FATOZZIG'S PLACE

Endurance Intervals - An Evil Necessity

2012-01-25T16:54:00.000-08:00

This was my second week of Intense Endurance Intervals = E-V-I-L. Warm up for 1 mile, run hard for 1.5 miles, jog back to the start, run hard for 1.5 miles, jog back to the start and finish up the mileage for the day. Let me tell ya, they suck. I did better this week than last week, as I had more control over my speed; that is, I ran slower this time 'round. This week and last week, it was 5 miles with two intervals. Next week we up the ante to 7 miles and three intervals.

I don't like speed work, but Coach has assured me the payoff of doing these will be well worth the effort. He better be telling me truth . . . I know where he lives . . . .

Cats, Weather, Running

2012-01-09T12:52:00.000-08:00

The other day I was thinking it's a little sad Goofy and Wilson don't snuggle with one another like they did when they were young. They will sleep near each other once in awhile, but no longer hang out on the same tier of the cat post like in this picture or curl up with one another on the couch.

Another stunning day here on the ole North Coast. It's nice not dealing with the rain (especially when running), but we need it or we'll have drought conditions this year. Hopefully, we don't get torrents of rain when it decides to come.

Another wonderful weekend of running. I do love to run out at Headwaters. Fourteen peaceful miles, including about six half mile loops at the top. It's beautiful up there in the middle of the old growth redwoods. Saw a couple of people on my way out, but came across the majority of the folks during the last three miles heading back.

The eight miles at the McKay Tract on Sunday were less than ideal. My legs had multiple personalities - sometimes heavy, sometimes just okay, sometimes great, back to heavy. I got the miles done, though, and that's the main thing. I just have to remind myself once in awhile that I'm coming back from a 6-month layoff, which, actually, I think did me a world of good. I'm feeling strong and healthy. But never fear! The days of feeling like total crap will be upon me soon! It's an inevitability when training for ultras. You accept the crap 'cause it makes the good days feel even better. :o)

Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes, Knees and Toes . . . .

2012-01-04T20:30:00.000-08:00

Saw the ortho yesterday. Conclusion re the knees - stop doing squats and lunges. "They'll ruin your knees, kid. Or at the very least make your uterus fall out." I'm kidding. He didn't say that, but he did say I needed to stop doing squats and lunges.

So I'm on the hunt for exercises that will still develop strength in my upper legs without the added knee stress.

He squashed around on my foot, and although it was achy later in the day, it didn't bother me too much. He figures my foot is about as strong as it's gonna get, but said "possibly" when I asked if the ligament tear made it more susceptible to injury (he's a man of few words), so that's something to look forward to.

And as far as the little toe is concerned, ya just gotta get through the pain (which I already knew). And as bad as it hurts, I'm convinced I broke the little sucker. Ah well! Whatcha gonna do, amputate?

Ringing in 2012

2011-12-31T17:14:00.000-08:00

Well, I can't say I'm sad about seeing 2011 leave us. Good riddance to a bad year! Okay, maybe not all bad, 'cause even in the darkness there were rays of sunshine, and those rays continue to get brighter and brighter. And while I learned many valuable lessons in 2011, let's just say I've had enough lesson-learning for awhile.

The toe is feeling sort of okay. It's better when I tape it to the 4th toe. The bruising has now crept into the top of my foot, which helps explain why the foot was a bit swollen last night.

But I didn't let it stop me as my last run of the year consisted of 12 peaceful miles on the Elk River Trail in the beautiful Headwaters Forest. I love that place. After the first 3 miles, you climb for 2.5 miles, then get to run downhill with wild abandonment if you want to. Usually, I have that whole section to myself, but toward the end of today's downhill festivities, I came upon four walkers who were gracious enough to step aside and let me continue my dance.

I ended the year with 647.6 miles under my belt, which ain't too shabby considering I was out of the game for six months.

So as we leave 2011 behind and take our first tentative steps into 2012, I wish you and yours all the love, happiness, peace, joy, and prosperity you so richly deserve.

And It Keeps Getting Better . . .

2011-12-28T13:07:00.000-08:00

As I was walking through my living room this morning (walking with a purpose, I might add, as sauntering is rarely in my vocabulary), I managed to slam/jam my left little toe into our ottoman (yes, the same foot I injured back in March). In the same instance, I heard a cracking sound, although that could very well have been my brain registering what I'd just done. As I instantly fell - okay, slammed - to the floor, grabbed my foot, and yelled "OW! OW! OW!" over and over, I couldn't help but think, "Really? REALLY? Has this really happened?"

Now it's the afternoon, and my toe has swollen quite nicely and is turning a lovely shade of blackish-blue. I can finally walk without limping, but it does protest if I scrunch up my toes. Is it broken or just sprained really bad? Dunno. But I intend to test the waters on my run this evening.

And thus continues the "Fatozzig Journal of Injuries."

Staying Hopeful

2011-12-27T09:35:00.000-08:00

Someone suggested I try one of those straps that you place just below the knee. Don't know if it's coincidence, but I've worn it my past three runs with no knee problems. I'm almost afraid to try running without it because the pain I experienced before was so bad. I have an appointment with my ortho for a final foot looksee, so I'll ask him about the knee at the same time.

Other than this knee issue, my body seems to be bouncing back in a halfway decent manner. This past Saturday I did 11 miles out at Headwaters and had a great time! Headwaters is one of my most favorite places to run. The 2.5 mile climb after the 3-mile mark is challenging enough to get your heart pounding, but not so bad that you wonder what the heck you're doing out there, and then coming down those same 2.5 miles - Woo Hoo! Fun stuff! A downhill running delight!

I have decided against trying to get into Chuckanut up in Washington. Originally, I was going to try because I had a ticket through United Airlines that I needed to use before April 28. When I originally had to cancel my travel plans (due to the foot injury), United told me I could not get a refund, but I could use my canceled ticket toward a new flight within a one-year period of the original canceled flight. (Are you following me?) Now they're telling me that because I didn't cancel the original itinerary I can't put that ticket toward a new one, but they'll refund me my money (less a $50 refund fee). I know - What?? None of it makes sense to me, either, but so long as I get my money back, I don't care. So, instead of Chuckanut, I'll probably due a run in the Bay Area through either Pacific Coast Trail Runs or Coastal Trail Runs.

It Just Keeps Coming

2011-12-15T13:04:00.000-08:00

On tap for yesterday's workout was 5 miles with 3-4 hill strides in the middle. The legs felt great, and the strides went as best as can be expected at this point. My left knee has felt a tad twingy over the last few days, and unfortunately, last night it decided to do the ultimate twinge and stopped me dead in my tracks around Mile 3.5 and 1.5 miles from home. May I say, OW! Freaking OW! I ended up having to power walk back home, and about .25 miles out, had to resort to sort of a squatting walk with the left leg as it hurt to fully extend the leg. I think it's just inflammation, and I think the culprit is the inserts I put in my shoes to help my low back. They're thicker at the heel, and I'm assuming my body has become so use to the lower, flatter profile of my Inov-8s that the insert has thrown things off. This stinks as using them has made a big difference in my lower back.

The knee is still puttin' on a pretty good hurt today, especially when I first get up from sitting, so I'm doing the ibu and ice thing. I'm going to lay off doing anything (except core and upper body) until at least Saturday. If the knee feels even slightly off come Friday evening, I'll postponed any running until Sunday. I keep telling mysef, "Must Not Be Stupid! Must Not Be Stupid!" It's still early enough in my base-building that not doing any running for even up to a week shouldn't set me back much.

Life . . . .

2011-12-05T13:57:00.000-08:00

Wow! I haven’t posted anything since September 11 - almost three months. It’s not that there hasn’t been anything going on in my life, it’s just that the things that have been happening have left me worn out and needing to take a break from everything.

It’s been a tough year for my husband and me. Some who read this know the situation, the rest will have to remain in the realm of suspense as it’s not something I wish to discuss on the world wide web. But suffice to say, it’s been an extremely tough year. My foot injury in March was but a drop in the bucket catching the torrential downpour of pain - emotionally, physically, and financially.

We are, however, beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and with each passing day, the light grows larger and brighter. Part of that light is my husband finally admitting, and coming to terms with the fact, he is an alcoholic. After 24 years of both of us suffering through this disease, I cannot fully express my joy and relief at being able to say that the suffering, while not over, is being replaced by living. We still have a long, hard road ahead of us - as you know, an alcoholic is never cured, but has to work hard each day to maintain sobriety - and each of us continues to struggle as we work to put our life together back together, but he has fully embraced his sobriety, and I believe we are on the road to healing and recovery, as individuals and as a couple.

The changes that have come over my husband in the past eight months, both physically, mentally, and emotionally, are still a bit overwhelming. He’s lost close to 50 pounds, other physical manifestations from the abuse of alcohol have subsided, he is thinking clearly for the first time in years, he is finally beginning to understand he has a life worth living and it’s a good life. He’s a good man who really screwed up, but as I’ve told him a number of times, we are blessed that when he hit rock bottom, it didn’t bring about the injury or death of another person. For that, I am so very thankful to God each and every day.

When we slammed into the pit together, we came face-to-face with our faults as individuals and as a couple. Although no marriage is perfect, we had lost sight of who we were to one another and the respect that is suppose to accompany that relationship. Many people questioned why I chose to stay with my husband, but I tell you now, I have had to do just as much soul searching as he has, and I have had to hold a mirror up to my own face, as well. It takes two to tango, my friends. Rarely is the dying of a relationship solely the fault of one person.

We have friends who have chosen to walk away, but we have had just as many who have been willing to forgive, wrap us in their loving embrace, and give my husband a second chance. I don’t fault those who chose to leave, and I don’t wish them ill will. Just the opposite, I fully understand the choice they’ve made. I do, however, hope that maybe one day they will be able to forgive, even if they continue to choose to not have us in their lives.

Many have told me they admire my resilience, that the strength I have shown throughout these past eight months has been both admirable and astounding. I appreciate each and every one of those comments as they have sustained me during some very long, dark periods. On the other hand, it surprises me that people are astounded by my attitude.

When I vowed 24 years ago to love, honor, and cherish my husband for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health til death do us part, I meant it. Those weren’t simply words said by my pastor to be repeated, I . . . meant . . . them. Fortunately, I never stopped loving. Unfortunately, I stopped cherishing. Some may say it was inevitable given the circumstances. I say the circumstances were no excuse.

We are coming to terms with what happened, and we are slowly building our relationship again. It’s not unlike when we first started dating and were getting to know one another. We’ve been given something precious - a second chance at a better, more fulfilling relationship and life. We have been very blessed in so many ways, especially with regard to the people who have surrounded us. Certain individuals reading this will know I am talking about them, and without giving specific names, I say thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to each and every one of you. I will never be able to fully express how much you mean to me, to both of us, how much you are loved, and how so very grateful I have been for your support, love, and understanding.

One of the greatest blessings, however, is that these last eight months have led me back to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. It is true that in our darkest hours when we cry out to Him, He wraps us in His loving arms and saves us from ourselves. I spent the last 24 years pushing God out of my life. I spent the last eight months finding my way back to Him. The peace I have found in His loving embrace is like nothing I have ever experience before in my life. The blessings He has bestowed upon me, upon both of us, have been overwhelming, and each day brings new blessings. I am finding a foothold in a local church, and have been warmly accepted into this new family. My husband has indicated an interest in attending when the circumstances finally allow, and for this I am also so very grateful and thankful. It is my profound hope and prayer that we are able to begin our life anew with a relationship built not only on mutual respect and love, but also on a faith in God.

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18: “Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.”

Psalm 73:26: “My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”

I have also returned to running. It’s close to two months since I started back, and am slowly building my mileage again. I have switched to Inov-8s for both road and trail as the wider toe box is more agreeable to my foot. I still have issues of minor swelling now and then, but I appear to be over the major hump.

As such, I’ve set some lofty goals for myself for 2012. If all goes according to plan, I will be running the Chuckanut 50k Trail in March, the Western States 3-Day Training Camp over Memorial Day Weekend in May, the Mt. Hood 50-Mile Trail Run with my friend, Kate, in July, and perhaps a final 50k or marathon in October/November. I don’t know if I’ll accomplish each goal, but I am thankful to finally be able to set them again.

As 2011 comes to a close and we prepare to enter the new year, I pray that God enriches your life with His blessings, and that 2012 brings you the joy, peace, and lasting happiness you so richly deserve.

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same…
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run –
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!
- Rudyard Kipling, “If”

10th Anniversary of September 11, 2001

2011-09-11T11:39:00.000-07:00

NEVER FORGET!

Tell your children, tell your children's children. Never forget the innocent lives lost on 9-11-01.

Are You Willing to Make a Leap of Faith?

2011-06-26T20:35:00.000-07:00

(Me on left and one of my very best buds ever, Karen, on the right. Nope, we don't have any fun together at all.)

"If you are ever going to achieve as much as you can in a sport, you are going to have to be willing to make a leap of faith to learn how much your body can handle." (Meredith Rainey Valmon)

“The voice of caution knows nothing of real joy. What joy is there in doing what you know you could do? Try something you could fail at… that might just be living." (Neale Donald Walsch)

"You can obtain your goal if you maintain your course." (from a fortune cookie)

Guess the question is - - where is my leap of faith taking me? Good questions, yes, very good question . . . .

How Do You Spell Freedom?

2011-06-18T21:56:00.000-07:00

N-O C-R-U-T-C-H-E-S!! Week 12 - My first full week without the $%*^&. Can you see me dancing - well, sort of. Wouldn't want to overdo things the first week.

The only issues I have are a tight ankle - especially the AT - and the bottom of my foot gets achy. Some gentle stretching is in order, and slowly extending my walking. Here's hoping that by the end of next week I am able to comfortably walk a mile.

Need An Attitude Adjustment

2011-06-06T21:47:00.000-07:00

[Rant On]

This is one of those days when all I want to do is shove a crutch somewhere where the sun don't shine. Throw it across the yard while screaming a primal scream. Burn them in effigy while dancing around they're pathetic, melting, skeletons. To say I'm at the end of my rope with these things is quite an understatement.

I had a great pool run tonight, which is an oxymoron. Okay, maybe not completely, but sort of. Let's just say I'm learning to tolerate it since it actually gets me out of the frigging house.

But I digress . . .

My pool run went well, but it's just not - doesn't come even close to being like - trail running. We've had some wonderful, quiet, calm mornings which would have been absolute perfection for a predawn run. But what am I doing? Stumping my way out to my workout shed, trying to keep my crutches from sinking into the wet lawn. AAARRRRRGGGHHH!

I want two feet back, but the way things feel this evening, I don't think that will be happening any time soon. This sucks, my friends. This truly, truly sucks.

[Ran Off]

Week 10, Day 67

2011-06-01T16:42:00.000-07:00

Doc appointment yesterday. He was happy with the progress I've made. I was completely honest with him about my trial walk on Monday (which was okay . . . to a point), so he has left it up to me to determine how/when with regard to eliminating the crutches. Like he said, if I do something and it irritates things, back off. I go back in 6 weeks for another progress update. Hopefully I will be crutchless by then.

I asked him how long he thought it would be before I could run. He said we need to take things month-to-month, but September at the earliest is probably about right. Everything I've read about tendon tears indicates there is a 6-8 month recovery period. September 26 will be the 6-month mark (cripes, that seems so far away!).

I'm not going push it. The last thing I want to do is make things worse and delay the healing process. I can get around on one crutch pretty good for doing housework, etc., which is a big help. Two crutches if I want to move at any speed. Once I'm on two feet, I plan to return to the trails to work on power walking - always a good thing in trail running. Until then, it's still pool running and stationary biking.

Week 9 and Counting

2011-05-24T21:51:00.000-07:00

It takes a lot to rock me, to knock me down for the count, but I tell you, these past 2+ months have been doing their best to give me the one-two punch that sends you to the mat for the full 10-count.

My life these past few weeks is obviously not what I thought it to be. From developing an injury that appears to be the type which will take a very long time to heal - that is to say, it's very plausible I will not be running for 8-12 months - to dealing with significant personal issues, I have been on a physical, mental, and emotional roller coaster ride like nothing I have ever experienced before. My personal plans, my running goals, they have been, for an indeterminate amount of time, flushed down the proverbial toilet. A tornado has ripped through my life, and I'm trying to find the pieces to put it all back together, like a life-size jigsaw puzzle.

I have come to realize how much of the crap life throws at you I work out in my mind while running. Though I entered this crazy running world only a few years ago, the thought of not being able to run for a significant period of time has left me feeling out of sorts and unbalanced. Not being able to join my friend, Karen, for our weekend trail runs has, at times, reduced me to tears. I did not know how much I would miss it all until it was taken away, whether temporary or permanently.

I miss the endorphin rush of a hard, but successful, training run.

I miss the quiet of a predawn run, of slowly watching the rest of the world greet the day.

I miss taking my troubles, working through them over miles of dirt, then putting them away in a mental drawer marked "Done."

I miss the hours-long chats with Karen, so different from phone conversations or talks over lunch.

I miss the anticipation of a new and more challenging training schedule from my coach.

I miss feeling sweaty, tired, and satisfied after a 20-mile run.

I miss the anxious butterflies that always accompany me in the days leading up to a race.

I miss the me I become when I am pushing myself to limits I never in my wildest dreams thought I could achieve.

I just miss . . .

Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are.

You will be OK.
You ARE OK.
Everything will be as it should.

And the Stumping Continues

2011-05-04T16:29:00.000-07:00

Week Six of Crutches.

Went to the doc yesterday and got the results of my MRI:

The crappy news - I'm still on crutches.

The okay news - I get to start, little by little putting pressure on the foot.

The crappy news - It's not a stress fracture, and there is still inflammation and swelling showing on the MRI.

The crappy news - I would've been better off with a stress fracture.

The crappy news - Might have torn the tendon on the downhill run, and if so it's healing as best as can be expected right now.

The crappy news - He thinks I have a mild case of RSD in the foot. At the onset of the injury, the nerves went wacky from the stress and are still totally wacked out. He said most people show up at his office when the nerves have progressed to a "wildfire." He thinks I have more of a "trash can fire," and it's just a matter of getting them to calm down. Have to keep up with the contrast baths and nerve stimulation (which involves a paint brush, and my foot, and . . . heh heh heh)

The crappy news - It could take 6-9 months for the nerves to calm down.

The good news - That doesn't necessarily mean it'll be 6-9 months before I'm running again. I have to be able to walk briskly for one hour without pain before I can progress to running.

The crappy news - I go back to him on the 27th and he hopes I've progressed to putting 50% pressure on the foot. Only 50%!

The crappy news - Doc: "Sometimes stress can make our bodies heal slower. Are you under any stress right now?" Me (trying to not break out into a combination of hysterical laughter and crying, because, well, yeah . . .): "I am under so much stress right now, it's absolutely ridiculous, and there's no light at the end of the tunnel." Doc: "Are you eating?" Me: "I'm trying." He gently admonished me to eat better, get more protein in my diet and to try and get the stress under control. (He and I discussed this further, but I'm not going into details here.)

Sooooo - When I fly to Conference in Los Angeles May 18 thru 22, I'm going to be on crutches. Wonder if the hotel has wheelchairs, 'cause the place the conference is being held is suppose to be huge. *sigh* I would say I need a drink, but that's probably fairly inappropriate at this point in my life, so I'd settle for my pajamas, a box of donuts, and a gallon of milk.

Stumpin' Around on 3 Legs

2011-04-17T15:24:00.000-07:00

Went to the foot doc on Friday, and no matter how hard I tried to argue my case, I'm still on crutches. Possibly for another 4 weeks. Plus I have to get a bone scan - or an MRI. I just have to figure out which one I can afford. Argh! The frustration level is about THIS HIGH. My initial comment re pool running - I still agree it's great exercise, but lordy it's b-o-o-o-o-r-i-n-g! I can only handle about 40 minutes before I feel like I'm going to lose my mind. The funny part is the looks I get from people trying to figure out what the heck I'm doing.

My buddy, Karen, has been training for her upcoming FatAss 50k on her 50th birthday, and another friend, Arla, just finished her first ultra event, the American River 50 Mile Endurance. I'm insanely jealous of what they're doing, and so damn proud of them at the same time. Arla rocked that course, as I knew she would. And Karen - well, she's gonna have a fantastic time this upcoming weekend. There's a tutu involved. All I know is there better be a whole lot of pictures, too!

Okay then -

Crutchy

2011-04-02T21:20:00.000-07:00

That's what my boss' 7 year old daughter calls me. She can be a hoot.

Today I did pool running for the first time. It was as exciting and exhilarating as watching paint dry, only without the added benefit of sniffing the paint fumes. No matter, after a minute or so, and once I finally got the rhythm down, I was motoring through the deep end like a snail on speed!

It's actually an interesting workout, with the added benefit of a good arm workout. I figure by between pool running, strength training, and stumping around on crutches, I should be as buff as a female atlas by the end of all this!

On the Bench

2011-04-01T12:31:00.000-07:00

A few of my fans (and yes, they are exactly that - a few) have been wondering where my race report is for the Pirate's Cove, which I ran on March 19. Life has been busy, as well as other things going on, so until now, it just hasn't happened. However, I'll give you a brief rundown.

Pirate's Cove was run in the Marin Headlands. The same course I ran four weeks prior for Golden Gate, except for two changes. One of those changes I feel made the course harder. If you're wondering about gain/elevation, go look at my previous report where I posted a profile pic.

The race was fantastic. Absolutely 100% fantastic. The weather was total crap again (rain, wind, hail, even a thunder boomer thrown in for good measure), but I couldn't have asked for a better race. I felt great the whole time, never once had a depressing thought, nutrition was spot on. Every . . . single . . . thing . . . clicked . . . like nothing I've experience before. My God, it was a great feeling!

I think a lot of it had to do with the fact I knew what was in store for me. Nothing was a surprise. I knew which climbs would suck (or as my friend Kate described them before - are diabolical), and I was prepared. Keep your head down. Get through them. That's why you're here. Don't be a damn baby.

My hope was to finish this 5 to 10 minutes faster than Golden Gate. I didn't dare hope for better because (1) I had been out here a mere 4 weeks earlier and (2) I only had a very short mini taper for this race. After all, it was to be a training run in preparation for the Leona Divide 50-Mile Endurance Run at the end of April.

As I came down the final flat half mile, the ocean stretched out in front me, I was feeling very satisfied. Neither the suck butt elements, the course, nor my own mind demons had gotten the better of me this time. I was ending this run with a smile on my face, so what more could I ask for?

As I rounded up into the parking lot, like before, I gave it all I had for the final push. The finish line volunteer, who had been trying to stay out of the pouring rain, met me as his truck (the finish line), gave me a hearty congratulations, and handed me my ultramarathoner finisher's coaster.

"Do you have the time?" I asked.

"Yeah. (looking at his computer) 7:20:10."

In my head: "WHAT?!?" Outside of my head, a subdued, "Yes!" accompanied by a fist pump.

"You met your goal?"

"Yep!" with a huge grin on my face.

Let's look at the math:

Feb 19 - Golden Gate 50k: 7:44:06
Mar 19 - Pirate's Cove 50k: 7:20:10

Four seconds short of being a full 24 minutes faster!! To say this was more than I expected is an understatement. I was totally blown away. And upon getting home and looking at finishing times for previous races that were similar in difficulty - A 19:00 PR!

I still find this unbelievable. And two weeks later, I still can't keep from grinning when I think about it.

So why is this post titled "On the Bench"? That's a good question. A great question, actually. I'll tell you why - -

Long story longer, I've been on crutches since Monday. I finally got to see an ortho today, and he concurs I have stress fracture in the top of my foot. Said he'd send me for an MRI or bone scan to get official results if I wanted, but wouldn't treat it any differently, so I opted not to spend the dinero. I go back to him on the 15th. If there's no improvement, then he'll order up a scan or MRI.

He had me stand on my toes and on my heels, which I did with no problem, but now, a couple of hours later, it's still achy. He was happy I was able to do both of those without pain. He also noticed that my injured foot is dark than the other one, which I had noticed, too. Said it's because of nerve damage. Recommended contrast baths 2 or 3 times a day, and taking a soft loofah or paint brush and brushing the top of the foot to help the nerves wake up/heal. Interesting. Those of you with foot fetishes would probably like that one. I'll have to ask The Hub to bring home a couple of buckets that my foot will fit down into.

Two more weeks on crutches. Stay off the foot as much as possible. I CAN do my stationary biking so long as I don't have it cranked down to the toughest gear. No weight-bearing at all. He also suggested swimming, so I'm going to go and chat up the folks at CalCourts re pool running. Our office pays for people to be members. NICE!

Funny: He said something - I can't remember what - and I told him I'll do anything he wants me to, I just want this to heal. He said, "Well, good. Sometimes runners are like heroin addicts. (rubs hand across face) They refuse to stop running no matter what." Big grin He did, however, say he thought running was good for you because it helps build stronger bones. He also said this may be an indication that I might not be able to go the longer distances, we'll just have to see. I asked him if that meant I couldn't do a 100-miler like I've had pricking at the far reaches of my subconscious. He just smiled at me.

Anyway - There you are. Hopefully, in a couple of weeks I'll be able to start putting weight on it again. We'll see . . . .

I've already gone through a few crying jags, and spent about 3 days throwing myself a pity party. Today I finally canceled all my reservations for Leona Divide. :-{

Golden Gate 50k Trail Run

2011-02-22T16:34:00.001-08:00

When: February 19, 2011
Where: Rodeo Beach, Marin Headlands, Sausalito, CA

Photos

It is cold and wet. Using a bullhorn, RD Wendell is calling runners to the starting line. I am standing a few feet back. I look to my left, out to the water. A large cargo ship sits surprisingly close to shore. It never ceases to amaze me how enormous they are. Further in the distance, the Golden Gate Bridge.

It is cold and wet. Minutes ago, I sat in my car with the heater blasting, cringing while Mother Nature dumped buckets of rain to the earth. Rain mixed with hail. Briefly, the thought of dropping crossed my mind, but that’s the coward’s way out. Regardless of where it happens or in what weather, I have to run 31 miles today.

I turn my attention back to Wendell and wait for instructions for the 50k runners. The anxious excitement in the air is palpable. People chatting with one another, laughing, waiting for the time to start. I am not smiling or laughing. I’m not unhappy, I just know what lies ahead. It’s going to be tough, especially in this weather. I can’t help thinking to myself, a short way up the hill in front of us, most of you won’t be laughing anymore.

There is a young woman a few feet in front of me, dressed in shorts and a light jacket. She is shaking and covered in goose bumps. I don’t know which race she’s running, but she has that fast look about her. I want to get moving so I can hopefully warm up. It’s cold.

As Wendell gives instructions to each group of runners - half marathon, 30k, full marathon, 50k - he asks for a show of hands as to who is running which race. Out of 356 registrants (did that many show up?) - including the 5 mile race - there are only 13 of us signed up to run the 50k. We will be following the 30k course first - the orange ribbons, then the half marathon distance course - the pink ribbons - twice. A total elevation gain of 6,320' - 42% single track, 44% fire roads, 14% asphalt.

Dark rain clouds hang above us, threatening. I have watched the weather report for the past three days. It has gone from partially cloudy to a 60% chance of rain. That 60% has turned to 100%.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 - We start at exactly 8:00 a.m. The laughter and chatting continues as everyone takes off in a rustle of running clothes, shoes, and gear. In a little over 2 miles, we will climb over 800 feet, merely a blip on the total elevation gain to come, at least for the 50k runners. It crosses my mind again that most of these people may not have any idea what they’re up against. I refuse to get caught up in the excitement, to go out too fast. It’s going to be a long day, and this course demands respect. Conservation of energy is going to be key to finishing.

Up, up, up the hill, then the first set of stairs. I’ve been moving for almost 20 minutes and haven’t run but a few steps. Finally, I reach the top - that is, the top of the first of many climbs - and run through the artillery battery which has sat atop this hill since at least WWII. I will pass through here again later. Out the back side of the battery, past a couple of bunkers, then the “goat climb” I remember from two years ago when I ran the Pirate’s Cove 30k through Pacific Coast Trail Runs. A steep stretch covered in sharp-edged rocks ranging from walnut size to larger than a softball. They’ve become slippery with the rain and shift under foot. Two women climbing behind me have stopped their jovial banter and are struggling with the climb. One woman seems to be breathing down my neck, and I ask her if she’d like to pass.

No, she says, I don’t want to go any faster than you are.

She is taking large, sort of lunging steps. Take small steps, I tell her. Believe it or not, it makes it easier. Really small steps.

Thanks.

I turn my attention back to climbing and soon leave them behind. I don’t see them again and do not know if they finished.

The rain has started once again, a slight drizzle that, throughout the day, will shift between the drizzle to a steady rain - mostly a steady rain - and will never stop. It’s cold.

Finally, downhill! A downhill marked by wide steps which, I suppose, are meant to accommodate the horseback riders. There is a guy behind me and a woman a short piece ahead of me. We hit bottom, make our way through the horse stables, then finally the first aid station, Tennessee Valley Aid Station, at Mile 4.1. It took me about an hour to run this first section.

