All I Wanna Do Is Rock: The Ipod Series

I was brought up with music constantly playing in the background. My parents met in a music store, I was raised being told about the Flock of Seagulls concert I attended in the womb. My mother, a strange and untamable creature, would awake my sister and I in the middle of the night to play us "tunes". I have often said that my parents gave me two everlasting things, siblings to go through life with and an undying love for music.

I go to sleep at night with music playing, I awake to music, I am always listening to music, coming through speakers or playing in my head so listening to music when I run is just who I am.

Lately however, when I am listening to my iPod on runs I've found myself a little bored and thus have been on the hunt for new music to add to my playlists for upcoming long runs in the mountains.

It was in this manner that I stumbled upon The Vaccines a few weeks ago, an "infectious London-based indie rock outfit" that I haven't been able to get enough of since accidentally stumbling across them on YouTube. 

I have fought the urge countless times to share one of their videos when I finally decided that I neede to help spread their sound, whether I reached anyone's ears or not, I could at least attempt it.

So without further ado, a sampling of The Vaccines "If You Wanna", "Wetsuit" and "Norgaard"

-Alexis

Will > Skill

Last night I was lying in bed, unable to sleep, drifting not into slumber but from one social media website to another pinboard style website and back, when I stumbled across the following quote.

 I am sometimes asked about my training, to which I am often floundering around for an answer. I am pretty confident I don't train the hardest or the smartest. I struggle between the feeling that I'm overtraining or not training enough. I have come to the realization actually over the course of the past year that my brain, not my legs, have just as much if not more control in whether or not there is any success in an event than the number of miles in a training period or the pace kept during said miles. It's not that I don't think I must train. I just believe, for me at least, there's more to the equation. I haven't been certain if that other part of the equation was stubbornness or heart, a little of both maybe, but when I stumbled across these words by Muhammad Ali last night, they spoke to me in a way that I found myself replying, 'yes, that's it, will'.

So there you have it, the answer was just that simple. I had even heard it before. "If there's a will, there's a way."

-Alexis

Grindstone 2013

The race that almost happened!

It took me the better part of this year to get ready for this race.  It looks like it may take a little while longer to get used to the fact that we're not running it.  This is the story of an average runner who set his mind to run an epic distance, only to have the opportunity stolen away at the last minute.  Be forewarned, this post is mostly bitter and whiny and I don't care.  

I decided last year after MMTR in November, along about the same time that Alexis decided to run Hellgate and Western States, that I would attempt to run the Beast Series this year.  Mountain Masochist being my first 50 miler, that meant that I would be attempting two new race distances, the 100K and the 100 miler.  Of course, not in the logical order of shortest to longest, that would be too easy.

So I started off the year running all of the 50Ks in the series, Holiday Lake, Terrapin Mountain, and Promise Land.  Not that I hate any of these races, but doing them all in three months isn't ideal for training purposes.  I managed to maintain a sense of peace throughout these races, knowing that if I could finish Grindstone and Hellgate, and in doing so the Beast Series, that I wouldn't have to ever run ALL three of them again in the same calendar year.  

And that satisfied feeling brought me into May and the beginning of my Grindstone training.  

In the early part of the summer I ran a lot of easy miles.  This was the 'base' building part of training that I have heard smarter and more accomplished runners talk so much about.  This wasn't too hard, coming off of a spring full of 50Ks.  This portion of my training was punctuated by me pacing Alexis at Western States.  That whole story is here, and here.  But I must say that what I learned at WS, just being there and seeing the runners, helped me enormously in preparing mentally for the 100 mile distance.

When we got back from California, I set myself to mountain running, heading into the wilderness whenever I could get the time.  I became better friends with the AT this summer, often running back to back long runs in the same weekend.  I was managing to get more and more miles every week, and was able to maintain this level of effort and distance without too much pain and suffering.

I guess I peaked my training out at the end of August and early September when I ran half the Grindstone course one weekend, then Iron Mountain 50 miler two weeks later, the Odyssey Train Rampage 40 miler the week after.  After that I still did a couple of back to back mountain long runs, ending with a Priest and Three Ridges run where I felt great.  And the I started to taper.

I had managed to run harder and farther than I ever had before without getting injured or burnt out.  I had my crew and a solid race nutrition plan all lined up.  Pacers ready. Drop bags packed.  I was at the Aid Station making a last minute purchase on the Tuesday before the race, when in walked Clark Zealand RD, and he hit me over the head with a baseball bat.

Well, not really, but he might as well have.  

And so, I spent an extra week "tapering" and trying not to go completely crazy.  And now I am floundering and unmotivated, and unsure about how much or how hard I really want to run.  It takes a lot of time and energy to prepare for a big race, and even though it is over in a day (or as close to one day as possible), you get to take away a sense of accomplishment that lasts forever.  Or at least helps to motivate you for your next run. 

But not this time.  This time I am left feeling empty and cheated.  I feel like I have wasted a good part of my summer, and neglected other aspects of my life.  I feel like it is time to reevaluate.

-Todd

Bumps in the Road

I've had a few good runs now in a row, so now more than PR's and training schedules, getting injured is on my mind. I'm convinced it's about to happen and I want to prevent it.

I spent a third of this year with varying degrees of a calf strain that largely affected my spring training and still occasionally tingles or tightens just to reel me in. I'm preoccupied more than ever on not overtraining, on pushing hard but not too hard. I'm fixated between training well and making it healthy to my goal race.

Then this morning I woke to a text from my sister, my smart and methodically training sister, a picture of her obviously swollen ankle and a plea for a call. Usually a picture doesn't show subtle differences, I could tell from the picture that this did not look good. A quick phone call revealed that a wrong step on pavement and concrete resulted in a sprain or twist that has sent my sister, who has trained all year long for her upcoming marathon debut, to the brink.

An injury does that to runners. After my not so fun time at Iron Mountain a few weeks back the only uplifting thought that remained through the fifty miles was 'at least it's not an injury, you'll be fine as soon as you're done today'.

I understand injury. There are statistics that would scare any runner not just your competitive types that an average runner will experience an injury of some degree once a year, some articles report more. The internet is full of articles for runners to pour over about injury prevention and treating a slew of injuries.

If injury wasn't on my mind before it certainly is now that my sister looks to be forced into a few days off. And if there's anything I can empathize for it is the fear of the unknown that an injury brings along with its physical discomfort.  Do I need to take a few days off? How many days off? Will my fitness suffer? If racing, how will this affect my performance? I understand as well as anyone that a forced day or two or ten of rest, especially compounded when your race is quickly approaching, is difficult to stomach.  Fortunately, my sister is smarter and more patient than I am, I trust she'll do the right thing and rest it. She does have time to recover if it's a sprain to not affect her marathon in November, but that sometimes isn't enough to quell all of the fear.

I find running does so much for my mental state that the time off coupled with the thoughts that accompany injury is enough to unhinge me. I imagine at least some other runners feel the same. As others before me pointed out to me when I was injured but can be often forgotten when we're the ones resting on the couch, sometimes you need a break, you're still a runner, trust your training and allow your body to heal (and I will need reminding of that I'm sure if I get injured, it's the first thing that I forget when I get injured).

Truth is there are bumps in the road, sometimes we meet those bumps and we stumble and fall. You are a runner after all.

You ran in the rain, Runner, and you will again. You ran before the sun awoke and you will again. You ran harder to push yourself and you will again. You ran in the hottest weather all summer and you will again. You ran further than you had ever run and you will run further still. You felt the rush of a second wind and you will again. You ran to meet new people and you have friends still to make. You ran in the dark with a light to lead the way and you will again. You suffered through a hard run or two where you questioned what you were doing and yet you ran again. You hit the trails for a change of scenery and there are paths still ahead. You surprised yourself and you're not through yet. You made a training schedule and you stuck to it, you will change it and get back with it. You slowed down to recover and you will again. You ran and you will again.

-Alexis

You Are (at least part of) My Sunshine

Every Wednesday we head over to the Snoflex parking lot around 5 pm. It is one of the highlights of my week, especially as far as running is concerned.

On Wednesdays I know the usuals will be there and generally a surprise guest or two. I never ever dread this run, I am always anxiously awaiting Todd's arrival so we can hit the road. Pulling into the parking lot is like opening a gift, I'm always excited to see who shows up to run with us. I've heard mention once or twice that Wednesday's run has a reputation to be fast, and while it is an important run in my weekly training I also want it to be welcoming.

From six miles to twelve or more the group always starts together even if we break into smaller groups later on. The pace varies on who shows up or who raced the weekend prior or following the run, but it's always a good time for me as I hope it is for all those who attend.

It's been suggested to me that I'm obsessed with running. You've caught me, so I am. It's not the only thing I love and designate my time to, I love my family and my children, I'm focused on their education and their upbringing even if they appear to be wild animals in your presence (I apologize, we are all a work in progress!) I'm obsessed with music and this ridiculous stuff I tell my children is dancing when they catch me in the kitchen. I may even be a tad bit obsessed with that Candy Crush saga game (but you will never see me post that on social media).

I'm rambling and I know it. Point is, I'm okay with my commitment and preoccupation with running. I own it now. I have come to terms with it's hold on me and to be honest I've quite possibly never been healthier or happier, though it may not always appear so. Occasionally though, when I'm running, I lose my direction, I forget which trail I'm on or where I'm headed. Lately, this applies to the bigger picture. But not today. Not right now.

