Northants 35 Mile Shires and Spires

Sunday June 5, 2011


You know it's going to be a good race when they hand you 7 maps, a compass, and anti venom at packet pick-up. The next thing I know, I am clawing my way through fields of tall grasses and weeds up to my shoulders in a line of three British guys. The voice from behind me.."Why is it that I have to be the unlucky third man??" They cackled when I asked why so unlucky. The third man is always the worst off when running through snake infested terrain. When crossing paths with a snake, the first man wakes him up, the second pisses him off, and the third takes the bite. This guy was not passing me. I ran faster.


How did I end up running through a snake field on a Sunday morning with a bunch of Brits in the middle of Europe? (Are you really surpised?) I had been eying this race for several weeks, ever since I found out that I might be coming to England, but didn't actually realize that I had a real chance of running it until I finally found a ride to the start the Friday afternoon before the race. I had not really undergone any type of taper, having already run about 45 miles that week, and not even given thought to the carb load. The only thing that felt more than ready was my mindset to get out of all this city running and back to the country side. And I was kind of itching to race.



Unknowingly, I showed up to the race in my old Salomon trails, favorite black Brooks shorts, and representing UD in my UD cycle tri top. I brought my Northface handheld water bottle, with the pouches stuffed with Tangfastics (European Sour Patch Kids), and of course was KT taped up. Even though I didn't have a great idea what I was in for, I had decided to run light for this one. I was not so pleasantly surprised after being handed the stack of detailed maps at the start line and soon afterwards in the ladies room (toilets!) finding out that this crazy convoluted course was not marked in any way. It was a 'self-sufficient' race. This info was NOT on the website. A lot of people in the reviews online I had read the night before complained about getting lost for as much as 15 miles the previous year. It made me a little nervous, but I thought this was an over-exaggeration and didn't take it too seriously.


Two of seven course maps. Think you're lost now? Oh, did I mention they have absolutely NO directional markings of N S E or W?? Really.



At the starting line my plans of racing strategy had changed a bit. I had to find someone who had run this race before and knew where they were going, or chance getting hopelessly lost. I remember looking down to secure the clasp on my road ID, humoring myself for a split second wondering if they would actually take the extra expense to make the high-rate international call to my parents if my body was found. I convinced myself I would be fine, but I wasn't going to take any chances, as my navigation skills are already pretty weak. I was going to find my human GPS source and stick with him. I knew this would probably mean that I wouldn't be able to run my own race at my own pace, but I was willing to make the sacrifice.





The start. Search for human GPS begins. 


For the few miles, everyone stayed together for the most part. I would run up alongside people, starting towards the middle/back of the pack, trying to get a sense of who knew what they were doing. Not many, I soon learned. First several miles were mostly road, with some cutting through grassy fields in between. I did manage to meet some pretty cool crazy ultrarunners, who had some pretty good stories. About getting lost in 100 milers. Annnnddd my search continued.

                                                       UD represent!


After about 90 minutes in, I finally found Dave, soon to become my new human GPS. It's funny because I found him after he led the pack down a wrong turn that tacked on an extra half a mile. But when talking to him he said that he had run this last year, and when I asked how he liked it, he said "rubbish." We strayed slightly from the course a few minutes later at a confusing cross section with poor mapping and lack of markings. "And this is why this race is rubbish." When one of the other guys asked him what his Garmin said, he responded "It says we're lost, you idiot! Why are you back to this place AGAIN??" Okay, so if I was going to be lost in the middle of the woods in the middle of Europe, at least I was going to be entertained. So he may not have known exactly where he was going, but he knew more than I did, and I could stick with this pace, and that was good enough for me.

                                         Sticking close with the newly found GPS up ahead.


As the pack became more dispersed, Dave and I and two other guys formed a clan. We were now entering farm territory. Except these farms weren't like anything I had ever come across in the US before. The narrow, seemingly endless footpaths traversed straight through sheep fields and pony farms, and we were opening small latched gates and hopping fences every mile or less. The aid stations were centered around small old broken down churches or schools. Oftentimes we would see a church or school on top of a big hill from miles in the distance, and just use it as a distant landmark to make in there anyway we could, cutting fields, running through small forests, or whatever. Just don't run through tickets, as I quickly learned the hard way. There didn't seem to be any kind of formulated path to this madness, just make sure you hit every checkpoint, and good luck to you if you want to try to stray from the maps and find a short-cut to do so. There was at least one runner who must have successfully managed to do this. We passed the guy like three times. The third time Dave made a joke to him, to which he claimed that we were the ones missing turns and taking the long route. We probably were.



The four of us stuck together until about 23 miles when we came to a small town. At about mile 15-16 these guys started picking up the pace. At one point we were going sub 7:30s through the countryside. I was able to keep with it, but I knew it was too fast to be able to sustain for a race like this one. And the worst of the hills had not even come! Normally I would have probably dropped back a bit and let them take the lead, but not now. Despite feeling like I was straining a bit, I remained determined to keep with these guys. I fixed myself onto Dave's hip in front of me and held on for dear life.

                                                      Through one of the small towns. Cruising at a quick pace up a hill.                                 Great ideas at mile 18. 


