For science!

This week has been a pile of crap for many reasons, but there were a few glimmers of positivity going on in the background for me. Here is one.

One neat thing about living in a big university town is the occasional opportunity to participate in research studies. I've done this a couple of times before, usually in return for a Target gift card and maybe some cool data. For the last one I got free VO2 max and body fat % tests. Now I'm doing another one for a study at the biomechanics laboratory at the IU School of Public Health, this one much more long term than usual; I'll be wearing a FitBit (which I get to keep) for a year and uploading my data. I also have to keep track of my running, which I do anyway, so it's no real chore.

I went in for the initial paperwork and gait analysis last week. This was actually quite an involved process. I received a survey to take home and then we proceeded with the gait analysis. They analyzed four paces: preferred running speed, baseline running speed (same for all subjects), preferred walking speed, and baseline walking speed. This involved walking, then running, along a raised runway, about ten meters long, in the center of the room. Then, and this is the supremely cool part, I was fitted with motion capture markers on the lower half of my body and filmed while running and walking at each speed. I lost count of how many times I ran and walked that ten-meter length. If you've ever seen behind-the-scenes clips of Andy Serkis playing Gollum in Lord of the Rings, or the folks playing the Na'vi in Avatar, that was exactly what it was like--it's the same technology (except they stuck them on me with duct tape instead of having me wear a full body suit).

Afterward I could view the collection of dots that represented my legs in the act of running. Instead of animating those dots into a space alien, they'll use them to analyze each subject's gait. Neat!! I wish I'd gotten a picture.

I took the survey, which is pretty exhaustive, home with me to fill out. Filling out the survey was interesting; it basically forced me to reflect back on my entire lifetime of fitness--not just the daily running I do, but things like ice skating when I was a kid, or kayaking, or intramural soccer in college. I was asked to list all the running shoes I currently wear, as well as my complete race history for the past five years. That time span reaches back to the very beginning of my injury and ensuing mental funk, so it was bittersweet to reflect on all those races. I also realized that my running of the Boston Marathon was more than five years ago--shit. But it's actually a positive feeling too; I've changed since then and in a way, the races, distances, and times reflect that.

I've been running since I was 14, more than half my life, so there was a lot to put down; it took me an entire hour-long lunch break to complete. I had to refer to Athlinks to get my races and times. There's no way I could have remembered them all! And I race far less often than many other runners I know. A lot of things that seem to loom very recently are actually further in the past than they feel--the assault, for example, will be fully seven years ago in December. Others seem like they happened just yesterday, but I was surprised to see they were actually more than two or three years ago. It's strange how things have coalesced in my memory. Running has been a constant in my life for so long that it's often how I measure the passage of time, but like any measure of something as mysterious as time, the numbers only mask something deeper and less quantifiable. Pretty deep thoughts for a lunch break!

I received the FitBit yesterday. It will be interesting to compare the data it collects with my running stats, and also to look at things like how much I sleep (the sleep sensor may be the feature I'm most interested in). Right off the bat, I'll be able to look at data for a marathon--Flying Monkey is this Sunday!

I believe the study still needs a few more people, so let me know if you're local and interested in participating and I can pass on the info. I believe the only criteria are that you should run 10 or more miles per week on average and cannot have had surgery to your legs/back. The study is investigating whether nonexercise physical activity and the amount of rest you take contribute to the risk of developing a running-related overuse injury. The professor in charge of the study has been plagued with injuries, with numerous surgeries, and it sounds like this study has a personal note for her. It sounds interesting and I'll be eager to see what they come up with.

A change in mindset

I've barely touched this blog lately except for an occasional race recap. But I think I want that to change because pretty soon, I'll be gearing up for my first 100 mile race, and I want to document the hell out of it. I'll put it out there because why not, but mostly it's for me. As I get older, I find myself wanting to look back and inward. I wish I had more from the really early days of running--high school and college XC, training for my first marathon, etc. There's a little bit, but basically anything before I became active on social media is pretty spotty. One thing to be said for social media, whether you like it or not--it sure does make it easy not only to document things, but to be able to find them later. This will be a hell of a journey, and it will be one I want to revisit later. And who knows? If others find it useful, awesome!

Okay, SO: the race is the Indiana Trail 100, April 30-May 1, 2016. I chose it because as a lifelong Hoosier, doing my first 100 in my home state is important to me. It's also going to be a place where I can count on a lot of "hometown" support, and if there's one thing I've learned about ultras and especially 100-milers, it's that it would be impossible to do without support. It's now in its fourth year, and already gaining a reputation for great volunteers and support. Thirdly, a not insignificant consideration: it's relatively flat, and having paced and crewed there, I have some familiarity with the trails. No 100 is easy, but it's more manageable than some. I've seen firsthand how it can still be VERY challenging as a result of weather conditions, but of course that can happen anywhere.

Goal: To finish. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to shoot for 24 hours, which I think I can do as long as I'm healthy and conditions are good. I need to have something in mind. But as long as I can cross the finish line in fewer than 30 hours (the cut-off), I will count it a victory. One hundred miles is an awfully long way, and the list of things that could go wrong, changing a good day to a bad day, is long as well. With a good crew, a good pacer or two, the ability to stay optimistic, and LUCK, I feel like my training will get me there.

So all I have to do now is train. That will be the real journey. In a way that started awhile ago. But now, with 24 weeks to go, it's time to start shifting the mindset from "Hey, just kinda running a bunch and doing some races" to "How will this benefit my overall goal of finishing 100 miles?" I do still have a couple of races planned for this year (this weekend's Flying Monkey Marathon [for funsies] and the HUFF 50K in late December [will race this one]), as well as one that I'm thinking about for late January (Mountain Mist 50K), and the Land Between the Lakes 50m in March. But these are secondary, and I'm absolutely not adding any more; I want to concentrate on long slow distance as much as possible, not to mention staying injury free and healthy.

As usual, I'm not following a set plan. I've looked at a few training manuals to give me a bit of a framework to work from, but mainly I'm going to rely on the advice/examples of friends and take it week by week. My overall aim will be to run a lot and slow down (which is more or less what I do anyway). I do want to keep in some speedwork, but it will be a small slice of the pie. It's going to be a lot of trail runs on the weekends, and a lot of headlamp miles on weekdays.

Photo: Flying Monkey FB page. Follow it for more pics
of this beautiful park!

For the moment, I'm looking forward to Sunday's Flying Monkey Marathon. The weather looks promising and Mark is planning to come along and bring the dogs. I don't have any sort of plan for this one--just gonna start running and see where the day goes. Just a completely no-pressure, bonus race. The event is kind of an interesting one, and I've wanted to try running it for years. It's capped at 300 people, and registrations are only available via lottery (or a sizable donation to the park where it's held). It's billed as the antidote to the glitzy road marathon culture that's gained steam recently. No timing chips, cheerleaders, bands, certification. It's as hilly as they could make it, with 3,600 feet of gain on a road course in Percy Warner Park in Nashville, Tennessee. It's just some folks getting together to run, eat food, and drink beer. That is, it sounds awesome, especially after my recent frustrations with the Indy Monumental half, and about as close to a trail race as you can get and still be a road race. I didn't train specifically for it (I'm told it's impossible to train for the Monkey), but I expect my solid base to get me through. I'm sorta kinda tapering (by tapering I mean still recovering from the last race). Not really going to worry about it. Can't wait!