I focused on enjoying my run this past Saturday, and I had a good day. And now, once more, I'm in love with everyone.

Tonight was one of the best runs I've had all year. It wasn't particularly special in any way that I can exactly pinpoint either. We started together after dawdling for far too long in the parking lot. We hung together a ways but split off into separate groups a time or two. It was hot, I was sweaty. But I felt good, healthy, I felt strong, capable. And I just loved every damn minute of it.

There's no way to convey what the group does for me other than to say, quite simply, you light up my life. You make me push harder. You make me slow down. You make me reflect. You make me look forward. You make me laugh. You make me second guess. You make me calm down. You make me feel good. You make me proud to be a runner. You make me happy to be one of the group.

And I just want to thank you for it.

So thanks.

And I'll see you next week.

-Alexis

Odyssey Trail Running Rampage Race Report

Odyssey Trail Running Rampage 40 Miler

Saturday, September 7, 2013

Douthat State Park

Saturday Todd and I went to Douthat to run the ultra marathon that is part of the Trail Running Rampage that is held each year by Odyssey Adventure Racing in Douthat State Park. It was Todd's first ultra in 2010 and he's gone back every year. The trail rampage 40 miler consists of three loops primarily on trail with no more than about four miles of pavement the entire race.

We planned on this race despite how close it was in proximity to Iron Mountain because Todd is training for Grindstone and I had a comped entry from last year. But then Iron Mountain came and with it my most disappointing and difficult ultra to date. The trail rampage switched from just being another run to being a redemption run for me. Despite the best intentions of friends who suggested I was crazy and maybe a bit dumb to run back to back ultra races I was hellbent on a good day, a good run.

I didn't stress the rampage and feeling good after Iron Mountain I ran Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday but not further than about 3 miles each day. That change alone felt good, it's been so long since I'd enjoyed just a good short jaunt with friends. On Friday evening we hung out with Joe and Emily and went to Rivermont Pizza, we talked about music and movies. I allowed no self-imposed pressure on myself for Saturday's race. I had but one goal, have a good day, a good run.

We awoke at 3:30 on Saturday and drove to Douthat. I ate two pieces of cinnamon toast, a few powdered donuts and half a PB&J on the way. We arrived in Douthat at 6 a.m. We checked in and like the year before the next hour flew by between race briefings and gathering gear. 

I decided on a few more small goals. 1.) Have a good day 2.) Run steady, aiming for 2:30 loops and 3.) Start the third loop not absolutely dreading the idea of running a third loop.

We started at 7 and I fell in with Brian Keefer. We ran a short ways before switching to hiking. If running the year before had taught me nothing else it was to respect that first climb. Todd wasn't far ahead and he slowed when he looked back and saw us. The three of us hiked and jogged the first climb, about 3 miles, together. 

On Thursday, Jeremy was giving me somewhat of a hard time when he asked me quite seriously if I even liked running. Of course I liked running I'd answered without hesitation. No one moves for 50 miles through mountains without a little bit of love for what they do. However, the thought still took up residence because it begged the question, am I still in love with running like I used to be. Do I appreciate the measure, soak in the beauty and the privilege that is trail running? To this effect I honed in on the beauty of the trail on Saturday morning, the sunshine bleeding through the trails landing on the rocks. I noticed for the first time the waterfall from which the Blue Suck Falls likely gets its name. Despite the burning in my calves and the warming temperatures I felt a sense of strength that moves me forward, a rippling effect growing stronger as we moved up that first climb. I answered the question once more, to myself, more fervently, of course I love this.

I was going to have a good day.

Todd, Brian and I arrived together at the first aid station where I topped my bottle off. From there the trail descends for a couple of miles. It's slightly steep and a tad technical lined with a few sharp switchbacks. I decided to take it easy and let Todd pass by admitting that the goal was a good day. Relax and enjoy this I reminded myself. I ran about three miles and had to stop for the first bathroom break and Brian ran on by. However, I caught back up with Brian at the next aid station, mile 9 in the loop.

Coming into this aid station I felt a bit of stomach trouble which I felt was coming from the straps of my hydration vest bouncing repeatedly on my mid-section. Coming into the aid station I asked if anyone had scissors. One volunteer had a knife and he cut the straps from my vest. He looked nervous but I was so thankful. It was also at this point, having eaten three GU so far that I kind of swore them off. Each one was making my stomach hurt for about five minutes after. I knew I would need to switch to different fuel.  

I was first female at this point but assumed Sophie to be close behind and in fact kept expecting her to pass me at any moment. The next section from mile 9 to 11 is rolling and there is a good hiker to eat on. I hiked taking note of the climb in planning for steady loops. However, coming into the mile 11 aid station I realized I was ahead of my 2:30 goal for the loop. Just beyond the aid station, I took to walking on a very flat trail knowing there was a hill ahead. Almost immediately Sophie Speidel ran by.

I said hello and she said "Who's that?" I told her it was me, Alexis, and she asked if I'd raced last weekend. I told her I had but hadn't fared well and that being registered for this I'd come out anyways for a good run. She told me to take it easy and ran off up the hill we'd finally arrived at. I kept walking up the hill but I could still see her. Without a word I picked it up. 

Brain Keefer and I finished the first loop right behind Sophie with me berating myself just a tad for running 2:24 when I was aiming for 2:30. I wasn't running Sophie's race, I had to remember I was running my own race with my own goals. I look up to Sophie, I also look Sophie up on UltraSignup when I'm registered for a race she's run. She's a strong trail runner who inspires me. I conceded defeat to an inspiration and settled back into my own race. 

My right foot was a little sore from where my Hokas split open last weekend at Iron Mountain, I thought about running to the car for my Bajadas but I decided the Hokas haven't really let me down yet so I stuck with them. I grabbed half a PB&J and a slice of watermelon I'd cut the night before. I refilled my water bottle and grabbed an extra 20 oz for the climb back up Blue Suck Falls. 

Brian was still there and I called for him to come with me as I left the transition area. I didn't see Sophie, I didn't know if she was far ahead or not. But I settled back into my goals, a good steady run of 40 miles. I reminded myself that I wanted to feel good going into lap three. I ate and drank on the second climb and it was slower but not by much compared to the first lap. 

As we climbed I apologized to Keefer. I admitted that I'd dropped the pace when Sophie passed me because I am competitive. I told him that I couldn't promise him I wouldn't do it again if someone else passed us. It's a fault I own. 

We met Brian Kelleher on this climb, we'd seen him off and on in the first loop. He's from Richmond and knows my buddy John Casilly. He talked and the time passed quickly. He flew by us on the downhill after the aid station at the shelter. I stopped again for a bathroom break and Keefer ran on. I didn't see him again until the aid station at mile 9 (mile 22+) in the second loop. He told me first place female was only a few minutes ahead. I grabbed a few cookies and more gummy bears and held onto them until I got to the climb a half mile up ahead on trail.

All day I'd been hoping to enjoy myself and not start loop three dreading going back out. We ran the rest of the second loop steady and came back into the transition area at 4:56. I wasn't dreading the last lap, so far, success. I saw Sophie on the way into her third lap, she looked strong, I didn't think I stood a chance of seeing her again.

I ran to the bathroom in the transition area and then over to my drop bag, I took off my vest and crammed what I could in my water bottle. I got another half a PB&J and slice of watermelon. I stuffed a granola bar in my bra and ice from our cooler in my water bottle. I grabbed my extra 20 oz and was headed out when I realized I didn't have salt tabs. I thought I didn't need them and the clock already read 5:02 but I went back for them anyways, nervous runner that I am.

I took to walking right away, even in the flatter spots where I'd just a few minutes before seen Sophie running. Keefer told me he thought we could run 2:45 or 3 hours for this loop, we would definitely hit 8 hours. He seemed happy about this, I won't lie, I was not. I continued to walk but was quiet, I ate but I was in a low of sorts. But I know now I'm getting stronger because of what happened next.

I realized I'd run out of goals. I was having a good day, I was enjoying my run, I had entered the last lap ready to run it but I was now, at least to a certain end, out of goals. I decided I wouldn't win but I did not want to run 8 hours. I might not PR but I could decrease the time between Sophie if I stopped any defeatist talk and actually enjoyed the day I was having. I decided to eat on the climb. So I ate every bit of real food I had grabbed at the aid station. I decided I would hike to the aid station at the top but then I was going to give all of what was left and let the chips fall where they may.

I felt bad at the aid station at the shelter because Keefer stopped for water and I left on a mission without word of farewell. I'm sorry for this Keefer but I had to finish out the good day I was having. And so I turned on my iPod and I ran.

And it was like a gift to myself. I pushed the descent for the first time that day and it felt great like it did at Petits Gap a few weeks back. I vowed not to look at my watch for the rest of the run but just feel the pace running whatever my body would allow.  And it felt absolutely awesome, it felt like the first time in months like I was racing during an actual race. I basked in every step, I loved every mile. I didn't think I'd see Sophie again but I ran as well as I could anyways remembering the quote "Give all of yourself regardless of outcome."

Then at about mile 8 in the third loop I came upon Sophie. It surprised me and probably gave me a little more push. It was getting hotter and it was getting harder to maintain my pace but I kept on giving it my best effort. The food I'd eaten on the climb up the falls was wearing off and I could feel I was beginning to bonk a little. At the AS at mile 9 in the loop I grabbed a few more cookies and gummy bears. I saw Kim who said a quick hello but I was focused on getting to the end. 

