when you can, walk when you have to, crawl if you must; just never give up.”

Being in the presence of Dean’s cool confidence, unwavering faith in others, and extraordinary list of feats made me think about the limits that we subconsciously set for ourselves. These self imposed limits may not be clearly defined, but they exist in our mental perception of ourselves as athletes. Dean excels at pushing not only his body to inconceivable limits, but his mind as well. According to him, “The human body is capable of amazing physical deeds. If we could just free ourselves from our perceived limitations and tap into our internal fire, the possibilities are endless.”

If you doubt that you can do something, you probably won’t, but that does not mean that you can’t. If you go to a race or start a workout doubting your abilities, you have already put yourself at a disadvantage and you haven’t even started yet. Your own confidence in yourself is key, and so is the mental toughness to push yourself to get there. The best part is that self confidence and mental toughness are not genetic, they do not degrade while you age, and you cannot injure or over train them. They are possibly the most deadly weapons we have in our training arsenal, but they are probably also the most overlooked.

We measure, monitor, and track everything from heart rate and VO2 max, to how many grams our shoes weigh, and buy as much carbon and titanium as we can afford, because we are hoping it will unlock the secret to making us go faster and farther. But perhaps the most important factor that cannot be measured, but has the potential to carry each of us through our training to go farther or to cross the finish line seconds to minutes faster than our closest competitor or most recent PR, is simply our desire and determination to get there.

The 2008 Dirty Bird: The day many inner children died

2008-12-01T18:42:00.000-08:00

It was a beautiful late November day in Birdsboro, PA, with temperatures hovering just above freezing, rain with the threat of snow, and a nice piercing icy breeze. Further south the Team Z bike ride was canceled for the day, and that was really my first sign that I was in for a treat with the weather. If I wasn't getting picked up at 9:00 a.m., I may have stayed home. However, how often do you really get to go out into the woods and just savagely tromp through mud and scale hills? Not too often in Washington, D.C. I am afraid. So really, it was a day not to be missed. And even with the much less than ideal weather, it was really quite fun. Fun, if you definition of fun might be giving birth or getting hit by a car.

The trails were technical rocky root covered single track. As if that isn't challenge enough, they were also covered in wet leaves. And it was pretty much 98% up or down long hills, some of which were very steep. And did I mention that this was a 15k? 9.6 miles or so? And 33 degrees and raining? It almost sounds like someone was trying to figure out the easiest way to kill 350 people at one time, doesn't it? But luckily, no one was taken away in the ambulance this time.

It was cold, so at the start people took off fast but I did not get caught up in the rush. Instead I waited until we soon turned into the woods and went up hill for maybe a mile, and then people started quickly dropping off. People continued to drop off every time we turned back up hill again. By the first water stop I was told I was in 4th place for the women. I did not quite believe them until two more people told me as well. Along the way girl #5 caught up to me. Since she did not look older than me I figured she was surely in my 16-29 age group. I let her pass me but kept her easily in my sight. Long dramatic story short the race ended in a sprint, initiated by me with about half a mile to go, between, me, girl #5, and 2 guys. I am sure I could have waited a bit longer to pick it up, but looking back, I enjoyed making those 3 really hurt to the finish for what was likely and unnecessarily long amount of time. One of the guys beat me in our all our all out zone 8 run to the end, but he was sure struggling to do so, and I beat out girl #5 by 3 seconds (she was in my age group, well worth the effort for a turkey trophy).

So I came in 4th overall, with 2nd in my age group. I guess sometimes it really is worth it to brave the weather. My time was 1:24:14, or about 8:45 per mile. Which is actually better than I would have expected based on the conditions. It was also almost 5 minutes faster than 2 years ago. However, I guess I lucked out on the competition two years ago because I got second then too.

My friend Diane decided that 15k wasn't long enough so midway through the race she made a wrong turn and added about 1.5 miles. By the time she returned her clothes weighed about an extra 10 pounds from the rain. The race director said she could claim "the idiot award."

The race was great, but I think that the highlight of the day was scarfing pancakes, eggs, sausage, bacon, and homefries (all covered in syrup and/or ketchup) afterwards in the warmth of the Exton Diner. I can't imagine what the people in the restaurant thought had happened to us before we got there, but I am sure it was far more pleasant than the truth.

2008 Dark and Dirty: If you can't see it, it wont hurt when you fall on it

2008-06-01T05:10:00.000-07:00

I arrived at the 2008 Dark and Dirty nighttime trail run with my two new friends Diane and Paul, who I had literally just met when they came to pick me up earlier that evening. My dad hooked us up because Diane had gone "all the way to California to run a race in a tutu," so to him it seemed logical that she would like to run a race in the dark through the woods, because they both seemed fairly silly to him. Anyway, he was right, and she thought it was a great idea.

As we picked up our numbers and shirts we also picked up some free glow sticks. Lacking enough connectors to make my four glow sticks wearable as bracelets or necklaces, I stuck two into my headband as antennas and two around my writs. I was so ready for darkness. Spectators loved my antennas. However most people called them "horns" or "rabbit ears." I thought that it was very clear that they were antennas. Oh well.

At the start, everyone had headlamps. I think I may have been the only one going old school and using just a flashlight that I bought at Home Depot. It turns out that the headlamps turned into "bug-in-your-face magnets," I did not have that problem (or any others) with the hand held flashlight.