Monumental Half Marathon recap: Missing gears

I decided to run the Monumental Half Marathon back in the late summer, after I was accepted into the Flying Monkey Marathon via lottery. If I hadn't made it into Flying Monkey, I think I probably would have opted for the Tunnel Hill 50-miler, or else the OPSF 50K or 50-miler. But with the entry into FMM, I didn't want another long race in the fall, so instead I thought, with training going so well, maybe I could snag a half marathon PR. Monumental it was.

A brief history
I've run Monumental, either the full or the half, four times before.

November 1, 2008: marathon 3:57:01
November 6, 2010: half marathon 1:58:19
November 3, 2012: marathon 3:53:31
November 2, 2013: half marathon 1:52:02

For various reasons, I've never had a really good race at Monumental. In 2008, I was coming off a spring marathon in 3:50 and thought I was ready for a 3:40 BQ. I went out too fast and struggled in the second half, with lots of walk breaks. In 2010, I was only a year out from PRs of 3:36 in the full and 1:37 in the half, but I had also been injured earlier in the year and was struggling with burnout. In 2012, I briefly got excited about running again, but still struggled with motivation and inconsistent training. It was my first full marathon since running Boston in 2010. Things like firm goals and training plans shut me down mentally, so I just kinda made things up as I went. Still, that at least gave me a positive experience, even though I felt like I was impossibly far away from getting back to my old self. I ran too fast for my current fitness in the beginning, had to walk some in the 16-18 range, but started to turn a mental corner and ran through the pain. And 2013 was more of the same, except I failed to make it into a positive experience: after a spring of summer of good training, I fell into a horrible mental funk and barely ran at all for weeks. I switched from the full to the half and ended up a few minutes slower than I'd run at the Mill Race half weeks earlier. That was depressing!

This year, I was ready to break the cycle and finally put the pieces together: arrive at the starting line fit, pace intelligently, and, I hoped, PR. I've always loved Monumental--good time of year, relatively reliable weather, flat course, and medium-sized with not too many people, but enough that there's always someone around to run with. I liked knowing exactly where the start and finish lines were, and important mile markers, and other landmarks.

Not off to a great start
Although I haven't run the race every year, I think I've been there to cheer others on every year except last year. And in that time, the race has changed a lot. It's grown considerably, and they changed the start and finish line locations. I was completely unprepared (my fault).

My period started the night before because OF COURSE IT DID. Then we got off to a late start in the morning. I had plans to meet Alicia, who had picked up my packet for me the day before (thank youuuuuu Alicia!!). We were going to park nearby each other so she could hand off my packet, but it took us so long to get into our usual parking spot that she had already left. Then we agreed to meet at the finish line. I left Mark with the dogs to wait while I ran over to get it, but when I got there, no finish line. Actual flash of panic. I didn't realize it had moved. Plan C--meet at the Westin hotel. I ran back over to Mark to let him know, then ran back to the Westin. Alicia had to get to the start to warm up in the elite corral (eeeee!!!), so she handed off the packet to our friend Tim (thank youuuuu Tim!).

So I finally got my bib, but realized I'd left my gels in the car. AHHHHH. It wasn't far, but I had to run back over there and get them, then to the bathroom line, then to the start, which was now farther away than it used to be. I think I must have run a good mile and a half, but at least I got warmed up!?! When I FINALLY arrived at the start ready to go, my corral was so jam packed that I couldn't even get in. It was a seeded corral, but that didn't appear to make a difference to the approximately five million people with unseeded bibs in the way. I wasn't flustered, but I was frustrated and annoyed. I tried to just breathe and let it go.

Finally, let's run!
When the gun went off, I slowly squeezed into the corral. I watched the 3:25 pace group sail by, then the 3:30. I got to the starting line, still at a walk. I was trapped behind masses of people for the first two miles, which were 7:50 and 7:31. (I had planned on going out in 7:30 and then gradually working my way down to 7:15-7:20.) But even the first mile at nearly 8 minutes felt hard. I tried to run steady, hoping I would warm up and feel better. The third mile was 7:04 (?!), which I think was some kind of glitch. I ran even effort the whole time and the following mile was 7:29. After the fourth mile I tried to pick it up, even though it was taking more effort than I wanted. Although I wasn't feeling great, I at least had to give it a shot. But the next two miles were 7:28 and 7:29. That was discouraging. I knew I might not be having a great day, but that early in the race, I should have been able to run a little faster with as much effort as I was expending!

My watch was already WAY off the mile markers because of all the weaving and wide turns I'd been taking. I went through 10K by my watch at 46:04, but the official 10K split was 47:40. It was at least 0.2 off already! At that point I gave up on any time goal and just decided to hang on to 7:30s as long as I could. It was still very crowded, but easier to run normally. Luckily right around here I saw my friend Wendy who was spectating and cheering! I badly needed the pick-me-up!

It was only mile 7 but I felt like it was the end of the race. I forced myself to relax and break it down into chunks. I told myself to just get to mile 10, just get to mile 10. 7:32, 7:37, 7:35. It felt HARD. I just tried to stay focused. In mile 10, I developed a really painful side stitch, which was so discouraging that I almost stopped. I clutched at it and tried to stretch it out while moving, but I was forced to slow down, and that mile was the slowest of the race at 7:56. I got out my other gel (I had taken the first at mile 5) and gulped it down, then drank some water from an aid station. That helped, but what really seemed to clear it away was a little baby hill, the only noticeable hill on the entire route. Just the slight change seemed to reset everything and I was able to pick it up again.

Miles 11 and 12 have no turns, so I centered the Soldiers and Sailors Monument up ahead in my sights and put everything I had left into running toward it. These passed in 7:35 and 7:32. The last mile has some turns, including skirting the monument. Seriously suffering, now! Mile 13 was 7:37. I didn't manage much of a sprint to the finish, partly because I just didn't have anything left and partly because there was no time incentive to reach, but I did speed up a bit to run the last 0.3 at 7:10 pace. I finished in 1:40:35, which is officially 7:41 pace, and 7:33 pace if you account for the extra distance I recorded.

The good and the bad
Although I'm discouraged by the fact that I couldn't even touch my goal pace, I'm mostly succeeding in concentrating on the positive. 1:40 is a really good half marathon time for me. It might as well be tied for third best half time ever (I ran 1:40:23 and 1:40:25 in 2009). My Strava half marathon effort was 1:38:52, which is faster than the effort from my April half of 1:39:21. According to the official race splits, I ran the last 6.9 miles slightly faster than the first 10K. I think I ran the best I could on that day.

Early on in the race, maybe mile 2 or so, I remember thinking that I probably won't be running Monumental again. That is not at all a knock on Monumental, or on folks who like to run larger races. I just mean that it's grown into the kind of race that I don't really enjoy anymore. Monumental is a top-notch event. The organizers clearly care about what they are doing, and they care about the experience the runners have. The issues I had on race morning were purely my own fault. Crowded starts are a problem for any big race, and if I wanted a better position, well, I should have gotten there earlier. I wasn't mentally prepared for how much it had grown, but even if I had been, the crowding and noise would have been a major turn-off. Monumental certainly won't miss me, I know--I trust the race will keep growing. It's great for the city to have such a successful marathon.