This is one great thing about a loop, you are so familiar on your final loop that you know what to expect and can plan accordingly. Though we have only ever seen this loop when we've run the race the loop seems etched in my mind. I pushed onward walking as little as possible.

Coming into the area around the lake I knew I was so close but it was so hot as you're exposed to the sun more through here. I walked a little more and looked for a good song on my iPod to carry me through. When I finally reached the bridge that is basically the end I looked at my watch for the first time since the transition area and it said 7:30. This was pleasing but instantly I thought I might have run more of the lake trail section had I know I was that close to hitting 7:30. As it was I crossed the finish in 7:32 with Charlie, Dennis, Joe and Todd all standing there and Ronny giving hi-fives. 

I was very happy with my day and my effort. I kept steady as I could and ran a 10 minute PR for the course. I had a great time as always with friends and made a few new ones. I was excited to see so many Lynchburg Trail Runners come out and run the race which also holds a marathon, half and 5 miler event. Charlie Peele won the ultra and seven of the top 14 spots were filled by Lynchburg Trail runners in the ultra event which I think is awesome even if it was a small event. It's a great course, challenging but beautiful. I doubt I will do Iron Mountain and the Trail Rampage back to back next year and it will be hard which one to do as they both have a different set of wonderful things to offer. 

In the end, I had a good day. I needed that. 

-Alexis

For my own record I enjoyed seeing the splits for the past two years over the three loops:

2012:
2:14, 2:36, 2:51  Overall 7:42

2013:
2:24, 2:32, 2:35 Overall 7:32

Iron Mountain 50 Miles

Last Saturday I ran the Iron Mountain 50 miler in Damascus.  This was my second 50 miler,   having completed MMTR last fall in the snow on a busted up ankle.  At  Masochist I did not hit my goals, but considering the conditions I didn't care too much.  Sometimes close enough is close enough.

Going into Iron Mountain I set no real goals, mainly for two reasons.  Firstly, it was a training race and not a target race.  Remember that Grindstone is the goal right now.  Secondly, I honestly didn't know what kind of shape I'm in right now.  Most of my running has been focused on long, long, slow, and long.

But people kept asking me for a goal time, so I finally defaulted back to my MMTR goal of 10 hours.  I kept hearing that the two races ran very close times.  I was also careful to add that even though 10 hours would be nice, it was just a training run after all, and I had no intentions to push it.

I had decided weeks ago that I was going to implement my Grindstone strategy for this race:  go out slow, run slow, and hike a lot.  Oh yeah, and eat non-stop.  So I packed a drop back with enough food for 200 miles.

I started off perfectly, I intentionally let everyone that I thought might sucker me into a race-pace disappear.  The first 5 miles were run on the dangerously flat (read: fast) Creeper Trail, and I just cruised along letting everyone and anyone pass me.  When we finally hit the first single track climb everyone I knew was out in front of me.  (Well, everyone except Alexis who was determined to win the safe/slow starter race.  Talk about competitive.)

From this point on (until mile 37) I ran about as well as I could ask for.  I hiked well, ran smart, and ate like a teenager.  Slowly working my way through the field of runners who started faster than me.

Somewhere around 14 miles in I came upon Jamie Swyers running with another girl.  I knew that she was running the 30, and didn't expect to see her and Brenton at all before their turn around.  I joked with her about running so slow, and I told her that I would run her to the Skulls gap aid station, and joked that if we found Brenton I would slow him down so that she could get ahead of him.

We caught him right before the aid station, but he didn't need my help slowing down, he was already having stomach issues.  I went to my drop bag and dug out about 50 thousand calories to carry with me up the next climb.  There was a little girl volunteering, and she commented about all the chocolate in my bag.  I gave her a snickers bar, and headed out with arms and bottles full.

(Congratulations to Jamie who went on to win the 30 miler, and Brenton who finished under less than perfect conditions.)

The next section was a long gravel road climb, and I took advantage of the hiking by eating a ton of calories.  By the time I found some runnable terrain I had successfully stored all my extra food in pockets and was ready to move again.  I knew it was roughly a 20 mile loop back to the drop bags at Skulls gap, but I didn't know much else about this section.

The first half of this loop was really runnable and fun, and then we hit the "shoe sucker" section.  Supposedly there was a waterfall somewhere, but I missed it as I was concerned with keeping my feet shod as I climbed up a hill with four inches of mud pretty much everywhere.  There was a tough 3 mile hike, which consisted of what I would call bog-like terrain punctuated by creek-crossings every 200 yards.  At the top of the hill there was an aid station and, luckily, more climbing.

I would guess it was about a mile or two of pretty steep gravel road coming out of that aid station.  By the time I reached the top of that climb, probably five miles total from the bottom of the falls, the skies opened up with a steady rain.  Which was better than the alternative, which would have been sunshine and 85 degrees with 2000% humidity.  So I embraced the downhill and the rain, and started to run again.

When I finally got back to Skulls Gap and my drop bag, I was surprised both by how good I was feeling and how fast I had covered the distance.  Especially considering that I had hiked almost all of the uphills so far.  I asked how much farther and they told me it was only 13 miles.  My watch said that I had been running for 6:55 at this point.  And this is where I made my first and only real mistake of the day.

I wondered if I could run this thing in under 9 hours.  Supposedly it was all down hill, and I had a little over two hours to do it.  So I rushed through my drop bag, only drinking half a gatorade, and hurried away from the aid station.  The race was on.

And the race lasted for about four miles.

First off, don't ever believe people when they tell you that "it's all down hill from here."  Especially if you have more than ten miles of trail to cover.  No trail is all down hill for 13 miles.  Granted, there were no big or terribly steep climbs left, but it was a lot more rolling than I had counted on, and I discovered quickly that I could not hold my 10K pace for the last half marathon of a 50 mile trail race.

Sure, that seems like a no-brainer, now, in hind-sight.  But 9 hours sounded so good, so possible, that I had to try.  And try I did.

Right before my rocket boosters gave out I passed my buddy Decker on a particularly muddy stretch of trail during a particularly heavy down pour.  He looked like I was about to start feeling, and I feel guilty that I didn't slow down and see if he needed anything.  Sorry Decker.  I had about one more good mile after that, and then the burn out hit.

It was a lot of work after the fun left.  Every little roller seemed like an insurmountable peak.  I found myself walking the flats before the hills a few times and had to yell at myself that I was still running PR pace.  So I trudged my way through nine of the hardest, longest, soggiest miles of a race ever.  Finishing with a very good time of 9:30.  That's a 42 minute PR for the 50 mile distance.  18th overall (2nd female).

I would recommend Iron Mountain to anyone interested in trail running.  It was a great course, with great volunteers, and great runners.  Damascus is pretty cool too.

-Todd

Next up - Odyssey's Trail Running Rampage 40 miler

On the Other Side of the Mountain

This past Saturday's run at Iron Mountain was butt kickingly tough but after a few days rest and reflection I have a much brighter outlook on the experience. Because I find numbered lists to illustrate order and a sense of real productivity, here's a bit of what's come to pass in my mad mind.

1.) I'm now an ultrarunner. Vomiting was that last thing standing in my way of becoming a tride and true ultrarunner, having had the trail literally eat my lunch I feel completely entitled to really call myself an ultrarunner now. Yes, it's official. I'm getting a sticker!

Seriously, I was worried about vomiting at Western States and though convinced that it was going to happen it never did, never even got nauseous there despite the heat. However, now that it has happened I realize it really wasn't that bad. And to be honest, I should have thrown up sooner at Iron Mountain because I really did feel much, much better every time I did. Not sure that it would have made much difference in the overall outcome but hopefully in the future I won't be so skittish about seeing my insides on the trail side.

2.) I can finish what I start. This isn't to say there will never be a DNF in my future but I know if and when it happens it will be no small thing that brings me to it. Saturday was HARD. But I finished. It may have taken almost all of the allotted time, it may have only been thanks to the advice and encouragement I received on the trail but I still had to cover those 50 miles with these legs that are strong and this mind that is a little less so but WILL get there. There is a little ounce or so of confidence that has grown out of Saturday's near defeat because however near to defeat it was I still completed the distance, I'm still running and I'm looking forward to my next race.

3.) I love the ultrarunning community. The other runners, the volunteers, the race directors, so many people leaving their indelible mark on me as a runner but also as a person. I would likely NOT have gone on had it not been for two people in particular: Leah Linarelli and Tammy Gray. Leah gave me the push I needed to just let the stomach trouble run it's course instead of continuing to fight it and Tammy gave me the push I needed to keep moving forward when I was no longer sure that I could. But there were another dozen people who had a positive impact on my day: Beth Minnick, Brain Keefer, Dru Sexton, Cheyenne Craig, the Fig Newton guy, and many more. I couldn't run 50 miles, heck let's be honest I probably wouldn't run 5, if it weren't for this community that just keeps etching its spot in my heart. No gesture is too small, I may not have appeared thankful on Saturday (in my defense I was pretty drained) but I really do take account. Whether they want me or not I've completely associated myself with this community.

4.)  I have to remember I want to be a lifer and I need to get my head and stomach on track, but I'm certainly not done. It's been suggested to me since Saturday's run (and a little before) that my head was the reason for my stomach troubles. I want to fight off that notion but the fact is there is at least a little bit of truth to the idea. Had I not completely fretted about my stomach I would have just gone with my usual pepto before the race start and possibly had a very different day. The fact that so many people keep suggesting to me that my biggest hurdle is my own head is starting to sink in. And though I've been laughing about it for months now, the truth is I don't really know how to change. But I know that I need to. Hoping that's at least a step in the right direction.