Three women are standing around the table refueling. I’ve brought with me chocolate donuts, a Moon Pie, and a couple of Mojo bars, but my goal is to eat as much as I can from the stations to better prepare for my upcoming 50 miler. Unlike last year’s AR50, I won’t have crew at Leona Divide and will have to rely solely on aid station foods to get me through. Now is the time to work on what will and won’t settle with my touchy stomach. Lately, PBJ has been going down well, so I grab a couple of quarters, a hand full of M&Ms, thank the workers and set off down the road.

The road is flooded and I try to run in the shallow sections or through the grass on the side. I pass a man walking and fussing with his waist pack, and from this point on, with the exception of being lapped later in the race by the fast marathoners and passed Blue Shirt Guy, I will be running by myself.

I’ve been wondering who will be my accompanying vocalist today, and suddenly she’s there - Paula Cole. “Postcards from East Oceanside,” more specifically “Bethlehem.”

“Quarry miners, fishermen, in my town of Bethlehem.
“Fish at seven, church at ten . . .”

Wait - “fish at seven?” Those aren’t the words. She backs up and gives it another try:

“Picket fences, church at ten, no star above my Bethlehem.” That’s better. The stanzas repeat themselves over and over in my head.

I turn right and begin another climb. I specifically left my Garmin at home with the intent of running by feel, so I have no idea how long the climbs are, but it doesn’t matter. Climbing is what this course is all about.

“Now I'm only 16 and I think I have an ulcer
I'm hiding my sex behind a dirty sweatshirt.”

The rain. Water is dripping off the bill of my cap. My gloves are soaked. My hands are cold. I pull my fingers out of their individual sections and tuck them into my palms in an attempt to warm them.

There’s a runner up ahead coming toward me. His bib number starts with a 3, which means he’s running the 30k. Is there a turnaround ahead of me? I don’t think so. It’s a loop, isn’t it? He doesn’t look injured, so I have no idea why he’s turned around. We nod as we pass one another, and I continue my climb. Opening zippers has become a challenge as my thumbs don’t want to work, forcing me to stop briefly to struggle with the pockets on my running vest and my jacket so I can get some food and a salt pill.

A short while later, I turn around to see if there is anybody behind me and I see a guy in a blue shirt. Blue Shirt Guy. He’s a distance behind me, and with all the twists and turns, up and downs, most of the time I can’t see him.

The views of the Pacific Ocean and headlands are absolutely stunning, but with the dreariness and nonstop rain, I couldn’t care less. The runoff has created crevasses which, combined with the mud and rocks, has made it difficult to run down hill and I have to watch every step lest I land wrong.

Up, down, up, down, twist, turn, up, down, and suddenly there they are - the infamous Pirate’s Cove steps. Two years ago, I thought they were going to be the death of me. This year, I’m still not excited about climbing them, but I know I’ll make it. As I climb step after muddy, slippery step, I think about my friend, Kate, who ran her first 100-miler out here. How the hell did she do it? I’ve always had great respect for her running ability, but this definitely cinches it.

I stop to catch my breath and suddenly Blue Shirt guy is behind me. As he passes me, he comments out of breath, This course is beautiful, but this climbing is a torture.

Yep, I say out loud. To myself, And it ain’t even close to being over.

There is yet another steep climb in front of us that is strewn with shifting rocks. More slipping and stumbling. Miniature creeks running through the crevasses as the rain continues. At the top, I pass Blue Shirt Guy and never see him again. I’m able to cruise at a good pace on the flats and downs, it’s the climbing that takes it out of me.

This section takes me a long time, and an hour and a half after leaving it, I finally make my way back into Tennessee Valley Aid Station, Mile 9.7, grab some food and begin what I know to be a little over a mile’s worth of climbing. This is the pink ribbon section, the marathon section, the one I will have to run twice. I am, however, able to incorporate my 20/20 run/walk for a portion, and in what feels like a relatively short period of time, I see the grove of eucalyptus trees at the top. I remember them from before. They mean a decent stretch of runnable, albeit technical, single track trail. My mom hated the smell of eucalyptus trees.

“Trying to be class president and get straight A's, well,
Who gives a shit about that anyway?
I want to be a dog or a lump of clay.”

At least Paula’s getting most of the stanzas right - for now.

The unrelenting rain. I try to avoid the worst of the puddles. My feet are soaked through, but they’re the warmest part of my body right now, unless I step in a puddle.

My hands are so damn cold. I can’t even feel my thumbs. Can you get frostbite when there’s no snow? I fumble with the zipper on my jacket pocket, trying to get to my salt pills and inhaler. The cold leaves me struggling with my asthma, but I’m used to that.

Off the single track onto a fire road, rivers of water running on the sides of the road, down the middle of the road. Water flings from the ends of my gloves with each swing of my arms. So much for my waterproof jacket. I am soaked clear through.

Cross a road. I can see the next aid station. I traverse two large muddy, shoe sucking sections and wonder how my friend, Karen, is doing at muddy Hagg Lake up in Oregon. The photographer is at the aid station and, unbeknownst to me, he takes a couple of pictures of me as I grab some more food, stuff potato and banana pieces in a sandwich baggy, shove a handful of M&Ms in my mouth, again thank the gentleman working in the cold and wet, and take off for the 4.5 miles to the start/finish and the beginning of the last 13 miles. As I walk away, I wring the water from my gloves yet again.

I like this next section. Most of it is downhill with only one nasty, muddy, rocky approximately .25 mile climb about a mile down the trail/fire road. While climbing, I take the opportunity to shove more food in my mouth. I’m tired and am getting to that point where I don’t want to eat, but I know I have to. Chew, chew, chew the potato, sip some fluid to help swallow it down. Chew, chew, chew a chocolate donut, sip fluid to get it down. I'm tired of hearing the water running.

At the top I find myself on a paved road, and even though it has a slight rise to it, I am very happy to find that I am able to run. Although my mind and body are tired, I can feel there is still strength in my legs. I am passed by two marathoners, one is a guy, and one is a young lady who ends up being second female for the marathon distance. They will have completed 26.2 miles faster than it has taken me to finish 18 miles, but in my defense, five of my 18 miles were much harder than almost all of their 26.2.

Down the road, down about 10 or so slippery wood steps, across a wood bridge, then about a mile to the start/finish, running along the side of the road. Again I am passed by a young woman marathoner. She smiles at me and looks like she only just began running. Me, I feel like a drowned rat, and I’m sure I look like one, as well.

As I enter the start/finish area, I veer off to the left to the aid station table where a young person immediately asks me what I need. Coke? Yes, Coke would be great. They also have watermelon. I love watermelon when I’m running. The young person hands me the Coke and I ask that it be poured into a cup since I won’t drink the whole can. Not much gives you a boost like Coke, and I am very happy to have it. I shove a couple of PBJ squares in my mouth, followed by a handful of M&Ms, a big thank you to the workers, and I head toward my car to re-up on chocolate donuts and Mojo bars and to get my dry gloves.

I’m tired, I’m soaking, dripping wet, and I’m cold. I shouldn't feel this beat up after only 18 miles. It sure would be nice to reach over, turn on the car and heater, and crash in the back seat. Instead, I shove food in my pockets and start moving through the parking lot. As I pull on my dry gloves, the rain gets steady again. The dry gloves feel really good, but they won’t stay dry for long.

I can’t help myself: Shit. I say it out loud as I make my back to where I started four hours earlier.

Perky marathon runner smiles at me, Good job!

I appreciate her saying that, but I just don’t have the gumption to give more than a grunted thanks in return.

13 miles left.

I begin the interminable climb up the road, then those first stairs for the last time. The stairs. They are slippery miniature waterfalls creating unavoidable mud puddles. I stop and look behind me. Far off in the distance is the Bridge. A mile (or more?) below me is my car. There is nobody in front of me, there is nobody behind me. I know I am the last. I suck it up and continue climbing.

Through the artillery battery, the climb up “goat hill,” which seems even more slippery this second time around. After scrambling to the top, I wring the rain out of my once dry gloves, shove some food in my mouth, and continue on. There will be more technical trail ahead, but right now I am fighting the nasty negative voices that have begun to drown out Paula.

This is ridiculous. This rain. This interminable rain! It and the cold have sucked all the life out of me. My hands hurt, they're so cold. I want to quit, but I hear Trent from RunningAhead in my head: The only way to finish is to not stop. The only way to finish is to not stop. To stop would make me a coward, a disappointment, so I continue to move and finally make my way back down into Tennessee Valley for the last time. As I arrive, the worker, whose name I find out later is Gavin, emerges from his car. His warm car.

Can I get you anything?

May I sit down?

Sure.

I hold my head in my hand, trying to pull myself together. Cgerber from RunningAhead in my head: Have you been timed out? (No) Are you in danger of causing permanent damage? (. . . unfortunately, no)

It’s tough out there today, he says.

Yeah. This is the most brutal 50k I’ve ever run.

Would you like some caffeine?

Do you have Coke?

He tries to hand me a can out of the ice chest.

Can you please open it for me? My fingers aren’t working.

He pours some in a cup and I have to take it with the palms of my hands since I can barely make my fingers bend.

A lot of people have dropped today.

Am I the last person through here?

There’s one older gentleman who just left, he’s doing the marathon, he says.

I just can’t get warm, I say.

It’s hard, I know. Trying to raise my spirits, he tells me he was recently sick with the flu the week before a 24 hr run, but he had already paid for it and was gonna run it regardless.

I understand where he's going with this. I grab another PBJ square. I’m training for a 50-miler at the end of April, I say.

Which one?

Leona Divide.

I’ve never run that. But you finish this and you’ll be in a great place mentally to finish that race. All you have to do is power walk this and you’ll be fine.

His calm, matter of factness is exactly what I need.

I blow out a big breath. Pity party’s over, I say. I finish my Coke, grab a mouthful of M&Ms, and take off. Thank you very much, I say as I leave. I appreciate your help. And I do. I appreciate all the aid station workers. This would be almost impossible without their support.

As I begin this climb for the last time, I have a renewed feeling of energy in my legs. I try a 20/20 walk/run combo, but find I can move at a much more forceful pace by power walking. Paula has changed songs - “Saturn Girl”:

“In my heart, in my head
Oh, Saturn Girl has always bled
No you're not, from this world
Saturn Girl.”

I shove her to the background in my brain and begin counting my steps over the top of her voice. For some reason, counting has always helped to keep me moving forward.

56, 57, 58 . . .

“In my heart, in my head
Oh, Saturn Girl has always bled
No you're not, from this world
Saturn Girl.”

I pass the older guy working hard to finish the marathon. We exchange brief pleasantries, but I’m not slowing down. My legs are actually working decently right now and I’m not stopping for anyone or anything.

98, 99, 100 . . . 1, 2, 3

Keep counting. Keep singing in my head. Pump those arms. Move those legs.

98, 99, 300 . . .

How many steps will it take for me to get to the top of this monster?

99, 800, 1, 2, 3

“The six-pack of beer, the locker room jeers
I don’t wanna be me/, don’t wanna be here”

She’s singing “Bethlehem” again.

And then the eucalyptus grove again. This time I say screw it and run right through every single puddle. I don’t care how deep they are. I just want this run to be done. Soon I hit the last aid station and there’s my aid station angel from Tennessee Valley.

Are you following me? I ask. Surprisingly, I'm in a good mood. He chuckles, yeah.

I’m just so happy to be here because I know it’s almost over. A moist PBJ, a mouth full of damp M&Ms, a wring of the gloves, a big thank you the workers, and I head out one last time. I look at my watch. It’s 3:00 p.m. exactly. There are 4.5 miles left. I realize if I haul ass as fast as possible through this downhill section, I have a chance of finishing this race in under 8 hours. My legs are re-energized. The only time I walk is when I have to climb that last .25 mile muddy, slippery mess up to the road. Once to the road, I push as hard as I can. Down and around, then the last flight of stairs. They’re slippery and steeply awkward. I can’t count on my legs to not give out, so with each step down, I’m flailing my arms up at my sides, trying to keep balance.

Once at the bottom, I take off and push as hard as I can. Cars pass me on the road. I don’t know if they’re runners who have finished or visitors just out for a rainy day at Rodeo Beach. I don’t care. I ignore them, intent on one thing - finishing this miserable run. I make my way down the side of the road, getting closer to turning toward the finish line, picking up speed with the realization that I will finish in under 8 hours. As I make the turn, I see the time clock and begin running as hard as I can. I can finish in less than 7:45! Push it, Les! Push it! Run! Run! And with every ounce of energy I have left, I cross the finish line. Time - 7:44:03.

The finish line worker presents me with a big smile, a heartfelt congratulations, and a custom coaster that the ultramarathoners receive. I thank her and walk toward the little tent that is the aid station. They have a portable heater set up, but I only want to sit down. I look at the coaster and, as I am apt to do, tear up thinking about what I have just accomplished. This course, the weather - they tried to beat me, but I beat them.

Lesson #164

2011-01-25T12:12:00.001-08:00

Never, ever, EVER eat Raisin Bran the night before a long run.

3 NonJoggers

2010-12-28T17:36:00.000-08:00

If you haven't been listening to this podcast, you're seriously missing out. Russ McGarry, Gary the Vale, and Carl the Mailman.

Their theme song:

Two runners and a mailman in a basement in Portland
Discussing all the issues that no one finds important
Opinions, they got ‘em, but experts, they ain’t
Technology as current as Microsoft Paint
They cover lots of topics, from running to walking
And if they sound intelligent, that’s just the beer talking
These are not classes, they talk out their asses
No knowledge is dropping, but still there’s no stopping
The Three Non-Joggers podcast

Check 'em out at: 3 Nonjoggers

I Have TB - Tired Butt

2010-11-20T20:18:00.000-08:00

Today was one of those days where I should've listened to both my body and my husband. Shocking admission on the last one there, I know.

It's been a long two+ weeks for me. I had a huge transcription project that took me at least a week to complete - including a 9-hr day one Saturday and 5 hours on the Sunday, I had a conference to prepare for and attend last weekend down in North Hollywood, and this week work has been unbelievable with a 3-day mediation in progress over a complicated trust litigation with which I was indoctrinated at my job when I started a little over a year ago. (Yes, this thing has been going on for over a year.) Last night things finally got hashed out, an agreement was signed . . . and over the last 3 days I've put in 28 hrs at work - 8.5 straight hours on Thursday and 12.5 straight hours yesterday. I finally got home last night around 9:15 after quickly stopping at McDonald's for a disgusting cheeseburger and fries. But I was starving!

All this culminated in me sleeping for almost 12 hours last night. I finally dragged myself out of bed at 10:00 this morning, then sat on the couch for another two hours talking myself into going on my run. Shorty told me to bag it and just rest, but oh no! I couldn't do that! I've hardly run in almost 2 weeks due to a bad kidney infection. I only ran 5 miles this past Wednesday when I was suppose to run 7. I have a freaking 50k coming up in February, for crying out loud! I can't bag a run because I'm exhausted. That would be stupid!

Well, I have to say, it was probably one of my top 5 worst runs. At about Mile 4.5 I was wishing I had my cell phone so I could call Shorty to come get me. Around Mile 7.5, the wheels totally fell off and I was completely dragging ass. Even the smallest of inclines had me walking. I managed a scorching 10:25 mm pace. I am, however, right proud that I managed to run up the last little hill to where I start my cool down walk - albeit at a snail's pace. But that's okay. I completely 8.75 of the schedule 10 - and I am now totally and completely exhausted.

I know part of the problem, besides working, working ... and working some more, is except for a holiday here and there, a day or two off to attend conference or a running event, I haven't had a vacation since last October. And I won't be getting one until May. I'm just plain ole worn out. As Shorty so aptly reminded me - I've been burning the candle at both ends and it's catching up with me.

Perhaps I should entertain the thought of listening to my body, as well as Shorty, and taking tomorrow off. . . . . We'll see.

Body Composition and VO2 Max Test

2010-11-09T21:25:00.000-08:00

Our local university offers, through their Human Kinesiology Department, a body comp and VO2 max test, and it was just a little over 2 years ago (October 22, 2008) that I participated in the test for the first time.

The whole shebang consists of a nutritional analysis (you turn in 2 week days and 1 weekend day of very specific eating info), determination of your fat percentage vs. lean muscle mass percentage via the Bod Pod, the VO2 max test via treadmill, and upper body strength analysis. Karen and I were both participating in the analysis, so I took my camera along for documentation purposes.

First up was the Bod Pod - determination of fat mass v. lean muscle mass. We donned these simply gorgimous body hugging suits and caps, and lined to get our height measured and get weighed.

The Bod Pod:

Once the Bod Pod has been calibrated, you get in, sit down, and sit as still as possible for two "assessments," for lack of a better word. All in all, it takes about 5 minutes and produces immediate results.

After the Bod Pod, we put our running clothes back on then headed out to get all trussed up for the VO2 max test. This consists of having those sticky patch things stuck all over your upper torso so the necessary wires can be attached.

Prior to the VO2 max test, they have you hyperventilate for 20 seconds, then they quickly take your blood pressure. While I was breathing in and out as fast as possible, I was hearing comments about the muscles in my back and how great they looked, that they were rippling. Me! With rippling muscles! Hot da-um! It's nice to know that some of that strength training is starting pay off! Also, with regard to hyperventilating - it produces quite the rush. I highly recommend it to everybody!

During the VO test, they monitor your heart rate, blood pressure, do an EKG, other "things," and, of course, your oxygen intake and output. After a walk/jog warm up, you get fitted with quite the charming headdress with a really comfortable rubber mouth piece and a nose pincher - something I believe all the fashionable people will be wearing soon.

Once everything's in place, the test begins. The treadmill is initially set at a 2% grade at an 11:00 mm pace, and every 2 minutes they raise the grade by 2%. Just prior to the raising, a tech asks about your comfort/pain level and another takes your blood pressure. The pain level is between 1 and 4, and the perceived effort level is between 1 (sitting on the couch) and 20 (yes, I think I'm dying).

The test continues until you call it quits. For me, it seems like things go along pretty hunky dory, then "all of a sudden" get hard. Nothing ever feels painful, but I do get extremely uncomfortable, so I have a hard time with the "pain" chart. I go until I get to the point where I feel if I continue, I'm going to blow chunks. My legs never feel tired, it's definitely all lungs (hence, VO2 max), and my exhaling comes out in very forced bursts. The whole time this is going on, though, everyone is encouraging you, telling you how great you're doing, which is really helpful. But finally enough's enough, you give 'em the "cut it" sign, and they slow you down to a stop and remove all the "gear."

During the Test:

My heart rate dropped fairly quickly, and within a minute or two, my breathing had returned to normal and I felt fine. . . . . which, of course, makes you think, "Crap! I could've gone longer!" (I'm told that's what everyone says.)

Once I was done with the treadmill, Karen hopped on and I continued with the rest of the assessment - bicep, calf, thigh, hip, and waist measurements, and upper body strength determination. Let's just say I always have had sucky upper body strength, and today it was proved beyond a shadow of a doubt. However, I am very happy I managed to crank out 15 - count them, 15! - pushups. Okay, they were modified pushups, but I'll take 'em.

Part of the strength assessment is how many crunches you can do in 1 minute. You do them to the beat of a metronome, and the goal is 25 in the 1 minute. I had no problems with this, and actually did 26!

The part of the strength assessment where I really sucked was with the chest press. You do 2 presses of whatever weight is on the bar, then they add a little after each 2 presses. I managed to work my way up to 2 presses at 70 lbs., which leaves me in 35 percentile range. The techs/students, trying to be ever positive said, "Look at it this way - if you were in a room with 100 people, you'd be ahead of 35 of them!" Thanks guys.

When all is said and done, they and the professor go over your final results with you. My results show that, except for a percent here, a point there, a pound, things haven't really changed in the last two years. I'm both satisfied and disappointed at the same time. I had hoped that I would've made some progress, but at least I haven't backslid.

The Final Results - 2008 v. 2010

Percent Fat: 27.1 v 26.8
Percent Lean: 72.9 v 73.2
Est. RMR: 1,285 kcal/day v. 1,307 kcal/day (this is how many calories you burn at rest)
Fat Weight: 38.5 v 38.6 lbs.
Lean Weight: 103.7 v. 105.7 lbs.
Total Weight: 142.3 v 144.3 lbs.

VO2 Info:
RER (respiratory exchange rate) at the magic point of 1.10 was 173 two years ago, 163 this year, and if the following makes sense: 2008 - 42.2 ml/kg/min v. 40.1 ml/kg/min this year. I need all this explained to me again, but the gist of it is, I should be keeping my HR between 153 and 160.

I'm still in the "Moderately Lean" category, but I sure would love to get to the "Lean" category. It will be a couple of days before we get our nutritional analysis back, and I hope to gain some insight into what I'm doing right and wrong.

Unfortunately, due to some changes in regulations, they will no loner be able to do the VO2 max test because, if I understood them correctly, there's no physician on hand should difficulties be encountered. Rather, the treadmill test will be run to a predetermined stopping point based on your age.

Both times I've done this assessment, it's been in the "off" season, so I'd like to go back at a peak training time to see what kind of difference it makes.

If you have a university near you with a Human Performance Lab, see if they do assessments on community members. It's really a hoot and extremely informative.

4 Strikes and Yer Out

2010-10-23T19:24:00.000-07:00

In late July/early August, the back left quarter panel of our truck was damaged and had to be repaired.

A couple of weeks later, I left for Conference in Modesto on a Thursday. That Friday morning, literally as I was stepping out of the shower after a dreadmill run, the phone rang. It was The Hub. He'd gotten into an accident the night before - a large truck ran him out of his lane and into the merdian. And no, the driver didn't stop. My beloved Nissan was totaled. And yes, I asked him if he was okay. Granted, it was after I asked about the car, but I asked. For the record, he ended up with a pretty nasty concussion and whiplash. Was quite looney for about three weeks. It was very weird . . . but I digress.

This incident necessitated us having to purchase a car. Thankfully, Toyota was offering 0% interest. That, along with the Costco purchase program, got us a great deal on a 2011 Toyota Camry.

Fast forward about 3 weeks. I get home after work, but have to go back out to the car, which is parked with its butt toward our front door. As my vision connects with the back bumper, my brain, in slo-mo, realizes there are deep gouges in the bumper. Somebody had hit my car while it was parallel parked along the side of the building where I work. You can imagine my stifled cries of, "No!" (I spent the next week looking at bumpers whenever I walked out there, trying to find blankety-blank culprit who was too much of a jerk to leave a note. What goes around comes around, right? Well, at least one can hope so.) Since the cost of repair is only $60 more than our deductible, we didn't put in a claim with our insurance for this one. But again, I digress.

Fast forward once again to this morning. The Hub and I pick up Karen around 4:00 a.m., we drive to the airport and drop off The Hub for his week-long trip to Colorado, and Karen and I take off across 299, heading to Whiskeytown for what is anticipated to be a very wet 30k trail run. Bad weather is heading into our area, and some rain had already come down during the night. We're cruising along through the mountains, taking care to watch for deer. About 20+ minutes into the drive, we're following a truck, we round a corner and WHAM! Rock slide. Rocks up to the size of softballs are strewn across the road . . . as are two larger than basketball, albeit miniature boulders. Which I can't avoid. I hit one of the damn things. The car bounces over the top. There's a terrible crunching sound. I'm thinking $%*&!

We follow behind the truck and pull into the next large pull-out spot right behind it. There's already another truck stopped. The guy in the first truck gets out and says something to the driver of the second truck. Karen and I are getting out of my car to assess the damage. The guy gets back in his truck and they both drive off! Without saying a single word to us! I couldn't believe it! I guess getting to their precious last day of hunting was more important than determining that the people in the other vehicle are okay. Man, oh man, oh man was I mad! Crap, I'm still mad.

I pull out my flashlight, and Karen and I look to try and assess whether or not anything is leaking under the car. Nothing appears to be, but my front bumper, which, on a 2011 Camry, is basically the entire front of the car, is destroyed.

Karen calls 911 to get CalTrans out to clear the road, and since we're only about 10 minutes from Weaverville, we go ahead and drive into town to the gas station where there's more light and we can better assess any potential undercarriage damage. We tell a guy there what had happened, and he says more than likely there will be more rock slides the further east we go. With that information, and the fact that the hood of my car won't completely shut, we nix the run and head back home, stopping long enough to set a flare on the far side of the slide to warn other drivers.

So Two Questions: (1) When The Hub checks in this week, do I ruin his vacation by telling him what happened? He's going to ask how the run went, so what do I say? (2) Do I put yet a third claim in with my insurance company and chance getting canceled? I'm sure it's going to cost at least a couple of thousand dollars to repair the damage.

Thankfully, neither Karen nor I was hurt. However, that aside, suffice to say I'm totally and completely pissed off and depressed right now. There aren't enough brownie bites in the world at the moment.

McKenzie River 50k Trail Run - 09/11/2010

2010-10-23T10:46:00.001-07:00

I’ve had a hard time getting into writing this report. I have no idea why. Most reports come easy to me, but this one - hope. My buddy, Marlene, called it “runner’s block” as opposed to “writer’s block.” Heh, heh. Anyway, I’ll give it my best shot.

First and foremost, the McKenzie River Valley in Oregon is absolutely spectacular. I had never been to that part of Oregon before, and it’s not an exaggeration to say the beauty that surrounded us took my breath away.

Karen, Vale, and I took off early Friday morning to make the 6-7 hour jaunt north. Who’s Vale, you ask? Vale (the informal version of Valencia) is a former foreign exchange student who lived with Karen’s boss’ family five years earlier. She was back in town for a 3-month visit and jonesin’ for a chance to get out of Dodge for a weekend. So when Karen asked if she wanted to crew for us on this run, she jumped at the chance, having no idea what she was getting into.

The ride north was fairly uneventful - with the exception of the elk that scared the pee-waddelin’ outta us. I should interject here that we were traveling in Karen’s brand new, less than 1,000 miles on it, Subaru Outback. The fog was intermittently really thick and sort of thick, and at one point, a few miles outside of Orick, we came around a corner and two bull elk were on the highway, standing in the right-hand lane - the lane we were driving in. I think I squeaked out, “Elk!” and Karen deftly maneuvered around them, but suffice to say that woke us up better than a cup of coffee ever could have. (It also necessitated a quick check of the underwear.)

After lunch in Springfield, we headed east toward the McKenzie River Valley with Vale at the helm. We had planned our arrival early enough to find all aid station areas - or so we thought (more on that later), including time to hang out at Sahalie Falls, which are absolutely beautiful. I cannot express enough the beauty of this river. It’s crystal clear, and no matter the depth, you can see all the way to the bottom. And we were going to have it as a constant companion during our run the next day!

Particularly spectacular were the Sahalie Falls, which is where the start of the race would be held. We took quite a few pictures here as we wanted to ensure Vale had plenty to show her family and friends when she went back home.

Karen had made reservations for us to stay in a cabin at the Holiday Farm Resort, and what a neat place this was! You could spit from the deck into the river, and the cabin was like a little home away from home. Very homey and comfortable with every possible amenity. The only thing it lacked was a oven and a dishwasher (of the automatic type), but nothing that a good grill and someone else to wash dishes wouldn't fix. ;o)

After a great meal at the main house across the road from the cabins, we settled in for the night and an early rise the next morning.

It was chilly at the start, but the weatherman called for a really nice day in the valley, with temps anticipated to reach the 70s. (Fashion Report: Black shorts, white tech shirt with purple piping, removable sleeves, and the ever present when racing hot pink gaiters.) The runners gathered around the RD for some last minute directions, Vale was taking photos, the horn sounded, and we were off.

We had just turned onto the trail when I had to pulled over to the side to make some adjustments to my running vest. Ensuring I wouldn’t be stepping in front of anybody, I hopped back on the trail and joined the conga line of runners. Within a short distance, the trail began climbing along the river. The roar of the water was so loud, you could barely hear yourself breathing. Suddenly, I hear a very quiet, “Excuse me,” in my right ear that scared the holy crap out of me so bad I actually let out a guttural scream. I let the guy by while he apologized profusely and I told him it was okay, that I had been in my own world. Remember - I thought I was the last person. This guy must’ve started late, and with the river being so loud, I never heard him coming. Talk about an adrenaline rush! That certainly carried me along for quite awhile.

Again, this part of Oregon is simply gorgeous. We ran through sections with lava fields on our right and a stunning lake, Clear Lake, on our left. No motorized water vehicles are allowed on the lake, and it is definitely a thing of beauty. I couldn’t help but stop a couple of times to take in my surroundings. I had also caught up with Karen by this time, and we ran into the first aid station together. Vale was dutifully ringing the cow bell as we came into sight, and it was a hoot hear this. She was unsure at first about the bell, but ended up thoroughly enjoying herself. At the end, she commented that people told her they liked hearing the bell and had thanked her. I told her it’s because out on the trail, sometimes it's hard to tell where the aid stations are until you’re almost on top of them. The bell lets you know your close and provides a real mental boost. I loved hearing that bell. It's even better when you know there's someone on the other end waiting specifically for you.

At the first aid station, we had to make up mileage by completing a .25 mile out and back past the station. I lost Karen on the “back” part as I desperately needed to use the outdoor loo. Vale had all our goodies for us, so I grabbed half a chicken/avo sandwich, a chocolate donut, and a Mojo bar, thanked her and headed back in the direction from which we’d come. And this is where I made my first mistake.