The marathon changed at the same time I changed. It's been quite a while since I ran a race this size. Thinking about the whole process of multiple-day expos, leaving hours early to park, needing a map to navigate vast start/finish areas, starting corrals...just the whole shebang...it's just so stressful. Not everyone is bothered by those things--plenty of people love that! Being part of a huge event can be a great communal feeling. But to put it in perspective, I spent the rest of the day volunteering at the OPSF ultramarathon out in the woods, where you can park within sight of the start/finish, pick up your bib and pin it on, and just go. That's not for everyone; you certainly won't have a lot of outside motivation to keep going, and you might not see any other runners the whole time. But that's where my heart is. If I'm going to undertake that kind of thing again, it better be for something very special, like Boston. The nice thing about running is that it has room for lots of different kinds of runners, and race choices to appeal to them.

Next up is the Flying Monkey Marathon, which I think I'm going to enjoy very much. It's a road race, but it's intentionally the opposite of most big road races in every way--it's capped at 300 runners, it's not certified, it's as hilly as they can make it, it has no crowds, and it's in the woods. No time goal, no expectations, just a fun run in the woods. Ahhhhhh.

Bourbon Chase 2015: 15 miles of Kentucky countryside on a perfect day

We got perfect weather for this year's edition of the Bourbon Chase, my first since 2013. It was great to be back! I was especially excited because I've been running so much lately that I thought I could really get in some fast leg times and get an idea of my readiness for a possible half marathon PR. I was also motivated by the fact that we lost our fastest runner after our team start time was finalized, meaning we needed to make up some time against our projections.

I had projected 8:00 min/mile pace, which given my training this year is fairly conservative. If I ran longer legs, I thought I could hit that at an average, but probably not go much under. When I got some of the shorter/easier legs, I knew I could be well under my projection.

The race starts at Jim Beam in Clermont, KY. We milled around for a bit, collected our swag (women's sized shirts, AT LAST, thank you Bourbon Chase!), and got in the first bourbon tasting of the weekend. At last our start time, 1:15 p.m., approached and I got ready to go.

Leg 1: 7.2 miles, 53:42 (7:26 pace), 440 feet of gain
I was our team's lead-off runner, so I actually toed the line and started with the gun. The first leg is unique in that part of it is on an actual dirt trail, part on gravel road, and part on narrow asphalt bike path before turning on to an actual road. It starts off sharply downhill and then turns onto the trailhead, where it climbs gradually for a while (with some flat sections), and then turns out onto the road, where a few sneaky rollers lie in wait for tired legs.



My goal was to run the first leg as a tempo run: hard, but not all-out. I also wanted to "win" my starting wave. One lady went out a little faster than me, but I passed her within about a quarter mile and hit the trailhead in the lead. There was one guy who stuck pretty close behind me for about the first 3-4 miles, even drawing even a couple of times, but he dropped back and was out of sight by the time I finished. I caught and passed four people from the previous wave.

I was really pleased with this run. The splits were uneven because of the hills, but my GAP (grade adjusted pace) times calculated by Strava were nearly dead even (miles 2-7 were all within the 7:10-7:16 range). That really makes me feel good about a possible half marathon PR at Monumental!

After the rest of folks in my van got their legs done at Maker's Mark, we tasted some more bourbon, did a little shopping (I bought gourmet sauce for Mark and bourbon-flavored coffee because why not?) and then we went on to Danville to get a bite to eat. We are creatures of habit, so we went to where we always go: The Hub, a coffee/cafe spot on Main Street. I ate a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich on a bagel, charged my phone, and then some of us headed back to the van to try and get in a nap. I don't think I got much real sleep, but just lying down was better than nothing. After a couple of hours, around 11:00 p.m., I checked our Google spreadsheet (which we kept updated throughout the race) and started getting ready to go again.

Moments before our no. 12 runner came through, I realized my headlamp wasn't working, so another teammate had to run back to the van and grab his. Luckily he was just in time!

Leg 13: 4.5 miles, 32:10 (7:07 pace), 120 feet of gain
The flat leg, so I was hoping to be a bit faster on this one. It was about 11:30 p.m. I had some initial fiddling with the headlamp (it was actually upside down at first) but then got myself situated. The first two miles were a smidge downhill and I was actually on sub-7 pace through the first half!

The night legs during these relays are always a bit surreal; you're running in complete darkness, except for an uneven line of red, blinking lights ahead of you that signal other runners. Sometimes a van would go by. One lady even yelled, "I love your outfit!" I was wearing INKnBURN chameleon capris (it was under 40 degrees by this time) and a blue tank top with blue/green/purple arm warmers in a swirly design. Haha, glad someone likes it!!

My stomach started feeling a little wonky, and I lost a little bit of focus, but I worked on grinding hard for the last 1.5 and kept the pace down pretty well. I passed nine people. In fact, because the spreadsheet hadn't refreshed, I actually got there almost 10 minutes earlier than my team expected and they weren't down there waiting for me yet. We didn't lose much time, maybe a minute tops.

After we all finished, we drove on to Wild Turkey to try and get some sleep. I couldn't really get comfortable, so I don't think I did much more than doze off. Finally it started to get light outside and I started to get ready. It was a gorgeous, foggy morning. I was projected to start again around 9:00 a.m. We walked over to the tasting room (I didn't taste any this time—I just wanted coffee). My stomach was definitely not very happy with me, although this was unrelated to the running or the food/drink intake; it was simply that time of the month.

It was even colder for my third leg than for my second, but I wore shorts this time because I knew the sun would be high. Tank top and arm warmers as well.

Leg 25: 3.3 miles, 24:32 (7:22 pace), 417 feet of gain
Less than half the length of my first leg, but with the same amount of gain. Ouch! Now I was running on no sleep, but at least my stomach felt mostly okay during the run. This one takes you downhill and across a beautiful bridge, before going right back uphill for about three quarters of a mile. After that it's short, steep rollers for the rest of the way.

It was definitely the most beautiful and scenic run, and I tried to take it in, especially on the bridge. It was about 9:00 a.m., so the sun hadn't been up for long, and there was thick fog shrouding the river. I wish I could have gotten pictures there. The hill after the bridge was pretty brutal--I saw lots of people walking on this and the following hills.

Originally I had hoped to run even faster on this one, but those hills defeated me and honestly I was really happy with the pace given how much gain I recorded. It was a really good effort and I passed eleven people! I suspect that last guy I passed was really not happy about it because he sped up and tried to stick with me, but that didn't last long.

Our team ended up finishing a couple of minutes before 7:00 p.m., which is right in the thick of things and much better than our projected time of 7:41. Great job, team! I was really proud of everyone. Last time I ran the Chase, my recap ended with, "One of these years I want to average under 8:00 min/mile for a Bourbon Chase." This time I averaged 7:21 (albeit on easier legs than last time, but I think I could have still been at least a little under 8 even on more miles). I definitely finished this one on a much better note than last time!!

Cloudsplitter 50K race report

When I registered for the 50K in the Cloudsplitter 100 races, I noted the website's assertion that October is traditionally the driest month of the year in Kentucky. Excellent, I thought. It'll be nice to actually do a dry ultramarathon! After OPSF, Jackson County, LBL, and pacing at IT100, that would be a pleasant change.