We got to a small town, and after running through it, there was some discrepancy among our group about where to go next..get back on the trail here, or continue through the road. We lost one of the guys here. It was like we were all deciding, we turned around and he was gone. Kinda strange. Dave and I and the other French guy "carried on." By about 23-4 miles and back on the road, we had dropped the pace a bit to something just slightly slower than true cruise control comfort for me, but I was ok with it. At this point I could tell the French guy was starting to struggle a bit. Dave was still going and I was feeling alright.



The road went on for several miles. I was now starting to feel the cruelness of the hard pavement through my Salomons with every strike. We had all stopped talking for at this point. Everyone was feeling it, and talking just took too much breath. There was a good breeze outside, which created a bit of a headwind that I was feeling press against me, but at least it was cool. The sun was out in full shine now, which was warming the pavement and creating an uncomfortable hot sensation beneath soles of my shoes, also burning with each push-off. My quads did not feel the greatest. The familiar sore painful feeling from some unlocalized location deep within them was starting to onset, also pounding with each stride. No. I couldn't be thinking about every step. Just keep the pace, and focus on anything else.


It probably only took me a mile or so to snap out of this state. But when I did at about mile 27-8, with about ten miles left to go, I was ready to go. Ok, maybe the Powerbar double caffeine energy gel I took could have had something to do with it. Whatever the reason, after we left one of the water stations and I had gotten a taste of the cool electrolyte mixture sports drink from my refilled water bottle, I felt rejuvenated. I wanted to pick up the pace. And I did. I started slowly at first, because I knew I'd need to keep Dave with me or I'd be lost, and so didn't want to startle anyone with this sudden rash change in pace. But Dave followed my lead and picked it up gradually to stay with me. The French guy was falling behind, slowly at first. He made one sudden attempt to keep with our pace when we went down a slight decent of a hill, and he came out of nowhere on my left, hauling past me down the rest of the hill. Maybe he liked downhills? Whatever the reason, after that he was soon lost again.

Even though I was still feeling pretty good, each time we had to jump over a fence into another field, I could feel the unpleasant burning aching soreness shoot up my quads on the landing. I would mentally wince every time we had to make a climbing jump like this in the last few miles, but shake it off again right after we started moving.



After we dropped the French guy, I could tell Dave was really not feeling good. I tried to be encouraging without being annoying, but when you're feeling that bad during an event like this, just knowing that anyone around you is feeling good is pretty annoying. Multiple times he told me to go ahead, spewing out various turns and directions that I would need to carry my way through to the finish line, which seemed to be taking quite a bit of effort for him to do.



Part of me wanted to run ahead, but I had no clue where I was going, so I stayed with Dave. Plus he had pretty much saved my race (and probably my life too) so I felt I owed it to him. Oh yea, and the small problem that my maps, which I had stuffed in the back pocket of my tri jersey, were soaked with sweat and completely unreadable at this point. They fell out and landed in a soggy heap in the grass during one of our fence jumps and I hadn't even gone back to get them. (Could this be worse than dropping my tire levers in the bottom of the lake during the DDT half swim and then blowing 2 flats on the bike?? Ehhhh close, but no.) We were probably going 9:30s up a hill at our slowest mile. But once on the flats again we were probably going sub 9s. I can't be sure because I didn't want to annoy Dave even further by asking our pace every time his Garmin beeped at a mile. He was looking though. In his most discouraged state, he complained that he had slowed down considerably from our cruise through the fields earlier. But still, we were now passing guys who had been leading for the entire race. We probably passed about 6-7 guys in those last 6-7 miles. Dave was funny. Everytime we would make gains on someone, he'd say "ahh you go ahead," to which I'd reply "C'mon stick with me!" He'd say no, but I could hear his footsteps quicken in the gravel behind me as we smoothly passed the others.



I have to admit, the last few miles of long races are always my favorite. It's why I have a passion for ultra endurance events and not half marathons. If you are good and can come out of your own mental state of focusing on how weak and crappy you feel, then you can actually see how badly other people feel. At this point, you will see the guys that are otherwise seemingly invincible and strong in their most defeated states. It's not that seeing other people in such misery makes me feel better about myself (although it is kind of entertaining sometimes); I think it's the comfort in the recognition that we are all human beings, and as the miles tack on, the pedestals are lowered , we all find ourselves on the same level.



In a race this long, first you rely on your physical capabilities. What your training and body are capable of carrying you through. But over the hours, as your body becomes more and more drained, only your mentality can get you through to a strong finish at the end. In my experience, the longer the race, the more mental it becomes. When things start to become uncomfortable and, as the incredible David Goggins puts it, "that's when you know who you are."



Another long stretch of gravel road, a few fence jumps, and a hack job through a tall grass field later, I finally knew where I was. The road we had taken to get to the start line was up ahead. There was less than a mile to go. I took off. I could hear Dave shouting some encouragement from behind. I surprised myself as I powered up the steep grassy hill that stood between me and that road. When I hit the pavement, I was flying. And I felt great. Just so much energy!

                                         Finish line!


I didn't stop until I crossed the finish line. It was really only then that I remember winded and slightly light-headed as I walked around trying to shake it off. But I still felt great. Some guys came up and asked me if I ran the 10K. Hah. Hahhh.