I forgot we were going all the way around the lake. There was no other runner in sight, so I ended backtracking back over a bridge and was making my merry way in the wrong direction. THANKFULLY, I ran into the last runner from the regular starters. Him: “You’re going the wrong direction.” Me: “Nope, I’m just the last of the early starters.” Him: No. You’re going in the wrong direction.” %^&*#! I thanked him, and with a sick feeling in my stomach and another adrenaline rush, hurried back along the trail. If by chance that guy is reading this - THANK YOU! If we hadn’t had our encounter, my race would’ve been over.

(Clear Lake)
Soon, and seemingly out of nowhere, the second aid station appeared. And here’s where I made my second mistake - the biggest trail running brain fart of all trail running brain farts. AS#2 was not where I expected it to be, so for some stupid reason, I didn’t think this was the actual aid station. Heck, Vale wasn’t there. Ends up the station was a 20 minute walk from where we thought it was going to be, and poor Vale wasn’t able to make it in time. She was so upset, she almost started crying, but pulled herself together and got to the next station. Me - I don’t know what the heck happened to me. Even when I went past the start area (albeit on the other side of the river), I kept thinking the 2nd AS was somewhere up ahead. I wasn’t wearing my Garmin, just a watch. I ended up losing all sense of mileage. On top of that, I was continually pulling over to the side to let the regular start runners go past me, and the trail at this point was littered with rocks and tree roots - all of which combined to make me feel like I was going really slow. The whole thing was extremely disconcerting, and put me a real funk.

No other early start runners had been in sight for what seemed like forever, so it was quite surprising when I came up on Karen and a lady she’d been running with for awhile. We commiserated with one another about the rocks and roots, and Karen was as chatty as always, but I could not pull out of my funk. I just kept wondering why, why, why was it taking me so long to go 12 miles? It . . . just . . . didn’t . . . make . . . sense. I didn't say anything to Karen because, well, because I was in such a frigging funk. (I did say I was having a total and complete brain fart, right?)

After maybe an hour and a half or so of wallowing in my self-induced misery - the cow bell! The cow bell! We’re coming into the 2nd aid station! I had completely run out of food, and there was smiling Vale with our bag of goodies. As Karen and I were re-supplying, a guy says, “Welcome to Mile 18.9.” (3rd AS) Me (incredulously): “We’re at Mile 18.9?” Him: “Yep.” I'm thinking, "What? Are you kidding me?" I couldn’t stop smiling! So instead of only going 12 miles in 4 hours, I’d gone 19. I was so frigging happy! And from this point on, folks, life was good!

Karen and I left the station together, but I lost her when she had to stop for a bathroom break. The trail at this point was extremely runnable the rest of the way, and I was able to put it in cruise control and totally enjoy myself. Vale was at the remaining aid stations smiling, ringing the cowbell, providing me with sandwiches and donuts, and I also munched on the aid stations’ brownies and watermelon. (I've come to LOVE watermelon when I'm doing these runs. Little nutritional value, but when nothing else tastes good, it helps to get me eating again.)

The last aid station before the finish line was manned by the local high school cross-country team. The young guys and their coach were so attentive and nice. The coach gave me a handy wipe, few details about the trail ahead, then smiled and sent me on my way.

Now, since the previous two aid stations, I had been playing leap frog with a young woman who I figured was from the regular starters. I would leave a station ahead of her, but not too long afterward she would catch up with me. I would try my best to keep her in my sights, but she would slowly move a little further ahead of me. It was quite the cat and mouse game, and it helped me push myself a little harder than I otherwise might have, and continued through the last 10+ miles of the race.

The trail finally popped out on a road, folks were there to send us in the right direction (left and up the hill), and realizing I could finish this run in less than 8 hours, pushed myself as hard as I could up the hill without puking. Ms. Leap Frog was in front of me, and I refused to let her too far out of my sight. The road finally crested, and I flew down the last quarter or so mile and crossed the finish with a grin plastered across my face. Vale was ringing the cowbell for all she was worth and grinning from ear-to-ear, as well. I said something about having hoped to finish in less than 8 hours, and the RD manning the finish line said, “You finished in 7:39.” Woo Hoo! Ends up it was actually 7:42, but that’s okay. Considering how I mentally blew up at the beginning, I was ecstatic with my finish.

Karen came in about 20 minutes behind me, choosing to stay with a woman who was struggling. The lady had finished in a great time the previous year, but had had a baby a few months before and was running about 20 pounds heavier. She thanked Karen over and over for running with her, but you know what? That’s what we trail runners do. I’ve done it before, and people have done it for me. We help our fellow trail runners in their times of need, and it’s a good thing.

The young woman who I played leap frog with? We talked while I was waiting for Karen. Ends up she was determined to finish ahead of me, so when I was using her as a reason to push myself, she was using me for the same reason. We both got a good chuckle out of it.

And Vale - she ended up having the time of her life! Absolutely loved crewing for us, meeting people, cow belling runners into aid stations. On the way home, she thanked us for giving her the best weekend of her summer.

We had a great weekend. I will definitely be going back to this race, if for no other reason than the simply stunning scenery.

SOB 2010

2010-07-25T18:53:00.001-07:00

I've been asked a few times when I am going to have a race report for SOB, so here it is, in all its (faded) glory.

It was hot, there was still a lot of snow, and I finished 40 minutes slower than last year. The snow was good because it meant I could keep my Coolmax bandana filled, but I definitely couldn't run over it. Tried once and ended up on the ground. I sort of pissed and moaned about my time for awhile, but then my coach reminded me that I had said, "I know I won't have all the miles and training in that I normally would, but I just want to run SOB. If I finish, I finish. If I don't, I don't." . . . Oh yeah. . . . And he believed me?!?

The climbing did me in . . . . as did my now famous rotten handling of nutrition. I need to figure out some way of keeping stuff cold in a drop bag, even though it's sitting in the sun. I found very little at the aid stations that was appealing, and would've loved some chicken soup or a sandwich. The chocolate donut treated me well, but one of the few times Karen and I were running together, she had run out of food so I split my last donut with her.

Toward the end, I was downing watermelon and Coke like it was the only food on earth. The watermelon was so cold and sweet, and the Coke - well, it's the perfect "go juice," isn't it?

Although the climbing got to me, I was able to scoot along pretty dang well on the flats and downs. In fact, I'm very pleased with my performance in those sections. Just wish there had been more of them of which I could've taken advantage.

One humorous situation - I have a benign tremor in my left hand. When I get into the higher mileage, the tremor can be exacerbated. When I arrived in Siskiyou Gap the second time around, hand was shaking so bad, I had a hard time getting my bladder out of my pack. Two of the guys working the aid station ended up fairly worried and grilled me about my salt and fluids intake, and one even asked if my watch (which was on my left wrist) was too tight. I assured them that the shakiness was all just a part of me and nothing to worry about, thanked them for their concern and help. As I was leaving, I could still hear them talking about. I got the same reaction at the next station. Poor people! :o)

So one more run - McKenzie Forest in September - then I'm not allowed to run anymore races until after the new year. I reluctantly agreed to this, but I know it's for the best. . . . . . because I'd like to try for two 50-milers in 2011. We'll see . . .

Crewing for Kate at Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run

2010-07-07T20:00:00.000-07:00

How do you put into words an experience that seems to transcend words? Am I being a bit melodramatic? Perhaps. And if you think so, chalk it up to me still flying high from my friend, Kate, running the Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run for the first time. And how does Kate’s running WS equal my melodramatic stance? I was very fortunate to be included as part of her crew. I got to watch this woman push through pain and exhaustion, propelling herself to an absolutely incredible finish. Kate’s story will, I am sure, be much more compelling, given she was the one running. But I am hopeful that my story will give you a small idea of just how special weekend was and this event was from a spectator’s (well, sort of spectator) point of view.

For the uninitiated, the Western States100-Mile Endurance Run is the granddaddy of all endurance trail runs. It is to trail runners what the Boston Marathon is to road runners. The race starts at Squaw Valley and traverses the Sierra Nevada Mountains, finally ending on the Auburn High School race track. For a complete history, go to WS History Overview. The race has been become so popular, that a number of years ago a lottery system had to be instituted in order to provide an equal opportunity for the many runners wishing to participate in the event.

When the time came, Kate threw her name in the hat, and imagine everyone’s surprise and excitement when it was pulled on her very first try! Karen, Kate’s sister and my running buddy, called me and all we could say to each other was, “Kate got into Western State! Kate got into Western States! We’re going to Western States, baby!” We had crewed for Kate at her very first 100-miler, Headlands 100, and come hell or highwater, we were going to be there for her at WS.

Fast forward about six months or so, and Karen and I, bubbling with excitement, leave bright and early Wednesday, June 23, for the 7+ hour drive to Squaw Valley where Kate and her husband, Rodney, had arrived the day before. Hugs and greetings all around when we arrived, and a relaxing evening with dinner and talk of the race and what had been going on in our lives over the past few months.

Thursday - We had been informed that at noon on top of the mountain, there would be an “opening ceremony” of sorts for the race. The tram ride up was spectacular and provided breathtaking views of the valley below.

Once at the top, we milled around for a short while, with me snapping pictures like crazy. (BTW - I ended up with 336 photos, but don’t worry. I won’t post them all here.)Suddenly we hear Kate yell, “It’s starting!” and I turned to find a line of people trudging up to the ceremony. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you feel about moving at very high altitudes), the snow pack was such that we would not be able to get up to the regular ceremony site. By now, though, I had developed such an absolutely skull-splitting altitude headache, that not having to climb any higher didn’t bother me one bit.

Right on the dot at noon, the very casual ceremony began. First things first, the master of ceremonies said we were going to start by singing “America, the Beautiful,” and asked if there were any music teachers or musicians in the crowd who could get us started. Kate, Karen, Rodney, and I were standing at the front of the crowd, and without hesitating even a millisecond, Karen shoves me out front and says, “She will!” Oooookay . . . . what am I gonna say? No? I do believe my comment to the crowd was, “You gotta love your friends.” No problems, though. With the exception of starting the song a little high, I managed to get us all through it without passing out from nerves.

The ceremony was very nice and included an acknowledgment of those who had been involved in the race over the years and had recently passed away, including a horse who, along with his owners, had been a big part of keeping the trail in running order. The ceremony ended with a guy playing a suspended gong for about 10 to 15 minutes, and which echoed beautifully throughout the mountain top.

After descending back down the mountain and eating lunch, Karen, Kate, and I attended a very thorough crewing workshop, which was followed up by a trail condition update for the runners, a trip to the WS store, dinner, then helping Kate get her drop bags ready for the next day.

Friday dawned, and we were treated to eggs and the most amazing chocolate coffee pancakes by Kate and Rodney. Yum! I wish I could’ve eaten more, ‘cause they where delicious. After breakfast, we headed over the Olympic House where all the runners were checking in and we met up with our buddy, Russ, and his friend, Gary. Russ and Gary would be following Kate and last year’s WS winner, Hal Koerner, throughout the race for a piece Russ is hoping to present for airing on NPR’s “This American Life.” With a 5-person entourage that included Russ with a microphone and me snapping pics, when Kate went through the schwag line, one of the volunteers asked, “Who is that?” as in, “Is she one of the elite runners?” Well, she is to us, but naw, she’s just Kate.

I eventually left the throng to do a little more grocery shopping, everyone returned to the room, and somewhere in there Kate’s pacer, Glenn arrived. More greetings all around, back out to the Olympic House commons for another race briefing, then Russ, Gary, and I suited up for a run. Being as how Russ and Gary have both participated in 100 milers and we were at approximately 6200' in elevation, I was hoping against hope that they wouldn’t run my sorry ass into the ground. 9.70 miles and less than two hours later, I am happy to say I did not totally shame myself in front of them, although I know they were holding back their pace a lot to accommodate me. Thanks, guys. It was much appreciated.

Friday night dinner was suppose to be on me and Karen, but I managed to get out of most of the work with the run. Once back and after the pasta bake was cozy in the oven, I took a shower and we all hung out chatting. In the midst of all this, Russ was telling Glenn about how he, Kate, Karen, and I had become friends in the first place - which was when he ran up on me struggling through my very first 50k. Russ asked Glenn, “Are you Mudrunner?” Glenn says, “Yeah,” and I’m thinking, “Crap! He’s Mudrunner?!?” Russ says, “Well, I’m Rustyboy,” and goes on to tell how he, Kate, and I realized we knew one another via our online monikers and mentions our posting names, KateMD, Rustyboy, and me - Fatozzig. Glenn turned and looked at me in astonishment, “You’re Fatozzig?!?” I tell ya, you gotta love these online running sites. I was very surprised that he remembered my name since I hadn’t been on Kickrunners in awhile. So here we’ve all known of one another, and without knowing it was going happen, actually got to meet. It was a hoot!

Saturday morning dawned. Not bright and early, just ear-ly. With the race starting at 5:00, we were up by 4:00, although I don’t think anyone really got all that much sleep the night before. Once dressed and fed, Kate, Rodney, Glenn, Karen, and I headed over to the Olympic House and again met up with Russ. Gary was climbing up to the top of the mountain so that he could watch the runners go by. There was definitely a lot of nervousness in the air as we all watched the clock count down the final minutes.

I wandered a little way up the trail so I could get pictures of the runners as they headed out. Finally, you could hear the crowd counting the final 10 seconds, then with a shotgun blast, they were off! Although I saw Kate in the throng of runners, it was too late for me to get her picture.

Karen, Glenn, and I headed back to the room, and since Rodney was going to pack up the few remaining items and eventually head to Auburn, we got the rest of the stuff we would need throughout the day and night, made a quick stop for ice and much needed coffee, then headed to the first aid station at which we would be able to meet Kate - Robinson Flat, Mile 29.7.

There were quite a few people already at Robinson Flat by the time we got there, including a large contingent of aid station workers ready to help the runners with anything they needed. We knew we were there early enough to see the front runners, but were surprised when they came through approximately 20-30 minutes earlier than anticipated. We knew when they were coming through ‘cause we could hear the commotion further down the trail. Each runner was quickly weighed then sent on their way.

We were at Robinson Flat maybe 3 hours before Kate arrived, so we got to enjoy the whole atmosphere, watch the runners, help a couple who had missed their crew, cheer folks on, and generally have a great time. When Kate arrived, we had an ice filled Coolmax bandana, an ice cold wet towel, chilled bottles, and sandwiches waiting for her, then we sent her on her way. Ah crewing! Hurry up and wait, wait, wait . . . . hey, it’s our runner!! And within a few minutes he or she is gone again. Then hurry to the next station, wait, wait, wait . . . . but it’s loads of fun!

Since it would be a few hours before Kate got to Michigan Bluff, we headed to Foresthill for some lunch and to watch the front runners. The three of us were waiting for our burgers when we heard a commotion and there went two of the lead runners! Holy crap! It’s way too soon for them to be coming through! That’s when we realized that, barring some kind of disaster, this was going to be one exciting race. Thankfully, Karen’s cell phone had a signal almost everywhere we went, and from that point on, she was receiving continual updates from her friend back at home who was following the race via the Internet.

After burgers, ice cream, and a couple of hours of the heat in Foresthill, we headed back up the road to Michigan Bluff, grabbed our gear out of the car, then walked down to the aid station, which was no short jaunt (I can’t remember how far). There was still a lot of activity going on, and we planted ourselves across from the aid station and waited for Kate to arrive. In the meantime, it was tons of fun watching other runners come through, their crew working on them, with them, or, in the case of one young man, seemingly against him. I think it was just a matter of his folks having never done anything like this before, and they didn’t seem unsure as to what to do for him. Glenn’s friend, Kay, was there waiting for her husband, so we got to chat with her a bit before he came through about half an hour ahead of Kate.

It’s at Michigan Bluff, Mile 55.7, that runners have the first opportunity to pick up a pacer - if they come through around 8:00 p.m. or later. We had anticipated Kate arriving somewhere around 7:45/8:00, and Karen was excited as she was going to run from Michigan Bluff to Foresthill with her sister. I even asked her at one point, “You’re excited to run with her, aren’t you?” Big grin on her face, “Yeah!”

Right around the expected time, Kate arrived, got weighed, changed socks, and brought up the point that she hadn’t eaten much in the last stretch. I think she drank a little bit of soda and did eat a couple of pieces of banana, but not having eaten much over the past couple of hours wasn’t a good sign. I was hoping that Karen would be able to cajole her into getting more nutrition in her over the next 6.3 miles.

Once the ladies left, Glenn and I packed up the gear, road the shuttle as far as it would take us, then hefted it all up a good climb back to the car. I commented on not having our 3rd pack mule around and dutifully began thinking of a way to get even with Karen later (just kidding). I am (wo)man enough to admit, however, that packed down though we were, I was not about to look like a weakling in front of Glenn making that climb back up to the car. It was warm and humid, and I was sweating freaking buckets by the time we reached the car. I would gladly have dumped a bucket of water over myself, but didn’t feel like starring in my own personal version of a wet t-shirt contest.

Okay. Back to Foresthill, Mile 62, where we met up with Rodney and waited for the ladies to arrived.
After making two trips from the car, I was on my way back for a third to look again for Kate’s toothbrush when the two of them come running down the chute. I made a beeline back to Glenn and Rodney, who were already getting a chair and essentials set up in the “crew” area. While Kate dealt with her feet, Karen told Glenn that Kate hadn’t eaten anything and had hardly drank between the two stations, so he fetched some chicken noodle soup and ended up getting her to drink two cups worth. After getting her feet doctored up, bottle replaced, and food in her tummy, Glenn and Kate took off for the next part of the adventure . . . .
which brings us to a part of the crewing adventure that, well . . . . . (big sigh)

I had been having trouble keeping track of my keys since we left on Wednesday. I only had two (car/house) instead of the usual wad. Whenever we got out of the car, I made Karen watch me put the keys in the backpack. Problem solved. There’s where they will always be.

When Karen and Kate came in and I had run back to the aid station, I dropped everything in my hands in the seat of one of the chairs . . . including my car keys. Once we got Kate and Glenn on their way, Rodney, Karen, and I packed up, headed back to the car . . . . . and no keys. No, they aren’t in my pocket. We took everything out of the backpack. I ran back to where we had been and searched the ground with a flashlight. I asked people if they had seen any keys or knew of anyone who had found keys. Came back to the car - they gotta be in the trunk. They have to be. I asked the people announcing the runners if they could ask over the PA system if anyone had something with which to break into a locked car. I was ready to break one of the small windows to get into the car. Suffice to say, I WAS FREAKING OUT!!! Four-letter words were flying like the mosquitoes. Here it is after 11:00 p.m., we’re suppose to meet Kate and Glenn at Rucky Chucky Far and climb to Green Gate with them, we’re in the middle of frigging nowhere, and I can’t find my car keys!! Lord have mercy! Karen, with her cell phone dying, starts trying to get AAA to send out a tow truck to get the car open. Rodney needs to get back to Auburn as it’s getting very late and we finally convince him to leave. There were still plenty of people around, and the aid station wouldn’t be closing anytime soon.

Finally, finally at least an hour after we first started calling for a tow truck, the guy shows up (and this dude needed a bath - seriously), gets the car open, we pop the trunk, taking everything out, look through it all - - no car keys. How . . . is . . . this . . . possible?? Think! Think! Karen, out of the blue says, “I checked the pockets of the chairs and the keys weren’t there.” I have to be sure, so I drag a chair out of its bag, open it up . . . . and there are my keys. The entire time they had been in the chair, laying on the side of the road while we were, um, “assessing” the situation. I’m not sure who wanted to strangle me more, Karen or me. But I must say this about our friendship - neither of us has ever wigged out at the same time. If one is freaking out about something, the other has always been able to be the voice of reason. This time, Karen was the ultimate voice of reason. And from that point on, no matter what time of day or night, before that car got locked up, she’d ask, “Where’re the keys?”

Okay - Drama over, we head to Green Gate, Mile 79.8. Once parked, it’s a little over a 1.5 miles downhill to the aid station, then another 1.7 miles downhill to the river. We loaded up the pack with everything we thought Kate and Glenn might need and started the descent. We had no idea how long it would take them to get to Rucky Chucky Far, Mile 78.1, so we hustled down the dirt road then trail as fast as we could in the dark. We were wearing headlamps, but as many of you know, it’s just not the same as being able to see where you’re going in the daylight.

Going down to the river was fun. We passed a lot of runners who were going up to the aid station, and we gave them as much encouragement as we could. Some seemed genuinely happy to hear us cheer them on, some were barely making it up the road. We had a dozen chocolate donuts with us and offered them to a few, but never had any takers. Close a couple of times, but no takers.
I think Karen and I waited about an hour or so at the river before Kate and Glenn arrived. Karen hollered out, “Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!” upon their arrival, then the four of us headed up to a “medical” area that had been set up a short distance from the river with chairs and honest to goodness real live podiatrists to look at feet. By then, Kate’s feet had been wet for so long, they were looking completely macerated. She was being plagued by a terrible blisters, including on her little toe (it looked like a “pig in a blanket”)and pressurized blisters under her big toes.

And here, my friends, is but one of the many reasons why I admire this woman so much. She is totally and completely exhausted, she’s been moving for over 78 miles and almost 24 hours, her feet look like milk toast and she’s in pain, yet she is more than capable of taking a needle and drilling holes in her big toenails to relieve the pressure and drain them, drain other blisters, and talk coherently with the podiatrist who is looking at her feet and shaking his head in a manner of “What in the world am I going to be able to do with this mess.” I kept my nose right in there because I’m very interested in this whole blister business (I get more than my fair share), but also because I am astonished at how together she is at this point. It’s just amazing to me.

The podiatrist did his best to patch her up, she painfully put her feet back in her shoes, and we began the 1.7 mile climb to the Green Gate Aid sSation. Karen was carrying the approximately 20+ lb pack this time and, consequently, was lagging behind us a bit. I kept up with Glenn and Kate, asking if they wanted a donut, trying to keep a chatter going in the hopes that is somehow helping. Eventually she flung her left hand out indicating “give me a donut” and got it down in a good amount of time. Unfortunately, I couldn’t convince her to take one “for the road.”

I found this trudge up the hill to be very interesting. The determination with which Kate moved up that hill, despite the pain in her feet and exhaustion, was truly something to watch. I don’t know how much help I was, but I tried to tell her when a particularly rocky or rutted section was coming up, and can only hope that my small banter and the “you’re doing great, Kate,” “You’re doing a great job,” “You’re gonna make it,” somehow helped. I like to think that Glenn’s and my conversation re skunks was encourage, as well. (grins!)

Once Glenn and Kate moved through the aid station, Karen and I said our goodbyes, “See you at Highway 49!” and began the 1.5 mile uphill walk to the car. I switched with Karen and took the pack for this next jaunt. I felt surprisingly good during both climbs. Not sure why, except maybe I’d gone past being tired (as it was now around 4:20 a.m.) and had reached some kind of weird zone. Or maybe it was the coffee we’d downed after our adventure in Foresthill. Whatever it was, it got me up that hill. And, as I told myself many times during the climb - it’s kinda hard to complain about a 3+ total mile climb when these runners are doing 100 miles.

Unfortunately, once we hit the car and I sat down, tiredness set in. The drive back out to Cool where we would catch the shuttle to Highway 49 aid station was, um, interesting, and once we hit the parking lot, Karen and I both agreed that we should get a little catnap, even though we felt guilty about it, if for no other reason than to keep me from crashing the car. She set her phone alarm for 6:30 (an hour’s worth of sleep) and within minutes was off in La La Land. I think I dozed for maybe 15-20 minutes and eventually just gave up trying. Karen finally came to around 6:15 and we packed up our gear one last time for the shuttle to the Highway 49 Aid Station - Mile 93.5.

Upon arriving, we found people in various states of sleep and awakening. More than a few were snoozing in sleeping bags. Granted it was early, but hey people! Runners are going to be coming through. Get up!

There was a guy a little way up the trail who would announce the runners and their numbers as they were coming through, so it gave those of waiting the ability to encourage them by name. With the first runner since our arrival, out came the cowbell and lots of hootin’ and hollerin’ on the part of Karen and me. This woke folks up, and soon had most joining in with the encouragement.

It was at Highway 49 that I made another mistake. The aid station workers were kind enough to provide hot water and instant coffee and hot chocolate for us crew persons. Having never made instant coffee before, I did mine up rather well with coffee, hot chocolate, creamer - the works. About 15 minutes after downing the whole cup, I began to regret my decision. The combination of the hours awake and my general low tolerance of caffeine, I got the kind of buzz that can only be described as jaw clenching. Karen and I had been talking to a guy about his runner, and soon I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had to walk away before I hurt someone. Thank goodness for the runners coming through! It gave me an outlet for the “high” I was experiencing. I was hootin’ and hollerin’ and ringing that cowbell with a vengeance, I tell you!

We’d been at the station for about an hour when Kate and Glenn showed up. They later told us they could hear the cheers from the station and it gave them a lift to know they were close. Kate went through the requisite weigh-in, Glenn doused himself with some water mowed through a couple of peanut butter and bacon sandwiches, Kate chowed down on a fruit smoothie, and soon they were on their way. Only 6.7 miles to go!

Okay, back to the shuttle and the parking lot, then off to Auburn High School where the runners would enter at the far end of the track and make their way to the finish line. Karen had called Rodney, told him we were en route, and to meet us there. We cheered each runner who came through, and to a runner, the looks on their faces were priceless because they knew they had done it! They had taken on the monster called Western States and had won!

While at Highway 49, a runner, Greg, who Karen and Kate had met at the WS training camp a few weeks before, had arrived exhausted and ready to quit. Karen had gone over to him, told his crew what needed to be done for him, and with a little bit of cajoling and not a small amount of “suck it up, you’re almost done, you can’t quit now,” managed to get the guy on his feet and moving.

Greg arrived at Auburn High School shortly before Kate, and we were both excited to see that he would make it to the end. However, in my zeal of taking his picture, I missed Kate and Glenn coming through the gate. I heard Karen yell, “She’s here!” and turned just in time get a picture of her handing off her waist pack to Glenn.

He had told her if she pushed it, she could make it in under 29 hours. After 100 miles and almost 29 hours on her feet, that girl put everything she had into finishing. I raced over to the finish line to get as many pictures as I could of her coming down the home stretch and ending with a victorious finish in 28:59:56!

It was smiles and laughing all around, folks. All of us - Rodney, Karen, Glenn, Gary, Russ, and I - we knew Kate could do it. And here she was! A buckle finisher at Western States! It was magical, I tell you. Absolutely magical.

At the Awards Ceremony, it was all I could do to not get teary-eyed when Kate went up and with a big smile accept her buckle. A dream had been realized. All her hard work and sacrifices over the prior months had paid off. She had left Squaw Valley the day before, embarking on a journey that would be the ultimate test, both physically and mentally, and came out on the other side a true winner.

Thank you, Kate, for the opportunity to be a part of something so special. It’s a memory that will not soon fade.

Is It Chalk or . . . .

2010-06-02T12:56:00.000-07:00

I can still see my approximately 5 year old self happily drawing on the trees, the old fence, the old barn - anything flat or semi-flat and within my short reach.

Finally, I run into the house, "Mommy! I found chalk! I've been drawing pictures!"

"That's not chalk, Leslie. It's old dog poop."

Thereby ending my budding carefree, artistic life.

Taking Chance

2010-05-29T19:01:00.000-07:00

If you have the opportunity, I highly recommend the movie "Taking Chance" (an HBO presentation). It's based on the true story of Lt. Colonel Michael Strobl, USMC, who escorted the body of 19-year old Lance Corporal Chance Phelps back home after he was killed in Iraq. Regardless of your feelings about the war, our military personnel deserve our respect and support. This truly is a movie worth watching.

If You Have to Ask Why, You'll Never Understand

2010-05-07T10:42:00.000-07:00

Games require skill. Running requires endurance, character, pride, physical strength, and mental toughness. Running is a test, not a game. A test of faith, belief, will, and trust in ones self. So hardcore that it needs a category all to itself to define the pain. When game players criticize, it's because they aren't willing to understand, not because they're stronger. Running is more than a sport; it's a lifestyle. If you have to ask us why we run, you'll never understand, so just accept. (Author Unknown)

Goodbye to a Dear Friend

2010-05-05T20:35:00.001-07:00

After 20 years of unconditional love and companionship, we said goodbye to our old man, Fatso. I will miss you, my heater hog and dance partner. Thank you for 20 wonderful years.

Goal-less and Floundering

2010-05-03T12:36:00.000-07:00

It's official. I hate having my next goal so far out (SOB in July). What's the point in getting up at those gad awful hours?

Stop whining, Les, and get your butt out there!

*sigh* That didn't work.

