Golden Gate Dirty 30

I have a new standard for a tough 50km. 

In the first few months after moving to Boulder, as soon as I saw a relatively close ultra open, I signed up.  Trail running and racing had become such an important part of my life in Corvallis, it seemed logical to jump right in in my new state.  As with so many other things in life, there were several unexpected factors that meant that my training and racing in Colorado wouldn't meet my expectations.  Probably the biggest factor is that I've been working -and traveling for work- a lot more than I'd thought.  I've also been struggling with finding my running community in Boulder.  There certainly isn't a lack of runners, but I haven't yet found a group who's training schedule and routine really matches mine.  On top of that, for the past 9 months, I've been trying to get used to how different it is to run in Boulder compared to the Pacific Northwest.  I am neither a good downhill runner nor am  I particularly quick with my feet, so the long technical downhills in Colorado have been quite a challenge.

I'd heard of Golden Gate Dirty Thirty (actually a 50km, despite 'thirty' in the title) a few times before the entry opened.  The way people talked about it, it sounded a bit easier, something that people often did as their first ultra.  I signed up without looking at the elevation profile and then focused on training up for Quad Rock 50 miler, figuring that the training for Quad Rock would also be sufficient for Golden Gate.

The first monkey wrench in those plans was that I ended up doing only the 25 miler at Quad Rock, so instead of Golden Gate being a 'recovery' race, Quad Rock become a training race for Golden Gate.  The second was that the elevation gain for Golden Gate certainly was much more than what you would find for a typical 'entry level' 50km.  The course has over 8000 feet of climbing (and descending), between 7500 ft. and 9500 ft.  So I adjusted my expectations and figured that I would probably finish closer to 6 1/2 -7 hours, than the 6 hours and under that I had aimed for in my last several 50kms in Oregon.

 
So, come race day, I wasn't feeling like I was in my best condition, but I was also feeling relatively confident in my ability to finish the race with a decent result.  If nothing else, my suffer-fest during Waldo had introduced me to a level of perseverance and stubbornness in myself. 
 
As soon as we started running, I felt nauseous.  I knew we were starting fairly high, but I'd thought that living  mile high would have given me some prepared me fairly well.  Apparently not.  This was one of my biggest struggles of the day - not getting too negative about it and instead focusing on what I could actually eat that wouldn't turn my stomach.  Unfortunately, one of the things that made me feel worst was the EFS gel that I'd previously found surprisingly enjoyable.  Dealing with elevation-induced nausea is actually a lesson I was given during Siskiyou Out and Back a few years ago, where my legs felt great - I just felt like I was going to puke the whole time.  Instead of focusing on who sick I felt, I tried to focus instead on my breathing, how my legs, felt, the sensation of moving my body in space, and the wonderful scenery around me.  Despite how I felt, I ate on schedule (a good squirt of gel every 30 minutes and at least 100 calories of food plus some coke at aid stations).  If food make me sick, I'd evaluate if I was staying up with electrolytes.  If I was, then I'd tell myself that it wasn't actually *me* that was the issue - that it was just a normal part of being up high, and turn my attention elsewhere.  This mostly worked.
 
Despite the queasiness, the beginning of the race felt pretty good.  There was a bottleneck of runners getting through the first climb, but that helped to keep my pace in check.  The downhill wasn't too technical, and I was happy that I was able to open up a bit and gain some position in the pack.  The first significant climb was tough, but I was able to power hike up pretty well.  On the cruise down to the first aid station, I snuck through some trees for a potty-break, came back out, and about 100 meters down the trail realized my sunglasses had gotten pulled off my hat.  Doh!  I actually ran back to look for them briefly - to no avail.  Luckily we were in the trees most of the day and it was a bit overcast as well, so I didn't miss them too much during the race.

The trail was a mix of single track, double track, forest road, dirt gravel, non-technical, technical, scrambling up rocks - in other words, a bit of everything.  There were some gorgeous stretches of single track that wound through mountain meadows, where it felt more like flying than running.