                                                   Still smiling :-)


I finished in 5:12, taking 2nd place "lady" and 9th overall. Dave came in about a minute behind me. According to his GPS we had clocked about 37 miles, probably added throughout the race with our several missed turns and long ways about. First female was amazingly strong, coming in at 4:58. She clocked 35 miles. Third female finished over an hour after me. I came out with a new medal, trophy, shorts (that I will never wear), a £20 voucher to a store I have never heard of, and pride that I finished top ten among the Brits overall when I was prepared to get my butt kicked.

 
Race Results: Top 15

Finish Time Race No. FIRST NAME SURNAME GENDER CP1 CP2 CP3 CP4 CP5 DOB AGE CLUB/TEAM

1 4.20.37 25 Stuart Mills Male 08:55 09:25 10:22 11:15 12:01 01/01/1963 48

2 4.27.26 73 David Jelley Male 09:00 09:30 10:25 11:15 12:01 01/07/1955 55 Ripon Runners

3 4.39.55 117 Jim Rogers Male 09:01 09:30 10:25 11:19 12:16 14/06/1964 46 City of Hull AC

4 4.57.55 62 Dan Shrimpton Male 09:00 09:30 10:33 11:35 12:30 01/07/1971 39

5 4.58.32 81 Philippa Taylor Female 09:02 09:34 10:37 11:38 12:34 19/06/1967 43 Stamford Striders

6 4.58.53 39 Cliff Canavan-King Male 09:02 09:34 10:37 11:38 12:34 20/05/1972 39

7 5.08.05 58 Gregory Crowley Male 09:01 09:33 10:33 11:35 12:34 01/07/1966 44 White Peak

8 5.12.19 120 Nick White Male 09:00 09:30 10:25 11:36 12:35 20/11/1981 29 Saffron Striders

9 5.12.41 131 Jacqueline Palmer Female 09:05 09:39 10:44 11:49 12:46 23 university of delaware

10 5.13.38 97 David Mitchell Male 09:04 09:37 10:44 11:49 12:46 44 Evesham Vale Rc

11 5.19.51 24 Andy Mouncey Male 09:02 09:33 10:32 11:36 12:39 15/10/1966 44

12 5.22.22 88 Mark Richards Male 09:02 09:35 10:42 11:43 12:49 16/09/1959 51 GOYT Valley Striders

13 5.22.30 9 Jaco Harmzen Male 09:05 09:41 10:44 11:49 12:46 14/07/1973 37

14 5.23.10 60 Timothy Kimbrough Male 09:04 09:37 10:40 11:44 12:50 01/07/1973 37

15 5.26.51 23 Bruce Moore Male 09:01 09:33 10:37 11:39 12:50 25/12/1964 46

Dirty German 50K

Sunday, May 22, 2011

I had no idea what to expect out of my body going into this race.  It had been a long weekend of fun and celebrating with my brother's graduation on Friday and the USNA ring dance the night before.  To be completely honest, I only really signed up for this thing because this is what Mike really wanted to do the morning after the dance.  Whatever.  I wasn't the one who was going to quesiton his sanity. 

My first small warm-up jaunts across the field to packet-pick up actually felt pretty good.  This could have been the effects of the 2-3 cups of coffee I had just finished off that morning in my desperate attempts to make up for the three hours of sleep I had gotten the night before. I double checked to make sure that I had all 3 double caffeine Powerbar gels attached to me somewhere.  I had really in no way prepared for this race and was probably going to need all I could get to get me through. I had also not really done a carb load (c'mon, I had to look good in my dress!) or taper of any kind.  Plus, getting lost in College Park for an hour during a desperate attempt to run off the previous night's cheap tequila is not my ideal pre race strategy. 

 Aside from having more people than usual, the tone of the morning seemed like the usual pretty chill ultra start.  Well, except for the race director was dressed up like a dirty german. 

Little pre race stretch to make sure that all the muscles in my feet and legs were still in-tact after walking around in stilletto heels the night before for about 8 hours.

I sported my wrist corsage from the night before and Mike wore his bowtie at the starting line.  (I wasn't expecting this thing to last for much of the race, but I wanted to keep the spirit at least for the first few miles.  I had a feeling I would be ripping it off and throwing it in the woods at around the same time I crashed and burned later.)   The race started, and, for an ultra, everyone seemed to set out pretty quickly.  I assumed this was because there was also a 25K, which consisted of only one of the two 15.5 mile figure eight loops.  I didn't want to push it right off the start, but I also hate being stuck behind the congestion of runners on a single track who sprint ahead for the first three miles and then die twenty minutes later, so I tried to get to the trail head relatively quickly.  

As soon as we jumped onto the soft muddy tree-rooted path, I fell in love with the course.  These were my favorite trail conditions, and aside from the humidity, the temperature was also pretty perfect.  After an entire evening of being prim and proper, I was definitely trying to get down and dirty.