5.) There's still a lot to learn. Just as in overcoming my mental blocks I recognize that there is still room for me to grow. Also, I realize that experience can make you wealthy. I am no longer a newbie perhaps but I also can appreciate how running long distance helps you to, well, run long distance. Reading books on the subject is fine, training is imperative, and making race and fueling plans is great, but you may still be surprised when you find yourself in the middle of a run with a unique set of circumstances you may have yet to face. Though I've experienced blisters, and stomach troubles from both ends, bonking and injury, severe heat and terrible falls, I will not be surprised to find that there are still a score of incidents left to encounter on the trails ahead.

6.) I've been running but not training. I run for a reason. And sometimes I lose focus on why that is. But not much else in my life has ever asked so much of me yet given me back so much. Since June I've been drifting from run to run, no clear goals or target. If I want to get a hold of my head and ever get better I have to stop drifting, I have to get serious.

-Alexis

Momma said there'd be days like this....Iron Mountain 50 Race Report

There I was, 48 miles and 11 1/2 hours into the day's run, sitting in the middle of the trail right beside what had just a few minutes ago been the contents of my stomach, wondering where I go from here. The dark haired woman's words ringing in my head "You'll regret it later if you don't finish." It was as though I was having an out of body experience, this couldn't really be me, struggling with every ounce of fight left within just to scrape out a finish. And yet, even that was uncertain at the moment.

The day had started out with plenty of uncertainties. Worried about my stomach due to G.I. issues the past few long runs,  I was fairly worked up about my stomach in the days preceding the race. I was so worried about my stomach that I didn't really even contemplate finishing times or make a race plan other than to pack Imodium, Pepto and Tums first  among my things when gathering the weekend's gear.

Instead of my pre-race ritual Pepto, I took Imodium, distressed about my stomach as I was. It really did seem like a good idea at the time, and it worked, I didn't go to the bathroom all day.  However, I think had I taken Pepto instead as is my usual M.O. I may have had a vastly different day. In addition to the liquid Imodium I ate two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and drank some grape Gatorade. I also took two S caps.

We got to the race start and I noticed lots of people walking around eating and eating. I decided to take a GU, thinking it was better to be full of food then hungry. The race started at 7 am and ran along the flat, gravel Creeper Trail in the town of Damascus for nearly five miles. I started out slow, once again, probably not the best idea. I'm honestly beginning to think I don't know what I'm doing. Anyways, I could still see Todd, Kevin and Chelsie up ahead so I didn't fret my pace. But then at about mile three my stomach started to bother me. It wasn't serious, just a slight wave of nausea. I was able to keep running, holding a steady 9:20 pace until we got off of the Creeper Trail.

We exited the Creeper Trail just about five miles in at the first aid station. Due to the nausea I stopped at the first aid station and got a drink. Afterwards we hit single track and a small climb and I took to walking. It wasn't steep but I just felt like walking. Gina, Dru and Rebecca caught back up with me and I told them my stomach was bothering me. Dru offered me an S Cap but I wasn't sure that would help. I just followed Dru's footsteps, trying to shake the nausea and find my race. I listened as Dru told another runner about the Mountain Junkies series and just climbed as well as I could. Dru is a good climber and I started to feel better as we hiked steadily along. At the second aid station my stomach was feeling better but I wasn't having much desire to push myself.

In the next section I started to pick the pace up a little, I passed Dru and caught Cheyenne and we ran a short ways together. I saw Horton who asked how I was. I told him I thought I was burnt out, that I was having a hard time finding any desire to run. He replied "That isn't good." To be honest, I was hoping for a little more wisdom from him, but I figure he thinks I'm a head case and it wouldn't do any good wasting advice on me anyhow. However, after I passed him I did find a little desire to pick it up. Maybe in spite of the fact that I believe Horton feels that way.

I passed Chelsie headed into Skull's Gap and she said she felt good but was taking it easy on her ankle. The runner behind me introduced herself, Leah and we talked for a few minutes. At the Skull's Gap aid station I drank some Mountain Dew and refilled my vest with more GU. I saw Brian Keefer who was volunteering and he said he thought Kevin Corell was only ten minutes ahead of me. I grabbed some watermelon and pringles and headed out.

Leah and I talked some more as we started the next climb and then leap-frogged a bit. I hiked yet covered the distance well. As it leveled out a bit I took to running and turned on my iPod. I was starting to really feel good. I ate on schedule and took another S Cap or two. I was working on dwindling the time between Kevin and I. I was probably being cocky. I looked at my clock and started to work on bridging the gap between us, I figured if I could hold pretty steady I could run 10 hours, if I slipped a little I could run 10:30. Not great but with the start I'd had I was content.

At the next aid station I had some more Mountain Dew and watermelon and headed out with two guys and a girl. It was downhill  on a gravel road and I stayed steady keeping the three runners ahead in sight. We turned left onto a single track trail and I talked with the guy who was directly ahead for a few minutes. Then we came to another gravel road that was almost all downhill. At first it was great, I caught and passed a few runners still keeping the girl and guy from the previous aid station in sight and working on that 10 minute gap. I would even run the short uphills. And then, after a few miles of downhilling the nausea came back. I opened a GU and tried for a few minutes to eat it. Finally I stopped moving, tried once more and dumped the rest of the packet so I could put the empty wrapper back in my vest. I took to running downhill again but the nausea just kept getting worse. I thought it may be the heat and humidity bothering me so when thunder clapped I was hopeful for a storm despite the sun still shining overhead.

Finally an aid station appeared. I told the volunteers I was nauseous and they offered me a popsicle which I took and I drank some Mountain Dew as one of the volunteers put some pringles and a quarter PB&J in a sandwich bag for me. I headed off back into single track trail, feeling worse with every step. I stopped in the first creek crossing and knelt down and poured water on my head and washed my face hoping the cool water would refresh me, lessen the nausea. I was finding it very hard to eat and the stomach trouble had gotten me down mentally. When Leah and one of the runners I'd run the downhill section with approached on an uphill section of single track I stepped aside and just followed their lead.

This was I believe the shoe sucking section I'd been warned about. It was single track with sloppy sections with unsure footing. I didn't loose my shoe but I picked up a lot of mud and muck. I stayed with the group as we picked up another male who looked as though he'd fallen and we climbed along the waterfall together. When we reached that aid station I got ice in my bottle, perhaps I am not drinking enough water I thought. I drank some more soda and ate grapes and watermelon. I left the aid station thinking Leah had left and I was hoping to stay with her. I followed the single track for a brief stint until it came out on a gravel road. I didn't see Leah so I ran thinking she had pulled ahead while I was getting fruit at the aid station. I was running along well and then the nausea hit hard. I had to start walking on a downhill section. I passed a group camping and forced myself to run by them. But shortly after I was doing almost less than walking, just crawling along at a snails pace, overwhelmed with nausea.

Earlier in the day when I had been plagued with nausea and wondering why I was even out here to run 50 miles I had contemplated a DNF. I'd gone back and forth on it until I'd remembered the Grindstone training run a few weeks ago when Brenton Swyers asked if I'd ever DNF'd. I had been able to say no. I decided that in two more weeks should someone ask me that question I would like to be able to say the same thing. But now, 33 miles into this thing, I was hitting bottom. Leah came upon me once more, she'd apparently not left the aid station before me and asked if I was okay. I told her I was nauseous. She asked if I thought it was an electrolyte imbalance and said I should try to throw up. Then she told me that she'd gotten sick at Old Dominion in June and that even though she'd ended up dropping she had felt better. I stopped then and bent over, with Leah basically by my side, this poor sweet angel, and threw up everything. Once, twice, three times. A male runner stopped and asked if I was okay and I was pretty embarrassed that he and Leah had to witness any of this. Leah told me she would let them know at the next aid station that I was sick and left but not before giving me the sweetest look and most tender of hugs.

After they left I walked a short ways but realized that I did feel better. I took to running again and as I turned off to the left onto more single track the threat of a storm became an awesome rain shower. I ran well to the next aid station and told myself that I wasn't going to quit. The worst was over. I got to the aid station as Leah was leaving and she asked if I was going to go on. I told her I felt better and I was going to try. The volunteers were awesome, they offered me a chair, which I declined, worrying I'd never get back up. One gave me a cup of ice water and another suggested I try banana. I emptied the trash from my vest into my drop bag and got a few more GU. I left feeling pretty good. I looked at my watch. Eight hours in but only about 13 miles left.  I figured if I ran well I could still finish in a time of 10:30 or 10:40. I ran a little ways, figuring what kind of pace I would need to maintain and a little worried about fueling back up when only a little while later the wheels came off and the nausea came back.

This is when a just sort of bad day, became a truly bad day. I was nauseous once more, but could only dry heave. I couldn't stomach the thought of more GU and yet I didn't have the energy without trying to force myself to eat. I was walking along through mud and muck, slipping occasionally and I decided I wanted out. I thought long and hard about the prospect of a DNF, I decided I didn't really care. I didn't care about running 45 miles and quitting. And then a minute later I would tell myself "Thomas' don't quit", whatever this takes even if it's more than 12 hours, you have to finish. Back and forth. But this just drained more energy. I sat down once when the nausea and mental crap became too much to carry. I started hiking again and soon I began to be passed by what seemed like dozens of runners, all looking strong and telling me I did to. One man offered me a Fig Newton when I told him I was nauseous but then he realized he didn't have it on him. He felt bad but told me I was moving smoothly enough he thought I'd finish. I didn't bother to tell him I didn't really care.