I felt like I handled most of the climbs relatively well and was able to pick up some good speed on a lot of the downhills.  For most of the race, I thought that I'd easily be able to pull out a 7 hour finish.  Then I hit mile 22.  This downhill just plain hurt.  I tried to open up my stride and let gravity pull me down, but the surface was off-camber and uneven, and although it wasn't particularly difficult, I slowed down more than I sped up.  This was then followed by the climb up to Windy Peak.  I don't really have much to say about the climb other than it was long and slow.  I got passed way too many times both on the way up and the way down.  I think it took me almost 2 hours to do the last 6 miles. But, everytime I started to go to that bad place mentally, I'd remind myself of Waldo, of the last big climb up to Maiden Peak and the run into the finish that was way harder than it seemed like it should have been, and reminded myself that if I could do that, then I could certainly do this.

I ended up finishing in 8:05:43, 43 out of 71 women; 198 out of 255 finishers.  So - not horrid, but certainly not what I expect out of myself.  Run Rabbit Run 50 mile is coming up in September, and I know that I really need to focus more on (1) picking up speed on downhills, (2) the transition from uphill to downhill, and (3) training hard at elevation  (in addition to the usual increase endurance, increase foot turnover) -- especially if I'm going to try to get a qualifying time for Western States (more on that in my next post).

Quad Rock 25 mi

Last fall after I moved to Colorado, the Queen recommended that I sign up for Quad Rock, run by her friend Nick Clark.  I had the option of a 25mi (one loop) or 50mi (two loop) race and I decided to opt for the 50.  I had plenty of time to build up my mileage and I figured a 50mi in May would set me up well for the rest of the summer.

So much for optimism.  I just could not get my training volume up enough to feel like I was going to be able to run a 50 well.  Plus, my chronic hip/hamstring pain had been getting worse (or certainly not getting any better) and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to run that distance without potentially causing damage (I've since found a great physical therapist who has really helped).

This may partially be why I kept thinking referring to the race as 'only 25 miles'  (this year, due to a small reroute, it was actually 26 miles) - 25 seems short when you've been planning for 50.

The race started - and finished - at Lory State Park just outside of Fort Collins.  The morning was chilly, but warm enough to feel relatively comfortable starting in short sleeves (one of my trusty MacDonald Forest 50km shirt) and light gloves.  A fire had gone through the park and adjacent Horsetooth Reservoir just a few months ago, so we had a few-mile start on dirt road.  This helped to spread out the field a bit, but soon enough we were on our first climb.

I have to admit, I hadn't really looked at the course map prior to the race.  I figured with a name like 'Quad Rock' there would be some decent climbs - and there doesn't seem to be any route in the front range that doesn't involve a fair amount of elevation.  I also had it in my mind that this was 'only a 25 mile' race; I was vaguely aware that there was 5500' of elevation gain, but again, this didn't really phase me.  What I failed to really appreciate until about half-way through the race was that instead of coming in the form of multiple ups-and-downs, the elevation in Quad Rock came in 3 very discrete chunks. 





I happily surprised myself by passing a number of people on the ups.  I've been trying to work on my climbing, and although I know I still wouldn't be able to keep up with Tejona and Lobo back in Corvallis, I think I've gotten better.  Unfortunately, I am really bad at running down hill.  Especially steep, somewhat technical down hills like on this course .... and pretty much everywhere in the Front Range.  This is partially a technical issue (there is some 'form' to downhill running that I still don't have), partially a confidence issue (my knees bear the evidence for why I tend to put the breaks on a bit too much), and partially a pain issue (although my hip and foot issues have gotten somewhat better, they still act up the most running down hill).

So ... pass people going up, get passed going down.  Repeat, then repeat again.  A little frustrating.

But ... the course was really pretty.  Mostly single track winding through forests and meadows.  The water was flowing strong in the creeks, but despite all of the snow we'd had in the weeks leading up to the race, for the most part, the trail was pretty dry.  The aid stations were well stocked and staffed with great volunteers.  I think I did a fairly good job with nutrition, but could have probably drank more - I still had water left in my pack at the end of the race.  One of the aid stations actually had cooked up some bacon for us (rule I most frequently break on races:  don't eat anything during a race you haven't eaten during a training run) -- and I have to admit, it was one of the most excellent things I have ever eaten during a race.  (I believe in the past I've said that about pbj, push-pops, ....)

I managed to pull out a good kick at the end - enough that I felt like I had too much left, which reinforced my belief that I need to get better at running down hill.  I didn't make my time goal of 5 hours max, but had a decent finish - 5:37:52, 25th woman out of 67, 86th out of 167 overall. 