Mike ran with me for the first four miles or so, until the speed demon finally cut loose.  It's almost hard to imagine him ever not feeling a race.  But I knew better than to try and stick with him and had plans to run at my own pace today.  I soon met a couple of friends and enjoyed listening to a some 100 miler ultra runner tales.  Maybe this is the reason I ended up running off course for almost a mile when we missed one particular 180 degree turn about halfway through the first figure eight loop.  I was still a bit surprised by how good I felt at this point though, and how comfortable I felt  in my zone.  There were a few places where there were road segments for a couple of miles at a time.  When I hit these segments, I let myself pick up speed a bit.  I like races that have a trail/road combination.  Trails are fun to agile your way through and bound over obstacles, but you have to stay sharp-minded in this.  Roads running is more automatic, especially on the flats, and you can usually push harder.  You find your stride and your cadence and then turn on autopilot and let your body set into the rhythm and do the work.

At the half and the end of loop 1.  My new friend on the right.  I didn't see him much of the second loop.  I was on a mission.

Not entirely sure how this was happening, but by the end of the first loop, I was blowing by people.  My legs were tired, but I was still feeling good considering.  My new ultrarunner friend, who had just competed in a 100 miler a couple of weeks prior, told me that was trying to stick to my pace and let me pull him.  I don't think he did so well on the second lap of that race though because I didn't see him the entire second half.  When we cruised into the halfway point aid station, which was also the start and the finish of the 25K, a woman working there excitedly told me that I was third place female.  Then she pointed to the second place who was not 200 meters out from us, just leaving the station.  I didn't waste time at that aid station.  I grabbed two caffeine gels, as they refilled my handheld with Gatorade and I was off.

 

I could feel fatigue just beginning to set in coming up to the halfway point at 2:20, but I felt it was something I would be able to push past on the second half.  I had never seen the girl ahead of me in the race before, meaning that she have slowed down.  Fortunately, consistently pushing through the soreness and fatigue that set into the later half of these races is my specialty:-)   If you have run smart up until this point it won't all hit you at once; it sets in over time.  But the more slowly it sets in, the more capable you are of being able to battle it mentally and push it away again.  I think this is usually how I am able to overcome my race lows.  I ran behind her for a mile or so on the single track.  She was still pulling a pretty decent pace and I knew it was not my time to pass. I just worked on keeping that even medium between us for a while.  As we climbed up some of the short steep ascents, I reevaluated the situation and considered exactly what I was up against.  Because the only thing visible going up those hills were tree trunk legs of solid muscle.  I could visibly see both heads of the lateral hamstring, not to mention every superficial vein running up her legs, defined and visibly threaded between the two heads of her chiseled gastrocs.  This chick was ripped.  But she wasn't a runner.  As the gap between us narrowed and I started talking to her, my suspicion was confirmed.  Yes.  A cyclist.  No wonder.  Right after we encountered a group of eight horses and a couple rather unpleasant riders, I made my pass as gracefully as I could without getting hoofed in the face.  I never saw her the rest of the race.

When the trail dumped back out onto a road segment soon after, I started to turn up the heat a bit.  I was still feeling good, and I wanted to gain some distance with the energy I had left.  I was probably running sub 8 min/mi for most of the remaining road segs.  I knew I was doing well when I started passing people again.  Yes-my favorite time of the race had come!  It was time for the signiture move of seeing many guys I could "chick" (-DCH, I learn from the best ;-))   I was on my own now, and for the first time all day, I felt like this race was within my power.

 I knew the energy I was feeling now could not be coming just from me.  It was coming from somewhere else.  People ask me what I think about during the hours I spend out there running ultras.  Well, at moments like these,  I try not to think.  I just let the energy come as it is given to me.  And it's moments like these when I know Moe is with me.  People also ask me why I tend to stick to the low-key back woods races rather than the bigger, more busy, more glamorous road ones.  Part of the answer is that I am more comfortable in the small crowd country setting.  The other part is that when I am out on the middle of the woods and setting into my rhythm in the quiet nature around me, this is when I feel her the most.  Maybe it's because I am able to zone everything out, or maybe this is where she wants me to be.

Today, I also thought about the woman who was the namesake for the first Delaware female award, which I had gotten last weekend at DE marathon.  She was an amazing runner who was tragically run over by a snowplow while on a run training one winter, and I felt honored and touched to be the recipient in her honor, despite my mediocre performance during the race.  I knew some of the energy today was coming from her too.

 

The trail had turned to single track again and, I was still cruising.  Only now, instead of lightly skipping over small branches that jutted out onto the trail, I ploughed right through them.  The sharp stings of small branches and thorns scratching my legs let me know I was happy and alive.  I was on top of the world.  It was a great feeling.   There was this one part of the single track that is really convoluted and has some rolling hills that are just steep enough to be fun.  And I was having fun.  I felt great.  And the mud was making this even greater.  My legs were sore, but I had so much energy mentally that I could have kept running through those woods all day. 

  

Going in hard to one of the sharper turns coming out of the maze part, I lost traction and fell in mud.  I leaped out of the guey mess and was running again almost before my mind had even processed what had just happened.  My hands were now caked with mud, so to get rid of the extra I  blacked out the bottoms of my eyes with it.  It seemed like the logical thing to do.   I almost didn't want this race to end.  