American River 50 Mile Endurance Run

2010-04-14T21:46:00.000-07:00

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Fashion Report: White “American River 50-Mile” Tech Hat
Blue Short Sleeve Tech Shirt
Black Non-Chaffing Shorts under Baggy Long Black Outer Shorts
White Sock Guy Arm Warmers
Black Gloves
White/Purple Mizuno Road Shoes, followed by . . .
Grey/Pink Mizuno Trail Shoes with Hot Pink Gators

I signed up for this race a little less than a year ago after asking my coach, Bill Spaeth, if he thought I would be able to do a 50-mile run, and with his support, I began looking for a race I thought would be doable. We had both looked at the AR50 course, and Coach thought it was my best bet. I still remember the night I actually signed up. It was a Saturday night, late, around 11:00 p.m., Shorty, my husband, was gone for the weekend, and I had had the form filled out for probably 20 minutes or more. With my finger hovering over the “enter” button on my laptop and my heart in my throat, I took in a big breath, pressed the button, and just like that, at a cost of $125, I was signed up for my first 50-mile race.

It took me a few weeks before I told Shorty about it. I’m not sure what I thought he was going to think, but for some reason I was nervous. The weekend I told him, we had watched a show on the Discovery Channel that was a combo nature show and a show about Badwater. We were playing backgammon late Saturday night and I finally said, “I signed up for a 50-mile race.” He looked at me and said, “Hon, I completely support you in all this, but when you get that ‘look’ in your eye like you did when we were watching the thing about Badwater, I get worried.” Me: “Those people are nuts!” Him: “And what would you have said if I had told you a year ago that you’d be doing what you’re doing now?” . . . . . Okay. I’ll give you that one.

My training began in earnest after Desert High 50k in December. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t always fun. It was tiring and eventually felt like it was taking over my life. My last few back-to-back long runs were 20/16, 22/18, 24/18, 26/18, 28/16, which meant long hours away from home and not much time to do anything else. (For the uninitiated, the long runs were Saturday/Sunday, and the numbers are miles, i.e. 20 miles Saturday/16 miles Sunday.) I became a blob that worked out in the predawn hours of the morning, went to work, came home and worked at my side job (I do transcription), then woke up to do it all over again. Weekends - leave me alone. I’m tired, I’m hungry . . . I’m tired. How you folks who run 100-milers train for them is beyond me. I just got plain ole tired of running. I spent hours reading race reports of previous AR50 participants and reviewing the course and elevation profile. One RunningAhead compadre even went out on her own time and did a complete recon of the course, sending my very detailed photos of the parts of the trail she could reach. This information was invaluable, and I am grateful to Kitrin for doing this for me.

I had asked Shorty to crew for me, and my buddy, Karen, to pace for me. It was important to me for Shorty to be a part of at least one of my runs, and since crew persons could get to more than half the aid stations at AR50, this was the perfect race for him to attend. Karen - she’s the one who got me into running in the first place. We spend every Saturday running together. She knows my weaknesses and my strengths. She can be bossy and pushy, funny and serious. She has a heart of gold and can climb hills like a damn goat. She was the perfect person to pace me, and she didn’t hesitate for a moment to say yes when I asked.

Time to Go!

On Thurday, Karen, Shorty, and I took off for the trek to Sacramento. We spent Friday doing a recon of the aid stations, grocery shopping for the next day, and, most importantly, picking up my race packet . . . and of course making a few extra purchases. By the time we got back to the hotel Friday evening, there were a lot of other runners checking in, moving about, and you could feel the excitement in the air. We walked to a local pizzeria and devoured a meal of pizza and salad, then headed back to the hotel for hopefully a good night’s sleep. Surprisingly, I slept really good, and for the first time ever before a race, the alarm had to wake me up. Ends up Shorty was the one who spent most of the night worrying, mostly about his role as a crew person. I wouldn’t be picking up Karen for pacing duties ‘til later in the race, so she and Shorty would be hanging out for a few hours and she’d be able to show him the ropes.
(My crew vehicle)

The start of the race was on the Guy West Bridge at Sacramento State. It was too dark to really see anything, so Shorty and Karen dropped me off and headed to the first aid station. It was just as well since I spent about 20 minutes standing in the port-a-pot line. Thirteen portables for 750 runners. Yeah, it was kinda slow . After attending to my needs, I walked up the bridge and positioned myself at the back of the pack and waited. At 6:00 a.m. sharp, we were off.

AR50 runs from Sacramento to Auburn along the American River. Almost all of the first 26+ miles is on the basically flat American River Bike Path, then it starts to climb. A little less than a mile into the race, the course takes a sharp left down onto the bike path, so for a very brief period of time, those of us at the back got to watch the front runners. It was the last time I would see them.

I had read enough race reports to know it would be easy to go out too hard on the flat section and leave nothing for the end. To prevent that, I set my Garmin for 11:00 minute miles. During the first 5 miles, I spent some time running with an older lady named Judy who was turning 69 the next day. This was her 9th or 10th AR50, and she was unsure of her ability to finish since the year before she’d been pulled for not making a cut off. I really enjoyed talking to her, and what an inspiration she was! I mean, come one! An almost 70-year old woman participating in a 50-mile run?? Go, Judy!

I arrived at the first aid station in about an hour as anticipated, and was greeted by my crew wearing goofy hats and ringing a cowbell.

Nobody else was greeted with such a spectacle throughout the entire race, so I felt pretty dang special. Judy left ahead of me, and I would see her off and on throughout the rest of the race. As I was leaving the aid station, Karen felt compelled to yell out at the top of her lungs, “Your ass looks huge in those shorts!” Can you feel the outpouring of love between us? Can ya?

I also leap frogged with two other guys throughout most of the race. One named Chris (Red Shirt) who I talked to quite a bit, and another who I never spoke to. The Isecond guy moaned and groaned so much, I was always surprised to see him further down the course, and I don’t know if he finished.

Life was pretty much as I expected it to be between aid stations on the flat, but rarely having a chance to change terrain like you do in trail running began to wear on my legs. The asphalt didn’t help either, and even though I ran on the side of the path in the crushed granite as much as possible, by the time I got to Negro Bar (Mile 22.4), my legs were feeling a bit tired. The first location runners were allowed to pick up a pacer was at Beals Point (Mile 26.53). I had planned on picking Karen up further into the race at Granite Bay (Mile 31.67), but at Negro Bar I told her I wanted her to begin at the earlier point. She had been wanting me to pick her up early anyway (“Let’s get the party started!” I believe were her words), so I got the yeah-I-knew-it-shit-eating-grin.

Picking Karen up early was the best decisions I could have made. She had already figured out that I was behind the eight ball and wanted to get some cushion going for the second cutoff. So once we left the Beals Point aid station, I was informed that she was going “push the pace for awhile, Les. We have to make up some time.” Let me tell you, running at this point with someone who has fresh legs is, um, interesting. That person is way too full of energy - which I realize is the whole point. But when this fresh pacer is saying, “Let’s run!” and your legs are saying, “I’ve been running for the past 26.53 miles,” the two are on completely different planes.

I managed to keep up via her using, shall say, words of encouragement, and we cruised into Granite Bay with enough of a cushion for her to go use the port-o-pots and for me to have a moment to sit on the tailgate of the truck and dump some water on my head. It wasn’t hot out there, but it was a bit humid and I was feeling it. On the way in, we passed Judy and her pacer, and she and I threw some encouraging words at one another. Shorty had been keeping an eye out for us, and by him ringing the cowbell, we found were able to make a beeline for the truck. More soup, more turkey/avo sandwich halves, “Love ya, babe,” and we were out there.

Back-to-back training long runs are intended to mimic, as best as possible, the exhaustion the legs will feel during a 50-mile run. It is not however, the same as actually running those 50 miles. Leaving Granite Bay would put me into unknown mileage territory for a one-day period, and I couldn’t help but think of Karen’s sister, Kate, and her first 100 miler. Once she hit a whole new level of mileage, every now and then she would tell her pacer, Russ, “Guess what? This is the farthest I’ve ever run!” I felt that, in honor of Kate, my Trail Goddess, I had to use that phrase at least once or twice.

The miles between Granite Bay (31.67) and Rattlesnake Bar (40.94) were, mentally, the hardest miles of the run. It was at Granite Bay that the real climbing and trail running began in earnest, and included lots of rocks and steps and mostly tight single track. No crew was allowed at Buzzard’s Cove (Mile 34.67) or Horseshoe Bar (Mile 38.14), and even though there was only suppose to be water at Buzzard’s Cove, those folks had brought along ice cream, as well. Unfortunately, the only thing I could think of was climbing out of that station and moving toward the next. I had handed over my bottle to Karen, and she and an aid station worker were getting mine and hers refilled. My legs were hurting and there really wasn’t a whole to of room to move around, so I was pretty much standing in one place working them as much as possible. There’s a rule that pacers and runners are suppose to stay within a certain distance of one another, but one of the workers looked at me and said, “Are you waiting for her?” Since I couldn’t speak, I just nodded yes, and he told me to go ahead and get going. I think I moaned a thank you and started climbing again. It didn’t take Karen long to catch up with me, and I think this is where I began Phase One of a classic meltdown that continued off and on for the next 9 or so miles.

Somewhere between Buzzard’s Cove and Rattlesnake Bar I began to think, “Screw this. This sucks. My legs are $%^&ing killing me.” Karen kept on me, “Come on, Les, we have to move if we’re going to make the next cutoff. Let’s go. Failure is not an option.” (She’d throw that last line at me a few more times before the race was over.) At that point, I was trying really hard to not cry and as I was gasping for breath, I said, “You know? I really don’t give a shit anymore.” Karen: “Yes, you do. You’re going to make it. It’s just your brain talking, telling you to not move your legs anymore. Get out of your head.” Me: “No, I really don’t, Karen.” Karen: “Okay. Let’s walk for awhile then.” And we did. And it helped - - some.

At Horshoe Bar, we were greeted by a load of kids holding signs and wearing T-shirts that said “Be Change.” Ends up it has something to do with helping inner city kids obtain medical care, education, and I’m not sure what else. There was a guy running for those kids, and we would find out later down the trail that due to severe cramping in his quads, he’d missed the first cutoff and had had his timing chip removed. He refused to quit, however, since he was out there for the kids and not for any jacket or award and ended up finishing two places ahead of me. Now that’s the kind of guy you want on your side when the chips are down. It wasn’t about him, it was about not letting the kids down.

Horseshoe Bar is also where I went into Phase Two of my meltdown. They had some great chicken noodle that I sucked down as fast as I could considering how freaking hot the broth was. As Karen was refilling our bottles, I saw a guy who’d we’d leap-frogged to that point, sitting on the ground, telling someone that, well, he’d never run that far before, so it was something. My eyes were telling me he was pulling out of the race, but for some reason my brain wasn’t totally comprehending it. All I knew was I was torn between wanting to stop and to keep going so as not to disappoint myself or the many friends and family who were eagerly waiting to hear of my success. Karen came up to me as I chugged the last of my soup and said, “Let’s go.” I think I went about 4 or 5 steps when I just stopped and took some shaky breaths. She looked me in the eye and said, “If you need to cry, then cry. Go ahead. Get it out. It’ll make you stronger.” I’m not embarrassed to say I succumbed to the tears for a moment, but then I shook it off, blew a couple of snot rockets, and we were off again.

Rattlesnake Bar was the next aid station and the 2nd cutoff of the race. All runners had to be leaving the station by 4:05 p.m. or they would be pulled. Karen pushed and cajoled me as much as she could during these next 2.8 miles, but boy howdy, I was not a very willing participant. Then we came up on Judy and her pacer again. She had fallen down, her elbow was bleeding, she had thrown up, but she wasn’t giving up. Her pacer was calling out how much time we had before we missed the cutoff, and somehow I got a little more oompf in me. Then a short distance from the station, a worker was waiting at the side of the trail, and suddenly we hear, “4 minutes, runners! You have 4 minutes to cut off! Move! You can do this!” Then not much further I hear Shorty yelling, “2 minutes, hon! You got 2 minutes! Run! Run!” Up to that point, I was pretty sure I was going to quit, but somehow, hitting that station ahead of the cutoff, hearing my husband encouraging me on, having Judy pushing her way through it, I just peeled through the station without giving it so much as a glance. It’s not like I had some kind if blistering pace going, but I knew as long I got out of the aid station, out of that parking lot, I had a fighting chance to finish this race.

Karen had taken my bottle and after refilling hers and mine, very quickly caught up with me, and (miraculously) for only the second time that day I had to go to the bathroom. Really bad. Actually, I had been needing to go for quite a while, but the problem? Lots of poison oak on this trail. And I mean lots. Trying to find a place to squat in privacy and out of the poison oak was quite the challenge, let me tell you. My needing to stop gave Judy and her pacer a lead on me that, although she would be in my sights a lot, stayed for the rest of the race. I’d catch a glimpse of her every now and then, and the knowledge that she was still pushing herself helped me push myself.

When we reached Manhattan Bar (Mile 43.92), those folks were ready with anything we needed. Soup? Yes! Please! More soup? Yes! And the best part of all, “You’re gonna make it. You only have 1 more aid station (Last Gasp), and you’re going to make it.” Cripes, I got all teary-eyed again and actually almost lost my balance, twice. A couple of the guys hung on to my arms to help steady me, and pretty much all I could do at that point was smile and nod a thanks. Words just weren’t coming out. Karen was doing all the talking for me, bless her, and she was grinning from ear to ear: “You’re gonna make it! You’re going to run 50 miles!”

From Manhatten Bar to the Finish Line, it’s 6.08 miles with one more aid station, Last Gasp. Do you know why they call it Last Gasp? It’s because 5 or more of those 6.08 miles are up . . . and up . . . and up . . . and up some more. The gravel road before Last Gasp very steep, and I tried really hard to do a 5/5 combo - run 5 steps, walk 5 steps. It didn’t take long before I realized that I could power walk the hill much more effectively than I could run it. But it was still at such a steepness than I even attempted to serpentine back and forth in an effort to take some pressure off my legs. Judy and her pacers (one being her son who’d mountain biked in to help his mom through this last bit) and the guy we talked to about the Be Change program and his pacer were all ahead of me. And unless there some great act of God or magic, there was no way I was going to catch them.

We were almost to Last Gasp (Mile 47.56), which was on probably the only flat spot for 5 miles, when a couple of guys working the station ran down, grabbed our water bottles and packets of powdered sports drinks and ran back up to fill them while we continued to climb. I just kept on going, right through the aid station and let Karen catch up with me.

From Last Grasp to the end, it’s a 2.44 mile climb on a paved road. I finally told Karen, “I can power walk this as hard as possible, but I cannot run it. I just can’t.” Up to that point, she had been telling me stories, singing to me, telling me jokes - anything she could think of to take my mind off my legs. She knew that now all she could do is push the pace of the power walking as hard as she could, thereby pulling me along. I was hoping against hope we had enough of a cushion that walking wouldn’t put me over the 13-hour time limit. We both kept looking at our watches and would try and cut time and steps by crossing over and walking the tangents. Soon we could hear the announcements and music from the finish line. A truck carrying tables and items from the last aid station drove by us. That’s when you know, without a doubt, that you’re it. You are the very last person who, by the grace of God and pushing from a best friend, will be getting over that finish line.

The road finally flattened out somewhat, I was able to run some more. We came down a stretch, and the guy in the truck had stopped and was picking up the orange cones that had been marking the way all day. He looked at me and said, “You only have a little hill (thumb and middle finger together, not quite touching) to go. A little one.” Well, yeah, it was little, but that sucker was straight up! I actually had to stop halfway and catch my breath.

Once we crested the top, Karen said to me, “Run, Les! You’re going to make it! You’re going to get our finisher’s jacket!” She was behind me and more orange cones were lining the way, wanting me to get up on the grass. Karen’s yelling, “You gotta get up and run on the grass, Les!” It actually very, very briefly went through my mind, “I have to step UP onto the grass?!? This is stupid!” I did it anyway, and was led down the sidewalk, which led to the beginning of the chute to the finish line. I reached back for Karen, but she had already slowed down and was yelling from the back, “Run, Leslie! You’re gonna make it! Go!” And from the front I heard from my husband, “Run, Mom! You’re gonna make it! Run!”

I crossed the finish line in 12 hrs 52 min 55 secs - the longest amount of time and miles I have ever run in my life. As soon as I saw my husband, I started crying, and he was crying.

The lady who gave me my finisher’s jacket had just the kindest look on her face as she said, “Here’s your Finisher’s Jacket.” And then sitting there at the end was a RunningAhead cyber friend, Landy, who had dug in and stayed to the bitter end to watch me finish.

I gave her a big hug and told her how much I appreciated her being there. I wish I had been more coherent and with it mentally, because I would’ve liked to have talk to her more. But I was in a bit of a daze and began loosely wandering around while Shorty and Karen tried to corral me, get a blanket on me, and feed me. And surprisingly, the same lady who had presented me with my finisher’s jacket came up and gave me a big blue gift bag and told me that because I had come in last, I got a prize. Imagine that! A prize for being DFL! It was a full case of Mountain Mojo Bars (YUM!) and a really nice Patagonia pack. I’ve never minded being last. I mean, somebody has to be. And to get a prize for the position - SWEET!

After the race, we headed to the Comfort Inn in Auburn. Ends up a number of race participants were staying there, as well. We could’ve picked one another out of a walking line up. As I told a couple of folks, “We’re all walking like we’ve got cobs stuck up our butts!” One guy retorted, “I told my partner it was her sexy walk.” And one poor dude obviously had forgotten, and did not know the golden rule of lubing up with diaper rash lotion before a long run. He was walking as straddle-legged as he possible could and still be able to walk.

After I showered, I spent probably about 1 ½ to 2 hours slowly walking up and down the hallway in my pajamas with Karen. I knew that if I kept walking, I (hopefully) wouldn’t be completely stiff and sore the next day. I even managed to talk her out of a foot rub in the hotel lobby when I decided I needed to sit down for a short time. Yep, she was still doing her double duty as pacer and, most importantly, friend.

This race took me mentally to places I’d never been before. If you had told me, “Hey, you ran for almost 13 hours,” I would’ve said, “What? 13 hours?” It didn’t feel like I had been out there that long. But telling me I had run 50 miles? Yes, it did feel that long.

But this was a really great race. It’s set up so that with only 2 exceptions, you are never running more than 4+ miles between aid stations, and most of them are less than 4 miles. Because of this, the run is broken up into mentally manageable pieces. And another great thing was the aid stations and the workers. A number of races I’ve run, when you’re coming in at the back of the pack, it can be slim pickin’s at the stations with regard to food, and often barely anything left at the finish line either, with the workers having packed up what they could without leaving you behind. Every single aid station we hit out there was set up just as if we were the first ones through, and the workers were all so kind and caring, wanting to do anything they could to help and make your race better. I cannot thank those folks enough for being there for us, because it’s their smiling faces and offers of assistance that help keep us runners going.

So I’m sure the big question on everybody’s mind is would I do it again? Well . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . that’s a story for another day.

Two Weeks and Counting

2010-03-27T19:57:00.000-07:00

I am so ready for this training to be over. I am tired, tired, tired. My legs are tired and achy, my back muscles are tired and achy, my feet are tired and achy. I'm always hungry, and the hot flashes and night sweats! Lord have mercy! I'm having one while writing this. Seriously. Hold on a sec while I take off a layer.

Okay - - -

Have you read "Born to Run" yet? If not, you're probably one of the few who hasn't. Even if you're not into running, it's a great book.

Whew - flashing like crazy here - - and I'm not talking boobs, either.

Memories, Part 3

2010-03-13T20:35:00.001-08:00

The other day, my uncle send me a web site where you could put in your address, anyone's address, and voila! There's the house. Since I'd been feeling a bit nostalgic lately, I dialed in the address of the house in which I grew up. The site allowed you to maneuver around so you could see a few angles, including the front of the house. Even though the new owners have changed it some, yeah, it's the same - home.

Also during the time, I began listening to a new song by young country singer, Miranda Lambert, "The House That Built Me." It speaks of a young woman who, in an effort try and find herself, goes back to the home that she grew up in. Since my dad sold the house I've had a couple of opportunities to drive back by there, and it always hits me - hard. It's not my home anymore. I can't go back.

I can't even begin to tell you how many times I wish I could go back home, back to the way things were when I was a kid, when my mom was alive. The four of us living a good life together. Not a perfect life, but a good life. We didn't have a lot, but we never wanted for anything. I couldn't have asked for a better mom and dad. I was so very lucky. And sometimes I miss that life so, so very much.

The House That Built Me
I know they say you can’t go home again
I just had to come back one last time
Ma’am I know you don’t know me from Adam
But these handprints on the front steps are mine

Up those stairs in that little back bedroom
Is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar
I bet you didn’t know under that live oak
My favorite dog is buried in the yard

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

Mama cut out pictures of houses for years
From Better Homes and Gardens magazine
Plans were drawn and concrete poured
Nail by nail and board by board
Daddy gave life to mama’s dream

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

You leave home and you move on and you do the best you can
I got lost in this old world and forgot who I am

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

2010-03-06T20:20:00.000-08:00

This weekend is the first of 4 tough running weekends. 24 trail miles today with lots of climbing, 16 "easy" tomorrow. My 24 today - crappola. To simulate AR50, I'm running the first X miles as an out and back on the road. The balance of the miles is up Headwaters Elk River Trail, which is a 1460-foot climb in 11 miles. It's a 3-mile run to the beginning of all the climbing. I'm suppose to do the climbing twice.

I did 8 on the out and back, and it was around Mile 13 that things started falling apart. My throat decided it didn't want to swallow anymore pretzels, pita chips, potatoes, or shot bloks, even though I was nauseated and needed to eat. I finally gave in and forced myself to throw up, even though hardly anything came up. When I got back to my turnaround point, I was able to get down some chicken noodle soup (I carried in my own "aid station"), so I poured the rest of it - which wasn't near enough - into an empty bottle and carried it in the little pouch in the back of running vest. I made it to the top again by power walking instead of running, sitting down a few times, even laying down in the middle of the trail one time and yelling out a few curse words at the top. Coming down isn't too bad since it's mostly down hill, but those 3 miles out sucked, too. I sat down on the side of the trail at one point and wished someone would come along who I could ask to walk out with. Didn't happen. Bummer.

So 24 in 6.5 hrs. My legs are thoroughly exhausted, and I'm having a tough time eating 'cause I'm bloated. I'm not looking forward to tomorrow.

Okay - I'm done whining. :o)

Hagg Lake 50k - February 20, 2010

2010-03-05T11:04:00.000-08:00

I’d been wanting to run Hagg Lake every since Karen came back from her first run there two years ago. This year it fell perfectly in the middle of my training for AR50 and would constitute a long training run. Plus, it was going to be a group thing with me, Karen, our coach, Bill, Karen’s sister (and my ultra goddess), Kate, and Russ (my hero) all running. Unfortunately, Russ got dogged at work and was unable to participate - which also meant Karen and I still haven’t had the pleasure of meeting the wonderful Ann, Russ’ new wife.

Karen, Bill, and I set off before dawn on Friday for the approximate 8-hour drive north to Portland, with the proverbial bathroom and food stops along the way, as well as a slight detour through Portland proper so Bill could make tax-free bike purchase and send it home with me in my truck. Thereafter, we headed to Hillsboro to Karen’s parent’s home as they were graciously putting the four of us up for the weekend.

I got to experience Macaroni Grill for the first time Friday night when the whole gang went out to dinner. All I can say about the place is YU-UM! Due to lack of sleep the previous two nights and the long drive, I was totally and completely exhausted, so although Karen, Kate, and Bill were going for a shopping adventure at REI after dinner, I opted for a ride home with the folks and was in bed before the gang returned. Wish I could say I had a nice restful sleep but, alas, it wasn’t meant to be. I’m chalking all this terrible sleeping up to those “female changes” ‘cause I can’t think of a better reason.

Needless to say, 4:30 Saturday morning came way before I was ready for it, but I dragged my sorry rear end out of bed and, bless their hearts, so did Karen’s parents. And her mom made a huge pot of oatmeal for us! Yea! This was done on a hot plate in their laundry room since their kitchen was being remodeled. Such troopers for us.

Hagg Lake was only about a 30-40 minute drive from the folks’ house, and since Karen and I were taking the early start, we left before Kate and Bill (and got a most excellent parking spot), who would follow about an hour later. We arrived with just enough time to hit the bathrooms, grab our bib numbers, and throw on our shoes. There were 30+ other people taking the early start, including a friend of Kate’s whom Karen had met before (sorry, but his name escapes me at the moment). After some brief instructions from the RD, we were off.

The first three miles is an out and back briefly on pavement, then up a dirt road. This constitutes the majority of the climbing, and it was nice knowing the “hard part” would be brief. Karen and Nameless (but very nice!) Guy pulled away from me fairly quickly, but I didn’t mind. Karen’s a goat on hills, and I wasn’t willing to put myself out too much on this climb. This was, after all, a training run not a race - something I would need to keep in mind for later.

The ladies manning the turn off the pavement to the dirt road were bundled up against the cold and in great moods. They had a boom box blaring and were dancing around in an effort to stay warm. Coming back down, “We Are Family” by Sister Sledge was playing. “Great song!” I called out. “It’ll be in your head the rest of the day!” was the retort. And yes, it most definitely was.

Coming back through the parking lot, I briefly stopped at my truck to dump off my running jacket before heading for the first drop bag area. Kate and Bill had arrived and were taking pics. Karen stopped to retrieve her handheld and I got Kate to tighten the sides of my Nathans Running Vest. Karen and I took off together from there.

I believe there’s only about 700 feet of gain/loss for the entire run, so it’s a relatively easy course with the main impediments being a few water crossings and very sticky, sucking mud. It was fun watching people trying to avoid the mud as much as possible, with the main reason being losing a shoe! (It was reported that one guy crossed the finish line shoeless after losing both his shoes in the last mud trap, while another came across with one shoe.)

It’s a 14-mile course around the lake with about 90% of that on trail and some pavement thrown in for good measure. The aid stations have the expected trail running food, and each time we came to a station, I would look longingly at the PBJ’s knowing I’d pay for it in a very short time if I ate one. I had a sandwich baggy of my favorite honey pretzel twists and some locally made chocolate chip cookies, so I settled for adding some potato pieces and fig bars.

I guess this would be a good time to say that I discovered I can no longer eat fig bars either when running. Each time I ate one, I was nauseated within minutes. After the third (and third bout of nausea), I realized what was making me sick. I also can’t eat chips out there ‘cause the greasiness makes me sick. This really sucks ‘cause PBJs, fig bars, and chips - especially Fritos - are great trail running foods. Each time Karen ate some Fritos - oh man did they smell good!

Anyhoo - I digress . . . .

This was the first time Karen and I had run together in a race, so toward the end of the first loop we agreed that, no matter what, we’d stay together for the whole thing, even if we ended up DFL. The halfway point brought us back to the staging area. Karen headed for the porta pots, and I grabbed some potato slices , switched to my bottle of Amino and grabbed extra packets. When Karen got back, we both grabbed cups of chicken soup and headed out for the final 14 miles. Oh my that soup tasted good!! If I had my druthers, there’d be chicken soup at all the aid stations. It feels so good - mentally and physically - to be able to eat “normal” food when you’re out there.

As another aside - the potatoes I grabbed were baked potatoes. I bit into a slice and thought, “Hm, this tastes different.” And it hit me - baked! Oh my, it was so good. Made me wish I had a whole one for myself. (a very minor mud puddle)

Not too far into the second loop, Karen began to experience some intestinal difficulties (i.e. diarrhea, cramping, nausea). We analyzed what she’d been eating, drinking, salt intake, but unfortunately, neither of us was sure what the problem was. Too much salt? Too little salt? Too much food? Too little food? I don’t know how many times we had to stop for bathroom breaks, but it really began wearing on her, besides the fact she felt like total crap (no pun intended - - - okay, maybe a small pun). At one point, I got behind her and sort of pushed her up a hill and planned to stay on her rear the rest of the way, but I got a, “Get in front of me! I don’t like it when you’re on my ass!” Which I obediently did, but that proved to create its only little problem. I would think I was running slow enough, but would get in a zone and the next thing I knew, I’d look back and she wasn’t in site. I’d stop and watch for her, barking my own little orders, “Baby steps!” (up the hills). “Are you drinking?” “Have you eaten anything?” Her: “I’m nauseated.” Me: “Try some potato.” and on and so forth.

Another Aside: By this point in the run, Karen had fallen once in the mud, almost fell another time and grabbed a berry vine which cut her and she bled, after which I said, “All we need you to do is puke or poop yourself, and we’ll have ourselves a trifecta!” Instead . . . .

Shortly after we left the last aid station, the proverbial classic meltdown started. Her: “Change of game plan.” Me: “What?” Her: “Change of game plan. You can still salvage your race. Go on without me. I’ll get there when I get there.” Me: “You already (bleeped) up my race time, so forget it.” Her: “Just go.” Me: “Nope. And if you don’t start moving, I’m going to sing to you.” Which I did. Country songs. (That’ll teach her to try and make me leave her behind. Heh heh.)

And so it went, back and forth over the next hour or so. Then about two miles from the end, poor thing, she totally fell apart. Self-demoralizing, self-berating verbiage with a fair amount of expletives thrown in for emphasis, and even some tears. Oh man, I felt so bad for her. I’ve been there, but usually I’m by myself with what feels like not another human being for miles around. It’s awful. You’ve trained so hard, only for it all to collapse around you. Her: “Why can’t I be good at just one (bleep) thing? I try so (bleep) hard! I just want one thing in my life to be good! I know what the problem is, I’m always so (bleep) tired!” Me: “I know you are, and we’ll work on that when we’re done. But in the mean time, let’s get moving. Let’s walk. We don’t have far to go. We’re only a couple of miles away.” Her: “No, we’re not! We’re miles away! This (bleep) sucks!”