I trudged on and several more people passed me, a girl named Emily I believe was one, she was so happy to see me, she said she'd thought it'd been the apocalypse it had been so long since she'd seen a runner. It wasn't long after this that I got dizzy and a little worried for my health. I sat down on a log and started playing out scenarios where I was the last runner out in the woods and that some search and rescue team was going to find me out here passed out along the side of this log. I didn't feel like myself at all. It was scary.

I managed to get up and keep moving forward to the next aid station but it just got uglier and uglier. I was a complete mess and moving on empty. I decided I had had enough, I was dropping at the next aid station. This was difficult to swallow and I think I got a little pouty about the decision.  Then I heard the call of a woman's voice yelling "runners you're near the cut off, hurry up you have ten minutes to make the cut". And for some reason I ran towards that voice.

I made it to the aid station as they were packing up the canopies. I stood there for a moment and one volunteer asked what I needed. I quietly told her I had been nauseous all day and had been throwing up. I poured a little Coke in a cup and drank it. I was waiting for someone to save me. I was waiting for my time to run out. And then a woman with dark hair shouted at me (and she may not have really shouted but it seemed like shouting at the time) to get whatever I needed and get out of the aid station. I told her, through quivering lips that I thought I was going to drop. She said, "NO, get whatever you need and go" and the other volunteer said "She's been throwing up and is nauseous" and the dark haired woman says "You will regret it, just go, you have time. You know what the cut off it right? Just grab what you need and keep moving. It's only 7.5 more miles." I moved over to the table and with tears collecting in my eyes I grabbed a ziploc bag and in it put some grapes, some pringles and some M&Ms. And I walked away.

I am not sure I've ever felt the way I did just then. I know now that I absolutely needed that push, but I was not thankful for it. In the next few miles I was a roller coaster of emotions. I started out trying to run after the coke and grapes, but the nausea was only getting worse. I stepped aside and let three guys go past me and I was certain that I was out there alone after they walked by. As they disappeared I had thoughts of calling to them and telling them to send Todd for me because I really wasn't sure I'd make it. I was certain I wouldn't hit the 12 hours but I figured at this point it was just about doing the distance regardless of the cutoff.

I tried to hike the best I could because running made me so nauseous that I had to stop and bend over the side of the trail after each short jaunt. I made it to the bottles and ran right by wondering where the rocky decent I'd heard rumor of was. Instead there was more climbing, I was down to the last hour though I'd left the aid station with just over two hours to go and only 7.5 miles. Finally I arrived at the rocky decent and I couldn't even walk without the nausea making me stop on the side of the trail, but nothing was coming up, and I think that was as much as anything because I was afraid to throw up again, I hate getting sick.

Finally it became too much, it was 11:30 hours in and I knew I still had over two miles to go thanks to the sign that said 2 miles to Damascus and just wasn't going to make it at the rate I was going. I stopped still as soon as another wave hit me and vomited again and again, projectile style with grapes and coke coming out of my nose until nothing else would come out, it scared me, my heart was racing faster than it had pumped all day (or so it felt). I sat down on the trail beside the contents of my stomach and was just absolutely defeated in a way I am not sure I've ever felt before. But my stomach did feel better. So I got back up, it was 11:30 on the watch, I had a half an hour still to make it back to the pavilion in Damascus. And so I ran.

I ran every step and prayed that the road to Damascus was close. I saw something up ahead but I couldn't tell if it was water or pavement, was I hallucinating? As I got closer I saw that it was pavement. I had been told earlier in the race that it wasn't a mile to the pavilion once you hit the road. I still had time. With an empty stomach I was able to run every step to the pavilion.

So in a nutshell I had nearly as bad a day as I could have had (nausea/vomiting are better than an injury) but I finished. I just wish that the finishing felt better. I am sure in a few days or weeks to come that I'll be more positive about finishing, but for now I'm kind of still empty towards the whole experience. I am thankful for the volunteer, whose name I didn't get but was told it was Rick Gray's wife. She did give me the final push that I needed. I'm thankful for all of the volunteers at the aid stations and the other people out on the trail, so many of whom I didn't even get a name. I'm thankful for all of the friends I've made and especially those who let me shower in their RV (thanks Frank and Christy).

There may be more later, but for now...

-Alexis

It's Not Always That Bad

Occasionally I'm confronted with truths about myself that are not pleasant. Sometimes when this happens I can become slightly offended because, while true, I've yet to come to terms with the truth and it stings. Other times when people point out my flaws I just smile and laugh along because it's a truth I've come to own, made no real headway in changing or at least decided that laughing is better in a restaurant than crying.

What exactly am I skirting around? My sister called me a whiner. On more than one occasion. Maybe the day after every post I've written this year to paint a more accurate description. I can laugh and smile because, most of the time, while this might surprise you, I read my own blog. I know it sounds whiny. I am whiny. Not always. But my blog is like an extension of my running journal, it's meant to be cathartic. If I can't whine and let it all hang out then it loses my interest if not yours. But maybe I've been perhaps a tad too whiny of late?

So in an honest effort to not lose a reader, I present you, in my best effort, a good run.

But first, the backstory.

Last summer Todd and I took the kids out to see this thing, you may be familiar with it, it's called the Appalachian Trail. We hit the footbridge that crosses the James River and did about a half hour's hike in one direction. I was in love and pumped to go for a run on the "AT". So a few short weeks later we organized a run on a Sunday afternoon where we planned to run from the Footbridge to Petits Gap and back. A few people said they would meet us out there. But no one else showed and we started the trek alone on what would be one of the hottest runs of the entire summer. We ran too hard at the start and I cursed the ridge line  as the sun beat down upon us not even halfway into the entire run. We turned around at Petits Gap which wasn't even much to see to be honest and headed back to our car. Two miles later both our hydration packs were empty. We had no water, no food, it was hot as Hades and we still had seven miles to the car. I wasn't whiny, I was irrational and may have become unhinged. Fortunately, Frank Gonzales showed up with water and a GU and saw us back to the creek crossings. It goes down as one of the worst runs I've ever had. Yet I've been meaning to go back.

So exactly a year later, on another hot and sunny Sunday afternoon much like the one last year another Petits Gap run was planned.

This time we actually organized it with people who showed up; Kevin Corell, Chelsie Viar, Joe Alderson, Sam Dangc, and then of course Todd and I. And we were smarter, or at least had a smart, generous friend (Kevin) who was willing to drive an extra hour and stash water at Petites Gap for us.  So before we ever got started we were in better shape than we were last year.

After a few minutes in the parking lot we started off on the day's run. Todd, Sam and Joe were planning a slightly longer route where they hit the Belfast trail down to the Devil"s Marbleyard and then took a gravel road up to Petites. I wasn't sure which way I was going to go but decided at the shelter to hold up and wait for Kevin and Chelsie. I decided that the day's goal would be to best my effort from last summer, complete the run in a time better than 4:52. I knew this shouldn't be hard as wrong as last year's run went, but I still wanted to be careful until the turn around.

Chelsie, Kevin and I hiked most of the next climb and then ran easy along the more level sections, I was feeling good. At about mile five I was just running really smooth and comfortable and even enjoying the occasional spots of rocky terrain, seeing them as training for Iron Mountain coming up this weekend.

Nearer the top Chelsie took the lead and went up and over that last rocky climb well. I let Kevin and Chelsie pull away and ate a Strawberry Waffle (the tummy hasn't been in love with these but my taste buds and I are!). I went at my own steady pace up and over the final climb to Petites Gap, remembering how difficult it had seemed the year before. Now other than how grown up this section was it was relatively smooth sailing. I was having a pretty good day.

We made it to Petites Gap in 2:13, I have no idea how long it took us to get there last year but I knew that I had taken it far more conservatively this time around to the top. We refilled out packs and ate some cookies killing about 6-7 minutes, all the while time clicking away. I generally will not stop my Garmin for any reason on a run, not for any reason in particular other than I seem to ALWAYS forget to restart it. We headed back out, in the direction of the car, at 2:20. I hoped we could cover the second half which is predominantly downhill in less than 2:10.

The first section of a half mile or so back uphill over some rocks and back through the grown up grass and weeds we took easy and hiked. But when it leveled out I started running with that 2:10 on my mind. I took the downhills comfortably hard not too concerned about my quads or Iron Mountain coming up in less than a week's time.

I ran a ways and came to a split in the woods that I was uncertain of how to proceed I waited for the group. Moments later Chelsie, Kevin and Sam Dangc appeared. Sam had caught us despite having run approximately 3 miles longer. He's fast like that, we didn't hold it against him. Then Todd showed up and after a bathroom break I was worried we had dilly dallied too long and took off downhill at a quicker clip than was probably necessary or smart.

I finally slowed as my pack was upsetting my stomach once again and I let Sam pass by me. I ran a little further on but my stomach was only getting worse. I was worried of a repeat of the misery that was the Grindstone training run but I was also worried about dumping my water from my pack and having a repeat of last year's frightening Petites run on dehydration. Todd offered me one of his water bottles (that was empty) so I stopped, poured as much of the water from my pack into the bottle and then dumped the rest of my hydration pack. During this Kevin and Chelsie caught back up with us and we took off once more in a group.