Coming in strong to the finish.  My pacer for the last half mile close by:-)

Soon I heard voices from the finish line and knew I must be less than a mile out.  I cranked things up a little higher.  My legs were really feeling it now as I tried to keep powering over the small rolling hills.  With less than half a mile to go, Mike unexpectedly showed up coming the opposite way on the trail.  It was good to see him, but no time to chat.  After the last small rolling up hill, I reached down to see what I had left.  Apparently alot.  The sprint felt so good I felt like I could maintain it for another couple miles (felt like..but I think it was the endorphins talking).  I finished strong across the finish line in 4:31.  I had negative split this lap by almost ten minutes. 

Before/After race pics. Just cannot decide which I look better..the important thing is that the corsage AND bow tie survived all 31 miles through the woods and mud!

I cannot say that this is THE best I have ever felt during a race, but strangely I felt a million times better during this 50K than I did at any point during Delaware marathon the weekend before.  I have a feeling that it has something to do with Devon Crosby-Helm's idea of the "comfortable uncertainty."  
 

"At my best races I came in genuinely uncertain about what the day would hold for me.  I usually had diminished expectations for one reason or another.  I always felt comfortable uncertainty...I genuinely didn't expect a thing and was prepared for the possible outcomes."  

Comfortable uncertainty.  This is something I have had at the starting line of every race I have done exceptionally well in.  Otherwise, I tend to try and run the race of another person or get down on myself when I don't meet the expectations that I have laid out, like in Delaware marathon the weekend before or AC marathon the previous fall.  When you set out for any given race, nothing is for certain.  In order for you to have the best race, there are so many factors that have to fall into place, with a majority of them being mental and most of the rest coming from factors that are outside of your control.  Sometimes, it just doesn't happen, and you can't beat yourself up over it because it didn't.  And when it does happen, there is no greater feeling in running than the perfect race on the perfect day.  I train hard for the races that I do, but I don't account for my entire self-worth on the basis of the results of one race.  I know what I am capable of and try to take pride in it.  Bad days happen for a reason.  They can be valuable learning experiences and, more importantly, they will make having that perfect race on the perfect day that much more amazing :-)

Annndddd the reason I entered this damn thing.  Prize cuckoo clocks and dirty German weather veins!

JFK 50 Mile 2010

                                              Fourth place female, 7:29. 

Prerace:

It’s strange how the absolute best race of your life can be preceded by the absolute worst prerace feelings.  Where to begin…I had no plan.  Not even a remote idea to a strategy.  Last year I had spent endless amounts of time and effort to religiously sticking to my “beginner” 50 mile ultramarathon training plan and had every motion of my JFK racing plan memorized and ready: I was going to run through most of the first 15.9 miles, but I would walk every hill.  Then on the canal, I was going to do 10 and 2 minute run/walk transitions, not running faster than a 9:30 min/mi pace the entire time.  I knew this was unnaturally slow for my liking, but I had read the warnings, both in reading and by JFK veterans that the biggest mistake you can make is to go out too hard.  But not because you will risk slowing down in the end and hurting your time, but because you would not finish at all.  I had the same fear of any novice runner going into an extreme endurance event.  The fear of the dreaded awful ugly “DNF” printed next to your name in the results section that would bring regret and shame for a long time, and could forever haunt your conscience with every triggered memory of the event. 

This year I had nothing.  I had a couple of other races in mind this season, including the Blues Cruise 50K and AC marathon, so my tapering/recovery periods for both of those kept me from sticking to my plan the previous year of back-to-back long run days sandwiched by rest.  I had done a few 30 mile runs with the Pagoda Pacers, but the weekend after AC marathon, and  4 weeks before the race, on one of Jen’s midnight love runs through the middle of the woods on the trails of Pottstown PA in the middle of the night, I started getting significant pain in my left lateral knee from the tightness of my ITB at around 17 or so miles into a 25 mile run.  By the last two miles, I was practically limping.

And I was terrified.  I had experienced this kind of pain before.  After my first marathon, I had so much pain on the outsides of both knees that I literally couldn’t run for about 6 weeks.  I had always had plenty of tightness, especially in my left ITB, but this was the first time I had pain I could feel. After that run, I woke up the next day with a lot of tightness and pain with weight acceptance.  This terrified me more.  I tested myself by trying to jog across the parking lot.  I stopped less than 25 meters in and limped back with severe pain.  I could not even jog across the parking lot.  How was I going to run 50 miles in a few weeks?!?

I took about 3 days off running completely, taking time to swim and bike in the meantime to try and keep up my aerobic fitness.  I went to see Alan in the AT room and Anthony in the PT clinic, and Rich in the running lab.  I tried hard aggressive massage, foam roller, and hip flexor stretches, chronically holding the stretching position for long periods of time while I was doing other stuff. 

And that’s when I broke my rib.  I was out on a ride with Trevor (probably because I couldn’t run) when a dog ran out to attack us, he braked, I let up on mine to grab my water and speed up, ran into his back and went down hard on my left side.  Knocked the wind out of me, and when I got up my back muscles seized up in spasms.  The next day I woke up and it hurt to breathe.  Awesome.

The knee did get a little better, but I lost my last long run 3 weekends out, only being able to pull out a 16 miler on the treadmill before the pain was too bad.  I started KT taping all the time and wearing a knee brace.  The brace helped a lot with the pain when it was tight, even though I hated having it on my leg when I ran.  At this point I was so close to emailing Spinnler asking to be deferred this year that I do not know how or why I never actually went through with it.  Something seemed to come up every time.  I might say “if it’s not better by tomorrow, then I will” and then tomorrow “if it’s not better by this weekend…” but that email never happened. 