Then the historic weekend of rain and flooding in the southeast happened. Obviously this has been utterly devastating to thousands and thousands of people, and another race in less than ideal conditions is waaaay down on the list of problems this weather system has caused. There was nothing to do but suck it up and go for it since I was able to. I was less worried about running in the rain than about camping in the rain, honestly. Any time I wanted to complain, I reminded myself that my house and car haven't been swept away by a flash flood, so shut up.

Eastern Kentucky caught the edge of the big weather system. It had rained during the week, including the day before, and another two inches of rain was expected on Saturday, the day of the race.

We arrived in Elkhorn City around 5:30 p.m., in time to pick up my packet and attend the prerace meeting, which mostly consisted of "It'll be wet, be careful, and watch out for bears." Dinner was served after that, but I didn't stay because Mark was waiting in the car with the dogs, and I wanted to get to the campground and set up camp while there was still daylight. We headed over to Breaks Interstate Park in Virginia.

We didn't even attempt a fire the first night because everything was soaked and I wanted an early night anyway. We set up our canopy and tent, then draped an extra tarp over the whole thing to help shunt away the rainwater. It actually worked beautifully and we stayed perfectly dry inside the tent all weekend. We ate dinner (pasta salad and hot soup) and turned in soon after, lulled to sleep by pattering raindrops. Now, camping in the rain is not my favorite, but there is something to be said for falling asleep to the sound of rain while in a big, dry, warm pile of dogs and husband.

I woke up at 6:00 a.m. to start getting ready. I fired up the camp stove, made coffee, prepped my hydration pack and refill jug of Tailwind, got dressed, and it was time to go. I wore fitted shorts, singlet, and arm sleeves with a light jacket over top that I planned on wearing if I needed it and carrying with me in case it got colder up on the mountain. Also a buff and a hat turned backwards over that to turn around if I needed to keep rain out of my eyes. It was in the 50s but felt a little warmer because of the humidity, I think. My shoes were Saucony Peregrines, which turned out to be fantastic for the varied, technical, slippery terrain. I cannot recommend them highly enough.

The brief trip to town told me that the mountain was locked in fog and mist. It was spitting a little bit of rain, but it wasn't pouring. I met up with Mary, Brian, Clay, and Daniel, who were there from around my neck of the woods. Mary was doing the 100 and Brian and Clay were doing the 100K. Daniel had also jumped into the 100 after his original race, Grindstone, was postponed because of the weather. We chatted a bit and then finally the race started. I pulled away from the people I knew, but I was going a relatively short distance, so that made sense.

The first 1.5 miles are pretty flat, first on roads, then on packed gravel to the beginning of the trail. Midway through the second mile, the climbing began. The grade was tough but not insane, but the footing was rough: large, loose rocks for lengthy sections, along with gigantic, murky puddles of indeterminate depth and slippery, packed dirt. The rain had returned also; it wasn't a full-on deluge, but a steady, soaking shower. As we climbed, one guy nearby commented on how "fun" this would be on the way back down. I tried to imagine descending on this surface on dead legs in the dark and was really glad I hadn't opted for a longer distance.

I told myself from the start to be conservative but not complacent with my pace. I hiked a lot of the uphill but I hiked hard, passing a lot of folks and looking up ahead for other women to catch. Any time there was a downhill or a flat, I ran. At the aid stations, I paused just long enough to check in with my bib number and maybe grab half a Moon Pie (yes, they had these at the aid stations and they were AWESOME). I had Tailwind in my hydration pack and I also took along a few gels to give me some extra oomph every couple of hours.

The trail wound up and down through the dense rhododendron thickets that I had heard about. These were so thick that with the foggy weather, it was practically dark under them. Everything was green and lush with the infusion of moisture, and just beginning to be touched by fall colors. In places the trail was so rocky and wet that we were more or less running through creekbeds. The rain kept up steadily.

Around mile 6, I saw a spray-painted arrow that appeared to point right (it turned out I saw it from the wrong angle and it was in fact meant for the folks coming back in the second half to point the way we had come). The group of guys I was with and I took a wrong turn but luckily we realized our mistake pretty quickly and only lost maybe 8-10 minutes total, perhaps half a mile or a little more. We found the correct path and took off again, and I worked on catching several folks that I had already passed (gaaaah). But bonus, I did get to see Mary again for a bit!

Just before the mile 8 aid station, we waded through a section of shin-deep mud. At least the whole course wasn't like that! Unpleasant memories of OPSF and Jackson filled my head as I slogged.

As we got higher and higher up, the trees would open out into what on a clear day would be spectacular views, but today was just whiteness. Sometimes you could faintly make out a neighboring ridge, but mostly it was just solid fog. It was beautiful in its own way, surreal and otherworldly. It was definitely not a good place to ponder the plot points of the Stephen King novella The Mist.

The lower sections of the path consisted of a lot of double track/logging road, rutted, muddy, rocky, and very slippery. We hit more single track higher up with some very steep sections that were already getting torn up enough to be hard to negotiate. At times we'd run across granite-covered balds, following spray painted marks across the smooth slabs of solid rock. I picked my way gingerly along these; they were smooth and slick, and usually slanted. A fall there could have been very bad indeed. At one point we crossed underneath an electrical tower that buzzed and keened eerily.

In the exposed sections, the wind gusted pretty fiercely, but none lasted long enough to make me want to put on my jacket. The arm sleeves were perfect. I resolved to drop the jacket with Mark at the halfway point.

Around mile 14.5, I started to see the male leaders coming back down the trail. I counted five, and still hadn't seen a woman when I arrived at the mile 15.6 aid station at Birch Knob, the highest point on the course, at around 3:38 on my watch. Mark was waiting, and I quickly checked in and refilled my pack with Tailwind. Mark snapped a quick picture and then I said hi to the dogs before heading back down the trail. I knew I was in the lead and now I was afraid to dawdle too much!

I saw the lady in second for the 50K about a half mile down the trail and told her she was only a half mile from the turnaround. Then I started grinding. For a trail that had been largely uphill on the way out, this sure seemed to have a lot of uphill on the way back! I think I was in sixth overall before two more guys went by and disappeared. For a while there was another guy nearby behind me, but I pulled ahead of him after the mile 19 aid station and didn't see him again. From then on, I was completely alone, other than occasionally passing folks coming the other way, or, a little farther on, folks in the 25K.

Through this middle section, I realized that my legs still felt really good and so did my stomach. Thank you, cooler temperatures! The climbs burned, though, and although I was still hiking them pretty hard, there were a couple spots where I had to spot and catch my breath. In several spots I had to crabwalk down or climb hand over hand up. The descents were usually runable, but not particularly fast (I am a chicken on descents), so I concentrated on being steady and moving forward. Any time I did pause, I took in the surroundings. It was a little eerie being totally alone out there in that silent, mist-blanketed landscape. It was very District 12 (and it is Appalachia, coal country, which is what District 12 was).

At around 26 miles, I paused for a bit longer than usual to chat with the volunteer about the weather and chug a little bit of Mountain Dew. I knew it was nearly all downhill from here and just kept telling myself to keep it together. Running those descents on all those loose rocks and slick packed dirt took a lot of concentration! But I managed to stay upright and just kept speeding up the closer I got the to the bottom.