My stomach was instantly feeling better and I was running well and then I lost the trail. I mean I stepped off the side of the trail and a downhill section. I went down, throwing Todd's bottle off the side of the trail in the interim. He helped me up and I estimated the damage done while he went down the hill to rescue his bottle. I had scratched the side of my knee fairly well but I could run on it. We took to running again and not more than a few hundred feet downtrail Chelsie did a very similar thing. It was almost funny the fact that we couldn't stay on the trail. It's narrow, but not that narrow. We laughed and mosied for a minute. Then I heard Todd yell "JOE". I thought he'd seen Joe, apparently he was just yelling for Joe while we were meandering along laughing about our inability to stay on trail.

Well when Todd yelled Joe something clicked in me. I asked Chelsie if Joe who had also gone the longer route was really behind us. She said "I don't know, but run like he is." If you know me, you know that 'race' is my trigger word. It was kind of like Chelsie had yelled 'race'.

So I did what made the most sense.

I took off.

It was downhill and full of switchbacks and I ran just nice and hard. It wasn't that I was running from Joe, I was just ready to pick it up after the stopping and starting and falling. It wasn't long before I came to the second to last creek crossing that you cross on the way back to the footbridge. Sam was there soaking his leg. He'd fallen twice during the run and had a nice egg sized bump on his shin. I stopped long enough to ask him if he was okay. He said he was, I told him to get up, Joe was on our trail or he wasn't but either way I had a goal of 4:30 for this run.

He got up and we ran along and then the trail started to descend even more. Sam Dangc is far faster than me. Even if he's been in California all summer just running for fun he is and always will be faster than me. But I was hellbent on not being slow enough on the descent for him to need to go around me. So I picked up the pace even more. Again, with Iron Mountain approaching maybe this was dumb. But I do not care. I enjoyed every step of that decent. I mean I ran faster and better on that decent (mostly) than I have at more races I've ever won. I needed that descent. Stupid or not.

We made it to the shelter and the creek crossing and without a word between us went into that creek, washing our faces, drinking the water, taking in it's cool refreshing power. Todd came along shortly after and made me feel even better, he said he'd let it all go to catch us and couldn't. That made me feel even better.

Now it was just a little further back to the car, maybe a mile and a half? Two miles? Well being that close I decided that I would continue on eating nothing (because, mostly, I'm DUMB). I'd be in the car soon enough with cookies, I could wait. I hadn't eaten anything since the cookie at Petits Gap. I ran along and Sam passed me and then Todd. Before long I recognized that the slipping speed was a bonk. I was bonking because I'd chosen not too eat anything on the second half despite knowing that I wanted to negative split the run. But I'm dumb and still didn't eat anything. So my pace slipped and slipped. I even walked a level section once the bridge was in sight. But I didn't care. I knew I was going to be well within my goal of 4:30.

Todd was slowing too so I caught up with him and we ran mostly together, suffering quietly but collectively back to the footbridge. We made it back to the bridge in 4:13. I had managed to take nearly 40 minutes off of last year's run. I was, with what little energy I had left, ecstatic, even if I'd run the second half STUPID. Which I had.

Joe, as it turns out, wasn't right behind me. It didn't matter anyways. I wasn't running from him, I was running from the memory of that terrible first run on the AT. Overall, despite the fact that I still run foolhardy at times I can tell I'm becoming a stronger runner because I knew I was choosing to run dumb and noticed these things for what they were as they were occurring unlike last year when we took the AT for granted, started way too hard and fell apart, with no water or fuel between us.

-Alexis

100 miles on my mind

Earlier this year I decided that I was going to run the Beast Series.  Or maybe it was last December when I was pacing Alexis at Hellgate.  Either way, I decided that I was going to tackle the Beast Series this year, and then run different stuff in 2014.  You know, some of those cool races that the out of town runners talk about or wear shirts from when they show up to run the Lynchburg Ultra Series races.  So I decided to go ahead and get the Beast Series behind me before I get too old, and then I'd be able to pick and choose my races and not feel tied to a Series.

Then Alexis got into Western States, and we went out west and had a great time.  Then the NEED to run Grindstone to complete a series, was replaced by the DESIRE to run an epic mountain race.  When I was crewing Alexis at Western States, I met dozens of 100 mile runners, and it was inspiring to hear the way they talked about the distance with reverence, respect, and awe.  I know a lot of ultra runners, but there was something different about some of these people.  Something happens at 100 miles, and I'm hoping to find out what it is.

It has been proposed by a running friend that ALL ultra runners are running away from something, but I think that it is just as likely that we are running toward something.  Looking for something.  We just don't know what it is.  Hopefully we'll know it when we find it.

-Todd

Why so quiet?

The past few weeks have been about recovering, reflecting, looking ahead. There's a sort of sadness now that Western States is over and yet also a magnificent feeling of relief.

I've spent many a run these past few days and weeks questioning so much that I've done or failed to do that it's dragging me down. I'm comparing every run, every runner. Trying to figure out if I measure up. I'm beginning to feel that I don't measure up to my own expectations.

I spend almost every run pushing just hard enough to prove to someone I'm strong enough, fast enough, good enough to be here.  It's becoming a maddening ritual with no future aside from one of injury and letdown. But I also don't seem to be able to break the habit, give myself a clean slate.

I know at least partially what the problem is; too much self imposed pressure, too much social networking, no clear direction, uncertainty of what's next, feeling too good and yet not good enough. Being able to walk easily in the days that followed Western States gave way to hours of second guessing my run, the minute decisions that altered so much of that experience. And yet the pain in my achilles, the plantar fasciitis, the calf strain they all remain at least peripherally present barring me from resuming my training the way I would like.

Every few runs I'll have a section, a quarter mile, a mile, where I get the smallest feeling that I'm coming back, that there is a strong runner lying dormant within me somewhere. I have the feeling she is surfacing, ready to go hard, go further on.

But then I speak up, warning of further injury and further disappointments and I can feel that strong runner being physically pushed deep down until she's quiet once more. In this environment she doesn't feel welcome.

Why would she?

* This post was originally penned on August 1st. I never posted this because it felt dark and depressing. I thought the venting by the very sketching of the post would be enough. But this is basically the way I still feel now, three weeks later.

It boils down to Grindstone. Another 100 mile event in six short weeks. Before Western States I was certain I wouldn't toe the starting line of Western States. I assumed one start would suffice regardless of whether I finished. Sam Dangc told me I would DNF Western States and toe the line at Grindstone for redemption. He was wrong, I did finish and yet I wonder in some ways, if he's still right?

I did finish that first 100. But I made so many mistakes. I didn't realize so many things. I learned so much. And so I know I should be able to run a subsequent hundred better, smarter. But I also know, that for me at least, it isn't 50/50 between running ability and mental strength. For me the mental part feels so much more of it, the legs are there doing their job but the act is most predominantly carried out in my mind. As much as I am curious as to how I could measure up at Grindstone I just don't know if I'm mentally ready to take on all that means. I'm afraid of the tougher course, the more hours running in the dark, the terrain. I'm afraid to not have Todd on my crew, as my pacer, as my rock. He'll be out there too facing his own demons on that course, I'm afraid for that as well. I'm afraid it will ask more of my already shaky mental reserves. I've offered to crew and pace  for him, that was, after all, the plan, but he's adamant that I take on Grindstone for myself. He's joked (?) that I'd be a rotten crew, a poor pacer. And yet I can't take the leap of faith and sign up for Grindstone (which is now full other than overflow applications thanks to my procrastination).

Truth is, I'm convinced that I won't do any better, won't run any smarter, that I will DNF this 100 in the wake of any small success that finishing WS was. I'm afraid I'll further wreck my Achilles which I'm on seemingly good terms with at the moment. I'm afraid it will come back, but sooner and stronger. I am damn afraid of those three little letters...the D N F. I've had several people tell me that I should have no problem finishing Grindstone but this weekend I went out, ran half the course and I have to be honest I am not so sure. Todd ran the same half, his fears seemed to have been washed away by the training run. Mine seem to just be magnified. I feel less ready than ever before to tackle the distance.

After the weekend's training run I was out for sure. But by Monday afternoon I'm allowing Todd to speak to me about my training, my fuel, I realize he's tricking me back in and I'm willingly letting him. And yet I know if I'm to do it, toe the line I have to have my own reason. If I don't, if I go because someone else says I can, it won't be enough. You don't move 100 miles through mountains without a desire from within.

And yet the best reason I seem to have at the moment is that I'm deathly afraid of my Masochist time from last year. What was a good day in the mountains was seen as some as potential. To me, it was just a good day. One I'm convinced I won't have again (namely, because, I'm CRAZY!) I am frightened that last year's run was the best that I possess within. I see Grindstone as a novel excuse to run slower. This is a disease, a plague that I fear will wear me down for Masochist no matter how Grindstone plays out.

And yet there is one other reason. I was afraid of running Western States. I was afraid of bears, and big cats, hallucinations and rattlesnakes, getting lost, dehydration, the distance itself, my calf, the climbs, the canyons. And yet I survived despite the fear. There's a part of me that wants to do that again, possess those fear and overcome them. Because after all, for me, that's what it's all about. Being scared to death but doing it anyways...

-Alexis

Western States Crew Report (Part 2)

When we left off, our hero had just discovered the wonders of Trenchfoot.