In the middle of all this, we’re still having to navigate the sucking mud. I’m behind Karen when she takes a step and sinks in a while up to her knee. Luckily, we were both able to laugh about that one, and from that point on, she just tromped through the mud with a “screw it” attitude.

Suddenly, I popped around a corner and there’s the sign saying, “1 More Mile! Push It!” I hollered,”Only one more mile!” but she didn’t believe me until she saw the sign. We were navigating the last huge mud puddle when a guy comes running toward us and hollers out, “Is one of you Karen Peterson?” Me: “She is.” Her: “My sister sent you.” Him (with a smile): “Yeah.” The two of them began talking as we’re moving, some switch in Karen flipped, and once we got through the mud, she started pushing it. The guy took off without as he was the time keeper and needed to get back before us. As we got closer to the finish line, people could see us coming (the few that were left), and the cheering started, which pumped her up even more, and she even started laughing a little bit. Suddenly, I found myself having to push to stay up with her, and as we got near finish line, she reached back, grabbed my hand, and we crossed together, DFL in 8:21:52 (according to the official time).

Karen is one tough cookie, a fighter. She is usually the one pumping me up, pushing me. That’s why I’ve asked her to pace me for the last 18+ miles of AR50 in April. Yeah, I could’ve run my own race, but if the situation was flipped and it was me struggling, she would’ve done the same thing. She is, after all, the best running buddy and friend a person could ask for. (washin' off the mud)

{sigh}

2010-02-10T15:37:00.000-08:00

Here I am, less than two weeks from Hagg Lake, and my %*^&# back is messed up again. Haven't been able to run since Sunday. Went to the doc yesterday, and she says it's a muscle spasm, which is causing my sciatic nerve to go all wacko on me. The sciatic problem I can handle. The low back pain that switches between aching and feeling like an SOB, I cannot handle. For now, I'm hopped up on muscle relaxers and Alleve. Tomorrow I go see the MAT therapist who worked a miracle on my knee a couple of years ago. Keeping my fingers crossed. I didn't have any plans to go all out at Hagg Lake since it's a training run for AR50, but I sure as heck didn't want to go into it hurting or not being able to train for the two weeks prior.

{sigh . . .} I need ice cream . . .

Memories, Part Duce

2010-01-19T20:39:00.001-08:00

When I was a kid, I loved to sing. Still do. Did a 2-year stint with the local Interfaith Gospel Choir, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Only problem was we were performing every weekend, Saturday and Sunday, leaving no time for me to spend with my husband.

Since I left the choir, I've stuck to performing at occasional weddings. This past summer I sang at my niece's wedding and it is fair to say I blew my family away. With the exception of my dad, no one had ever heard me before. Interesting predicament for the bride-to-be to not know what her singer was going to sound like, even if the singer was her aunt. But she held her chin high and said,"Even if it's bad, she's family," and she marched on (secretly praying the entire time, I am sure, that I wouldn't totally screw things up). And I am happy to say that I DID NOT screw up, but performed quite a wonderful rendition of Etta James' "At Last." During the singing, my niece (the bride) is looking her dad (my brother), and they're both mouthing to each other, "That's Aunt Leslie?!?!?" Yep, quite a surprise.

Yes, it was the hours upon hours in front of the bedroom mirror, trying desperately to capture the facial and wide-mouthed expressions of Hayley Mills singing as Pollyanna. Or the moody sounds of The Carpenters and Debbie Boone. The hours of listening to Loretta Lynn, Lynn Anderson, Johnny Cash, Marty Robbins, Jim Ed Brown and Helen Cornelius, Jim Reeves . . . I was never a rock and roll person. I was the pure definition of Barbara Mandrell's "I Was Country When Country Wasn't Cool," - - and damn proud of it.

So much incredible influence from all parts of music - Often I wish I had had the balls to pursue music. But the way I was at that time of my life, I would've been eaten up and spit out in less time than it takes to say, "Excuse me, I have an appointment?" BAM! Door would be slammed in the face and that'd be all she wrote.

So I content myself with living room and car singing, the occasional shower singing, and the even less occasional wedding. Hey - Did I tell ya I can belt out a mean National Anthem? I just need a ballgame to prove myself.

Memories

2010-01-07T14:27:00.000-08:00

I grew up on the Central Coast of California in the small hamlet of Cambria, nestled in between San Simeon (home of the famous Hearst Castle) to the north, and Morro Bay and San Luis Obispo to the south. It really was a wonderful place to grow up. One of those small towns where crime was unheard of, everybody knew everybody, and you didn't have to worry if your kids wandered off for hours on end. In fact, I remember my mom telling us, "Go outside and don't come for back for a couple of hours!"

We lived "in the woods" and "by the beach" all at the same time. We had great trails we'd made from our back yard straight through the pine trees and down to the beach, which was a couple of miles away (a very long way when you were a kid!). We'd grab our dog, Kraut (like sauerkraut. He was a German Shepherd mix) and head off for hours of exploring, with our only worry being whether or not we'd end up with poison oak.

If you headed off in one direction, within perhaps half a mile you'd end up on the edge of the tree line and on a dead end road, which would lead you back to the main road to our house. There was a house at the end of that dead end, and in order to get back on the main road, you had to enter their property for a few feet. To my recollection, there was nothing strange about it in looks, but for some reason we kids had it in our heads that whoever lived there hated kids, and if we ever caught on the property all hell would break loose.

We'd emerge from the trees and stand, looking across the wide expanse of the dirt driveway/dead end road, watching for any signs of life. Only when we were absolutely certain no one was home would we hit that road at a dead run until we passed through the gate. It was always thrilling. Why we didn't just turn around go back the way we'd come, I don't know. Guess it was the lure of the known.

I don't ever remember seeing anyone out and about on that property, however, I do remember a woman I'd never seen before "suddenly" appearing before me once when I was by myself with Kraut near that property. . . . . But that's a story for another time.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

2009-12-31T10:11:00.000-08:00

A Happy and Blessed New Year to all my Family and Friends!!

Scrooge, Here

2009-12-17T20:51:00.000-08:00

The Hub and I have decided to forego Christmas this year. No family coming, we already spent all our money on vacation in October and a new bed a couple of weeks ago, enough's enough.

All the adults in our family decided years ago to not get gifts for one another and just call. Gifts went to the kids when they were little, it turned to money as they grew up. Now that they're all adults, they get what all the other adults get, a card, and a phone call, if you're lucky.

This year, we're not even doin' the cards. Heck we aint' even doin' a tree or ANY kind of decorations. Do I look at other Christmas decorations and lights somewhat wistfully? I'd be lying if I said no. Do I miss dragging out all the boxes, spending hours upon hours decorating a $100+ tree and the house? Heck, no! And I won't miss all the hours I would've spent putting all the crap away.

So this year, we're hum buggin' it, and I don't mind one bit.

Desert High 50k

2009-12-13T18:02:00.000-08:00

Ridgecrest, California
Sunday, 12/06/09

Fashion Report: Black capris with a blue stripe down the side, light blue tech shirt, bright yellow Moeben sleeves, hot pink sports bra, hot pink gaiters, blue and gray Mizuno trail shoes, baby blue hat

I participated in the 30k distance of this race last year and enjoyed it so much, I decided to go back this year for the 50k. My aunt and uncle live in Ridgecrest and my dad goes with me, so he and I get in some much needed father-daughter time, and we get to see family, too.

I live in Northern California, and Ridgecrest is way down at the other end of the state in the Mojave Desert (do the Tehachapis ring a bell with anyone?), about 12 hours away. Dad and I left around 3:00 Thursday and drove halfway before we got a room for the night, then took off the next morning for the second half of the drive. My uncle, in an effort to get out of having to visit with us, decided to go in for hernia surgery Friday. However, being the devious persons that we are, we forced ourselves upon him by visiting him in the hospital. He was only allowed to stay one night, so he had to come home and face us Saturday and Sunday. (Grins to Uncle Wayne!)

On Saturday, my aunt and I walked to the town’s annual Christmas faire about a mile away, which gave my legs a chance to loosen up. It was really windy, and I was hoping against hope that it would die down before the next day. My aunt made a great baked spaghetti casserole for dinner Saturday night, and I did my best to eat as much of it as possible.

Before dinner, I went to race headquarters and picked up my race packet. There was lots of people waiting in line, so I struck up a conversation with the two guys in front of me. One had run Western States before, and both had run AR50 (American River 50 Mile), which I plan to run in April. It was nice to get some more insight into the run, which ended with one guy saying, “You just have to come to terms with the fact that the last few miles are going to suck.” Okee dokee!)

I slept remarkably well Saturday night, and woke up Sunday ready to face the run. Got myself dressed, ate a bowl of oatmeal, and waited for nature to take its course. My dad got up to use the bathroom at one point and asked if I wanted him to sit up with me, but seeing as how it was around 5:30 a.m. and there was absolutely no reason for him to be up, I sent him back to bed . . . much to his relief, I must say.
(Finish line workers braving the cold)

It was quite chilly when I got to Cerro Coso College, where the race is staged. The cement pad going in to the gym (which was open for bathroom use and for people to hang out) had quite a layer of ice on it. The edges had thawed and there were lights along the outer edge of the iced areas, and someone was standing there to ensure people were aware of the ice. Regardless, as I was heading down the steps back to my car, I heard someone bite it - hard. Whoever it was, he or she had to have done themselves in, and I could only imagine how much they were gonna hurt once the shock wore off.

The early start was suppose to be at 6:00, and around 6:10 they took off to cheers and horn honks from those of us waiting for the 7:00 a.m. start. I stayed in my truck with it running and the heat going full force. No reason to hang out in the cold! A little before 7:00, I double-checked my gear, then headed to the start line. Directions were given, a short prayer was said, and with a countdown, we were off.

This course, although at some elevation (2500 feet at the start) and with a couple of long uphill hauls, doesn’t have the intense climbing that I usually encounter on trail runs, so it’s a good place to set a PR. My previous PR had been in July at SOB (Siskiyou Out Back in Ashland, OR), which I finished in 7:39 and some change - a really good run for me. My verbal goal for this race was to finish in 6.5 to 7 hrs, but I was secretly hoping to finish faster.

One of the great things about this race is that the distances between aid stations are fairly short, with the longest being around 5 miles. I wish, however, that they allowed drop bags. I use my own fluid mix during runs, and with no drop bags, it meant I had to carry it all with me. This allowed very little room in my waist pack for anything extra (like my Mojo Clif bars), so I was hoping against hope that the aid stations had foods that would agree with my stomach. They were well-stocked, and I subsisted on bananas, potatoes, and a few pretzels for the entire run. At one station, I stared longingly at what looked to be homemade brownies and at miniature Snickers (I LOVE Snickers!), but with heartburn just a stupid food choice away, I reluctantly walked away from both.

About 1.5 hrs into the run the winds picked up with a vengeance, and never let up the rest of the run. It was awful. 90% of the time it was a direct headwind or was coming at you from the front left. My uncle emailed me on Tuesday after the race and said their paper indicated the winds were blowing at 30-40 mph with gusts of 55 mph. Did I already say it was awful? The couple of times I remember it being at my back, we were, of course, going downhill. Gee, thanks. At times, it felt like you were pushing against a wall, with the wind buffeting you all over the place. When it was coming from the front side, I’d find myself half turning my body trying to protect myself. I finally gave up trying to keep my hat on, and eventually tucked it around my waist pack.

The aid stations workers were da bomb. Those poor folks, all bundled up against the wind and cold, kept us going while trying to keep food and drinks from being blown off the tables. And the Christmas station was back! Christmas bobbles and stuffed animals lined the course beginning less than a 1/4 mile from the station, and just as you got to the station, there was a length of PVC pipe covered with gold garland arching over the course. The only bummer about the station was the guy who, with very good intentions, said, “This should be the end of the headwinds, folks.” Alas, he was wrong. :o(

There was a point where I was getting really mad because of the wind and curse words went flying. But I realized it was wasted energy and wouldn’t change anything, so I changed to positive thinking as much as possible. Also, because this an easier course, you’re never far from other runners, so there was a lot of commiserating with one another.

One thing that brought a smile to my face - at the M11 aid station, a group of women came in just behind me. Of the 4 or 5, it sounded like only one had ever run this distance before. One of the newbies says, “We’re all Mile 11? Great! Only 20 miles left!” I thought, “Hope you’re that cheery come Mile 20!”
(Look! Two feet off the ground!)

Despite the wind, I was doing really well. A little before Mile 20 or so, I could feel my legs tiring, but I was still able to effectively execute my run/walk up the hills without much ill effect. I was doing my best to take in food and fluids on a regular basis, and felt it was possible to attain my secret goal. . . . Then M28 came and it all began to fall apart. I’ve hit walls before, but it’s always come on gradually. This time - WHAM! It felt like it came from out of the blue. Even though there were only 3 miles left, I knew it was going to be a long 3 miles. Thankfully, there was a good downhill section, but I even had to resort to walking some of that, which was a real bummer since that’s where I (along with most people) can really make up time.

All the aid stations have signs indicating what mileage its at in the run, as well as the distance to the next station. With this race, there’s one final aid station at M29.9. Even though I knew the last station had been at 25-something, in my “you have nothing left” state of mind, I asked what mile we were at. One lady says, “24.9.” Well, I guess my head almost flew off my neck I turned it around so hard, and the other lady manning the station started laughing like crazy. The first one says, “No! 29.9! 29.9!” and the other says to me, “Oh, you should’ve seen your face!” I told her, “Well, I thought I was in hell for a second!”

There was a group of about 4 or 5 of us who left that station at the same time, and one guy, doing is best to urge me along, ran with me for a few yards saying, “Let’s go! Only one mile left. We can do this! Don’t go crazy and go too hard. Let’s just get this done.” Well, he had a little more oompf in his legs than I did, and it wasn’t long before I let him go on his merry way. From that point, I leap-frogged a few times with a man and woman who were running together, each of us intermittently walking and running.

I eventually pulled away from them, and once I hit the last downhill section, I let it go. My dad, who had showed up about an hour or so earlier so he could take pictures, saw me coming and stood out in the middle of the road snapping away. Because he had been chatting with the folks around them, they knew my name, and as I ran toward them, they were all yelling, “Go, Leslie!” It was really cool to hear.

The end of the race takes you back through the parking lot and up what is an imperceptible incline. Imperceptible, that is, unless you’ve just run 31 miles and your legs are like jelly. But I refuse to walk through a finish line, and I gave it everything I had those last yards, finishing in 6:39:29, a distance PR. (This smile took a bit of effort.)

My dad gave me a big hug, and I told him, “I think I’m going to puke or poop all over myself. I gotta sit down.” We headed to my truck, and my poor dad, he got to watch me start to shake like crazy, beginning in the legs and working it’s way up. I sat on the bumper and he kept asking, “What can I do for you, sis? What can I do for you?” He got me the rest of the Mojo bar I had in the truck, and once I got that down, I started feeling a bit better. (There was a bit of an updraft behind the truck.)

After a walk to the bathrooms, we headed back to my aunt and uncle’s house, where I ended up having all three of them standing in the dining room watching me shake while I ate a banana. My aunt says to me, “And you pay to do this?!?” Yep!

This is a great run, but you definitely have to like the desert and not mind using the bathroom behind a see-thru bush. I intend to go back next year, the run’s 25th Anniversary, and hopefully Mother Nature will be a little kinder and keep the winds to a low roar.

How Many Male Cats Does it Take to Start a Good Ole Cat Fight and Pissing Contest?

2009-12-03T11:41:00.000-08:00

We've acquired 2 more cats. I'm blaming at least one of the acquisitions on Shorty. I came back from Conference in August and he says, "You know that orange and white cat? He's eating here now." (deep breath) Come to think of it, I can blame 3 out of 6 on him. two years ago, I came home from Conference and we had acquired two kittens. Maybe I should stop going to Conference . . . . . .

But I digress . . .

The other is our neighbor's cat, who we now affectionately call Mister Mister after mistakingly thinking he was a girl (the neighbor told us he was a she) and calling her Missy Pants to begin with. The neighbors apparently couldn't care less 'cause he's with us all the time. The orange and white cat? He's Chico - because he really belongs to the Mexican family up the road, which family obviously doesn't give a whit about him, as well, because he, too, spends all of his time at our house. Plus he's never been de-balled, which will be taken care of soon.

So we are now a family of 6 male cats. One very old guy (19 1/2), one middle-aged guy, 2 youngin's, and 2 hanger-on-ers. As in the two-legged world of males, the 4-legged world of males are now strutting their stuff and be the alpha male. Well, all them except our old guy who is confounded by all this in the first place, and Ziggy, our middle-aged guy who, smartly, seeks refuge as often as possible in the field across the street. I foresee issues . . . lots and lots of issue. Lord, give me strength!

Mile Stone

2009-11-24T13:11:00.000-08:00

Another benchmark in my running career - I hit 50 miles in one week for the first time this past week, with 36 of them happening Saturday (24) and Sunday (12). Yee haw! And except for a slower than normal 12 on Sunday and some leg tiredness, I'm none the worse for the wear. Now, however, I'm in taper time, so won't be seeing those numbers again for a few weeks.

Thursday - Six Rivers Running Club 5k Turkey Trot. PR'd this last year, but I have a 10-mile run tomorrow. Coach Bill will be running it with me Thursday and he helps me push myself, so we'll see what happens.

Another Fine Lesson Learned

2009-11-11T19:17:00.000-08:00

Of course I've known forever that I would have today off work. One would think that I would be smart enough to say, "Hey! I'll do my 20-miler on Wednesday instead of having to do it at Conference over the weekend!" Well, I didn't think about that until Karen suggested it last night. I had a pretty exhaustive XT day yesterday, but I thought, "What the heck. Let's give it a try anyway." Well . . . . I made it 12.5 miles today. My legs were beat. . . up. My quads hurt so stinking bad, there was no way I could do anymore climbing. If I could've run on a rolling trail, I know I could've finished, but the climbing - ugh! Now I'll have to gut it out down in Rancho Cordova, either on the road or on a treadmill. {sigh} My own stupidity never ceases to amaze me.

A Whole New Journey

2009-11-02T16:38:00.001-08:00

November 1 is here, and thus begins my journey to my first 50-miler in April, the American River 50-miler, or AR50. Well, that's a whole 5 months away!, you say. But believe me, those 5 months are going to fly by, and before I know it, I'll be doin' some serious butt clenching and second guessing of myself while standing in the dark at a starting line in Sacramento with lots of other people. I have two 50ks planned between now and April 10, Desert High on 12/06 and Hagg Lake on 02/20, the latter of which will be my last long training run. It's funny to think that a 50k distance is going to be a training run.

I spend a lot of time envisioning myself crossing that finish line in April, with my buddy, Karen, by my side (my pacer for the last 20 miles) and my husband, Shorty, and (hopefully) his sister, Kim, waiting for me. To be able to share this experience with all of them would be wonderful.

I'll probably pop back in here every now and then to bore you with the details of my training, but if you're reading this blog, you probably don't mind.

Yep, the next few months are going to be quite a journey.

Big Sur Trail (aka Dirt Road) Marathon

2009-10-05T16:07:00.000-07:00

I’m not sure how Enviro Sports can call this run a “trail marathon,” because it most assuredly is not. Had I taken a closer look at the site before signing up for the race, I would’ve realized that when I read “follows the Old Coast Road," so that's my fault, and now neither here nor there.

Usually, I’m very quick with reports and have a great time writing them, but this time ‘round is different. Except for a few of the people I met, I did not enjoy one single moment of this race, except for maybe the first 5 minutes.

It was hot. Temps were in the high 80s before noon/before I reached the 2nd aid station after a 5.88 mile climb, and eventually reached the 90s. Eighty (80%) percent or more of the race was completely exposed with little to no wind. The front/back (it was an out and back) was like being in an oven. Toward the end it was hard to even catch your breath it was so hot, and you could see the heat vapors coming off the dirt road and embankment.

I’m spoiled by the aid stations provided by PCTR and SOB. The aid stations, though superbly manned by folks who had to stand all day in that heat with no shelter, had pretzels bites with peanut butter, trail mix, and bananas. With a mouth as dry as the Sahara Desert, bananas were my saving grace. Also a saving grace was that they had enough water that I could dump it on my head and down my back at every station, which provided limited relief.

It was hot (did I mentioned that already) and there was no ice to keep anything cool. There wasn’t even any ice at the finish line for folks. About 6 or so miles from the end, during a 2.7 mile climb, I came around a corner to find Tim, an aid station worker, running down the trail with a gallon of water looking for people who needed assistance. I was doing fairly okay, but since my hand-held was empty, I filled it up. I had another bottle with Succeed Ultra. He left the jug on the ground for the two or three runners who were behind me and, thankfully, practically marched me up that hill. I power walked with him for about a mile before I couldn’t keep his pace anymore, but he said folks were coming into the station speechless with heat exhaustion, and he, who was a very fit runner, talked about how brutally hot it was.

I normally am a very good downhill runner, but by the time I got to the last 2+ miles, which was all downhill, I could barely run. I’d run as far as I could until I thought I was going to lose my balance, then I’d walk, then try running again, then walk. My main goal was to stay ahead of a young man who’d I’d played leap frog with the entire race, and to keep the older gentleman ahead of me in my sights. If I could see him, I could finish because I knew he was going to.

When I came across the finish line, I was so exhausted I could hardly talk to the gals who gave out the finishers’ medals. I just wanted to sit down in the shade and try to pull myself together. You had to cross Hwy 1 to get back down the hill to the staging area, and it seemed to take forever to walk those extra few minutes.

I sat down for a few minutes before I felt composed enough to at least walk to my car and get my chocolate milk out of the ice chest, then just sat at one of the picnic tables with my head in my hands. The medics had two runners laid out on tables, one with oxygen, both with solar blankets. I have no idea how many others needed medical attention. One of the medics found a little bit of ice to put in a baggy for the back of my neck and gave me their last bottle of ice water.

Just to back track a little - talking to the medics was probably the highlight of the entire race. Three cute dudes who were chatty, nice, and comforting. What more could an overheated (in the wrong sense), exhausted gal ask for?

I probably sat around for about an hour before I felt comfortable that I could drive the 45 minutes back to Monterey. I had planned on trying to drive back to my brother’s, 4+ hours away, but that wasn’t going to happen. Luckily, I was able to get a room at the same hotel where I’d stayed the night before.

I had gone into this race confident that I could complete it in 5 to 5.5 hours. I drank 130+ ounces of fluids and took 7 S-caps and neither was enough. Finished in 6:23. The course was hard, but only because of the hills. Probably 80% of the time you were either going up or pounding your way down. There was very little flat. Compounded with the heat - well, ‘nuf said.

Modified To Add:
After reading this over and over, I keep trying to be more positive about this race. Unfortunately, the heat took the joy out of the whole thing. I felt worse at the halfway point of this race than I have at the end of any race in a very long time. If I could count on weather cooperation, I would go back and try, try again. But with Central California (I grew up 2 hrs south of Big Sur), it can be a crap shoot weather-wise this time of year.

Headwaters = Hell??

2009-09-05T16:32:00.000-07:00

Did 20 miles on the Elk River Trail in the Headwaters Forest today. Man, am I beat! After the first 3 miles, you climb for two miles on switchbacks, do a half mile loop at the top through the Old Growth, then back out for an 11 mile round trip. Plan A was to run the switchbacks 3 times, so we stashed extra fluid at the bottom. Once we got to the top, we decided to do the loop 3 times. Karen was in "The Zone," was just cruising, and I eventually lost sight of her. I forgot how many loops I'd done, so I went ahead and did another. I was about halfway through when I realized Karen had gone back down the hill. Oh well. I knew she'd figure out I wasn't behind, and sure enough, about 1/4 mile back down, here she comes back up, worried. Sorry!

At the top of our second climb, I told her there was no way I was doing that again. No frigging way! Luckily, she felt the same way, so we decided to do 6 loops at the top, but only got through 3 when we both said enough's enough and headed back down. It's so steep much of the time going down, that you actually smile at the few inclines - for a second.

It also rained, which felt wonderful when it was hitting you, but once it stopped, the humidity - Ugh! I ran almost the entire 20 miles sans shirt because it was just too humid and warm. Poor Charlie Dog, he practically ran us over when we got near the creek each time. And when we got to the pond area, I wanted to jump in the water with him!

So now here I sit with my feet up 'cause their killing me, thinking about all the cold watermelon I have cut up in the fridge. Yum! Here's a graph that shows what the climbing is like. I don't know if the elevation is right, but it gives a really good picture of the climbing.

Karen is a really good running partner. I think we're pretty equal, but she can run hills like nobody's business, even when she's tired. She's like the damn Energizer Bunny. (Must be a family thing since Kate is, too.) That's what I will be counting on with her as my pacer at AR50.

It's Craziness, I Tell Ya, Craziness

2009-09-04T19:40:00.000-07:00

Well, I did it. I signed up for my first 50-miler, the AR50. I don't know what came over me. When I went to hit the "Send" button for the final registration, my heart was pounding so hard, it was ridiculous. But the sucker cost me $12, and I'm telling you all, so I can't back out now.

We'll see how it goes!

2009-08-30T14:43:00.001-07:00

A first for me yesterday. At Mile 13.5, about halfway through the first of what was suppose to be three climbs up #12 and through the keyhole, I had a complete and total meltdown. My legs were absolute toast, and I sat down on the side of the trail and started blubbering like a baby. Unbelievable. After a few minutes, I tried to pull myself together and start climbing again, but I realized it just wasn't going to happen. So much for 22 miles. All the lifting and moving of office furniture, equipment, and boxes of files last week, on top of keeping up with my running and x-training, finally caught up with me.

I got about .10 back down #12 when I see Karen and Charlie running toward me, and I almost lost it again. God bless, Karen! She gave me a hug and said, "Let's just walk." We went a little bit further before I finally said enough's enough, and she and Charlie escorted me out to the trail head where I got another hug from Karen before she headed off her merry way and I dragged my sorry ass to the car. I managed 16, but they were brutal.

Emailed Coach Bill and he sent me a reply of DO NOT RUN TOMORROW! YOU'RE BODY IS TELLING YOU IT NEEDS A REST! Yes, my friend, it is. Even today, I feel worse than I did after SOB. Just utterly and completely exhausted. Guess if you're gonna fall apart, it's better to do it now rather than right before Big Sur in three weeks.

Cross Training and Moving - One In the Same?

2009-08-25T12:51:00.000-07:00

One of my bosses is retiring and the other is moving to another office 'cause the building we're in - and which they own - has been rented out in whole. I've spent the last month+ prepping for this move, and beginning yesterday we've started moving all this crap. So my question is: Does lifting full storage boxes, filing cabinets, over 1,000 pounds of law books, going up and down a flight of 17 stairs, and jumping in and out of the back of a pickup truck constitute cross training? I sincerely hope so.

Bonk-A-Bomb, Bomb, Bomb

2009-08-22T21:58:00.000-07:00

Today - my longest run since SOB - 20 miles. I did every stupid thing you could do. Bad nutrition management, too many miles in brand new shoes, no Body Glide for under the arms (ouch), not enough fluid intake toward the first part of the run, kept going when I knew I should've stopped - - too many miles in brand new shoes. Stupidity in its grandest form. But hey, we all do it at one time or another, right?

On the upside, we ran Headlands for the first time in a long time. And funny, the first time up the switchbacks, it felt tough, but Karen and I agreed that the second time up seemed easier. I told her it was the delirium.

So next up, Big Sur Trail Marathon, September 26. It doesn't look to bad with regard to elevation, so I'm hoping I do well. Keeping fingers crossed.

Who's Watching You?

2009-07-26T21:46:00.000-07:00

Take a look around you. In your everyday life, your work life, your social life, who’s watching you? Your child? A co-worker? The young man bagging your groceries? The young woman ringing you out at the department store? Every single day, and at many moments throughout the day, we have the opportunity, known or unknown, to mentor someone, be it for a life time or but a brief moment.

There are four specific women who I have been blessed to have as mentors. Each one in their own way has opened my eyes to the possibilities of my life, to the rewards of persevering even if when you want to quit, of obtaining a dream that seemed out reach.

Marlene Birnie came into my life in November 1987, a few short months after I married and moved to Humboldt County. I had begun working as a receptionist in my first law office in October, and Marlene was hired about a month later as the secretary to Attorney John Davis. Since John’s office was directly off the reception area, Marlene was given the desk behind mine. I was 21 years old, newly married, living in a new town eight hours from my family, new job, and no friends. I cannot recall every little detail, but it wasn’t long before Marlene befriended me and became not only a surrogate mother but a good friend. Always quick to laugh and share a joke, she was a stronghold for me during some very hard times. With no family at the ready, I turned to Marlene often during my year of working with her, and many times since, for her level-headed and thoughtful advice. When my mother died, Marlene’s steadfastness and compassion helped pull me through a treacherous storm. I am sure she never considered herself as being a mentor, but she was. I learned from her the importance of being truly present when a person is in need; of not just offering verbal support, but a shoulder, an ear; of allowing people to have their hurts and pains, while at the same time letting them know that when they are ready I will be there. Thank you, Momma-Seeta.