When I hit the gravel road leading out of the wilderness and into town, I felt like I was sprinting (the last two miles were 9:39 and 8:43--after a host of miles in the 13-15 range!). I kept checking over my shoulder for the second-place woman, because I was terrified that she would catch me. I didn't see anyone but I kept pushing as much as I could because I was ready to be done!

I crossed the finish at 7:17:01 on the race clock. My running time was 6:58. I had placed 8th overall out of 51 and first among 11 women. For the win, I received a beautiful silver bowl engraved with the race name and distance. I put away a pulled pork sandwich, beans, homemade derby pie, and some coffee and tracked down Mark (he was nearby but had missed my finish). Since it was cold and still raining, we didn't stick around for very long but headed back to camp so I could change clothes and get a hot shower.

I think I had my best executed race to date as far as fueling went; with Tailwind, gels, and aid station extras, I consumed a tad under 2,000 calories in 7.25 hours, giving me around 265 calories per hour. I'm sure the fact that I felt good the whole time and finished strong was directly a result of that. Let's hope I can keep that up for more than three times the distance next spring!

Although the rain did finally, gradually tail off late in the day, we weren't able to get a fire going. We babied along some little flames for probably an hour, but all we could get to catch was little slivers. I'm no champion fire starter, but this was my first all-out failure and I was annoyed. It was demoralizing, but I made more hot soup on the camp stove and we went to bed early. Our tent was dry and warm, the dogs were super cuddly, and the next morning the sun actually came out.

During the evening and the next day, I was thinking about friends still up on the mountain. Talk about guts! I saw later than Clay and Brian were sixth and seventh in the 100K, and Mary was third woman in the 100 in just under 34 hours! Daniel unfortunately had to drop after after a really rough first half.

After coffee and breakfast, we packed up camp and swung over to do a short hike on the Geological Trail, where I finally got to see some views and snap a couple of pictures. My legs felt stiff but not too sore yet, and the dogs were really excited to finally get out and walk around a little bit after being cooped up close to camp all weekend! It's truly a beautiful area. I've visited these mountains now a few times in the past year and I love them more each time.

Next up, Bourbon Chase, Monumental Half Marathon, and Flying Monkey Marathon. Can't wait!

Some good numbers this quarter

Although it hasn't been reflected on my blog, I have been racing quite a bit this year. And it's been going well. Surprisingly well! I'm actually starting to think about the possibility of breaking PRs that I've considered untouchable for years. It's hard to put into words what this means to me.

In 2009-2010 (immediately post-assault, trial waiting game, aftermath), I had a super successful cycle of training. I ran a lot and it translated to some fast races. But the motivation to do all that running came from a very, very dark place; I expelled a lot of mental crud that otherwise might still be there. It was good for me, and it kept me sane. It gave me a fierce, dark joy that I took a traumatic experience and used it to run faster. There's nothing at all wrong with that; in fact, it's a very good thing. Making lemonade out of lemons. But I was certainly not, as the saying/marketing slogan goes, running happy.

In the years since, when I look back, I realize my best running times are inextricably linked to a total shit time in my life. Could I only access motivation from pain? But then the past year happened. I steadily built mileage and now I'm really starting to see results. And it's come from a place of love and friendship. It's hard to put into words why, but this makes me really, really happy. I feel like, in some small way, maybe I've come out the other side.

This year I've run a 5-mile trail race, a 50K, a 60K, and a 5K. This weekend is the Hoosier Half and in another six weeks, the Bayshore Marathon.

Frosty Trails 5-Mile
I ran this once before, but got lost and ended up running about 7 miles, so I don't have a good gauge for my progress with this race. But 41:59 (8:04 pace) for a 5.2-mile trail race in Brown County is pretty darn solid. I got second place in my AG and 7th place woman in a tough field. Yay!

Louisville Lovin' the Hills 50K
This was a scenic but very tough trail ultra just outside of Louisville, KY. I measured 33 miles and 5,500 feet of gain (usually my measurements are a little short of the true amounts on trails). That's about 1,200 feet more than the Owen Putnam State Forest 50K. Ooof. I came in fourth place for women (and was the last to dip under 7 hours at 6:56). Strava estimated my 50K effort at 6:27, so sort of a PR, whoo-hoo!

Land Between the Lakes 60K
I had planned this for a sort of midseason goal race. I was excited about it because a lot of friends were going and it was supposed to be easier than the ultras I had done so far, so I thought I might place higher and run a faster time. In fact, my goal was to see if I could make my 60K PR faster than my 50K PR.

A few days before the race took place, the RD made the difficult decision to switch the course to roads instead of trails because of the excessive amount of late season snowfall/melt and predicted rainfall in the days leading up to the race. I was disappointed but agreed with the decision. A thawing trail is very fragile and can be badly damaged by too much traffic. I was nervous because I hadn't done any long runs on roads recently, but still hopeful about knocking out a good PR. I was also excited because I would be in the same race as Traci Falbo, former American record holder for a trail 100-miler and current world record holder for the 48-hour run, who was gearing up for the 24-hour world championships.

The run ended up going really well. I held a pace in the high 9:30s for about 50K before I had to start walking the uphills, but even though I held on fairly well (my overall pace for my moving time was 9:44). The race ended up being 39 miles, and at 4,000 feet of gain, I heard it was actually just as challenging if not more so than the trail route. I finished in second place for women with a 6:26, accomplishing the goal of making my 60K time faster than my 50K time. I feel like that stat is all you really need to know about trail ultras.

Check out 0:56-57!

IU Run for Habitat 5K
After the ultras, my plan was to shift gears a bit and do more road running/speedwork to get ready for the Hoosier Half and the Bayshore Marathon. The first half of this year is basically a big experiment to see how ultra training affects my road half marathon and marathon times. I had done a little speedwork earlier in the year, including a couple of tempo runs, one interval workout, and a couple of hill workouts. Then I got into the mix of ultra tapering and recovery. Finally, two weeks ago, I resumed with a hill workout. Just one week before the Hoosier Half, I decided to jump into a local 5K just to see what would happen. It was two days after a tough fartlek workout and a couple of high-mileage weeks, but I felt good and was eager to see how things would go.

I ran a 21:33 and came in first for women. Really exciting!! It had been a really long time since I'd run that fast, so long that I had to check my log for details. In fact, it tied my PR for a certified road 5K, which was from 2010 (and on a perfectly flat course in Indy). The course was relatively flat for Bloomington, but with two out-and-backs and an uphill second mile, it wasn't particularly fast, so I think chances are good I could even improve on it this year. Sub-21?!? It's only ever happened on the track.

I'll do at least one or two more 5Ks over the summer; Mark's goal for the year is to officially break 20, so I might as well tag along when he races!

Hoosier Half
So now it's time to see what happens for the half marathon. It's not an easy course; it has about 800 feet of gain and some really wickedly placed hills. My best time on it is 1:46. I think I can beat that. My half marathon PR is 1:37. That might not be in the cards quite yet. But low 1:40s? Very possible. Sub-1:40? If the stars align. Nothing to do but start running it and see what happens.

Jackson County 50-mile trail run: a race report

I began this year in the midst of a struggle. There were no injuries or life changes to blame; I just didn't feel good and my motivation was nonexistent. I was out of shape, so running felt sisyphean. The mere thought of getting outside to put in a few miles seemed like such a monumental task that I didn't want to face it. I wasn't eating very well and I spent most of my free time curled up on the couch, sometimes getting some good reading in, but mostly doing crossword puzzles or watching TV. Looking back now, it was a really gray time, and I wish I could put my finger on exactly why. I just wanted to hide and not do anything ever.