After Alexis left Michigan Bluff, we packed up our gear and hiked back up to the car.  While the rest of the crew organized the gear I pinned my pacer bib onto my shorts and we discussed the plans for the rest of the race.  While we drove from Michigan Bluff to the Foresthill Elementary School, Alexis descended into Volcano Canyon by herself.

We got parked just past the Aid Station and I headed out running backwards on the course towards the Bath Road Aid Station.  Crews are allowed to hike the 1.7 miles to this AS and hike all the way back to Forest Hill with their runners.  We decided that I would go alone so that the rest of the crew would have time to get everything ready.  I met another pacer doing the same thing, and we ran together all the way to Bath Road.  This was a nice run, indicative of the sense of family that surrounds an Ultra running event.

When we arrived at the Aid Station we moved to the side to stay out of the way of the volunteers.  This was a pretty small Aid Station compared to everything else out on the course, but in all fairness it was only 1.7 miles from Foresthill, which looked like it was being run by Barnum and Bailey.

Two runners came in pretty close together, and one of them already had a pacer with him.  The pacer must have noticed us other pacers idling around and told us that the Aid Station workers had told him that it was alright to run in and find your runner since it was after 8 pm.  We both looked to the Aid Station worker for reassurance, and she nodded to us.  I immediately headed down the trail, which was steep and technical, I guess the other pacer decided to wait, because I never saw him again.

I only had to run in about a half of a mile before I found Alexis, jogging along like her feet didn't look like oatmeal inside those Hokas.  I asked her how she was, because she looked good, and she told me that Volcano Canyon was turning out to be a long climb out.  We talked and climbed up to the Aid Station at Bath Road, and I must admit that I was surprised to see her in such good shape.  This was mile 60.

Leaving that Aid Station we faced a  3/4 mile paved hill to get us back to the main road in Foresthill.  Alexis let me know that she had no intention of running up that hill, and that was fine, because coming down it I didn't see anyone else running up it.  I let her know that Lee Conner and Alissa Springman, the two girls that Alexis knew at Western States this year, were not that far in front of her.  I didn't tell her this to spark her competitive drive as much as to reassure her that she was running fine.  Slow and steady was still working.

When we reached Foresthill Aid Station, Alexis was whisked away to the medical check-in, and I told her to take her time and eat, and that Scott or Eli would meet her at the end of the line of Aid Station pavilions to guide her to where the crew was parked.  This Aid Station looked like a little town of its own.  Tent after tent of food and drink and massage tables and who knows what else stretched out for 150 yards.  It was dark out by this point, and she didn't have her headlamp on yet.  I ran ahead to the crew to make sure that everything was ready.

I would be lying if I said that this Aid Station stop didn't frustrate me.  We had a plan:  to feed her soup, to put her headlamp on her, to re-supply her gear vest, and to get US running as soon as possible.  With the medical check, the official Aid Station, and then the crew this was three stops in a row, and we didn't need to eat up any more time than was necessary.  But we did.

Looking back I think that my sense of urgency most likely made Sue and Eli a little anxious.  Scott, he doesn't get anxious.  He just does his thing.  At this particular Aid Station he pretty much held the team together.  Alexis looked like she was about to fall asleep on her feet all of the sudden, maybe because it was full-on dark now.  We looked like the Three Stooges trying to get her into her vest and headlamp at the same time.  She took about three bites of soup and said she was done.  Instead of arguing, I ate the soup myself because I wanted us moving again.  I'm sure that I was a bit of a jerk to the rest of the crew here, and they never said anything about it, even after the race.  For that I both thank them, and apologize.  It had already been a long day for everyone, and we were all trying to do our best to get to Auburn.

And we were finally off and running.  Foresthill Aid Station is at mile 62, 100 kilometers run already, 38 more miles to go.  Soon we would be surpassing the farthest distance had ever run before, it was dark, it was still hot, but we had plenty of time, and this was Western States.  I took a mile or so to appreciate the fact that I was running in the footsteps of giants like Scott Jurek, Tim Twietmeyer, Ann Trason, Gordy Ainsleigh, Geoff Roes, and many more.  I tried to share this inspiring moment with my runner, but she was not in the mood for inspiration.

It was going to be a long night.  It was going to be a glorious night.  Almost right away, Alexis tells me that she is tired.

"I know you're tired, you've run sixty-some-odd miles already.  Less than forty left to go."

"NO, I just want to go to sleep!  I can't do this."

"Yes you can," I tell her.  "You didn't come here to quit.  Think about why you ARE here.  You're just hitting a wall, this will pass.  Lets keep moving."

Silence.

We trudge on for a mile or so more, Alexis grumbling the whole way about hotel beds and soft pillows.  Then it hits me.  HOLY CRAP!  I have let my runner bonk.

"You need to eat something."

"No, I ate so much at Foresthill that my stomach hurts, I have to wait for this to digest before I can eat."

"No, you are out of calories.  A chunk of watermelon and three bites of soup 3 miles ago isn't making you feel full.  You are crashing.  Eat!"

So she ate.  And she complained about it.  And I made her eat some more.  Whatever she had on her.  Grapes, crackers, a gel, everything.  It took about twenty minutes to kick in, but without even noticing it herself, she was moving faster and complaining less.  When I pointed this out, we came to an agreement; she would eat more.  Simple as that.

We traveled over the 16 miles of the California Trail that leads from Foresthill to the Rucky Chucky crossing of the American River.  In and out of three Aid Stations; the Dardanelles with it's glow in the dark aliens at mile 65.7, Peachstone at mile 70.7, and Fords Bar at mile 73 with music hot food and cots full of sleeping runners. We kept moving.  Through this section of the race we passed runners worse off than Alexis, and were passed by runners who were feeling better to be out of the heat of the day.  We saw a lot of people whose race had fallen victim to the near record heat, and would probably not finish the race.  We kept moving, through ups and downs, over many nearly-dry creek crossings, and on into the darkness.

From Ford's Bar to the Rucky Chucky near Aid Station is only 5 miles, but that night I am sure that those miles were measured out by  either David Horton or the Devil himself.  We would get close enough to the river to hear it, and then move away again.  This happened over and over.  This gently rolling section felt like it was full of mammoth climbs, and this is where Alexis' Achilles started hurting her.  We were running along and she yelled out in pain, I thought that she had twisted her ankle or been attacked by a mountain lion or something.  She said that something 'snapped' in her heel and that it hurt to walk on it.

"Well," I said "If it hurts to walk, and it hurts to run, then I guess we'll run."

And we did. Or at least we tried.  There may have been a lot of cursing and a little crying following this incident, but I'll never tell.

We finally reached the river crossing, 5 miles covered in 1 1/2 hours, and found ourselves at another of the Western States Parties.  It was two in the morning, and there was music, hot food, and dozens of volunteers, including a massage therapist from Monsters of Massage.  I went to fill our water bottles and get food for us while Alexis got weighed, and when I came back to find her she was gone.  I looked everywhere, and finally found her laying down on a massage table having her Achilles worked on.  I almost lost it!  We did not have time for this.  I made her eat while the therapist worked on her foot, this was taking forever.  I knew it was two in the morning and that this guy didn't have to be here, in fact it was awesome that he was here, but my runner needed to get her butt up and cross that river.

Being as nice as I could, to the volunteers, not my runner, I got her off of the table and down to the river crossing.  The water was cold, and the water was wide, and the water was a good bit deeper than we had been promised.  But there was not only a guideline to follow, but a dozen or more volunteers standing in the waist deep water at 2 a.m., helping you find the best footing.  We made it across the water to the other side.  It took 30 minutes from the time we arrived at the Aid Station to get across the water.  Sue and Scott were waiting for us, along with a tough mile and a half climb up to the Green Gate Aid Station, where Alexis kept saying that if you made it there within the cut-off times you could finish.

We all hiked up together, and when we got there we changed her socks for dry ones, fed her more, and swapped out my headlamp batteries.  Somehow we spent 15 minutes at this Aid Station, but by this point I was getting used to wasting time.  I checked my watch, twenty more miles of trail, 7 1/2 hours of race.  I knew at this point that a buckle finish was in the bag, and I started to wonder how well we might do.  27 hours?  Maybe 26?

I kept those thoughts to myself, and focused on keeping Alexis fed and moving forward.

I kept repeating to her "Without food you can't move forward."  This became a colossal struggle between me and her fatigued brain.  The other major battle was with her ankle.  The better she ate the less she complained about it.  Somehow with all of the other issues facing her, she seemed for the most part to forget that her shoes were now filled with mushy-swollen-pulp that used to be feet.  She soldiered on, our pace steadily slowed, but I can assure you that the amount of effort put forth grew with every single step.

We shuffled (not ran, because I couldn't ask her to run anymore) across the flats, we jogged down the hills, and we fought our way up the inclines.  On and on like this.  Auburn Lake Trail Aid Station, mile 85.2, the sky was beginning to lighten and they had pancakes.  We ate, we ran away.  Brown's Bar Aid Station, mile 89.9, they had music playing, and it bounced of the canyon walls making you think you were almost there for over a mile.  Cruel.  It was now fully light outside.

The heat was coming on fast, and we were down in a Canyon with a long exposed climb ahead of us.  The climb to Highway 49 had Alexis cursing everyone who has ever called Western States a downhill race.  It was a good 1 3/4 mile steep climb up to the Aid Station.  Highway 49, mile 93.5, we dropped some gear with our crew, partook of some nice cold fruit smoothies, cold Gatorade, and moved on down the trail.  It was full on hot now.  But the end was in sight.