Catherine Culver came to work at our office first as a temp for me while I was on vacation. Upon my return, her temporary position was turned into a full time position, and thus began what I know will be a life-long friendship. We complimented each other in so many ways during the time we worked together, each not minding certain jobs and duties that the other couldn’t stand. It was a great partnership. Without a doubt, Catherine is the reason I am where I am today with regard to my profession and that I have accomplished so many goals. She is the consummate professional, and from Day One, intentionally or unintentionally, began developing in me a desire to become a better legal secretary. It was Catherine who encouraged me to study with her for the CCLS exam, along with four other members of our association. It is Catherine who told me, “Yes, you can do it!” when I was asked to run for president of our association, and then provided me with much needed support and experienced advice in her capacity as governor and a board member. It was Catherine who applauded and encouraged my decision to run for governor of our association, and it was Catherine who continued that encouragement when I was considering the position of LSS Probate/Estate Planning Section Leader.

Catherine not only instilled in me a desire to continue improving myself professionally, but also showed me the importance of looking professional, as well. She is the one who, without words, made me understand that if you want to be treated professionally, then you must dress the part, and that first impressions are important. If you were to walk into an office and see two equally competent secretaries standing before you, but one is dressed in slacks and a blouse and the other in jeans and a cotton pullover, who would you most like turn to for assistance? Who would you think is more competent and knowledgeable? I will forever be grateful for the impact she has left on my life. Thank you, Friend.

I met Denise Lopes through the CCLS study group in which I was encouraged by Catherine to participate. Our friendship developed slowly within the group, but blossomed over the past couple of years when we began traveling together to Conference, she as LSI Historian for Mary Rocca, and me as governor of our association. Denise is a small but mighty force. She will defend you to the end, but will also, in her quiet way, let you know when perhaps the decisions you are making or the actions you are taking are not the most prudent. Not one to speak out of turn, she quietly observes and gives grounded, well thought out advice when asked, and I have turned to her often for that advice. I have learned much from Denise about guarding one’s tongue and really, truly thinking before opening one’s mouth. She, too, has taught me much about being a true professional, as well as nurtured my desire to continue to improve myself in my profession, and has helped guide me to an understanding of, “If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything.” She has been a very calming presence in the midst of some stormy times in my life these last few years, and she has taught me the true meaning of friendship. Thank you, Miss Denise.

Last, but most assuredly not least, is my mother, Yualene Gleason. Words cannot begin to describe this truly remarkable woman. Although not diagnosed until a number of years later, my mother became afflicted with rheumatoid arthritis, along with at least two other types of arthritis, at approximately age 22 after having two children she was told she could never have. For years I watched this disease wreak havoc on her body, put her through unimaginable, agonizing pain. Through it all, her one goal, her one desire was to protect her children, to not let the disease rob my brother and me of our mother, and when she had grandchildren, rob them of their grandma. She was a woman of unwavering faith in her religious belief, and never once did I hear her ask, “Why me?” Through surgeries, infections, hospitalizations, tortured and twisted hands and feet, my mother bore her pain and suffering with grace and dignity.

Over the years, many people have expressed to my family that it was my mother’s grace, dignity, selflessness, and compassion toward others that helped them through their own times of trials and tribulations. But to me, her most selfless act came the day I married. A few short weeks before, she had had surgery on both feet to fix a horribly painful condition called hammer toes. The surgeon broke both of her feet from the arches down, cut the tendons to straight the toes, then inserted pins through ends of her toes into her feet to hold everything in place. These pins stuck out of her toes by approximately 2 inches. On the day of my wedding, while being walked down the aisle by my brother, the incisions on both of her big toes split open. It wasn’t until my husband and I had left our reception a few hours later that she told my dad she needed to go home because she was in so much pain. She did not say anything sooner, lest she somehow mar my wedding day.

My mother died in 1989 when I was 23 years old, just as we were embarking on a new, and what I am sure would have been a wonderful, adult mother/daughter relationship. To this day, I feel the hole that her passing has left in my life. However, in the short 23 years we had together, she taught me the true meaning of humanity, compassion and love, and to never give up no matter the obstacles or the pain. As I write this, I am about to embark upon my first 50k ultra trail run. 31.06 miles. A distance my mother could never have comprehended being able to walk, let alone run. I will cross that finish line because of her, I will cross that finish line for her.

All four of these women - my mom, Marlene, Catherine, and Denise - have touched my life, been my mentors, mostly, I am sure, unintentionally. I am honored to have them in my life, and to each of them, I will forever be grateful and thankful.

Every day we have the opportunity, knowingly or unknowingly, to mentor someone, be it for a life time or but a brief moment. Take a look around you. In your life, who’s watching you?

(Written in April 2008, submitted to and published by The Legal Secretary Magazine)

Pics from SOB Run

2009-07-22T12:01:00.000-07:00

If you're so inclined to view them, here are pictures the professional photographer took at SOB, and which we are able to download at no cost. Very cool.

Siskiyou Outback (SOB) - July 11, 2009

2009-07-13T12:44:00.000-07:00

Results:
Overall - 152/164
Age - 30/34

Fashion Report: White short sleeve tech shirt w/pink piping around the sleeves and neck, hot pink sports bra, black shorts, hot pink gaiters, dirty used-to-be-blue Mizuno trail shoes.

Last year, this race kicked my a**. Royally. It was my second 50k (31 miles) in two months time, and I was ill prepared for what was in front me. Consequently, I was met by the Grim Sweeper and pulled from the race at Mile 21.9 for not meeting the cutoff time of leaving the aid station by 11:45, let alone even getting there before that cutoff. I wasn’t even close.

This year I was going back for revenge, although about six weeks ago, I was seriously worried about my abilities and, quoting from my own blog, was afraid that mountain was “going to eat me alive.” Between gall bladder surgery and an ankle that had been acting up, I was feeling “weak.” (That’s for my buddy, Denise.) However, the further I got into my training for this run, the more confident I began to feel, with finally my main worry being the altitude. My mantra going into this race was “Stuff Your Face with Food” and “Relentless Forward Motion.”

The Siskiyou Outback (SOB) 50k meanders off and on the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), starting at 6500' feet and climbing to 7100', with 4200' of elevation gain between. On Saturday, my buddy, Karen, her daughter, Kimber, and I made the 3-hour drive from Eureka the Ashland, OR, with two soon-to-be well-deserved stops along the way: the DQ in Cave Junction for an ice cream cone, and Harry & David’s in Medford for fruit, Jalapeno Moose Munch, and dark chocolate truffles (yum!). Karen’s sister, Kate (an amazing ultra runner), was planning to meet us in Ashland after driving 6 hours from Northern OR; ironically, however, we came behind her on I-5 just outside of Grants Pass, and she followed us to Harry & David’s.

After a short shopping spree, we headed on to Ashland, checked into the Manor Motel (very cute little place), drove the short distance to town to pick up our race packets at Rogue Valley Runners, the running stored owned by Hal Koerner, Mr. Western States 100 winner himself (FYI - He completed the race in 16:24:55, and finishers 2nd-5th place finishers did it in less than 17 hours. Ho-ly crap!), on to pasta at Martinos (or something like that), then back to the motel to rest up and get ready for the next day.

Saturday morning dawned too early (as usually) at 4:30 a.m., as Karen and I were taking the 6:00 a.m. start to ensure finishing within the 8.5 hour time limit. Kate wasn’t participating in the race, but since she’s getting ready for 100 in the Hood in September, was going to drop us off, go do her 20 miles on a section of the PCT that Hal had told her about the day before, then pick up Kimber and meet us at the finish line in the early afternoon.

It was cool up in the mountain, but we knew it wouldn’t be long before it warmed up. (Actually, it stayed very pleasant the entire day with a nice cool breeze.) The early field looked small compared to last year, but with a ring of a cow bell, we were off. We hadn’t gone far when I had to chuckle. Last year, I wasn’t even out of the parking lot when I had a wardrobe malfunction. My outer sock (I wear 2 layers) slipped down into my shoe. I should’ve known then that it was a portent of things to come for that race (mental eye roll).

But no slippage this year, and Karen and I chatted easily as we moved along with the crowd. Toward the bottom of the first service dirt road, we took a right-hand turn onto the trail with Karen leading the way. It was pretty cool to look up and see the snake of runners ahead of us. We had a gentle pace going with a number of folks behind us, but since we were all trying to get our breath under control due to the altitude, no one seemed in a real hurry. Part way up our first climb, Karen dropped into the 20/20 run/walk combo we’d been practicing, and I followed suit. The guy directly behind me asked to pass, which put a new guy behind me, Steve. Steve was from Jackson, Missippi and another sea level runner.

At one point during a walk/run combo, and after the first aid station at Mile 2.7, another runner or two asked to pass, Karen, Steve, and I stepped over, I popped in behind the last of the passers, and Karen ended up somewhere down the line. I would see her only one more time during the rest of the race.

I’d actually like to stop right here and say a huge, huge THANK YOU to all the aid station workers at SOB - along with all the other races in which I’ve participated. If you’ve never participated in a trail run, especially an ultra, I cannot begin to tell you what a God-send these folks are. They spend hours manning these stations, providing food and fluid. I mean, we started our run at 6:00 a.m. These folks were out at their stations much earlier than that, finalizing all the preparations. We, the runners, could not do what we love to do without their aid and support. So a BIG, BIG THANK YOU to anyone who has ever worked an aid station.

Siskiyou Aid Station, 9.1 miles into the run, provided comic relief and the first opportunity to rummage through our drop bags. All the guys were dressed in drag, including one guy who had on some “sexy” lacey, nighty with tennis balls for breasts. On the second time through, I told him he had the boobs of a 12 year old girl. But I digress . . .

I was already carrying a 26 oz bottle of fluid in my waist pack, but after thinking about last year, which was so warm, and some discussion with Karen the night before, I opted to go ahead and pick up another hand-held, just in case. I was bound and determined this year to not cut my own throat by being under-hydrated or under-fueled. I already had my Ultra powder in my bottle, so I handed it off to an aid station worker to fill with water while I filled my sandwich baggy with pretzels, potatoes with salt, fig bars, and a chunk of banana. With everything all set, I took off with Steve in tow and began the climb out of Siskiyou. We weren’t far up the service road when I had to visit the little girl’s room behind a tree. Steve offered to hang onto my hand held and kept marching up the road. I soon caught up with him, and he pointed out that Karen was up ahead of us. I yelled out something out to her (can’t remember what), and I was greeted by the world renowned single finger salute, to which I had to yell, “Is that your number of friends or your IQ?” I’m sure she smiled at this (‘cause she loves me), but that was the last time I saw her until the end of the race. Later, I would find out that due to Steve’s unwelcome assistance, he had thrown her mind off of what she was doing at Siskiyou and ended up leaving her salt pills behind. She ended up with the squirts, which threw her race off by a good margin. (Sorry, sweetie!)

The next aid was Wrangle Gap (12.5 miles) where two sisters were hanging out to provide water and Gatorade. These ladies are a hoot, and I thanked them profusely for being there for us. It was some where between here and the turn around at Jackson Gap Aid Station (16.4 miles) that Steve and I ended up getting separated. He was a nice man and I had been happy to have his company for awhile, but by this point I was ready to be on my own, with my own thoughts.

Jackson Gap Station can be seen long before you get to it, so it’s fairly deceiving as to how far away it is. Between Wrangle Gap and Jackson Gap, I couldn’t help but ruminate on how by this time last year I was failing in a really bad way, from nausea to dizziness to an inability to run hardly at all. A radiologist name Phil had stayed with me for quite a bit of the run last year and I know it was because he was very worried about me. (How I ended up with these guys hangin’ with me, I have no idea. I seem to recall another guy named Russ who tagged along with me for the final 3 miles of my first 50k at Forest Park. ;o) ) This year, although I was by no means fresh, I could run, I could breath, I could enjoy myself and it was, well, a remarkable feeling.

The trail from Wrangle to Jackson is also one of the prettiest sections as you are afforded breathtaking views of alpine meadows and the mountains beyond. Last year there was quite a bit of snow, and although it was cooler this year, there was only one small strip. At Jackson, although it was windy and cool, the workers, along with the runners, were in great spirits, and they readily filled my hand-held while I stuffed my baggy again. I asked the time, and was extremely encouraged to find that I was well ahead of the cutoff time of 11:45 - the cutoff for going back through Siskiyou Gap. I gave the puppy dog there a couple of good scratches and pats, and I was once again on my way. And again I thought about last year. It’s downhill leaving Jackson, but by that point last year I was such a mess, I couldn’t even think about running. This year, I grinned like a fool as I ran down that service road.

The return trip took us past the sisters at Wrangle Gap again, then onto a long stretch of single track, technical trail - and this is where I started having problems with my IT band and the sides of my calves. Much of the trail slants to the left with little room for error or you’ll go tumbling down the side of the mountain. Every downhill stretch put unwanted pressure on that band and, I guess from the slant, the sides of my calves, especially the left, started to feel the pressure. I stopped a couple of times to massage the band in the hopes that it wouldn’t get any worse, and although it talked to me the rest of the race, it never became a big issue.

There are also a couple of good climbs through this section, and I moved over a number of times to let faster runners pass. One guy told me, “Oh man! You were my rabbit! But you’ll catch me on the down hills.” I didn’t see him again ‘til the end, but I could definitely relate to the “rabbit” remark. Often if I’m struggling a bit, I will fixate on one person ahead of me and do my best to keep them in eye sight. It helps pull you along, forcing you to keep moving.

At the encouragement of both Kate and Karen, I had decided to leave my Garmin behind so as to not fixate on pace and time, so it was hard to judge the distance between the stations. Just when I was wondering when I’d reach Siskiyou Gap again, there were signs that read “Feeling Hungry?” “Too Tired To Be Naughty?” “Take a Break” “With a Bagpiping Hottie.” I could then hear the band playing, and finally popped out of the trees into the aid station - where I was once again greeted by the cross-dressing workers. They had a great little bluegrass band playing, and it really helped lift the spirits. It had also warmed up a bit, so I got a worker so soak my Coolmax Bandana with water, while I ditched my hand-held and filled my baggy, then took off for the final 9 miles.

As I said before, Siskiyou Gap is where I was pulled last year, so I was facing unchartered territory. There were a couple of short, nasty climbs out of Siskiyou (well, they seemed nasty ‘cause I was so tired) that I opted to walk. Two guys, then a third guy and a girl, then a 4th guy passed me. I began incorporating my run/walk climb to the best of my ability, and ended up passing 3rd and 4th Guys, albeit at no great pace. They remained a short distance behind me, but not so far that we couldn’t commiserate with one another. 4th Guy and I ran down into Willamette Meridan Aid Station close together, where the worker informed us that it was three miles to the next aid . . . and it was all up hill. Those, my friends, were the longest three miles of this entire race. Karen had told me about it last year, but until I actually experienced it on tired, worn out legs . . . . ho-ly crap. I stayed in front of 3rd and 4th Guys, and I remember at one point one of them saying, “Is this climbing ever going to end?” Man, it sure didn’t seem like it. There was very little of that three miles I was able to run, but I tried as often as I could.

Just when I thought the climbing would never end, we popped out of the trees onto a fairly flat single track that ran along the end of the mountain. I could see the aid station in the distance, and my remark to the great guys who greeted me was, “those last three miles sucked!” They smiled, filled my bottle, told me I only had another 2.6 miles to go, and encouraged me to get moving. I asked the time, was very happy to find out that I was more than half an hour ahead of the cutoff time of 1:15, thank them for being there, and took off for the final 2.6 miles. I would hit one more aid station with the workers greeting me with shouts of “Good job, 206!” and fresh cold watermelon (YUM!!), and sooner than seemed possible, I could see the service road on which we’d started our run.

With shouts from a couple of guys telling me I was only .80 away from the finish line, I hit that road and incorporated my run/walk as much as I could until I topped out onto the pavement where I dug deep and started running as hard as I could without puking all over myself. I was actually getting goose bumps with the realization that I was going to finish this race. . . . . . .Then I rounded the corner and saw the clock at the finish line. I was going to finish this race in less than 8 hours.

To cheering from the crowd and the announcement of my name and number, I crossed the finish line in 7:39:13, had my finisher’s medal hung around my neck, and got a huge smile and hug from Kate who, with Kimber, was waiting for Karen and me at the end. I cannot begin to express the overwhelming feeling of not only finishing, but in beating my time from my very first 50k (Forest Park) a little over a year ago by more than hour.

This race is a turning point for me. Up until now, I have had some pretty big doubts about my ability to participate in ultras. As I said, my first ultra in May 2008 ended up with me finished in 8:45 and barely able to walk, my second at SOB last year found me pulled from the race at Mile 21.9. This year - WOO HOO!! Those doubts have officially been erased by this finish, and I am so very ready for my next challenge!

It's An Emotional Marathon

2009-07-07T16:46:00.000-07:00

I know. The title. WTH now, you ask.

Well, first and most importantly, last week, after two weeks of trying to get him better, we had to put to sleep one of our kitties. Even up to the end, the vet wasn't 100% sure what was making him so sick, but we finally said enough's enough. We just couldn't see putting him through anymore crap. It broke our hearts, but it was the right thing to do.

BK was a feral who adopted us 3 years ago, and with whom I literally spent hours and hours getting him to trust us. He eventually did, and ended up being just one of the sweetest cats ever. He soon learned that life inside was much better than life outside, and took to sleeping on our bed for hours on end with our old guy, Fatso. We affectionately called them the Bed Sluts. I'm sure gonna miss that guy and his "kitty rain dancing."

Second - SOB is this weekend. Ack! Ironically, after all my boo hooing in a previous post, it's not the mileage I'm so much worried about anymore, it's the altitude. Bleck! Anybody got an extra oxygen tank? I remember that "somebody sitting on my chest" feeling from last year. But then I eventually bonked so bad, lack of oxygen was the least of my problems! This year my mantras are "keep stuffing your face with food" and "relentless forward motion." Inadequacy in the fueling department last year is what completely derailed me.

So that being said, I think I'm as ready as I'll ever be for that beast of a mountain. And I WILL be back here saying, "I DID IT!"

2009-06-22T12:28:00.000-07:00

This past week was my first ever of 40 or more miles, topping out at 46. Yee haw! Of course, I wasn't so excited the last few miles of my 22-miler on Saturday, which is my longest run since my marathon last October and during which I developed a nasty blood blister under a callous, nor my 10 on Sunday (whose idea was it for the back-to-backs anyway). All in all, I'm quite pleased. . . . . . now if only I can figure out how to take Charlie Dog with me to SOB so we can stop for those most important doggie drinking breaks . . . .

Bittersweet

2009-06-15T14:22:00.001-07:00

(Picture taken with mouths full of cake) Saturday, my niece, Brandi, and her fiancé, Josh Hanks, tied the knot. It was a really beautiful wedding, and I am very proud of what she and her friends accomplished with a rather limited amount of money.

This was a very bittersweet day for me. I held it together until the time came for family pictures, when it hit me hard how much I wish my mom could’ve been there. She loved her grandchildren with ever fiber of her being, and they her. Through some troubling times for my brother and his kids, she was their rock. And though they were young when she died (I believe Brandi was 6 and Cody was 4), they have never forgotten her.

Some of the most precious moments for me were watching Brandi and my dad dance together, and Brandi and her dad dance. The other was when my dad and I were leaving to go back to the motel. He was in some pretty bad physical pain and needed to go. We’re were almost to the truck when I heard a loud whistle. I turned around, and it was my brother trying to get our attention. And here running down the road toward us in her wedding dress was my niece, wanting to say goodbye to her Poppa.

Brandi and Josh, you are wonderfully beautiful people, inside and out. I give you all my love and know you will have a happy and fulfilling future.

Shackleford Trail, Ft. Jones, CA

2009-06-15T12:52:00.000-07:00

My trail run Saturday. Where do I begin? My dad and I traveled to Etna/Ft. Jones for my niece's wedding. When we got to town on Friday, we went and found the trail head so I'd know where I was going the next day. The whole area is very beautiful. It's in the Marble Mountains in Skiskiyou County. Without knowing the trail, I had figured on about 5-5 1/2 hours for the 20 miles. I had planned on 5 miles in/out twice. However, once I got going, I realized this was going to be quite the trial. This trail was so rocky, it was ridiculous. It's a great trail for hiking and horseback riding; but running, especially with a time constraint? No. I finally gave up after 4.5 miles and no less than 8 water crossings, not counting the 5-6 feeders.

So with the water crossings and 20 miles of running, I wanted to keep my feet dry, if possible. Stupid, I know. But being totally brain dead, I had failed to tape my feet properly, and having them wet for a 20-mile run would've caused some real problems. However, it was on the 2nd or 3rd crossing going in that my right foot ended up nice and damp. On the way back, I was a mere .5 miles from the end, I am at the second to last crossing, I'm on a rock in the middle of the creek. It's not deep, about ankle deep. I decide to go a different way than I initially wanted. Took a large step to the left, my foot slipped on the rock, and (in my best Howard Cosell) DOWN GOES LESLIE! Slammed into the rocks on my left side, and for awhile I thought I sprained my left wrist. Yeah, I was a happy camper. It took me 2.75 hours for the 9-mile round trip. I'd say of that mileage, only about 3-3.5 miles total was runnable. When I run the Arcata Forest, I can do 10 miles in about 2:15, 2:20.

So I'm a bit irritated, to say the least, since I need to get 20 miles in and I'm on a time limit with my niece's wedding at 5:00 p.m. I head back down to Etna, having decided to finish up the last 11 miles on the highway (it's not a busy highway). Not challenging like trails, but at least I'd be getting the miles on my legs. Two problems, I'm totally and completely pissed off, and it's a 45 min drive back to the motel where I have to change my soaking wet shoes and socks and retape my feet. All in all - about an hour between runs. Plus the sun has decided to come out. Plus it's the freaking road. Plus I could feel a blister forming anyway. Plus, plus, plus . . . I started the run hoping my attitude AND the run would get better. Uh, no. The longer I ran, the hotter I got, the hungrier I got . . . the more pissed off I got. I finally turned around at 4.5 miles. From about Mile 6.5 on, it was sheer hell. I was thisclose to trying to flagged someone down to give me a ride back to town. It . . . sucked . . . sucked . . . sucked.

Once I staggered back to town, I hit the restaurant by the motel, and first thing asked for the largest glass of chocolate milk that they had and proceeded to chug it almost in one long gulp. I'm not sure I could possibly ever have a worse run. . . . . . . . nope, just not possible.

Until I can get some pictures posted here, you’ll have to settle for looking at them here:
Shackleford Trail

This was a gorgeous trail, and I will definitely go back for a leisurely day of hiking/running.

2009-06-09T11:29:00.000-07:00

This morning while doing hill repeats on The Hill, a family showed up - Dad, Mom, Kid about 9 yo, and two dogs. Now this is not a nice hill by any means. Three years ago before I started running, I could barely make it up it without feeling like I was going to die. The parents seemed to climb it fairly easily, but the kid, not so easy. He's huffin' and puffin' pushing his bike, and I'm thinking, "This doesn't look right. Here's a young kid who should be in fairly good shape, yet he can hardly make it up this thing?" Sad state of affairs, too many hours in front of the TV or video games, I assume. Hopefully, the family morning walks will continue, and soon he'll be fairly flying up that hill - walking, not riding. Cripes - I couldn't imagine trying to ride a bike up that thing!

45 Lessons Life Taught Me

2009-06-04T13:24:00.000-07:00

Written By Regina Brett, 90 years old, of The Plain Dealer, Cleveland , Ohio

To celebrate growing older, I once wrote the 45 lessons life taught me. It is the most-requested column I've ever written. My odometer rolled over to 90 in August, so here is the column once more:

1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.
2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.
3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.
4. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and parents will. Stay in touch.
5. Pay off your credit cards every month.
6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.
7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.
8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.
9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.
10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.
11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.
12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.
13. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.
14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.
15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don't worry; God never blinks.
16. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.
17. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful.
18. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.
19. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.
20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.
21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.
22. Over prepare, then go with the flow.
23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.
24. The most important sex organ is the brain.
25. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.
26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words 'In five years, will this matter?'
27. Always choose life.
28. Forgive everyone everything.
29. What other people think of you is none of your business.
30. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.
31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.
32. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.
33. Believe in miracles.
34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.
35. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.
36. Growing old beats the alternative -- dying young.
37. Your children get only one childhood.
38. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.
39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.
40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's,we'd grab ours back.
41. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.
42. The best is yet to come.
43. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.
44. Yield.
45. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift."

Am I Good Enough? Am I Trying Hard Enough?

2009-05-26T13:05:00.000-07:00

Do you ever feel that maybe you just aren't good enough? That maybe you just aren't trying hard enough - but you're not sure what more you can do? My buddy Karen's sister, Kate, who is gearing up for another 100-miler in September, came down over the weekend to run her required miles of 30/20/20. Karen and Bill, our coach, were going to run with her for most of her miles. I was suppose to join them, but due to being forced off running for a week, didn't happen.

I talked with Karen today and she told me that although she hadn't run the full 30 with Kate on Saturday (she and Bill split this, I believe), she had run the balance of the mileage with her the rest of the weekend. And she felt great the whole time. While she's talking, I'm thinking, "Are you kidding me? How in the world did she do that?" Don't get me wrong, I most definitely don't begrudge her that stamina, but I feel so - how do I put it - weak compared to her, and it's stupid, because I know it's not warranted.

I have to keep reminding myself that the first 2 months of the year I was sick as a dog with my gall bladder and recovering from surgery, that during that time I definitely lost out on a lot of training, and that I'm still in the "come back" mode, sort of. But when I hear her say that SOB is going to be a cakewalk, I want to scream - not at her because I'm very proud of the strong runner she is becoming, but at myself because I'm afraid that $%^*& mountain is going to eat me alive.

I have to keep reminding myself of my proud finish at Redwood Park just a couple of weeks ago, that I'm getting more in tune with my hydration and nutrition needs, that the training this time around is going to be more complete. But sometimes all the positive talk you give yourself can't be heard very well over that son of a bitch negative voice, and it sucks.

But to end this post on a positive note - I had a great 5 miles this a.m. with hill repeats, and besides that fact that I was desperately beating a path to Safeway at Mile 4, I felt really good.

Os Trigonum Syndrome

2009-05-21T16:01:00.000-07:00

What is Os Trigonum Syndrome?

Often, people don’t know they have an os trigonum if it hasn’t caused any problems. However, some people with this extra bone develop a painful condition known as os trigonum syndrome.

Os trigonum syndrome is usually triggered by an injury, such as an ankle sprain. The syndrome is also frequently caused by repeated downward pointing of the toes, which is common among ballet dancers, soccer players and other athletes.

Yes, it appears that I have yet another ailment, and the doc thinks it is the thing outlined above. My eyes rolled back in my head so hard they almost stuck in that position while I'm telling myself, "This is a joke, right?" For those of you who don't know, I've had a bad ankle ever since I missed a step going into our garage and ended up with a Grade 3 sprain some 11 odd years ago. Yeah, that one hurt. However, since I started running, my ankle has actually felt better. Go figure.

Now, fast forward a couple of years, or back up a few months, whichever floats your boat. My ankle has been bothering me for awhile (okay, maybe longer than awhile . . .), but it was never so painful that I couldn't keep running (said with absolute seriousness, hand over heart) - except for the times when walking down stairs I would catch my heel, forcing the toes down. I cannot even begin to describe the pain, except to say that it took everything inside me to not pass out or puke the few times I did this.

Anyway, decided to finally get it check out. Took three weeks to get into the ortho who was least likely to say, "No more running! You're going to ruin your knees! Or your hips! Or your uterus is going to fall out!" After lots of twisting, turning, and 4 (4?) x-rays, he pronounces os trigonum. The cure - first let's try a cortisone shot and no running for a week. The no running for a week is mentally hard, but I can deal with it. The cortisone shot - holy mother of flying monkeys!! The shot itself didn't hurt 'cause he injected a numbing agent first. But when that numbing agent wore off around 9:00 Monday night - !!!!!!!!!

So now we wait until Tuesday and I start running again. If the ankle is still bothering me, I will get referred to another doc who will more than likely discuss my only other option - shaving down the bone. Now doesn't that sound like fun? Suffice to say, half or more of my running year would probably be in the toilet. Somehow I don't think that doc would say, yeah, I just shaved a bone down, now go out and run 18 miles!

And as Leslie's World Turns, These are the Days of Her Life - stay tuned.

Redwood Park 30k Trail Run, Oakland, CA

2009-05-20T11:41:00.000-07:00

Date of Run: May 10, 2009

I’m a little late on getting this report done, but I have not slowed down since I ran this race. Geez! Barely have had time to breath let alone write a race report.

Okay, let’s get the important stuff outta the way first:

Fashion Report: Dirty olive green trail shoes, hot pink and white (colors swirled together) Dirty Girl gaiters, black shorts, short sleeve white tech shirt w/pink piping around arms and up shoulders, hot pink sports bra (my “racin’ “ bra), white Zombie Runner hat, and blue Coolmax bandana.