Looking for mindfulness

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the meaning of life.  That probably sounds deeper than it really is, but still….

Waiting for a late bus the other day, I felt myself getting pissed off about the wasted minutes – I could have had a few more minutes climbing with my friend!  I’m going to be late meeting my friends at the restaurant!  Then, for some reason, I was able to catch myself.  Why was I so angry?  Couldn’t I just embrace the moment?  Take advantage of the opportunity to take a deep breath, look around, experience the world around me?

Within the last year, my running community lost two wonderful people.  To be honest, it almost doesn’t feel right writing about them as I didn’t know either of them well.  I ran with Dave a few times after he’d already gotten sick; but even though he wasn’t well, I could see a special spark in his eyes.  What I knew about Dave was that he was a wonderful, dedicated father and husband, hardworking coworker.  He was a great ultramarathoner, and when he wasn’t running he was helping other runners.  On top of that, he found time to volunteer in the community.  Joha passed away just yesterday.  I only knew Joha from my friends, but reading her story and knowing her impact on my friends has left a large impact on me.  Joha was first diagnosed with brain cancer in college.  Despite – no, in spite – of this, she finished college and became a college cross country star.  Her cancer came back again, she continued to fight, to work, to run, to coach.  She was only in her early 30s, yet had already lived such a full life.

I wish I had known Joha and Dave better – but from what I do know of them, and even more, what I know of their impact on those who knew them well, I know that they were both truly extraordinary people – and it seems that they were people who may have been a little closer to being able to appreciate all the moments of life.

Carpe’ diem seems like a cliché in this jaded world.  How am I supposed to seize the day when there is never enough time in the day to make it through my checklist or when I come home exhausted every night?  How am I supposed to embrace even the quiet moments when deadlines loom and my email is backed up in my inbox?  That’s part of why I run.  Especially when I’m on trails, I’m better able to get out of my head.  There are consequences to thinking while running trails – I have the scars to show for it.  But even knowing this, I can struggle – even today while running at lunch; a beautiful sunny day, warmer than it has been in weeks, I found myself obsessing about what I wanted to say in this blog post.  It took conscious effort to pull my attention away and just experience what was around me. 

Somehow I need to move closer to balance – to fulfilling my obligations, but also being present and mindful while doing them; appreciating the quiet spaces, the opportunities to just stop, look around, and see the world around me.  It’s not like these concepts are new to me – books by Buddhist philosophers sit on my shelves and I’ve spent many hours sitting in meditation trying to quiet my busy mind.  I could argue that the pressures of western society make it hard, but I don’t think that’s a sufficient excuse.  There are still choices to be made.  Even if there are obligations at work, I can choose my orientation to them.  I can not get pissed about a late bus.  I can not feel guilty about just sitting still and experiencing the world around me.  At least I can try.

South Boulder Peak - or not

Remnants of a historic homestead at the South Mesa Trailhead

I figured that since I now live in Boulder, I should take advantage of the great trail accessibility and get out for a hike today.  Unfortunately, I wasn't feeling too motivated - I did a long'ish run yesterday and my legs weren't feeling too spry, and I didn't feel like spending a lot of time in the car to drive to a trailhead (though a 'long time' to get into the higher peaks is only about 45 minutes).

Ross suggested I hike up to South Boulder Peak - I'd be able to see the Continental Divide to the west and plains to the east.  My friend, Clara, who lives just outside of Boulder suggested the next peak over (Bear Peak), which you get to using many of the same trails and when I mentioned Ross's suggestion, she said that although she hadn't been up there, it should be nice and an hour or so shorter.  Shorter sounded good, so I grabbed my scribbled directions (found online) and headed out.

View to the east following the Homestead Trail towards South Boulder Peak.

The online directions had warned that the trailheads often fill up early, and I was definitely getting a later start.  However, President Obama was speaking in town, and I was hoping that the draw to see him would decrease the number of folks out recreating.  The trailhead ended up being busy, but I found a spot to part and started hiking. 

It was warm today (high 80s), but this was cooler than last week and there was a decent wind helping to keep things cool.  Hiking here is definitely different than in Oregon - drier, more open, and very different kinds of plants.  My brain was really wanting to put names to the trees, grasses, and forbs I was seeing - most of which I'm not at all familiar with.  I'm going to have to add a Colorado plant guide to my list of books to buy in the near future.