I tried putting together a running streak at the very beginning of the year, just a little bit every day, to jumpstart my motivation, and that kept up for almost a full month. But I was having to force myself to go and it got to be counterproductive, so I gave that up and went back to just once or twice a week. It wasn't until late April into May that the motivation started to trickle back. I found myself putting together consistent weeks of running in the 30-mile range and I realized I was back.

During the summer, I treated running like a timid animal that I was trying to lure to my hand so I could pet it. I didn't want to make any sudden moves and scare it away. I started running trails again, and it fed my soul. It all started to feel good again and the thought of going long again seemed like an attractive idea. And somewhere in there I thought it might be time to run an ultramarathon.

These sum up how I felt about going longer than 26.2.

Back in October. If you look closely
you can see Chris waaaaay up there.

I didn't want to break my fragile alliance with myself, so I stayed away from structured running schedules and firm plans. Eventually I decided to run the Tecumseh Trail Marathon, and from there, I thought, maybe an ultra. Things went well during training, at Tecumseh, at the subsequent 50K at OPSF 50/50, and in a 30-mile training run. Well. Then. I guess I'll do 50 miles. Going into it I was alternating between feeling fairly confident and certain I was going to break myself. My running friends and I even previewed the course so we could check out the hills.

I don't always run an ultramarathon, but when I do, it's after a week of heavy rain. Most of that was in the two days before the race, including the night before (I read somewhere we got an inch of rain overnight) and right up until the start. Seriously, it stopped just in time, so I guess that's something. I just kept telling myself it couldn't possibly be as muddy as OPSF. Spoilers: it could, just in a different way.

I woke up on race day at 4:30 a.m., which was of course fabulous, and got through my morning routine. Awesome friend Rebecca was down for the weekend to support all of us doing the Jackson County races, and staying with me. It was really nice to have someone else around to help keep my nerves down. The plan was for her to drive me to the start, and Mark would come down later after running a couple of errands.

Photo credit: Rebecca Petrush

The weather forecast for the race itself was promising. At the start it was low 40s and supposed to go from overcast/rainy to partly cloudy in the course of the day. Instead it just stayed cloudy with some wind, and got colder. Thanks for nothing, nature. I started off with a singlet and arm warmers under a thin jacket, and ended up keeping the jacket on for the whole day.

I started off with longtime training partners and friends Chris Neoh and Alicia. Alicia and I ribbed on each other, each accusing the other of getting her into this mess. (But seriously, it really was Alicia's fault. :P) We had agreed we would try to stay together at least for the first loop to help prevent her from going out too fast. We got into a good groove at a comfortable pace. I didn't see any other women in front of us, but almost at once a woman with blond braids went sailing past. I named her Blond Braids because I am creative. "Just let it go!" I told Alicia, because I knew she instinctively wanted to chase her down. There would be plenty of time for that later.

The course is five 10-mile loops with about 8,000 feet of gain total. The first few miles have a couple of significant climbs, then it's rolling to flattish for a little while, then several more significant climbs just past halfway before a pretty manageable last couple of miles. When I say significant climbs, I'm talking head down, hands-on-thighs type climbs. Those hills were killer, but the views from the top were beautiful. The mud was not too bad at first, just enough to cover the shoes, with quite a lot of icy puddles.

We stayed pretty close for the first loop, not always right together, but nearly always in eye contact. At the very beginning of the second loop, I went thigh-deep into a sinkhole and full-on belly flopped into a kiddie-pool-sized mud puddle. Luckily I had kept my jacket on, which kept my core dry, and my gloves were in the pocket, so they stayed dry too. I had my phone in the front pocket of my pack (OF COURSE I had just taken it out of the plastic baggie I was keeping it in), but it was high up enough on my chest that it only got a few drops of water on it. But I'd gotten a generous splash on my face and everything below the waist was now soaked. BUT, look how prepared I was. I whipped out the baby wipes I'd brought along and cleaned up my face and hands on the run, then put the gloves back on. So I was actually pretty comfortable for the rest of the loop despite the dunking.

Photo credit: Katie Yoder

Midway through the second loop, Alicia took off. Chris and I stayed together for a while longer, but I was gradually moving ahead of him (meaning he wasn't having a good day because usually he is way faster than me). I didn't feel all that good either. I didn't feel bad, just not good. It seemed way too early for my legs to feel so heavy. Could I push through and actually finish? I honestly wasn't sure, but I tried to focus on getting through the section I was on and not getting overwhelmed by the big picture. I was mostly successful, but around mile 15 I remember thinking that if I were doing the 50K I'd be halfway and that my halfway point was still 10 miles away and OH SHIT I'M RUNNING 50 MILES WHAT. But those slip-ups didn't last long.

At 20 miles I refilled my pack and changed out my wet capris for shorts and compression knee socks. I kept shirt and jacket the same, but changed arm warmers for ones with mitts. Chris came in a few moments after I did and announced he was dropping. I wasn't surprised but I was sad, and it was compounded when I saw that Adam had dropped from the 50K as well. A true testament to how tough the conditions were. It was a sobering start to the third loop, but on the bright side I did not fall into the sinkhole again.

Thirty miles in. Photo credit: Chris Banul

I'm not sure which was mentally tougher--the third loop or the fourth loop. I realized at some point that my phone had stopped charging, which caused me to waste some time fiddling with it. Eventually I had to give up on it and just let it die, then catch the last eight miles of the race on my Garmin. Oh well. My pace slowed and I was doing more walking. The mud was getting steadily worse. It tended not to be very deep, but it was torn up and slippery in many spots, especially hills, and negotiating those sections was difficult with heavy legs. It was like running on a Slip 'n' Slide. Nothing was really physically wrong, but I just felt demoralized. Luckily the start/finish was packed with friends and encouragement, and Rebecca was working the aid station right in the middle of the really sucky hills at mile 6 in the loop, so I got a boost every so often. I tried to keep my chin up (figuratively, because falling sucks).

After the third loop, I refilled my pack again, gratefully accepting Erin's help (she is one of the most knowledgeable and experienced runners I know, and is always willing to jump in for a bit of crewing where needed). I was mildly worried because Mark wasn't there yet, and I'd been sort of hoping my dad would show up (he had mentioned he might drive up and check out my race since my mom was at a quilt guild meeting that day). This was a big moment for me and I said so as I took off again: "Here I go into undiscovered country!" I'd never gone past 50K/31 miles before.

Sorry about the feels. :(

Well, it was hard. I felt like I was crawling. At one point I stopped to empty some collected grit out of one shoe, and my fingers were so stupid and the laces were so caked with mud that it seemed to take an hour to get the shoe off and back on. I wasn't feeling any standout pain--just the overall sore/fatiguey feeling that continuously begs you to stop. It got very loud on that loop and I wasn't having much luck fending off its advances. I got to the middle road section, which, although flat, really sucked because it was so jarring. I knew the big hills were coming and it wasn't even the last time I would do them.