I arrived in Berkeley on Saturday and did recon by driving from my hotel to the site. Google directions sucked and not only sent me down the bumper-to-bumper 405, but also indicated the park entrance was on the right side of the road as opposed to the left. However, once I got there and there was no other entrance within two or three miles, I knew it had to be it. And luckily, I had enough map information to find a much easier route back to my hotel and to follow the next morning.

The race was to start at 8:30 sharp and I like to be early, so I was on the road by 6:30 for the short 20-30 minute drive. Not far from the site sitting at a red light, a young woman in the car next me caught my attention and asked if I knew where the park was. I asked her if she was running the race, which she was, so we caravanned there, where I ended up shuttling a couple of people to and from the entrance so that I and they could pay the parking fee once the booth opened up.

The day was looking to be beautiful, and at the last minute I remembered my Coolmax bandana in the car, and not long into the run I would be very thankful I had. I ended up wearing it most of the race.

There were four distances available, 10k, 20k, 30k and 50k, and approximately 350 runners in attendance, with a large portion of those running the 10k. I was running the 30k, so I would be running the 20k loop first, then coming back to the start area to complete the 10k loop.

Now PCTR is known for their tough, technical runs, and this run would not disappoint in that arena. Thankfully, my coach sent me some pre-race info (I suck at reading the elevation charts) and pointed out the big climbs at the start of the race. That being forefront in my mind, once we got started, I walked the entire first half mile or so as it was just a big ole long hill and I didn’t see any sense in killing myself to get up it. A couple of ladies behind me were chattering about this and that, then ended up talking about their respective 100 milers and whether or not they were going to do another one this year. I still shake my head in wonderment at those folks who can run that distance.

I have problems keeping up with nutrition and hydration, so for this run I opted for a large bottle so that I could actually see how much I was drinking. My goal was to drink at least half of my bottle of fluids ever six miles, but a good portion of the 20k loop was exposed to the direct sun and it didn’t take me long to get hot. By the time I reached the first aid station, I’d drained about 2/3 of it. The fantastic folks at the station filled me back up, drenched my bandana in water, I filled my baggie with PBJ, bananas, and Gummie bears, and set off again, forcing myself to walk and eat. I underestimated the distance from the second aid station to the start area, and ended up not taking enough food with me; however, I did determine that greasy potato chips do not sit well with my stomach, and from now on I will be sticking with PBJ, bananas, and Gummie bears. That, in combination with my new fluid (Ultra) and half a Phenergan before the start of the race, kept my usual nausea at a minimum. What a blessing!

I had a blast on the 20k loop. Most of the difficulty was that it had rained the week before, and with the mountain bikers having come through, the mud had dried in various forms and you really had to watch your foot. But it was a good combination of climbing, descending, flat, and technical. I finished the first loop in a little over 2 hours, and was hopeful that I could finish the entire run in 4 hours or less. However, that was before I began my encounter with the 10k loop.

Wendell and Sarah are the great folks who own PCTR, and they have a mischievous (aka sadistical) side when it comes to setting up their runs. My legs were getting tired by the end of the 20k, and I believe this was due in part to not eating enough between the second and third aid stations and getting behind on my salt intake. In starting the second loop, I began thinking, hm, this isn’t too bad yet. A young woman in front of me kept varying walking and running, and my goal was to keep her in sight . . . that is until I encountered the first of three (4?) monstrous climbs. It wasn’t so much that they were long, but those suckers steep, and the first one had a lot of rocks and roots imbedded in the ground. I wasn’t the only one who thinking, “You have got to be kidding me!” A couple of others around me were grumbling and cursing, and one guy (we’ll call him Red Shorts) slogging past me on a climb and commented, “Yeah, French Trail is notorious.” You got that right! At one turn up a hill, I looked down at some tree roots to watch my footing, and I swear to you, the formation of the roots looked like the front of a skull that had been buried in the dirt up to its nose. You could clearly see the eyes and nose sockets, and I thought, how appropriate for this section!

Although the climbing was tough, I had a blast with the downhill sections and was able to make up quite a bit of time there. I ended up passing Red Shorts and made it my goal to keep him behind me. That incentive pushed me a number of times on this loop, and I’m happy to say I finished a decent distance ahead of him. Also, with about a mile to go, I ended up passing on a downhill a couple of women who had overtaken me on one of the climbs, and stayed well in front of them to the end. One of them found me after the race and commented that she wished she could run downhill as well as I did, which made me feel really good.

In the end, I finished in 4:15:04 and am very, very happy with that time. The official results on the web site are wrong, indicating a finish of 4:16:38 and behind one of the women I passed on the downhill section and stayed in front of the rest of the run. I know I finished in 4:15:04, because not only did I have my Garmin for time tracking, but I specifically zeroed in on the timer so I’d know my exact finishing time.

Although at the finish of this race I couldn’t comprehend doing another 30k, I recovered fairly quickly (thanks to handfuls of peanut butter filled pretzel bites!) and would definitely like to tackle the 50k on this course.

Time for a Change

2009-03-16T12:42:00.000-07:00

Decided it was time for a change to the old blog site. One thing I can't figure out is how to put a picture up on the very top without it TAKING UP A HUGE PART OF THE TOP.

Another change is the way I'll be training this year. After two years of me asking, "How come we're not running for mileage (as opposed to time)?", I will now be running for mileage on my long runs, followed by a medium run the very next day. Hopefully, this means I will do better this year and not feel like dying at Mile 18+ or so.

I've also decided to take medium steps instead of big steps this year, meaning, I am going to alternate running 30ks and 50ks in an effort to build stamina and speed. After having to ditch the Pirates Cove 30k on 03/21 (due to gall bladder surgery, ane now we're going to Australia for two weeks!), my schedule looks like this (fingers crossed):

May 10 - Redwood Park Trail Run, Oakland, CA (30k)
July 11 - SOB, Ashland, OR (50k)
Oct 24 - Whiskeytown, Redding, CA (30k)
Dec 6 - Desert High, Ridgecrest, CA (50k)

SOB kicked my butt last year, so this year I'm out for revenge. (God help me at the 7,000 foot level.) Desert High, I had a 30k PR last year, so I'm ready to kick it up to the next level. Wish me luck!

The Body Beautiful

2009-03-09T20:10:00.000-07:00

Four weeks ago tomorrow, my gall bladder was removed after years of being told that I had acid reflux. While this is probably true to a certain extent, the removal of this offending organ has caused me such great relief as can only be known by those who have suffered from the same problem . . . of course, while bringing about a whole new set of problems due to the removal. Let's just say that the ole bod is having to learn new ways of dealing with such things as French onion flavored Sun Chips. Alas, those have been added to the "Do Not Ingest" list, at least for the time being. The problem - great waves of nausea. And while I admit that I gave it the ole college try (are these really what's making me sick?) and ate them no less than 3 times within a 2-week period, each time I had the same unfortunate reaction.

Other foods have caused similar problems, but I can only hope that, with time, things will get back to some semblance of normality, but without the awful crap I was went through for 7 weeks before the doctors agreed that, yes, Leslie! It IS your gall bladder! (7 weeks of health hell, thousands of dollars, and at least 3 unnecessary tests - well, at least to me unnecessary - later, they finally agreed with me.)

I believe that being in such good shape helped me bounce back quickly. However, the muscles around my poor belly button area have not bounced back quite as quickly as the rest of me. When one looks at oneself in the mirror and sees 3 small incision and one a little bigger than small, and one has no more gall bladder-induced pain, one has a tendency to say with great gusto, "I am back!" And then one goes out and does too much too soon and ends up having to console oneself with Vicodin (which is a really nice way to console oneself, if I do say so myself . . . and I do.)

So what's the crux of all this babbling? My belly button hurts, that's what. I'm having to get back into running at a slower pace than I anticipated, and that sucks. My first day of trail running in a month this past Saturday, followed by an evening of consuming an unfortunate amount of alcohol (something rarely done by me), which forced me to shake my booty - and thereby my tummy - on the dance floor of Steve and Dave's Bar, has put my belly button area out of sorts and set me back probably a good 3-4 days in recovery. I'm not looking for sympathy as I have single handedly caused my own misery. I just needed to vent for a moment.

As Albert Einstein once said: Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe.

Opening a Can of Worms

2009-03-06T14:01:00.001-08:00

I've thought long and hard about whether or not to put my personal political opinions in print here as my blog is 99% about running and "light" subjects. However, for once I feel that I cannot keep my mouth shut. Some of you who read my blog will mostly certainly disagree with me, but I hope we can agree to disagree and still respect one another.

To throw some numbers out there and put things into perspective, consider the following:

If you deposited $1 million into a pot every day since the birth of Jesus (whose birth is a fact, whether or not you believe he is the son of God and I do), you would still not have enough to pay for the stimulus package:

2,009 years x 365 days x $1 mill = $733.3 billion (give or take a hundred thou).

I'm guessing that when you get to a certain point, the word "trillion" is just that, a word, and not one that is too awfully important. At least not to those in the seats of power.

In less than 2 months, Mr. Obama and the Democratic Congress have managed to double the national debt. Where is the money coming from? How will be repaid? How can he justify his desire to take from those who have worked damn hard for what they have and give to those who haven't? Ever hear of a little thing called a Ponzi Scheme? Sounds suspiciously like what Mr. Obama is doing. For those of you who have children and grandchildren, the burden he has created will rest squarely on their heads, as well as their children's heads, and I am so very sorry for them.

A quote by the late Dr. Adrian Rogers, 1931–2005

"You cannot legislate the poor into freedom by
legislating the wealthy out of freedom. What one
person receives without working for, another
person must work for without receiving.

The government cannot give to anybody anything
that the government does not first take from somebody else.

When half of the people get the idea that they
do not have to work because the other half is
going to take care of them, and when the other
half gets the idea that it does no good to work
because somebody else is going to get what they
work for, that my dear friend, is about the end
of any nation. You cannot multiply wealth by dividing it."

Furthermore, a quote by Gerald Ford (14 July 1913 – 26 December 2006) , the 38th President of the United States, in his Presidential address to a joint session of Congress (12 August 1974) : "A government big enough to give you everything you want is a government big enough to take from you everything you have."

Mr. Obama is fast moving our country toward a socialist society. One need only look at the history of Russia to understand, with extreme clarity, that socialism doesn't work.

I am truly afraid of the direction our country is headed and can only hope that the eyes of whose who have the power to make change are opened wide before it's too late.

Wasting Time

2009-03-02T16:25:00.000-08:00

At Conference this weekend, the motivational speaker on Sunday was a Life Counselor. One of the things she talked about was organizing your time and reflecting on how much time is wasted in a day. How much time do you spend looking at personal emails at work? How much time do you spend on emails period at work? How much time is spending doing personal work as opposed to REAL work?

That being said, I'm writing this at 4:30 in the afternoon at work whilst reflecting on those questions. I'll get back to ya with some answers . . . after I check my emails.

For Those Crappy Times on the Trails . . . .

2009-01-13T13:17:00.000-08:00

On Saturday, Karen and I hit the trails for the first time together in what seemed like forever, and it was the first time I'd run in almost two weeks due to an ankle problem. I did much better than I anticipated, although my HR got up there pretty good a few times. The ankle was definitely sore after the run, but the rest of me felt great. It was absolutely gorgeous - suppose to have been a high of 68 . . . somewhere, which is a nicer temp than we get during the summer months. Just goes to show that Mother Nature does have a warped sense of humor.

So I have to share what happened while we were running. Okay - Karen was going to be speaking at a friend's memorial service that afternoon. Wendy was one of her very best friends, and she died the day after Thanksgiving at the age of 47 from lung cancer. Never smoked a day in her life, but grew up in a smoking household. That's the background. So Karen's been nervous as heck about talking, and worrying that she'd start crying. I told her, so what? Gives you a good excuse to inject some humor by saying, "Hold on folks. I need to blow my nose or there'll be snot everywhere." Keep it simple, keep it to the happy memories, and take deep breaths whenever you need to. Don't drink any dairy or caffeine beforehand, wear flats so you're not trying to bawl and balance on heels, wear waterproof mascara.

So at one point in the trail, she has to use the bathroom. No problem, that's why we carry baby wipes and baggies. About an hour later, we bump into to our coach and we're all running together. About half an hour after that, she has to go to the bathroom again. Bill and I walk a little way ahead to give her privacy. We're standing there talking AND we're downwind of her. Yeah, not a good place to be. Dang, girl! What the heck did you eat?? Pretty soon I hear, "Leslie, can you come here." Well, in all her nervousness, she has diarrhea and needs extra wipes. I tell Bill to go on if he wants, we're gonna be awhile, and he leaves. Then she says, "I need help!" She didn't look around her very well before squatting, and consequently there were some fern fronds in the wrong position when she went to the bathroom. While she's trying to clean up, the fronds, which now have poo on them, keep hitting her! She has poo on her shirt, up her backside, and every other way. I'm trying my best not to laugh, but it's impossible. She ends up having to strip her shirt off, and she turns around and I'm having to wipe various places on her backside where the fronds have smacked her, and in the midst of this, Charlie, her dog, decides he's going to walk through where she just went to the bathroom, and the fronds hit him in the face! I swear, there was poo everywhere! It was hilarious, and it provided the laugh she needed.

Luckily, she had a jacket with her that she was able to put on, we got Charlie wiped down, too, stepped back into the trail, and there's some guy standing there with lime green sleeping bag over his head. Just standing there. I had seen him walk toward us, but he stopped just on the other side of the stump we were working behind. Charlie instantly goes into the defensive mode, and the guy's all, "Hi!" O...kay... We hoofed it out of there sort of quickly.

Cripes - what a welcome back to the Arcata Forest!!

Desert High 30k - Ridgecrest, CA, 12/07/2008

2008-12-10T19:52:00.001-08:00

I found this race while doing a search on the Internet. A trail running friend of mine, Russ, had also run the course a couple of years previously and highly recommended it. Coincidentally, my aunt and uncle live in Ridgecrest, and visiting with them at the same time would be the perfect excuse to travel 13+ hours to the other end of the state for an 18+ mile run. My dad got time off to go with me, so it would also provide some much needed quality father/daughter time.

We left Thursday afternoon - hitting Santa Rosa and the Bay Area at rush hour (mental eye roll) - and made it more than halfway before I decided enough was enough and we stopped for the night. The next morning was a short 2+ hour drive to Bakersfield for an extremely brief visit with another aunt and uncle, then a 2+ hour drive over the pass to Ridgecrest. The weather, unfortunately, was absolutely beautiful Friday and Saturday, with clear skies and temps in the mid-60s. This is not weather in which I’d like to be running, especially since we were in the desert with no chance of escaping the sun. However, I was quite happy to awaken Sunday morning to overcast skies, cooler temps, and the possibility of rain. (I guess it did rain some later in the day, but I was done by then. Lucky me!)

I saw no reason for my dad to get up at 6:00 a.m. and go with me to the start; however, he and my uncle promised to be waiting for me at the end, camera in hand. With the exception of my husband being with me for my first half marathon over a year ago, this was the first time any one else from my family would be present when I finished a race. Since I had never run this course before, my best guess-timate for a finishing time was somewhere between 4 and 4 ½ hours. Finishing in 4 hours was beyond my expectations, but would thrill me to no end.

Before we started, I kept an eye out for Jennifer, aka Lifesabeach, from RunningAhead. She said she’d be wearing long white compression socks, so it was easy to spot her just outside the women’s restroom. I wasn’t exactly making a positive fashion statement myself, considering I was wearing a red short sleeve tech shirt, bright yellow Moeben sleeves, black shorts, and very pink printed gaiters. But hey, at least you could spot me easily! (At one point early in the run, I would hear comments about “trail runners attire” and how goofy it can be. Hey - I resemble that remark!) Jennifer and I spoke for a few minutes, then she went on to find her friends and I made my way to the back of the pack (about 320 runners/walkers) waiting for the start.

My uncle had gone over the topographic map with me, and we had driven out to the race site the day before. I was very happy that it looked like we would be skirting much of the taller hills as opposed to climbing them. I had done a lot of hill work in preparation for this race, and less climbing meant I should be fresher for a longer period of time. The course ended up being upward rolling, undulating hills with a consistent rise in elevation for well over three-quarters of it.

Our first climb out of the parking lot was very short, and I was pleasantly surprised to find myself quickly on a flat then downhill stretch. The only thing that I could see might be a problem was the sand. While it wasn’t deep, there was a lack of real firm footing, and I hadn’t done any sand running in my training. Nevertheless, with the lack of hills such as I’m used to for trail running, I had decided early I would attack this run with a little more fervor, which would hopefully provide more reward in the end.

The 5.5 mile aid station came around sooner than expected, and this was where the 50k and 30k split. This was also one of the areas that provided some excellent views of the mountain range and valley below. I have always thought the desert to be beautiful, and the day of the run was no exception.

Soon after the first aid station, I started looking for a bathroom. Being the desert, there is, shall we say, lack of convenient cover in this regard, but I soon found a large granite boulder that had no rattlesnakes or cactus in close vicinity. The only problem was I didn’t see a small bulge in the boulder and managed to rake my bare rear end along the bulge when I stood back up. Ouch!! I still have a nice scratch on my right butt cheek.

One of the things I particularly liked about this run was that there were people to run with or near almost the entire time. I played leap frog with 3 or 4, which meant I had a chance to talk to them a bit. One woman, Marcy Bozung, is married to the RD for the Wasatch Front 100 Mile Endurance Run, and he was running the 50k. She had a really nice easy, consistent pace that I envy. She made running looked so effortless, no matter if we were going up, down, or running on flats. I tried to keep up with her, but little by little she pulled out in front of me. However, I am proud to say she only finished 3 min. 15 secs ahead of me.

It was right around Mile 12 that the two front runners for the 50k passed me. I contemplated tripping them, but they were gracious enough to huff out a “Good work!” as they passed me, so I figured I’d go and ahead and let them be on their way. Another 3 or 4 50kers would end up passing me before I crossed the finish line.

At Mile 13, I had an instant and severe bout of nausea that stopped me dead in my tracks. I choked down about a third of a Clif bar and some fluids, and it eventually went away for the most part. Even though I had been eating a third of Clif bar every 20 minutes after the first hour, I didn’t have my usual bagel with peanut butter that morning like I always do before a long run. I think that put me behind in the calories count and was a contributing factor to the nausea. Seriously, though, I have to find something else that is easy to carry that I can eat when I have these episodes (which are more frequent than I like). I am to the point that I detest Clif bars, but continue to eat them because they are very portable and have the right amount of calories in them.

About a quarter mile before the third aid station, I started seeing Christmas ornaments in the bushes along the trail. Soon I came around a corner and what fun! There was a “Christmas tree,” more ornaments, and stuffed animals greeting the runners. This station was run by a bunch of guys who I’d say were in their 50's and 60's, and it was by far the best station. I stopped for a drink of water and one asked where I was from.

Me: “Humboldt County.” Him: “Marijuana country!” Me: “Yep.” And he nudges the guy sitting next to him. “Don’t you own land up there? Aren’t you growing something up there?” (wink, wink, nudge, nudge.) Me: “They just busted two guys with over 1,000 plants growing.” Him to the guy: “Isn’t that your land?” (more wink, wink, nudge, nudge) I thanked them for the great decorations and being out there and continued on my way.

At this point, I could tell we were slowly losing elevation, and there was getting to be more down and flats than up. After leaving the fourth and last aid station, there was a nice downhill section, maybe a quarter of a mile uphill climb, and the last 2+ miles was all downhill to the parking lot and finish line. Thankfully, my coach had me doing extended downhill running at the end of all my long runs, and this enabled me to virtually fly this last part of the race. I popped out around a corner and there ahead was the pavement and the parking lot. I flew right by my dad and uncle, who didn’t recognize me until I flipped them the peace sign, which meant they had to quickly scurry over the finish line. Back at the last aid station, I knew I was going to PR this course (my second 30k), but even when I hit the parking lot, I didn’t slow down (or at least tried not to) until I crossed that finish line . . . . . in 3:51:36!!! I was so happy, I could hardly contain myself. My standings were as follows:

OA: 56/102
Sex: 26/50
Age: 4/9 (actually, 10, but the last two tied)

I absolutely loved this course. If you like the desert, it would be a perfect first time 30k run. I most definitely plan on running it again next year, hopefully the 50k.

Runners' Depends

2008-11-18T10:29:00.000-08:00

I seriously need to try and develop this product. For the past month or so, Mother Nature has been a real drag in that department. I barely get through 2-3 miles when, "Uh oh!" I barely made it home today, and the closer I got to the house, the worse things became. I could hardly bend over to get my house key out of my shoe pocket. Then it was, "Get the hell outta my way! Clear a path, I'm comin' through!!" Cats were scattering, various pieces of running attire were being flung hither and yond. I'm going to have to reconfigure my runs so that I'm near Safeway when things start movin' and shakin'.

I'm Starting a Petition to Ban Cell Phones

2008-11-06T15:43:00.000-08:00

This article is great! Get Rid of Your Cell Phone

People + Cell Phones = Obnoxious. Very rarely do I ever talk on mine period, let alone in public. As indicated in the article, I do believe they are good to have for emergencies, or, like for me, I carry mine when I'm running by myself, for that "just in case" moment. But for people who live and breath with their cell phones - I think intense therapy is called for.

Body Comp and Fitness Analysis

2008-10-25T21:31:00.000-07:00

Participated in the Body Comp and Aerobic Fitness Analysis at the Human Performance Lab at Humboldt State University. Wanted to know what my ratio of fat was in my body, as well as get the whole VO2max info for better heart rate training.

Two components were not up and running - the dunk tank and the nutritional analysis. The dunk tank and Bod Pod essentially do the same thing, and I've been invited back after the first of the year to complete the nutritional analysis at no cost. Nice!

The Bod Pod: Kind of glad I didn't know I needed a bathing suit, 'cause the only one I have is a backyard only 2 piece, and it would have been very uncomfortable hanging out with the two young men who did this test. So instead I was given this very stylish (not!) one piece thing that looks like a one-piece bathing suit with the leg parts coming a little less than halfway down the thighs, plus I put on a plastic shower cap (like you get in hotels) then an even tighter black cap (think swimming) on top of that. Yes, I was looking like quite the hot ticket. Oh, baby!! I had to hold those boys back! One thing about the suit - very unforgiving with rolls and such, so it makes you want to stand up straight and keep things sucked in.

The Bod Pod looks like an oversized egg with a window. Your height and weight gets entered into the computer, then you sit in the Pod and it's filled with air. To explain as best as I understand - Air is pumped in (somehow) and the displacement of that air tells the system what your fat/lean ratio is when combined with your height/weight. There were problems with the calibration of the system, so this took awhile to fix, and the guy running the program (Peter, who was a cutie) had to come in and get it to work right. So I get to stand around in all my tight suit/headdress glory in front of two good looking young men and one "my age" good looking man. Nothin' you can do but joke around at that point. I am happy to say, though, that my scale at home is right on the dot with weight. The results:

Fat Weight: 38.5 lbs.
Lean Weight: 103.7 lbs.
Total Weight: 142.3 lbs.
Height: 68 in
Percent Fat: 27.1%
Percent Lean: 72.9%
Moderately Lean Category - Fat level acceptable for good health. With activity level, should be consuming approximately 2235 calories a day.

Metabolic Test: Wore shorts, running shoes, and sports bra. Had a shirt on, but had to take it off. 6-8 pads are stuck to you at various points to which electrodes will be hooked up. This is done in a separate room as the actual test. I then walk into the main room where the treadmill, etc., is, and there are probably 8 people (students and Peter) all looking at me. Great! I get to do this in front of an audience! Blood pressure is taken, questions are asked: “How do you warm up, how long?” “Brisk walk, 5 min.” “What’s your average pace when running?” “About 10:00/10:08:” “Can I use my inhaler?” “Yes.” and back and forth. For the initial blood pressure before the test starts, they have you hyperventilate for about 20 seconds. Well, my friends, I have never done this before, and let me tell you - boy howdy!! Talk about a “high!” Dang.

When I finally got myself under control, we did the warm up. Then we came to more beautification. Not only do I have a blood pressure cuff taped to me, but I have all these electrodes stuck to me then held in place with an ace bandage. Then came the head gear. It’s like the bands inside a hard hat. Attached to that is this “appendage” with a mouthpiece like you would find on diving gear or a snorkel and this hard plastic piece extends beyond that. You put the mouthpiece in your mouth as you put the band part over your head then tighten it down. They then hook a tube up to the side of the hard plastic extension and this is where your in-and-out air passes through. Then they put a clamp on your nose so that you’re only breathing through your mouth. Comfy? Um, yeah. I made the mistake of swallowing after the nose clamp was put in place and my ears plugged up.

They taped to the window in front of me a chart that basically goes from 6 to 20 and at various points says “Like sitting on the couch (6).” “Light(7).” “Fairly difficult.” “Very difficult,” etc., up to something like “I feel like I’m dying (20).” They start the treadmill and very quickly you’re at your regular running pace. Wait 2 minutes, take blood pressure (yes, while running), raise the incline. Wait 2 minutes, take blood pressure, raise the incline, over and over. In the meantime, a student is standing there and every 2 minutes asking you where you are on the aforementioned chart. You give hand signals. This scenario continues until you give them the “I’m done” signal (slash across the neck). I ended up with snot coming out of my pinched nose, and because I couldn’t swallow well, drool rolling down my chin. Wiped off a big old loogy at one point. Felt like a St. Bernard.

In the end, I ran for 8:48 before I was done, but forgot to ask what the incline grade was at the end. Peter (the instructor) was impressed with how fast my heart rate went down, and within a few minutes, I felt like I could go again. My heart rate went from a low of 109 (hyperventilation) to a high of 179. I gave all the printed out info to my coach, and he’s helping me figure everything else out, but he was impressed with the rate at which my HR went up during the test. Again, says it shows I'm in good condition. He sent me some other info, but I can't open it with my program at home, so will have to check it out tomorrow at work.

All in all, a fun experience, and I will probably do the treadmill test again in another 3-6 months to see how things change.

'Nother thing - within the last 5 (?) months, my resting heart rate has gone from 48 to 42.

Bizz Johnson Trail Marathon

2008-10-18T19:40:00.000-07:00

BIZZ JOHNSON MARATHON
October 12, 2008
Susanville, California

Although I’ve participated in two (finished one) 50k trail runs, Bizz Johnson was my first official marathon. As always with me, I was full of nervous excitement for the couple of weeks leading up to the race. The marathon is run on a rails-to-trails system, and is imperceptibly downhill after a slight, hardly noticeable incline over the first few miles.

Susanville sits at the edge of Lassen National Park, at an elevation of a little over 4100 feet. The race starts at a little over 5000 feet, and you end up with a total elevation drop at the end of approximately 1300 feet. It’s a gorgeous place with lots of Ponderosa Pines (one of my favorite trees), aspen, and open prairies.

I left on Friday and drove 3.5 hours to my niece’s house in Ft. Jones, spent the night with her, and on Saturday, drove the 3.5 hours over to Susanville. It was a beautiful drive that took me right past snow-capped Mt. Shasta - which gave me the shivers.

I already knew it would be cold for the run, as my water bottle, which I had left in my car at my niece’s, was almost frozen solid when I left her place at 10:00 a.m. I was not looking forward to that aspect of the run.

My coach, Bill, was driving to Susanville on Saturday, and we ended up in town right around the same time, and eventually caught up with one another around 2:00. There had been an express ½ that same day, and many of the runners had requested a late checkout at the hotel where we were staying. Since we couldn’t check in yet, we headed over to the Train Depot to pick up our bib numbers, and I readied my drop bags. There were going to be three drop bag sites. I was used to a single bag being taken to the various stations, so this was the first time I had ever had to figure out 3 different bags and what I would need at that point in the run. Yeah, basically a crap shoot. In the end, I ended up not doing too bad on the guessing.

Before leaving, we visited the “expo tent” being run by Fleet Feet, and I snagged a couple of pairs of Injinji socks for only $5 each! I had just bought 2 pair from ZombieRunner for something like $12-$14 each, plus the cost of shipping. I probably should’ve grabbed more, but I didn’t want to be a sock pig. :o)

Figuring we’d probably wasted enough time, Bill and I headed back to the hotel, checked in, and hung out talking for a little while. My room ended up being right next to the laundry room, which brought it’s own surprises. First, when I got there, the toilet was full of suds. Perplexing, yes, but I figured the cleaning person had forgotten to flush or something. However, when I flushed the toilet, it didn’t seem to want to drain properly, and I thought the thing was going to overflow. Then, while Bill and I were sitting in the room talking, I heard this gurgling noise coming from the bathroom. Went to investigate, and the toilet water is actually bubbling! Like someone with a really big straw was on the other end blowing air into it. Ends up they’d been having problems with the drainage between the toilet and the washer. Luckily, I never had any significant problems, but it did give me worries a couple times during the rest of my stay.

Also, when the washers would go into spin cycle, the wall that the beds were against would start vibrating like crazy. I told Bill, “Yee haw! Free vibrating bed, and I didn’t even have to put a quarter in anything!!”

He took off after awhile to grab some food for himself for the next morning, and when he got back we headed over to the Black Bear Diner, stuffed ourselves, bid each other ‘nite, and headed off to get some sleep before the long day.