There were a few interesting warning signs as I headed to the peak.  First, the warning of recent bear activity.  I wasn't too worried since there were a lot of other people out - but I did see a lot of bear scat on the trails.  The second was of a bee swarm up the narrow trail I had just turned onto.  Luckily the bees and hornets were concentrated over a stream and didn't seem too bothered when I quickly hiked through.

The trails where well marked and the hiking was relatively easy if not steep in parts.  I was about 3/4 of the way to the peak when I ran into two other hikers who informed me that a bit up the trail, it was fenced off due to the Flagstaff Fire that came through the area this summer.  What?!?!  Shouldn't this be posted at the trailhead?  Turns out there as a sign that I missed at the previous intersection (where I could have detoured over to Bear Peak), but I never did see a sign at the trailhead.

The sign that I missed indicating that the trail to South Boulder Peak was closed.

End of the trail - for now.

I considered walking around the fence, but particularly since I was alone decided not to.  I ate lunch in a shady spot near the closure, then headed back down the trail.  After going about 1/4 of the way down, I could have taken another trail over to connect with the Bear Peak trail, but decided to postpone that hike for another day.

So, less adventurous than I'd initially planned, but it was nice to get out and see a bit more of my new surroundings.

If you look closely, you can see the that the trees at the top of the ridge were burned in the Flagstaff fire.

Waldo 100km

  The Waldo 100km webpage contains the following warning,

"It is not a beginner-level ultra and participation in the race should not be taken lightly."
  
Since I started contemplating ultra's, I've wanted to run Waldo.  I've also been extremely intimidated by Waldo.  I knew that running this race would be a totally different experience.  Although I was still recovering from my knee injury, I signed up this spring thinking that my running last year had been so great, that by August I should be in great shape to finally tackle Waldo.  At the time, I had no clue that my training this summer would be detoured a bit by planning both a big move and a wedding.  A few weeks before the race, despite not having trained as well as I'd hoped, I did still feel relatively positive about how I'd do - I definitely felt I could finish in 16 hours.  However, I changed to the early start (3 am) because I didn't want any chance I wouldn't get my hat.  To get a Waldo hat, you have to finish by 9pm - within 16 hours for the normal (5am) start, 18 hours for the early (3am) start, and I figured that just in case I was having a bad day, I wanted the extra cushion. 

At least, those are the rules for a 'normal' year. The Wednesday before the race, a fire broke out near the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), in the middle of the course.  Luckily, the Forest Service was able to quickly get the fire under control and co-Race Directors Craig Thornley, Meghan Arboghast (and others) put together a revised course that kept us out of the burn area.  The revised course added an additional 5km (3 miles) and some additional elevation. Because of the change, they gave us an additional hour to get our hat - 10pm.  An hour it turns out I needed.

Some facts about Waldo (partially stolen from Douglas McCarty's blog):
5120: Starting and Finishing Elevation, in feet. There are two minor climbs of about 1,000 feet, and three major climbs of more that 2,000 feet (Fuji, The Twins and Maiden Peak).

7,818: Elevation in feet at the summit of Maiden Peak which is 9 miles from the Finish Line.

12,000: Approximate feet of climbing on the revised course (of course, there was an equal 12,000 feet of descending as well). (To put it in perspective, the infamous “Heartbreak Hill” in the Boston Marathon rises a total of 88 feet over the course of almost one half mile—that would barely qualify as a “roller” at Waldo.) -- in a normal year, there is about 11,000 feet of elevation gain.

So.... my Waldo story:

I woke up just before my 1AM alarm.  Ross and I camped in the parking lot at Willamette Pass.  Despite only putting in one ear plug (nervous about missing my alarm if I put both in), I managed to fall asleep before 10, so was able to get a few hours of sleep.  Made tea, ate my bagel, double checked that my hydration pack had everything, and applied a few coats of body glide to the likely-to-chafe parts.  The morning was warm, but surprisingly, there were a few sprinkles. 