Less than a week before the race, my knee was doing much better, but I was starting to experience significant pain of a muscle strain in my calf.  Turns out, I strained my tib post by using the tight brace or compensating for the ITB compression provided by the brace with my pronators. Are you kidding me??!!   I went out for a 5 mile run three days before and all I could think about the entire time was the pain in my calf and when I could stop running. When I got in, I iced, taped and NSAIDed and decided that that was my last run before the race. Too late to send an email for deferment now.  From here on out, I was just going to rest everything and pray for the best. 

Race Day

I was nervous.  Nervous because of my injuries and the lack of proper preparation I felt I had had before the race caused by them.  I tried to mentally prepare myself for the sure amounts of pain and misery that the day would bring for me, but mostly just worried that I was going to let down my best friends, who had traveled so far to see me and support me, and my aunt, who would be waiting at the finish line.  I prayed I would make it to the finish line today.  I just kept thinking to myself, at this point, I don’t even care about my time, I just don’t want to be branded with a DNF for JFK 2010.  I took a short practice jog to test out the legs.  Stuff felt tight but no pain.  Ok, I told myself, I’m never going to get through this day if all I do is wait for the pain to kick in, so I started to try and get myself pumped and psyched up about the beautiful morning and the race day atmosphere.

It really was a perfect race day.  I was barely chilled standing at the starting line in my Brooks shorts, UA longsleeve heat gear shirt and Ducky’s lucky JMU tri top, the same top I had worn in the very first race I had ever done, the Hagerstown Duathlon, in 2008.  Oh yea, and the $2.80 jacket I had picked up at Goodwill that week on college student discount day.  The gun sounded and we were off.  My pit crew, Nicole, Ducky and Mark cheered on the sidelines from up ahead.  Less than half a mile up the first hill we passed Reeders Nursing home, where my grandmother currently lived.  I knew that her body was up on the top of that hill, but her mind, wherever it had gone, was there giving me the guiding encouragement that I needed.  I could almost feel her in me.  I had to do well.

   I took it pretty easy the first three or so mile of hills getting up the App trail.  No pain yet, so far so good.  I did push myself a little bit, not stopping to walk at any point of this part like I did last year.  I remembered that last year by the time I got to the single track trail it was so backed up, you were forced to walk flat easy parts just because it was so backed up and it was frustratingly slow.  I didn’t want to deal with that this year, so I tried to get a little ahead so that I could get a good position for the trail, which I did manage to do.  I found myself surrounded by people about my pace, and so things flowed pretty smoothly through.

As soon as we hopped on this trail I thought about all the training runs that I had done on this part of the trail over the past year and up the crazy steep paved hill that we were about to hit.  This was a great hill workout for training.  As I cut around the familiar curves and hills on this part of the trail, still with no pain, my confidence seemed to rush back into me.  I was trained and ready to do this.  Injury or non, I had my fitness.  And this was my stomping grounds. 

When we got to the steepest paved hills, I ran as much as I safely could, and walked the extremely steep parts.  On a training run, I would practically be killing myself to run my way to the top without stopping to walk.  And I would make it most of the time.  But now it seemed like a wasted effort with so much race left to go.  I did have to force myself a bit into a walk with all of the excitement around and within me, and because on any other training run I knew I would be pushing myself hard up every one of those hills. 

It was on these paved hills were I met my new friends, the Navy marathon team.  “Hey lady” a one right next to me called out as he ran past me with two of his friends, all in bright gold matching Navy marathon uniforms.  “Don’t call her lady. Call her Ma’am.”  They giggled at their own clever little comments as they passed me and ploughed up into the next steep hill.  I just smiled and let them pass.  What I wanted to say…see you guys later if you keep up that pace on these hills!  And I would.

When we got to the top of the hill and got on the trail again, the next part of the race was just fun.  I heard someone call out that it was mile 5.4, and I remember thinking, wow really, that was like nothing!  I am so ready to go—bring it!  And still no pain!  I had done a good job of getting a good position for the trail, so things flowed really smoothly and I usually had plenty of room in front and back, making passes pretty easily when I needed.  I loved being on the trail, and in my training in the past few months, I had gotten a good amount of experience in trail running under my belt, or at least as much as I ever had.  And the Appalachain trail was certainly one of the more technical terrain I had done.  But I liked it because you always have to be thinking…you just don’t know you’re thinking.  And you’re really thinking 8-10 steps ahead at any moment.  That root under your foot at the present—that already happened.  Even a few feet infront of you is already history when you’re working with “slow dumb muscle” (--CK).  Always be thinking ahead.  Make one little misjudgement about the angle of that rock and you’re going down.  That is, unless you have catlike subcortical responses that can reflexively jerk you out of a grappling stumble and send you billowing forwards on your way again like nothing happened.  Kinda love when that happens sometimes.  And the best part of it; when you are thinking about what you have to do to not fall on your face, your mind is occupied and cannot dwell on the other stupid things in life, which probably largely contribute to my love of those trails.