As I ran along the road, a car came up next to me and slowed down and who should it be but BOTH of my parents! They'd gotten a bit turned around looking for the start/finish and ended up in the middle state forest section. And with impeccably good timing too, because seeing them was a massive boost. I went on, not really moving any faster, but feeling better about it. Another boost when I stopped at mile 36 and got an update from Rebecca that Alicia was already into her last loop. I knew she had gone into first place, but it sounded like she was just getting stronger and stronger. I thought idly how cool it would be if I could catch Blond Braids too, but not really seriously--she had looked really good and strong when I saw her, and Rebecca had said she was "truckin'"--just not as as fast as Alicia.

Forty miles in. Photo credit: Chris Banul

I finished the fourth loop feeling pretty good mentally, despite falling right at the end and getting mud all over my arm warmer mitts. At last, one lap to go. It might take forever, but I knew I could get it done now. Mark was there with the dogs, my parents were there, lots of friends were there--it was amazing. I stripped off the arm warmers and put on a long-sleeve shirt under my jacket instead, then went back to gloves. And Chris Neoh offered to pace me for the lap, which was welcome as it was now quickly getting dark. Let's take a moment to appreciate the hardcore badassery on display here: Chris had already run 20 miles on a bad day, dropped, stood/sat around for several more hours, then opted to run 10 more miles in the dark. Then again, he has run 100 miles, so that was nothing. But still, so much gratitude.

I started this loop with fresh vigor. I didn't have it in me to really pick up the pace, but I could walk less as long as I focused. I promised myself I would run all the flats and at least start running up the gentle hills. This worked really well for pretty much the whole loop, actually. In fact, my legs felt okay, better than they had 10 miles ago. Chris kept up a steady stream of encouraging words and I joked around and quoted movies. At one point he reminded me to drink and I sang "Just keep sipping, just keep sipping, what do we do, we sip, sip, sip."

Mile 46. Photo credit: Rebecca Petrush

We made steady progress, even on the hills, and headed down the hill into the aid station at mile 46. I had decided I needed to think of a funny way to let Rebecca know it was us since she would only see headlamps coming. We're all Firefly fans, so as we ran up, I said, "What does that make us? BIG DAMN HEROES!" She got a kick out of it.

There were several others who had paused at the aid station and I realized with dull surprise that one of them was Blond Braids. I drank some of the magical tomato soup from the aid station and tried to get my breath. Don't freak out, Miranda.

She left a moment later. I finished my soup and we headed out soon after. I said to Chris, "Now I'm not going to flip out about this, but was that...?" He affirmed that I was only moments behind second place and mentioned that I had made up a lot of time to catch her; she must be hurting. I tried to keep my promise not to flip out, but it was hard. I was hurting, too. I knew I needed to relax and stay steady and I might very well be able to catch her. I thought how cool it would be if I could finish second behind Alicia, meaning BARA women would go 1-2, and how excited everyone would be when they realized it was me finishing.

We tackled the last big climbs. I went steadily but not all out; Chris was totally on the same page, telling me to stay calm and be patient. After the hills but before we got to the lake section, we passed second place, and her pacer. We offered some heartfelt encouragement and buckled down to seal the deal. All I had to do was keep going, I told myself.

But I was really starting to struggle now. I needed a pit stop (because obviously that couldn't have held off for TWO MORE MILES after running, you know, FORTY-EIGHT). And I was paranoid that being passed had lit a fire under Blond Braids and I imagined her charging right back past me. Finally I had to pause for the pit stop, but at least after that I felt a little better. Only a mile and a quarter to go. We started our way around the lake. From the lakeshore, you can clearly see the finish. In fact, you see it and have to run parallel and away from it for a while. I kept saying, "We're so close!" and in my head was quoting Red Leader from the Death Star trench run in Star Wars: Almost there, almost there...

At one point I had to walk a bit through an especially muddy section and I asked Chris, "You don't see anyone back there, do you?" He said no and I immediately felt relieved. Just keep it together for a few more minutes. I was thinking only up to the finish line and not one second beyond.

BARA sweep! Photo credit: Erin Hazler

The finish chute is muddy and uphill because of course it is. But I couldn't stop at that point, so I pounded home as best I could. I made it! I actually ran 50 miles! I got a medal and a really awesome trophy for the second place finish, probably my favorite one I've ever gotten: a polished wooden plaque. I also found that I'd finished eighth overall, which I'm very proud of.

After a whirlwind of congrats and hugs and photos, I went inside and sat down and before too long started to feel pretty terrible. My stomach was a little ehhhh and I was lightheaded, then I started getting chills. Luckily Erin and Chris Neoh knew exactly what to do and got some calories/electrolytes into me quickly. Erin helped me into the bathroom, where they had HOT SHOWERS. I had brief thoughts of throwing up, but it passed quickly, and I tottered over to the shower, where Erin had kindly laid out all my stuff and turned on the water. For a while I just sat there with my clothes still on, letting the water run over my legs, then I stood up and rinsed off all the mud. That was a bit of a fright, although it could have been a lot worse but for my friends' quick thinking. In hindsight I think I let my fluid/calorie intake tail off a little too much in the last three or four miles, just concentrating on making it to the finish. I was sipping but not really taking much in. Well, you have to make it through the finish too. Lesson learned!

Quick note on the race itself: This was the first year for this event, and I hope it will continue. As usual with DINO, the organization was great, the trail was tough but rewarding, and the venue was perfect, with indoor bathrooms/showers/warmth just a few steps away from the race start/finish. The course was well marked and easy to follow, even at night. And the aid stations were well stocked with good food and awesome people.

Recovery: I was quite sore the next day, but believe it or not, I would actually rate the muscle soreness as less than what I usually experience after a hard road marathon. My joints hurt more, and most of all my feet and ankles. The muscles and tendons down there had clearly been a little overworked in keeping me stable and upright (most of the time) in that slippery mud. My right foot/ankle especially was actually a little swollen, so I put on compression socks and spent most of the day with my feet up.

By Monday I could walk normally enough that no one at work noticed anything weird. By Tuesday I was still feeling some pockets of soreness, but I could walk and even descend stairs normally. I'm a big believer in active recovery, so either today or tomorrow I'm going to do a very short shakeout jog.

Stats and stuff:
Finish place: 8th out of 22 finishers (34 started); 2nd out of 4 women
Official time: 12:46:43
Moving time: 11:38:02 for 50.7 miles
Approximate loop times: 2:02, 2:11, 2:42, 2:54, 2:51
Elevation gain: 7,611 ft. (mine tends to measure short; it was advertised as 8,000)
Trail falls, January 19, 1982, to December 5, 2014: 3
Trail falls, December 6, 2014: 4
Liters of water consumed: 5
Calories consumed: 2,200ish (about 175 per hour), most of which was Tailwind. Also a uGo bar, nibbles from the aid stations, and magical tomato soup.

Can't wait to do it again! I'm thinking pretty seriously about doing Land Between the Lakes in Kentucky next spring.

What I learned from my last long run

As I mentioned in my previous post, I am officially signed up to run 50 miles next month at the Jackson County 50/50. In one day. Without stopping (much). Last weekend I ran my first 50K, my first time going over 26.2 miles, and took the following day off. On this past Saturday, I decided to put in one last long run before starting a three-week taper. I decided another 30-miler would be the best option, this time with a 10-mile follow-up the next day. Accomplishing that on tired legs would mean a huge mental and physical boost and send me into the taper feeling, I hoped, ready to go.