Sunday dawned a tad overcast . . . and freaking cold! When we left the hotel at 7:00 a.m., it was 18 degrees outside! 18 frigging degrees!! I had on my winter running tights, a pair of running pants, a long sleeve tech shirt, a thicker tech pullover, a sweatshirt, and gloves, and I was freezing my rear end off. People were hanging out in the Train Depot building trying to stay warm until we hopped on the shuttles to head to the start of the race.

There were 4 races that day: a 5k, 10k, and Half, which were each out/backs, and the marathon, which was a one-way ticket. Soon everyone was being herded onto the shuttles, and I ended up sitting next to 3 guys from the Fresno area, who were really nice and fun to talk to. When one of them was using the bus facilities, the another told me they expected him to finish the race in about 2:45. I just shook my head, hoping I’d finish in my desired 5.5 hours.

Once we got to the start, I headed off to use Mother Nature’s restroom as opposed to standing in line for 10-15 minutes waiting for a stinky porta toilet. Many of us chose the first option, so you had to pick your tree carefully, lest you find someone else baring all on the other side. I then began reluctantly peeling off layers and put my extra clothes in a bag and into the trailer that would be hauling them back to the finish. The RD eventually called us over to the starting line, gave us the requisite last minute instructions, we sang the National Anthem (a first for me at a race), and then we were off!

Having never run the upcoming distance on flat terrain before, I was going to start out nice and slow and try to pick up the pace as I determined how I was feeling. Whenever I’ve run trail events, I’m usually by myself pretty much from the beginning. With this, there were a lot of people around me, and it was hard not getting sucked into somebody else’s rhythm and pace.

We headed off down a dirt road for the first .9 miles, then turned around, went .5 miles back, and then hit the trail. I looked in front of me and saw a very long, very straight, well, almost more of a dirt road than a trail, and realized how much more of a mental game this would be. When you’re running trails, you usually can’t see that far in front of you.
This felt like you could see for miles ahead of you - 26.2 miles to be exact. The good thing about it, though, was that people were in front of and behind me almost the entire time. Rarely did I go far without seeing another runner. I was feeling really good about my pace, but I was so cold. I felt like I just could not get warm.

At the Mile 12 aid station (there were stations every 2 miles), I picked up Stan, who worked for BLM (?) and was riding his bike up and down the trail taking pictures of runners and making sure the aid station workers were doing okay. He ended up riding with me for maybe half a mile. I said something about it being so cold, and he informed me that at that point we’d only dropped about 100 feet in elevation. However, by the time we got done, we’d end up dropping about 1300 feet, and once we dropped down into the canyon, it’d be warmer - only that was a ways away.

Stan eventually left me, and I proceeded on my own, passing a runner here and there, getting passed as well. There seemed to be a core group of us (maybe 6-7) who passed one another at various points until about Mile 18, when I eventually was left in their dust. Right before the Mile 16 aid station, I started having trouble with my left hip flexor, which I knew was not a good thing, and was where my race started falling apart. I ended up laying on the ground for a few minutes at the aid station trying to stretch things out, and tried various standing stretches at different points along the trail.

By Mile/Station 18, I could run - though not well - for a short while then BAM! It’d feel like someone stuck a pointed sharp object right in my left butt cheek and it would literally stop me in my tracks with a few 4-letter words. Let me tell you, it hurt! I would walk for maybe 30 seconds to a minute and start a slow run again. I never knew how far I’d be able to go before THERE IT WAS AGAIN! GOTCHA! This little scenario would play itself out for the rest of the race.

This had happened to me once almost 2 years before. Only that time, things got so bad, that once I stopped running, my entire left hip seized up on me and I literally could barely walk for about 3 days and I couldn’t run for a month. It was extremely painful, and the thought of that happening again scared the crap out of me. Plus, we had been told that if we decided to drop from the race, we needed to make it to at least Mile 20 to get a ride back to the finish before the end of the race. Otherwise, we would have to stay at whichever aid station we’d dropped at until the end of the race, which had a 7-hour time limit. When I got to Mile 20, I figured I’d gone this far, I was going to make it the final 6.2 miles no matter what. . . . . although, I have to say that the ambulance waiting at that station was a very tempting sight, indeed! (Kidding!)

Around Miles 21-23, the trail took us through two tunnels. Strangely enough, I felt unbelievable great running through each tunnel. It was like I had some kind of renewed energy, and I really wished they were longer. Maybe it was because you could see the light at the end, I don’t know. The feeling I got is hard to explain, and I still don’t understand it. But I do remember that it wasn’t until around this time that my hands finally warmed up and I took off my gloves. It literally took me over 20 miles before I finally felt warm.

With a little less than 1.5 miles to go, I came up on a guy who was really struggling. As I pulled up along side him, I asked if he was running the race and he was. His name was Aaron, he was from the Bay Area, and, from what he said, I don’t think he’d run anything longer than a 10k before. He told me there were parts of his body hurting that he didn’t know could hurt. I was laughing and told him I felt the same way, then asked if he wanted to limp/walk/run the rest of the way together. When you’re struggling yourself, and someone comes along who can sympathize, knows what you’re going through, it gives you a kind of energy. Aaron and I ended up running that last bit faster than I thought possible. And if it wasn’t for the fact that another zinger launched itself into my ass, we probably would’ve made it in under 6 hours. As it was, for the last quarter mile we were doing a 10:08 pace, which shocked the hell out of me, and we crossed the finish line together in 6:00:15 and received our finisher’s medal - a wooden train whistle with Bizz Johnson Trail Marathon on one side and 2008 Finisher on the other side. Very cool.

Although I was (and sort of still am) disappointed with my time, I’m proud of myself for finishing. The next day, my hip felt like someone had kicked the crap out of me, and it was tough walking around, let alone sitting for the 5.5 hour drive home. Lots of stop-and-walk breaks. I did, however, console myself that night with a big container of mini powdered sugar donuts and ice cold milk. Oh, they tasted so good!!

Would I ever run Bizz Johnson again? I don’t know. I don’t like being that cold for so long, I think a lot of precious energy was expended trying to stay warm. Plus the long, straight, you-can-see-forever aspect was mentally hard. I don’t know how people run road marathons with miles of asphalt in their face. But it’s a beautiful course, and if those two things don’t bother you, I highly recommend it.

The Great Debate

2008-09-30T14:18:00.001-07:00

The great debate continues over on RunningAhead - Is it beneficial or detrimental to run 20 miles or more or over 4 hours in a marathon training long run? Some vehemently insist that if you don't run atleast 20 miles a couple of times while training, then you are undertraining. Others, such as my coach, insist that if you run more than 18 miles or longer than 3.5 hours, it takes your body too long to recover and can, therefore, be detrimental to your training. Meaning, you would have to back off the long runs too far in advance of your intended race in order for your body to sufficiently recover. (Am I making sense?) He insists that this will not change unless I pop up to the 50-mile distances. (And yes, the thought does enter my drain bamaged mind, even though I only have one successful 50k completion - and I pooped and peed and puked all over myself in the process. . . . . Hell yeah I had fun!!!)

I suppose there will never be a definitive answer accepted by everyone, but I find people's opinions on the subject quite interesting, with each person standing firmly on his or her side of the fence not budging one iota.

And on the subject of long distances - Bizz Johnson is less than 2 weeks away. Egads! It's a Boston qualifier, so I looked up the time requirements for qualifying - oh yeah! That was a real knee slapper! And no, qualifying is definitely not in the cards. However, I am hopeful that I will finish in 5 - 5 1/2 hrs. We'll see!

Life Is . . .

2008-09-23T11:04:00.000-07:00

Life is an opportunity, benefit from it.
Life is beauty, admire it.
Life is bliss, taste it.
Life is a dream, realize it.
Life is a challenge, meet it.
Life is a duty, complete it.
Life is a game, play it.
Life is a promise, fulfill it.
Life is sorrow, overcome it.
Life is a song, sing it.
Life is a struggle, accept it.
Life is a tragedy, confront it.
Life is an adventure, dare it.
Life is luck, make it.
Life is too precious, do not destroy it.
Life is life, fight for it.

(Mother Teresa)

The Ridiculous Vanity of Women (Me Included)

2008-09-10T15:21:00.000-07:00

Against my better judgment, this morning I walked out of the house wearing these stupid high heel boots and butt floss underwear, both of which I knew would be uncomfortable from the get go (I hate butt floss underwear) (Is this TMI??). Anyway, before I had even walked from my bedroom to the living room (all of 10 feet?), it was apparent this was a bad idea, but I did it anyway. Why? Because the boots looked good with the pants I chose to wear, and the butt floss eliminated that barely-there-but-still-unsightly-panty-line. So now I am sitting here at work, horribly uncomfortable, impatiently waiting for my lunch hour so that I can dash down to Target and eliminate at least one of the uncomfortable aspects of today’s attire.

And while I sit willing myself to not go to the bathroom yet again in a vain attempt to eliminate the butt floss, I ask, Why? Why do we women put ourselves through all this crap? Why do we intentionally do things like cram something akin to a thin rope up the crack of our butt, all for the sake of vanity? Most times the saner side of me prevails and comfort wins. But once in awhile the Vanity Demon gets a strangle hold on my common sense, and with every single step I take that particular day I regret the choices I have made. Sure, like most women, my legs look half way decent in high heels, but who can see my legs when I’m wearing pants?? And as far as the butt floss goes - well . . .there really is no good excuse.

Guys don’t do stupid stuff like this to themselves. The Hub actually looks at me at times and just shakes his head. I asked him about the whole butt floss thing the other day, and he said he didn’t understand the attraction some guys have for it - - he’s more of a commando type guy. Well, thanks for the 411 on that, but it ain’t gonna be happening. At least not when I’m in public.

So here I sit . . . counting down the minutes . . . telling myself, “Never again!” Yeah, right.

Canning 101

2008-09-08T15:12:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Shorty and I canned approximately 50 jars of apple butter, cranberry apple butter, zucchini relish, and some sort of hot pepper/ cucumber mixture. We literally spent the entire day (10+ hours?) working in the kitchen . . . together . . . with knives and boiling water . . . and we lived to tell the tale. No threats of death, divorce, or mutilation. And I think we actually hugged each other a couple of times. I know, absolutely astounding. I think 60 Minutes is going to do a piece on it. Something along the lines of “Canning and Marriage Survival 101.” It will be a true masterpiece of reporting.

Can't Think of a Better Title than Countdown to Bizz Johnson

2008-09-02T15:13:00.000-07:00

See those cheetahs to the right? That's going to be me at Bizz Johnson. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Yeah, that's a real knee slapper, huh? Seriously, though, Coach Bill is determined to speed me up since this run is basically flat, so he's going to start incorporating more speed work after the Whiskeytown Relays on September - well, September something. And Coach Bill knows that when this happens, my voodoo doll of him comes out. So watch out, Bill. Just watch out.

Yeah, I hate speed work. Funny, I'd rather do hill sprints than do speed work on a flat surface. Running as hard as I can for 1 minute just brings absolutely no joy whatsoever to my life. Plain and simple, it sucks. But, as the old saying goes, "If you always run slow, you will always run slow. If you run fast, you will run faster." Or something like that. Don't try to go all cerebral on me. Even if I got some of the words screwed up, it really doesn't get any deeper in the thinking than that.

So anybody else out there planning on running at Bizz Johnson? Again, a real knee slapper of question considering just about the only folks who read this are my friends and family. Okay, well maybe even they don't read it. Maybe no one reads this. Maybe it's just me blabbing to myself - a much more likely scenario.

2008-08-27T15:44:00.001-07:00

As I sit here at work listening to someone leave a loooooong drawn out message on our office answering machine about their life (I was in the can and the phone rang - couldn't answer it), I ponder the following: When people leave messages on answering machines, why do they feel the need to (1) leave their entire life's history, and/or (2) talk slower than sap running down a tree then talkatlighteningspeedwhengivingtheirnumber, thus forcing you to listen to their blather again, and possibly yet again to try and capture their phone number? Huh? Can anyone in this universe explain this phenomena to me?

And what's with calling early in the morning or late at night? Unless it is a dire emergency (you've lost a limb, your house is on fire) do not call me before 9:00 a.m. or after 9:00 p.m. I do not want to talk to you . . . I don't care how close a friend you think you are, or even if you're a relative.

And yes, I screen my phone calls at home. There it is. Live with it. If I'm home and I want to talk to you, I'll answer the phone. If I don't want to talk to you, I won't. Sarcastic comments such as "I know you're sitting there listening to me," will get you absolutely nowhere. Maybe I am sitting here listening to you. But maybe I'm on the toilet and can't get to the phone. (Yeah, it's a frequent visitation hot spot for me.) Or maybe I've fallenand I can't get up. (I don't have LifeLine.) Unlike a lot of people I know, I do not have a penchion for keeping my phone, cell or otherwise, strapped to my body at all times. And maybe I'm not actually home. Believe it or not, I do have a life outside of the office and the house. It's not a big life, but it's a life nonetheless.

I am on the telephone all day at work. The last thing I want to do is be on the phone all evening when I'm home. I want to eat my dinner in peace, be a couch potato, fall asleep and drool on the couch pillow.

So what does all this blather come down to? Don't call me, I'll call you.

The Musings of a Tired Mind

2008-08-25T22:07:00.000-07:00

Ever think about those moments in your life, good or bad, and wonder at their influences upon who you are right now, at this very moment, when you are reading the words of someone who quite possibly has lost all sense of rationality - well, for this moment?
Everything we see, say, or do indelibly imprints itself on our psyche, and at some point it comes back to either bite you in the ass or lift you up and help you to hopefully become a better you. I've been bitten in the ass a number of times, and it ain't fun, my friends. I think there might actually be permanent teeth marks. But I have also been lifted out of the quagmire and have gone on to become a stronger person for it. It ain't easy, and there ain't no quick fix. But it is possible, if you're willing to look past your own perceived limitations and crash through the wall you have build around you, telling yourself that you can't do it, that it's not possible.
What does all this mean? To you it might mean, "She's finally gone over the deep end." Or, "Surely, she's just really tired" (and I am . . . and don't call me Shirley). But to me, it means a lot. A lot that is not open for discussion in this format. But I challenge anyone who is reading this to think about who it is you really want to be. And if when you look in the mirror you don't see that person, bust through the wall you've built so solidly around you and find The Thing, The One Thing, that will fulfill you and lift you out of your quagmire.

Pit Crewing at Headlands Hundred

2008-08-13T16:19:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, I had the distinct pleasure of crewing for my friend’s sister, Kate, in her first 100-mile trail run at theHeadlands Hundred in the Marin Headlands outside of San Francisco. Many of you will know her by her online name of Katemd. Karen (my buddy), Kate, her husband Rodney, and I took off Friday morning and arrived about mid-afternoon in Mill Valley, where we eventually hooked up with Kate’s pacer, Russ McGarry. Russ came into our lives in March when he came upon me struggling and helped me through the last few miles of my first 50k at Forest Park in Portland, Oregon. A Trail Angel with hidden wings, he has come to be a friend to all of us.

Once we were all together, we drove to the start/finish area at Rodeo Beach, then did a recon of all the aid stations so Karen and I would know where we’d be going the next day. The farthest drive between stations was 20 minutes, with the average being 15. But then again, that was with 5 people in the car and one getting nauseous from the curvy roads. The next day I would turn into Maria Andretti (Mario-Maria, Mario-Maria. Get it??) and fairly fly through those curves trying to get to stations with plenty of time to set up and be ready for our runner.

We eventually returned to the hotel, sought out a filling dinner of . . . you guessed it - pasta, then we headed back to the hotel where it was my job to tape up the problem areas of feet that would be running the next day. Come to find out, I’m not too bad at it, but I need to work on my benzoin spraying technique. I have a tendency to get that stuff everywhere. While I was taping up Russ’ feet, he commented that in March, if he’d taken the trail to the right instead of the left, we wouldn’t all be sitting there together that night. I just smiled and commented how destiny is a wonderful thing.

The next morning dawned bright and early, and Kate, Karen, and I arrived at Rodeo Beach around 6:00 a.m., plenty of time for last minute bathroom breaks and for butterflies to do their thing, as well. It wasn’t long, however, before RD Wendell had his bullhorn out giving last minute instructions, everyone made their way to the road, the signal sounded, and they were off. The first stretch sent them down the road, across the beach, and then up to the trails they would be traversing for the next, well, hours upon hours. Under pressure to be ready for Kate, Karen and I made our way to the first aid station - a mere 2.2 miles away at Rodeo Valley. The runners, however, would be winding their way through 8.1 miles of trails - the longest stretch between aid stations. Kate came in to the station upbeat and chipper, we replaced her empty bottles with full ones, filled her baggy with foods, and sent her on her merry way, a process we would repeat many times over the next hours.

Since this is a crewing report and not a running report, there aren’t a whole of lot gory details to provide. Karen and I had a blast hootin’ and hollerin’ for other runners at the aid stations, blowing bubbles - much to the runners’ delight, and generally enjoying ourselves. During our second stance at the Pantoll Aid Station, I broke out the large pink felt with orange polka dotted hats and ties for us to wear, which made us quite the hit with runners, crewers, and watchers alike.

There was a 50-mile and a 100-mile race, and it was interesting to watch the progression as the day wore on, seeing the affects - or seemingly no affects - on runners. Some were struggling well before Mile 50, others were breezing through as if this was just another jaunt through the woods. Although the entire course is tough (read LOTS of climbing), the section between Pantoll, Bolinas, and back was especially rough as the runners were mostly in the direct sun, and it was fairly warm at the higher elevation.

In the early evening, Karen and I met back up with Rodney and Russ at Rodeo Beach where the runners would reach the end or midway point of their respective runs. The guys hadn’t seen our new attire yet, and we made sure we slathered on the pink lipstick and gloss really good so as to provide the full beautifying affect. Karen was getting antsy and excited as she would be pacing Kate for 10 miles to Tennessee Valley, where Russ would take over and pace for the final 40. Once Kate and Karen took off, Rodney, Russ, and I made the long 2.2 mile drive to Rodeo Valley, set up camp, and waited for the gals’ return. This was the beginning of the night stretch, so we knew it would take them a little while longer. The three of us sat around and chatted, made grilled cheese sandwiches for the gals, and waited, and waited some more. At one point Russ decided it was time to use El Body Glide on strategic body parts, and danged if he didn’t walk into the shadows to do so! I was like, “Come on, dude! Give a gal a break! It’s 11:30 at night!” But it was a no go. Oh well, can’t blame a girl for trying!

An hour and a half or so later, Karen came in a few seconds ahead of Kate indicating, okay YELLING, that the chili Kate had eaten at Rodeo Beach wasn’t sitting well, but the complaints from Kate were minimal - which would be her demeanor the entire race - we switched out her bottles, stuffed her baggy with food she thought she could digest more easily, got her out of there in short order, packed up the car, and headed out to Tennessee Valley where Russ would take over as pacer.

When Kate and Karen arrived at Tennessee, we had to do some quick foot checking and taping, and with Rodney holding the flashlight, me hunkered down barking orders for tape, light, etc., and Karen handing me the materials, one aid station worker commented that we looked like a regular pit crew. After Kate and Russ left, Karen and I drove like bats out of hell to get Rodney back to the hotel for the night and ourselves back to Tennessee with enough time to get prepared again for their return.

This stretch of waiting, I have to say, was probably the most enjoyable, as well as the most educational, for me. It was “early 30" hours in the morning, and Karen, tired from the combination of crewing all day and her 10-mile jaunt, was bundled up in the car taking a cat nap. I poured myself a cup of coffee and Baileys (mmmm!), put on my heavy coat, and stood in the shadows of the aid station watching the runners come and go for the miles between 61.8 and 71.3. It was very interesting. Some came through looking tired but like they could go on forever. Others, it was evident they were struggling mentally and physically, and a few dropped at this point. One gentleman, I’d say in his late 40s-early 50s, was having a hard time concentrating, and I greatly admired the way Aid Station Manager Stan gently took care of him, trying to help him decide whether he wanted to drop or continue at that point. Stan commented prior to this runner arriving that he didn’t know what to do for these folks. Well, I think he was doing great. If they seemed to be hanging around too long, he quietly remind them of the next cutoff and the miles they had to cover before then, and helped them get on their way.

Once Kate and Russ came through, we headed back to Rodeo Valley. It was around 5:00 a.m., and since I was beginning to talk like I was drunk, I thought the more prudent thing would be to try and nap. So I did . . . for an hour and a half. Man, did that feel great! I woke up feeling fairly refreshed about 10 minutes before our runners came flying in in high spirits. Kate had taken a fall and gave herself a nice skinned leg, but other than that, the two of them were having the time of their lives, joking and laughing with us and the aid station workers. I was amazed by Kate. She had just completed 75.3 miles and still had another 25.2 to go, and she was looking for all the world like she only just begun a short time earlier.

We had one more round of pit crewing at Tennessee Valley as the runners would be hitting this spot two more times. In between Kate’s and Russ’ appearance, Karen and I once again drove like bats outta hell back to the hotel to pick up Rodney. We waited at Tennessee for what seemed like an interminable amount of time, but soon we spotted our duo high up on the trail. They came blazing into the station indicating they were trying to beat 28 hours, and headed out in less than 2 minutes with Kate leading the way. We loaded up our crewing supplies for the last time, and headed back to Rodeo Beach for the finale.

From our vantage point at Rodeo Beach, you could see the runners approaching from way up on the trail and follow their progress through the final stages. As soon as we saw Kate and Russ, we started yelling for them. They fairly flew down the last stretches at a pace I would not have thought possible for someone who had just completed 100 miles. With legs pumping, grins plasters to their faces, and hands held high in victory, they crossed the finish line in 28:40:04!!

For my first crewing adventure, I could not have been blessed with a better experience. Kate was a champ through and through, never once complaining, but literally getting stronger and stronger as the miles wore on. She probably had the best pacer she could’ve asked for in Russ, and Karen and I, having spent a solid 28 hours together, one on one, came out with our friendship still intact!

If you ever have a chance to participate in one of these events, either as an aid station worker or a crew person, I highly recommend it. It will be one of the more rewarding experiences of your life.

For pics of the event, check out my my slide show.

2008-08-01T09:58:00.000-07:00

I've sufficiently recovered - mentally and physically - from S.O.B. and am ready to get back on track. Going to meet with Coach Bill tomorrow to revamp my workout schedule and more fully utilize the equipment I have at home: Bowflex, bike (which can also be set up as a stationary bike), BOSU, free weights, and jump rope. I haven't used a jump rope in so long, I might end up strangling myself somehow. Wouldn't that be a hoot!

S.O.B. 50k RR . . . or how not to crash and burn

2008-07-16T19:46:00.000-07:00

My Siskiyou Outback 50k (31.6 miles for non-runners) Race Report! Oooh, I bet ya’ll have been waiting with barely contained anticipation, huh? Well, you can finally breath a sign of relief, sit back with a cup of coffee, a bottle of beer, or whatever floats your boat and . . . I’m not sure “enjoy” is the word I’m looking for, but at least delay doing whatever you’re actually suppose to be doing right now.

The Siskiyou Out and Back, or S.O.B., is held at Mt. Ashland in Ashland, Oregon. Karen and I left Friday morning for the short 3 ½ hour drive that took us over 6 hours to complete (a girl’s gotta at least browse some shops along the way!). We checked into our hotel, called Karen’s sister and brother-in-law, Kate and Rodney, to see how they were progressing on their travels to Ashland from Northern Oregon, then checked in with Kate’s friend, Glenn, who was running, as well. We then hitched our horses back up to the wagon and made the short drive to the running store to pick up our race packets and wait for Kate, Rodney, and Glenn to arrive. Let me tell ya, it was a tad warm in Ashland, and I was hoping it would be cooler up on the mountain the next day. Running in 80+ degree weather, as well as at high elevations, would not be the most pleasant of experiences.

Once all were accounted for, we partook of the obligatory pre-race carbo stuffing meal (pasta, pasta, and more pasta . . . and bread), had a soon-to-be well-deserved dessert of gelato, completed a short stroll through Lithia Park, then headed back to our respective lodgings for (hopefully) a good night’s rest. I, unfortunately, never sleep well before an event and feel obligated to dream some stupid dream about the race all night. (All I can remember on that front is that I kept running a very boring circle over and over, wondering why in the world I would agree to such a stupid thing!)

Karen, Kate, and I were up before dawn and met Glenn at the Mt. Ashland Ski Resort parking lot with just enough time to use the facilities before the 6:00 a.m. early start. I lined up at the back of the pack, the horn sounded, and we were off. And danged if I wasn’t even out of the parking lot before I had a wardrobe malfunction. My outer layer sock on the right foot slipped down off my heel and into my shoe. Cripes! Was this an omen? I seriously hoped not. However, because of my untimely stop, I encountered two gentlemen who were behind me (there’s never anybody behind me), and to my delight ended up with Phil as a running companion for almost the entire run. We would hop ahead of one another now and then (mostly him ahead of me), but mostly we stayed together. It was quite a change from my last run at Forest Park where I was by myself almost the entire time, and his easy conversation helped keep my mind off most of my struggles. (Have I used variations of “most” enough times in this paragraph??)

One struggle I knew would be the elevation. We started out at 6500' feet, crested at approximately 7100', with 4200' feet of elevation gain in between. Yes, folks, breathing was an issue. Our first major climb was a fire road, and let’s just say I walked almost the entire thing. We were probably about halfway up when my delightful bowels began talking to me, but for some time there was no place to hide. I rounded a corner and found Phil dumping some hitchhikers from his shoes, and he graciously pointed out that to my left off the trail a short way was probably the best solution to my problem. Upon exiting nature’s bathroom, another guy coming up the road yells, “Hey, I don’t think that’s the trail!” Ha ha! Very funny! Since I had had very serious issues in this department last the last event, I had started taking Imodium the night before. I was worried it wasn’t going to work, but am very happy to say that was my only bowel problem of the day! (Dontcha just feel all warm and cozy inside for knowing this little bit of information??)
Our Coach had outlined time frames, with a built in 15-minute cushion, in which we needed to enter each aid station. I was doing good up until close to the third aid station, which was the turn around point and the highest elevation. Not far from there, I began to get nauseated and slightly dizzy. Phil hung in there with me, boosting my morale and showing me some plants to use as aroma therapy, which helped a bit. At one point you could actually see the aid station, but it would be what seemed like forever before we actually got to it . . . and our first snow. Yes, snow! They had a bucket of it at the station and I ended up putting some in my Cool Bandana instead of ice.

It was at this station that my run began to really fall apart on me. Even though it was downhill out of there, I could feel that my legs were leaving me, and fast. There was a cutoff time for the next aid station, and I had serious doubts as to whether or not I would make it. I soon came upon the water-only station and was informed it was only a couple of miles (3?) to the next aid station, which was down one of the hardest parts (to me) of the trail. Very narrow and rocky at times, and quite a bit of climbing. No matter how hard I tried to push, my legs just weren’t having any of it.

I had left the turn around station before Phil, but he eventually caught up with and past me on this stretch. Behind him was another gentleman, and I pulled over to let him by but he said, “I have to follow you in.” Yep, he was Mike the Sweeper, in charge of picking up the stragglers. He said I had about a mile to go, and when I asked what the cutoff was, he very nicely, and somewhat sadly, informed me that I wouldn’t make it. I would make it (to the station), but I wouldn’t make it (by cutoff). I figured this was coming, but I was still crushed. After 22 miles and 5:55:00 on the trail, I would miss the cutoff by about 10 minutes and be pulled from the race.

Mike followed me for awhile at my not-too-bad pace considering my jelly legs, but had to stop and walk in another runner who had suffered a Charlie horse and couldn’t run. I decided not to kill myself completely on this last short stretch, but I did run into the station. Phil was there slightly ahead of me, but also short of the cutoff.

We commiserated with one another and waited around while the workers packed up the station, then hitched a ride back to the parking lot. I figured Kate and Glenn had finished within six or so hours, but I couldn’t find them at the finish line, so I began the wait, with camera in-hand, for Karen, figuring she’d come in close to the 8.5 hour cutoff. After about half an hour, Kate, Glenn, and I found each other, I took a picture of them with their finishers medals, then Glenn had to be on his way for the long drive home to Portland.
Rodney arrived soon after, and he and Kate took off up the road a ways to wait for Karen. At around the 8:00 hour mark I began a more permanent vigil at the finish line. Soon, there she was, coming down the road at a great trot, and crossed the finish line in 8:12:36! Congrats on a great run!

I felt I had trained hard for this, my second ultra trail run, and getting a DNF has been a hard pill to swallow. But as time goes by, I can see that I had a fantastic accomplishment in completing 22 miles of a tough course. My downfall was nutrition/ fueling. I didn’t come close to consuming enough, which is one of the reasons I began getting nauseous. I now know that you have to force feed yourself at that point if you want to have any hope of going on. I have learned some valuable lessons at both of my ultras. Next stop, the Bizz Johnson Marathon in Susanville, CA!

Here's a link to the slideshow of pictures I took: http://s182.photobucket.com/albums/x194/fatozzig/sob%202008/?action=view&current=29e9ffca.pbw