Maybe I am rambling, but enjoyment of my mind and body’s hard yet automatic work navigating through the single track consumed my thoughts and I was just loving life.  I did meet a friend.  He was a middle aged Asian man, running in compression tights, and that’s about all that I remember about him anymore.  We ran together for a few miles.  I asked him his goal time mostly just to get an idea of exactly what kind of pace I was running at this point, because I was so comfortable I really had no idea.  About 8 hours.  Yikes!  After some small talk he proceeded to ask me about the KT tape that I had pretty much covering my entire left leg (a tib post  to the medial calf tape and an ITB tape to the lateral thigh, with my annoying black Velcro brace strapped on overtop of it all) and so my attempted brief explanation took up a couple of miles (well hey, he prodded!).  “So basically you have a knee powered by electricity” he said after it all.

I took my time decending the switch back rock cliffs at Weaverton around mile 15.  By this time we had begun to pass some of the 5AM starters, which contributed to the congestion on this treacherous single track decent.  I didn’t mind the backup.  Afterall, it probably saved me from doing more damage to my knee.  One of my favorite parts of this race is emerging from that downhill rock decent and into a crowd lined path with everyone screaming and cheering, making you feel like a rock star.  I didn’t have anyone meeting me at this point, but I unexpectedly heard Mrs. Huffer, my neighbor who had taught me tap dance lessons since I was 5 for about 8 years of my life.  It was good to be home.

 By the time we came out by the Weaverton rest stop, nature finally called (as I’d been nervously waiting) and  I hoped into a Porta John at the rest stop, with no line, and in a few minutes was back on my way.  I had eaten a pack of cliff electrolyte block shots along the trail.  I grabbed a couple of pretzels, filled up my water and hit the road again, passing over the mat at 2:36.  I knew that the race was still young but I was feeling really fresh, and last year I remembered feeling like someone had just taken a hammer to my quads after emerging from those switch back cliffs.  This year my team was supposed to meet me at the beginning of the canal to do the shoe change from my lucky Soloman trails to my beloved bloodstained Mizuno road sneaks.  Sure enough, what felt like seconds after I hopped on the canal, I see a girl on a bike dressed in neon green and yellow with crazy curly brown hair emerging from beneath a helmet accompanied by two others, all with bright smiles cast across their faces.  They saw me just as immediately as I saw them, my arms reached out in their direction, and we all started screaming.  And sure enough, just like last year, they formed a parade around me as I ran, only this time, Nicole had brought the porable iPod player I had given her and we all started jamming out to Miley Cirus (theme song of our unforgettable UMD road trip).  Great memeories with amazing friends. 

All four of us went along for a while, and I was quite entertained listening to all the gossip I had missed out on when I graduated JMU a semester early.  I kept my pace pretty conservative, just keeping myself in comfort zone the whole time.  After a little while, Ducky and Mark sped up ahead to where they had parked the car a few miles up so that they could put their bikes away and then hop back on the trail to run with me.  I had made the decision not to change my shoes at that point because I felt good and did not want to stop and risk my ITB tightening up if I didn’t have to.  So it was just Nicole and I for about 7 miles or so.  I love Nicole.  You know you have a real friend when they are willing to drive 6 and a half hours to see a determined little novice runner girl run in a crazy 50 mile ultramarathon, and support her along every step of the way.  Talking to her along that segment really gave me a lift.  I have no close girl friends at UDel, and so no one to really talk about girly stuff with, not that I really have a lot of that to talk about, but it’s still always nice.  And I had gone too long without her sensible feedback.  While we were running I had a couple of gels, halves of banana and some pretzels, nibbling lightly at every aid station.  I stopped at a Porta John again at around marathon point.  I remember hitting mile 27 and it was just under 4 hours on my watch.  I was excited for a second, before remembering I hadn’t remembered to start it till we got to the top of South mountain this morning.  Well, almost a sub 4 hour marathon time!  

The legs were no longer fresh.  My feet were starting to ache a bit.  My Solomans felt like they were growing heavier by the step.  Even though I had declined to do this after getting off the trail, I wanted to change shoes.  Nicole called Ducky and Mark, and sure enough, when we saw them at Antietam before mile 30 they had set up my shoe changing station for me.  It was a pretty smooth change.  The tough part is making sure to transfer the timing chip.  But within a minute or so, I was hitting the canal again, with the feeling of my aching feet now nestled snuggly in my Mizunos that were still cool from their storage in Ducky’s car all morning.  Now I was ready to get some.

And I was off.  I don’t know what came over me, but almost immediately after I changed shoes, I started picking up the pace, quicker and quicker as a couple miles went on.  Ducky ran about 25 meters before realizing she forgot to grab my handheld water I had been carrying, and turned around to go get it and then run fast to catch up with me and Mark, who stayed with me.  But I guess I just started running too fast, because she never did catch us.  Mark hung with me for a few miles.  And we started picking people off.  And not just the 5amers this time either.  And I was blowing by people at a pretty significant speed too.  After a few I could start to feel Mark dragging a little.  And I wasn’t about stopping at this point.  I had to guess that I had about 15 miles left to go. I was now probably at 7:30-45 min/mi, but at the moment I was confident and insistent that I hold on to the pace.  I was well aware of the dangers of pushing too hard too soon, but when you are still feeling as good as I was at that moment after 35 miles, you keep moving.  Logic was telling me too fast, but my heart was driving me on.  Before long, Mark made one last sprint effort to catch up with me, handed off a caffeine gel to me, and then dropped back to catch up with Ducky and Nicole. 