Just before the 3am start. 
Thanks to Mikio for the photo

At 3AM, I left the start with the rest of the early-starters (30 or so?).  Somehow I ended up in the lead.  I certainly didn't feel like I was pushing the pace - I was actually trying to keep my breathing and heart-rate under control - but there I was in the front.  The course was marked with reflective strips, but I was still unfamiliar with the route and at times the strips were hard to find.  Thankfully, Ken Sinclair volunteered to lead us the way to (nearly) the Gold Lake Aid Station.  On the way, I chatted with Darryl from Condon - who several years ago weighed 433 pounds.  He lost 195 pounds (!) a few years ago and is now a serious marathon and ultramarathon runner.  Seriously impressive.

I loved the first several hours of the race.  The route to the Fugi aid station was fairly runnable and time was flying by.  It was light enough to turn off my head lamp near the AS, and as I was about 100meters from the top of Mt. Fugi, I caught a glimpse of a sliver of red just above the mountains.  I got to the top in time to see the sun, glowing red through the lingering smoke, finish its climb above the mountains.  The sky was awash in brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows.  Stretching in front of me were rows of mountain peaks, green valleys, and dark blue lakes.  The view was AMAZING.  That's my excuse for tripping and falling to my knees at the top.  ...but seriously, it was so beautiful.  Definitely worth the 1am wake-up call.

Unfortunately, my high from the morning started to fade the longer the sun was up.  By the time I reached the Twins for the first time, I realized that my stomach was seriously unhappy.  I had some mild nausea that I attributed to the elevation, but over the course of the day I ended up having to visit the bushes six times for some rather unpleasant business.  I have never had that bad of a stomach during a race.  I've gone over my diet for the previous week and the only thing unusual was maybe a little more dairy than normal.  I think that, the early start, the strain on my body, and the emotional stress I'd been under leading up the race led to my issues.  Unfortunately, this took both a physical and mental toll and contributed to a negative mental dialogue that I had a hard time shaking for most of the day.

The other part of my negative attitude was my feet - my feet hurt.  Not impending-blisters pain; just plain pain.  I've had a love-hate relationship with trail running shoes and have struggled to find some that offer the right balance of flexibility, shock absorption, and stability.  I've been having issues with foot pain once I hit about 20 miles in training runs, and the same was happening in this race.  I changed my shoes at Charleton Lake from an older pair of Brooks Cascadias to a new pair.  Despite not being well broken-in (I'd only done one medium-long run in them), the change in shoes helped, but I think I still need to do some experimenting with brands and styles.

Luckily, the Waldo aid stations have the best volunteers I've ever experienced, and I really do credit them with helping me cross the finish line.  At every aid station, my pack was whisked off my back and promptly filled with my fluid of choice.  I was then offered a variety of foods - and for most of the aid stations everything had been carried several miles UP steep trails.  The volunteers were excited and encouraging and over-all awesome.  It was particularly great to see so many of my Corvallis friends at the stations - the Millers at Gold Lake - and Anne again at Maiden Peak, LD and Lobo at the Twins, Scott at Charleton, and Mikio at Maiden Lake.

Despite a drizzly morning, the afternoon of the race became rather warm, and climbing to the top of the Twins for the second time was an act of perseverance.  There were some beautiful views and some awesome wildflowers, but what really helped me push to the top was knowing that Ross would be waiting for me at the aid station.  Ross, LD, and Lobo took care of me - getting me a popsicle, which was so good, and trying to get me to eat more.  I switched from water to GuBrew in my pack since I was having a harder time eating calories and knew I was in a pretty severe deficit.

I left the Twins AS with Ross gently trotting behind me.  Ross paced me from the Twins II to the finish - 22 miles.  I don't think I would have finished the race if it hadn't been for him.  Our relationship was formed during many hours in the woods together and just his presence helped me stay calm and motivated through what would be my hardest miles.  Ross had been worried he wouldn't be able to keep up with me, but when I was doing what I thought was a run, I'd look back to find him power walking - no issues with keeping up.  The section from the Twins to Gold Lake was relatively easy-going, but I was pretty spent by then, and had my first melt down going from Gold Lake to the Maiden Peak trail head.  I was tired and I hadn't expected the race to hurt so much.  ...and I felt disappointed in myself for not enjoying it more.  Ross encouraged me to just walk for a bit and was understanding and encouraging without being annoying.  He was perfect, and soon enough I was able to pick up my pace a bit for the 6 mile climb to Maiden Peak.