I kicked around ideas for this run during the week. Eventually (the night before) I settled on running five laps of the Pate Hollow trail, a six-mile loop. This would, in a way, simulate the Jackson race (it's five laps of a ten-mile loop). It would get boring, but I figured the mental training would be invaluable. I also wanted to get an extremely early start because we had a mid-afternoon errand to run, so I needed to be home by about 2:00 p.m. I gave myself seven hours to complete the run, and building in cushion time, it meant starting out at 6:00 a.m. I embraced this as a chance to practice a little bit of night running and promised Mark updates via text for every loop. As an added bonus, it was also opening day of firearm deer season.

Another reason that I chose this trail is that it's close to my house and easy to get to. I managed to get out there and actually get started very shortly after 6:00. It was REALLY cold for mid-November, about 15 degrees, and still completely dark. I wore tons of extra clothes at first, including extra pants over my tights, knowing I could stop back by the car and adjust as needed. Off I shuffled, headlamp trained on the ground. Of course I went very slowly and gingerly because I didn't want to trip. It was also hard to see where the trail went in places because of all the leaves down, so I had to stop often to swing my light around and find the path.

Within 15 minutes, I could already discern that the horizon was beginning to lighten. My reward for hauling my ass out there on that absurdly frigid morning was a clear sky with the moon and stars gradually giving way to the sun. It was a wonderful experience.

I picked my way along, stopping occasionally to get a picture. I discovered early on that my hydration pack tube was freezing up, but I had prepared for that possibility. After each drink of water/Tailwind, I blew the fluid back into the bladder and stashed the bite valve down the collar of my top layer, a 3/4 zip pullover. This worked perfectly and I had no further trouble with hydration.

I warmed up enough in the first loop to shed a layer on top and bottom. As I got into the second loop though, I swear it got even colder and I struggled to keep my face and mittened hands warm. I started to see lots of hunters out and about, and heard many distant gunshots. I'm pretty used to this, and I dressed especially garishly in order to be as visible as possible, but it's still a bit nerve wracking. Nothing to do but stay alert and keep moving. I exchanged good mornings with them, and I'm sure both sides were thinking largely the same thing: "That person is just plain crazy." I actually saw someone tent camping near the lake, which I can't even imagine doing at those temps.

On my second loop as I approached the lake, I paused to get a picture of the misty water, since it had been too dark on the first loop. This is when I realized that my phone was completely dead, despite the fact that I had my portable charger hooked up to it. I sat down for several minutes to try and remedy it, but I couldn't get the charger to stay on and therefore couldn't get the phone to stay on. Discouraged and struggling to make my devices work with my numb mitten-paws, I thought seriously about bagging the whole shebang and heading home to take an hour-long hot shower. I was already behind my tentative schedule and I really did not want to be out there without a phone; I could have lived with just estimating distance and time for the day, but I had promised Mark updates and I couldn't let him worry.

Finally the idea waddled through my frosty synapses that it was just too cold for the electronics to be working. I had already seen that my phone's flash wasn't working because it was too cold (it actually pointed this out whenever I took a picture). I rearranged my rig and stashed the charger down my shirt, gave it a couple of minutes, and tried turning it on again. Bingo! Phone powered back up, I turned my Strava app back on and major bonus, it resumed recording from where I left off!

Feeling rejuvenated, I kept going (after taking that picture, god dammit) but suffered pretty badly through the rest of that loop because it was so frakking cold. I just could not keep hands and face warm, and really all of me was pretty cold. That ten minutes or so of inactivity really cost me.

When I got back to the car again, I spent some time trying to make my stupid fingers work well enough to unclip my hydration pack so I could top it off. The rest of me was feeling marginally better, so I trusted to the fact that now it was after 9:00 a.m. and with the sun out, it HAD to warm up a little bit. Within a few minutes, I did in fact begin to warm up, and finally, around the overall midway point in the run, I actually felt more or less comfortable. I picked up the pace and actually enjoyed myself again for the first time since the first half of the first loop.

Loops 3 and 4 were pretty uneventful. I saw some other runners and hikers, more hunters, two dead deer, and a lot of blood trails which I fervently hoped belonged to deer. My legs had been feeling good so far, but there was definitely fatigue making itself known and they were gradually getting heavier. All the leaves on the trail contributed to a feeling that I was just shuffling along, barely lifting my feet. I put on my music, something I VERY rarely do, and that was a welcome boost.

At the end of the fourth loop, I didn't really need a stop at the car, but I stood for a moment and just caught my breath. Okay, I told myself, just one more. The eternal end-of-run litany of runners everywhere--just one more mile, lap, straightaway, interval, repeat. Strangely, the fact that my "one more" meant another six miles and another hour and a quarter was not too intimidating. I felt a mixture of calm readiness and resignation. This would be my longest run ever at Pate Hollow. I once did four laps there and felt like I had conquered the world. Now I was going to increase that by one. Eeeep!

I had been walking the big climbs since the beginning, but this time I felt like I was going especially slow on them, and my legs felt so heavy. The flats and descents, though, still felt pretty good. I could tell I was having to concentrate harder in order to focus on my footing. I remembered that I was only a week out from doing a freaking 50K, and marveled anew at what a human body can do. I was hurting some, but it was all low level. The largest part of the mental battle was starting to run again after a walk break. It was so tempting just to keep walking. A few times I shuffle-ran up a smaller hill at an achingly slow pace rather than walk, just so I wouldn't have to walk and then start running again. When I did stop to walk the climbs, though, once I got my legs moving again, I found that I was able to keep my pace even with what I'd been doing so far, just working a little harder to do so.

In time, I found myself on the final climb and headed back out to the car. The feeling of accomplishment was almost as good as the previous weekend's 50K. It was 30 miles instead of 31, but I recorded slightly more elevation gain, and doing it solo and unsupported was tough too. I'm really, really glad I got that run in. I learned a lot from it and feel about as ready as I think I will be able to feel to run 50 miles.

The ten-miler the following day also went well. No significant soreness, just fatigue. Forty-mile weekend is done, hay's in the barn, and it's taper time!

Lessons learned:

1. I can survive a really long run in the bitter cold. Just don't stand around too long fiddling with gear. Numb fingers suck at doing things, so do as much prep as possible beforehand--cut up UGo bars into bite-size pieces, premix PLENTY of Tailwind, etc.
2. Sometimes electronic devices don't want to work when it's really cold. Keep an eye on this and be prepared to stash somewhere around my person.
3. Hydration pack freezing is real. Keeping fluid out of the exposed tube and stashing the bite valve under at least one layer works...at least down to 15 degrees.
4. My legs really do continue to work past 26 miles, even without race day magic. 
5. When everything seems like it's going wrong, take a breath and stay calm. It's probably not as bad as you think. Enjoy it when things go well.

Stats and stuff:

• Moving time: 6:03:01 (moving time for the loops was roughly 1:20, 1:11, 1:10, 1:11, 1:10, and I alternated counterclockwise and clockwise, so three CCW and two CW)
• Elapsed time: about 6:50 and the loops were something like 1:30, 1:30, 1:20, 1:15, 1:15
• About 4,500 feet of elevation gain for the day
• I drank about 2.5 liters of water with Tailwind, working out to an average of just under 150 calories and 12 oz of water per hour of elapsed time.