I was loving every minute of the race at this point.  I was alone now, had sunk into my own rhythm feeling strong.  I was still someplace in the middle of astonishment and disbelief that I was feeling this good right now.  In fact, the only pain I could really perceive was a bit of burning soreness in my quads at each foot strike, informing me that some form of fatigue was setting in on my body from someplace within.  I just wasn’t feeling the pain in its ugliest form yet.  Feeling this little ache almost encouraged me at this point.  I was so happy that fatigue and NOT injury was the first sign of discomfort that I had felt all day. 

I think most of the feelings of this euphoria can be attributed to the fact that I was finally back on my own stomping grounds.  It really was a beautiful day.  The sun peaked through the autumn colored trees along the toe path and cast brightly off the sparkling water of the canal, the same canal where my dad and my brother and I took the canoe out to go fishing (and the same trees I had lured my thrashing flounders up intoJ).  This was the same toe path that I would go biking along with my family as a kid.  Joseph would always make a hard effort to break from the pack and go out to the front to lead the way, but he would die fast and soon be lagging behind the rest of the way, or at least until he caught his breath for his next attempted effort.  Can’t go out too hard!  These memories were so clear to me at this moment that they could have been made yesterday, and I temporarily escaped from the reality that was occurring and as my 22 year old body traveled through familiar territory, I was a kid again. 

*I feel home, when I see the faces that remember my own, I feel home, when I'm chilling outside with the people I know. I feel home,and that's just what I feel.  Home to me is reality,and all I need something real...*  The O.A.R. song was playing through my head for several miles.  I escaped from myself for a little while, letting my mind wander and my body do the work.  I wasn’t really thinking about the race.  I didn’t have to.

I was passing all kinds of people along this point, many mumbling words of encouragement between their efforts of gasped breaths.  They made me more aware of the fatigue that was slowly settling in on me.  My body felt good, but breathing had gotten somewhat more difficult to manage smoothly, and my respiration rate was notably higher.  But I still felt decent so I pushed on.

I saw the end of the canal.  And passed the 5^th place female just before hitting that aid stop.  She was not looking so good.  I down some water and a gel before hitting the pavement and ploughing up a hill.  The last big hill.  I snapped out of it and was back to taking care of business.  Just 8 more miles of straight up road.  I can do this.  Although my ecstasy was wearing off somewhat, I knew I felt a hundred times better at this point of the race now than I did at this point last year.  And last year when I hit that hill, I never stopped running after.  

I picked up the pace a bit, while still being realistic about my limits.  I was cruising.  Every few minutes I would pass someone new.  Soon it became a game to spot runners in the distance and steadily eat away at the lead.   I was picking off guys one by one. I was loving this.  Then I passed the 4^th place female with around 6 miles to go.  She was not looking so good either.  And at about mile 47 when I spotted three golden yellow jerseys plodding away in the distance, I knew exactly who it was.  The Navy marathon boys from the mile 4 hill earlier this morning.  As I neared I could see all three had their heads down, plodding away at these last few miles.  I cruised up beside them.  “Hey boys.”  All I heard as I ran by was “holy shit.”  Admittedly, this moment was pretty glorious.  If I was tired at this point, I was certainly going to do anything within my power not to show it in front of those guys.

When I came up the last small ‘rolling hill’ (that is really more like a bump in the road) and the aid station with the stuffed Furby holding the sign that read “49,” every part of me felt uplifted.  I knew I could start kicking up the pace and emptying anything and everything I had left in the tank.  When there was just half a mile to go and I started making the final turns to the home stretch, waves of emotion began to well over me.  What am I doing HERE at THIS hour?!!  I should still be back on that canal. Fourth place? FOURTH PLACE in the biggest ultramarathon in the country?!!  It was madness, yet so real.  Police officers and traffic directors cheered and gave words of encouragement as I ploughed through the intersections, not even hesitating for the fraction of a second to check for vehicles.  I didn’t know whether I wanted to laugh, cry, or scream at this point, but I felt like I couldn’t do any if I wanted to.  I have no idea what I looked like, but I knew I had a huge smile on my face as I rounded the last corner.  I saw the lights where I knew the finish line was and started gunning it.  The announcer wasn’t even going to know what just hit the mat when I crossed the finish line. And he didn’t.  I think he announced the wrong name and said I was 45.  Oh well.  Still glorious.

I think I jumped into Ducky’s arms first.  Or maybe Nicole’s.  Its hard to remember.  I hugged my aunt and Mark.  I was jumping up and down pretty much going crazy.  I wished that my parents were there to see me, but I knew that they would be proud.  I was overwhelmed by feelings that I didn’t even know existed, let along could be stirred up by a running race.  I guess that’s what happens at the finish line of the best race of your life.

                                        

So happy

My Auntie Ann gave me so much help and support in every race, especially on this race day when my parents couldn't be there.   

                                                                         My new friends:-)

      The crew that saved my race and the best friends of all time.

All in a day's work.