No Hands Bridge, mile 96.8, what a beautiful sight.  We filled water bottles and kept moving.  Tim Twietmeyer was running backwards on the course, and told us that we had three miles to go and two hours to do it.   There was another hot fully exposed climb ahead, but it lead us into Auburn and that was the goal.  She ran like a champ for a full mile out of the Aid Station, but then she went down with a shriek.  It was the Achilles again, she could barely stand up on it.  I told her that she only had 2 1/2 miles to go, and that even if she had to crawl through the dirt I would not let her quit.  I wanted to pick her up and carry her, but I couldn't.  She clenched her jaw, cried a little, and limped up the hill, passing those worse off than her, in silent determination all the way to Robie Point.

"For the Western States 100 is terribly honest in its demands and rewards. During these two-dozen hours in the wilderness we will be governed apart from the world of political favors, hidden agendas, and orchestrated cheers. Our number – which includes woodsmen, ranchers, nurses, investment bankers, mechanics and computer engineers – will all be measured on the same scale. We will test ourselves against the mountains."

Eli was waiting for us at Robie Point.  We got water because even though it was only 1.3 miles, it was already in the 90's.  There is a climb out of this Aid Station, insult to injury is how the saying goes, all on paved road, leading to the final stretch of road into the stadium at Placer High School.  At the top of the hill we picked up Scott and Sue, and passed a runner who was drinking a beer, already celebrating his finish that was still 1/2 mile away.   As we ran past him, he asked how Alexis had any legs left.

"She doesn't," I told him, "all she has left is heart."

"By the time we reach the finish we will have found, both physically and mentally, as many valleys and peaks as mark the trail. For those who come into Auburn arrive with a rare grace. The runners who press through the weary and lonely hours can get through only if they are tough and at peace with themselves."

We crossed the finish line of the 2013 Western States Endurance Run in 28:49:05.  The goal was to finish, but she did much more than that.  The trials that she was able to overcome should make her at least as proud as that shiny buckle that was awarded to her.  But in the end I suppose that the two are inseparable.  We went to California so that she could measure herself against the mountains and the distance.  Add to that the heat and a nearly fatal rookie mistake with her feet, and I dare say that she more than measured up.  She toed the line, met every obstacle along the way, and persevered to the very end.  Congratulations Runner, I would gladly pace you any time.


“What they had done, what they had seen, heard, felt, feared – the places, the sounds, the colors, the cold, the darkness, the emptiness, the bleakness, the beauty. ‘Til they died, this stream of memory would set them apart, if imperceptibly to anyone but themselves, from everyone else. For they had crossed the mountains… “


Alexis,

There were times when it was both scary and inspiring at the same time.  I feel privileged to have been a part of this adventure with you, and even though I know that it was probably harder even than it looked from a pacer's perspective, you have inspired me to go farther and push harder.  To see what you were able to push yourself to accomplish makes me want to demand more of myself.  Not only in my running, but in my life.

-Todd

"I can't help but feel that I made some mistakes, but I let it go..."

The day after completing Western States I received a message from a friend that I interpreted as not all that supportive of my finish. I took it as a light, but direct, hit on what was hard but in ways I've yet to fully be able to articulate. What I took to be the message of the message took hold of my every thought and began little by little to break down the accomplishment I had reveled in not a full 24 hours prior. In place of trying to understand my hurt and make amends with it I decided to carry a chip with my every step, burden a pressure that was yet understandable but very real.

Finally, last night I admitted to Todd that deep down I've used the message as a way to veil my own disappointment, to conceal the way that I really feel about my run at Western States.

There is a part of me that knows what I should about the run, that it was my first hundred. Going into the run I knew that inexperience would be a factor, that my own self doubt would be a factor, that the distance by it's very nature would be a factor, for an indeterminable number of unforeseens may present themselves at inopportune times. I realize that I accomplished overall what I set out to do, which was finish, but there is a growing discernment that what was a unique and treasured experience was not all that good a day.

And so back and forth my emotions swing, maybe it has to do with the distance but I remember a familiar swing of peaks and valleys following Hellgate last winter. One moment I would hold a sense of pride over my conquering the scary night and the nasty lows but then other times I would experience the lowest lows. Half a year later I'm still somewhat in the middle knowing that this year I'll have to go back and better my time, and in doing so conquer myself as much as the Devil's trail. Now, a week or so out from Western States I'm experiencing the same sort of feelings but with more lows than I would have expected. I decided to compile the thoughts that are haunting me, figured the release of all the pent up second guessing would afford me a reprieve.

For starters, I started slow, like stop and smell the flowers and take a dozen photos slow. At the time I thought this was smart and I was being patient. I don't regret the hike to Emmigrant Pass, I think that was necessary, but I continued on at a snail's pace for the first 24 miles or more of the race. By the time I took to really running a quarter of the run was practically over. In retrospect I worry that I took it too easy, too slow. I don't personally believe you can 'bank' time but I never anticipated what later happened to my feet. That second half wasn't about muscle damage so much as painful feet, had I moved quicker, covered distance faster in the beginning, I wonder if overall my time would have been better.

Then there is my poor grasp on Nutrition. Every really bad race I have had I have later reflected that it all stems back to not eating enough either from the start or at one point or another in the run. On training runs I never bonk, even training runs of up to 25 miles or more. But that's 25 miles. You take me out to a 40 or 60 mile race and eat as poorly as I tend to and it's going to catch up with you. I struggled from the beginning of the day to eat, I even had it written on my arm to eat (but it had completely faded by mile 30). Looking back there were spans of several hours where I ate a few grapes and a slice of Watermelon, a single GU or a couple of crackers. By the time Todd caught on that I wasn't eating enough I had fallen rather low. Despite eating again I never fully came back. To keep moving, even at a much slower rate than I train at, for a sum of nearly 29 hours, my fueling was just sub sub par. And what makes this worse for me is that I do have enough experience to have known at least a little better, Douthat and Hellgate both illustrated, or so I thought, the extreme effect eating has on my run. Sure your energy suffers when you don't eat but so does your ability to handle emotions and pain. I wonder how much better I could have hobbled through those last 35 miles if I had kept up throughout the earlier part of the day on eating more. In my mind this is the single, biggest downfall of my time at Western States.

But there was also inexperience. I had been warned that your feet could and probably would suffer from the dust and heat of the day. I was warned about blisters and gators came highly recommended. I bought a pair of Mountain Hardwear Gators the day before the run, attached them to my Hokas. In doing this I changed my plan of starting in my Montrail Bajadas. In my original race plan I was to wear my Montrails for the first 30 miles. At Robinson Flats I was to change both my socks and shoes, and move into my beloved Hoka Stinson. However, with the gators attached to that one pair of shoes and fearing the dust and blisters I decided to go all willy nilly and change this plan. This has weighed heavily on me every since. People have asked me how I got trench foot by mile 38! Good question. I love wet feet. I have never had problems with wet feet. As stated before, others were dodging that water early on, I did not even pass a thought over what damage wet feet at 20, 25 or 30 hours could do. The time it took me to reach mile 38 was much longer than any of my previous 50k times and was pushing, I believe, my 50 mile time. I've never run with wet feet that long, I didn't realize the consequences until I was living them. Having wet feet and an empty stomach worked quickly to take the good day I had started having away from me.

I thought I was being smart and running easy, that I was saving those quads of mine. And I did. So well that I never in the days following the run experienced any Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness. Just Delayed Onset Run Regret. But now I am pretty sure the later is just as hard to walk around with.

There was also a lot of time wasted later on in aid stations. I needed the break at Michigan Bluff to change my socks. But I stopped and sat down in at least three different aid stations, something I had vowed I would not do going in. I had a massage before I crossed the river! These just ate time, they didn't benefit my run and are just extra regrets to burden as the days go by. In all though, it was really just the aid stations in the darkness that held me back, during the day I had gone in and out so quickly that I forgot socks and Tums and extra food even when it had been all I thought about for miles headed towards my crew.

And then there were the emotional breakdowns. Horton and Ellie had both warned about being relaxed and patient. But I had a number of lows. Running down to El Dorado Creek I thought I was lost, this was really the first low of the day and in retrospect my eating was just catching up with me at this point. But once I allowed myself to slip mentally it was just easier the rest of the run. I didn't have a 'breakdown' the only time I thought about quitting, but again eating played a huge part in my wanting to quit then. But later, reaching 85 miles I had a nice emotional breakdown that others got to witness but probably don't remember as we were probably all facing our own demons enough to not worry with what other's were experiencing. And maybe that's what happens at mile 85, but I never came back from that low at mile 85. The last 15 miles were a tumbling mix of fatigue, fear, pain and true grit.

I know when I think about the day that I must ultimately embrace that I finished, the weather and the mountains took a good number of people down before the weekend was over. A finish is a finish. But I can't help but wonder, if this then what could have come to pass?

When it's all finished tumbling the same thing keeps coming out clear, I did really enjoy the distance. It was harder than I imagined, and it asked more of me in ways I wasn't expecting, but I did pull through and I did finish. There wasn't necessarily the enlightenment I was hoping for but it did present a window into myself, that I can do what needs to be done with a little help from my friends. However, I hate that I keep having to remind myself of these facts. I could have been a casualty, and with the bad decisions and inexperience it would have been no surprise to fall victim to a DNF, to have bowed out before Auburn.

I am going to quote Ezra Koening at this point and say "I can't help but feel that I made some mistakes, but I let it go" and hope that I can...

-Alexis