After a delayed start (as usual) we were off. I heard a girl next to me say "I wonder if it will be hilly?" oh, it was hard not to laugh. I assured her that it would be. About a quarter of a mile after the start the whole blob of people headed into the woods for a scramble up the first hill. Without much time for the group to spread out, the trail is a bit congested at first and everyone is scrambling up the hill like we are being chased by bears. I am quite afraid of bears, and it was dark, but I was pretty sure none were present so I took my time and didn't get worked up in the scramble.

Further up the hill I heard many people asking "when does this hill end?" I wanted to tell them never, but instead I just thought to myself that maybe they should not have been knocking people out of their way at the bottom of the hill to get up as quickly as possible. I cruised right up the long hill, passing many on the way. In the dark you can't see the top of the hill. But on most hills in Ron Horn's races, you can't see the top anyway since most of the time you are so far away from it. So that did not seem to bother me.

I took the downhills easy and the uphills hard, passing people on every uphill. Most people would say that is a silly waste of energy, but I'm not the best on the downhills. On the smooth sections of road I ran as fast as I could. Everything was a little bit of a different strategy than if I could see better. Actually everyone seemed to have a different strategy. Everyone ran in groups when possible and no one wanted to be the lead of the group. People would let you catch up and even pass because it was much easier to follow that to lead. Usually my experience with passing people is that a guy sees that a girl is about to pass and starts running harder. Tonight, these guys had no problem letting me guide them through the darkness. However, a few times I got stuck between groups, and learned that I am not very good at navigating in the dark. I didn't get lost, but it was a little slower when I was on my own.

In the meantime, Paul had no idea that he was in the lead. He was trading on and off with another guy for the lead for mot of the race, until two other guys came out of nowhere to take the lead. Paul ended up taking fourth place overall. The guy who won beat out Mr. Second Place by only a few seconds because apparently he knew his way through the boulder field at the end better. The week before Paul had actually beaten Mr. First Place in a 50k.

Unlike Diane and I, Paul spent most of the race running alone. He kept talking about all the eyes he saw in the woods looking back at him. I did not see any eyes. I think by the time I was coming by the animals were like "what the hell is this? I am out of here!" I however liked noticing the long trail of lights through the woods. Everyone's lights made Christmas light like trails through the woods ahead and behind of me. Looking ahead, I could see just lights bouncing and snaking up the hills to come.

The race ended at a beer garden, with some very tasty German beers. We hung out for awards, and I ended up taking third in my age group, winning a very cool ceramic skull thing. Paul got 3rd in his age group and fourth overall, and Diane just missed getting an award by one place. She was fourth in her age group. However she already ran a race that morning and won a bobble head, but I was really hoping that she would score two awards in one day.

2008 Mt. Penn Mudfest: "More fun than a paper cut on the tip of your tongue"

2008-05-01T18:58:00.000-07:00

March can be a wonderful time of year in Pennsylvania. Spring is just beginning, flowers are starting to bloom, you wash your car, clean your bike, buy new sneakers, and then…it snows.

On this lovely first day of spring, and Easter weekend, in Reading, PA, I was standing in 30 degree air with snow pouring down on me with over 800 equally crazy individuals, as well as fellow Team Z-ers Ray and Dave, who were probably more crazy than everyone else because I was easily able to convince them that this would be a “fun” race. We were all waiting for a pig to be launched into the air so we could begin running the rocky, steep, muddy, trails of the Mt. Penn Mudfest.

Finally, 20 minutes after the scheduled start of the race, the pig was launched, and upon its landing we took off for countless surprises around every turn of trail. And Mudfest it was. This race had the usual killer steep long hills and rocky trails that are common for trail runs in the area, but it also had ankle deep mud, four freezing cold creek crossings, and about 100 yards of downed trees that required a good under/over/around strategy to successfully navigate. However, with no time to develop a strategy, you pretty much just fling yourself from tree to tree. For the creeks, you can’t simply hop over these crossing, or skip across on rocks. You splash right through knee deep water, and then climb out the other side on you hands and feet up a muddy bank, grabbing whatever you can to keep from sliding back into the creek: trees, roots, rocks, the feet of the person in front of you, whatever you can get a hold of. I think the creeks are great because when else do you get the chance to ice your potential injuries in the middle of a race? I think this is something more races should include. Plus, running in squishy sneakers adds that special extra something to running.

Ray showed off his trail prowess to everyone behind him by doing flips down the trail. Ask him about it. He also savagely bit the heads off of any and all marshmallow chickens that got in his way, leaving the sugary yellow bodies strewn across the trail to die.

Dave survived the race with everything but two toenails and a little less skin on his legs. No one really needs toenails for running anyway.

I slipped on a tree and later got to do a nice slide down a hill. Sometimes sliding is just easier that running, but sometimes running is just not an option so it is better to just plan a good slide on your heels rather than ending up on your butt.

It was a tough day for spectating as Holly had to walk up small hills to watch the race while holding hot chocolate, AT THE SAME TIME. But despite her hardships and standing the in the cold for hours, she helped us out with a post run feast of twizzlers, peeps, and pretzels: excellent recovery food for both running and cheering from the snack food capital of the world.

We stayed for awards, even though none of us got any. Somehow I was unable to defend my first place age group title from last year. In fact I came no where close. But I think that in 2009 I'll be back to win another piggy bank to keep my 2007 piggy bank award company.

P.S. I managed to snag 3rd in 2009 but the 2009 piggy doesn't hold money.