I think we had a decent pace heading up the Peak.  I was very glad for our Thursday night power hikes and I kept telling myself to 'hike like Lobo' since he is always able to set such a great pace.  As we neared Maiden Peak, we could increasingly hear the rumbling of thunder and when we were finally able to get a view of the peak, it became apparent that there was a large thundercloud sitting over the top.  I told Ross that during my massage the Monday before, Meghan had told me that if the forecast thunderstorms appeared that they would probably just have us bypass the very top section.  I was secretly hoping they would, since I didn't feel like I had it in me for the last steep climb to the top - and I was in luck since at the saddle, some volunteers told us that due to lightening, we would be bypassing the very peak.  Yippee! Normally I would feel like a wimp for not wanting to go to the very top, but I'd run over 50 miles by that then, so I think I'm excused this time.

About 9 miles from the finish.

Ross and I picked our way down the steep part heading down from the saddle, then found ourselves at the last aid station.  I was feeling pretty good and after felt like I had a pretty good pace going after we left the AS.  Only 7.5 miles to the finish, mostly downhill - surely I could get there in 1 1/2 hours.  About 45 minutes later, we got to a lake where some volunteers told us 'only 4 more miles to go'.  Which meant I'd been going much slower than expected.  Cue melt-down - major melt-down.  I no longer wanted to run.  I was worn out - I just wanted to be done.  Ross was again gently encouraging, telling me that even at my fast-ish walk, we would make it in time for a hat.  I yelled back that I didn't care (not true - I really wanted a hat) and that I just wanted to stop running (very true).  Ross took it in stride and let me cry it out (at one point, I actually sobbed 'I cant stop crying'), and eventually I managed to start moving to the finish again.  I power-hiked most of those last miles, which at that point was faster than my 'run'.  I did manage to psuedo-run from the end of the trail to the finish line - and received both an awesome hug from the Queen (who in addition to being a great co-RD is an awesome masseuse and friend and has been so encouraging and supportive) and my hat.

18 hours, 18 minutes, and 14 seconds - 73rd out of 91 finishers; 21 runners dropped this year.  I found it interesting that despite feeling like I fell apart in the second half, my place was fairly consistent from one aid station to the next, varying between 68th to 75th place at each of them.

The next day, Ross asked me if I'd do another 100km.  At that point, I wasn't even sure if I wanted to do another 50km.  Of course, predictably, a few days later I started thinking about how I could train better if I ever did another one.  Whether I do another, and despite the pain of the day, I am so glad I ran Waldo this year.  Besides the knowledge that I can run 100km (and get my hat), Waldo ended up being a bit of a 'good-bye' to Oregon for me since a few days after the race, I left for my new job and home in Colorado.  I really can't think of something I would have rather done the weekend before leaving.  ...and in the weird way that my brain works, this was also in part a way for Ross and I to celebrate our up-coming wedding.  We had skied partially up Fugi and had backpacked many of the trails we ended up running together and it was wonderful to revisit those places and memories.
 

Siskiyou Out-Back 2012

Once of the amazing views along the SOB course

It's strange - for some reason, I seem to have run my least favorite races way more than my most favorite.  Portland Marathon - not too scenic and a strangely painful course - 3 or 4 finishes.  Siskiyou Out-Back 50km - incredibly scenic and the first time I ran it I had a great time - but it took me 3 years to return to the race.  I seriously need to reverse this pattern.

Leading up to SOB, I was really unsure of where my fitness was and how I'd do.  I've been having issues with plantar fasciitis for several weeks now, and my legs felt heavy during my taper.  I've also not been able to get in the mileage I'd hoped for this summer.  But, having said all that, I knew I could finish a 50km, and decided to just run with the intent of enjoying the race.

After we got into Ashland Friday night, Ross and I headed out to what had previously been one of my favorite restaurants for my pre-race burger and beer.  Unfortunately, my 'rare-ish' request came back as just plain rare.  I picked around the edges and left most of the very red and bloody burger on my plate - then stressed all night about having food poisoning during my race.

I woke up Saturday morning before the alarm, made some breakfast, then hopped in my truck for the short drive to Mount Ashland.  I've had an issue with not eating enough before races - this time I got a very large bagel covered with  peanut butter and honey down, which seemed to do me well.  I had planned on eating a rocktane gel every 45 minutes, but at the last minute changed plans and switched to the EFS flask that they handed out at the race start.  Generally not a good idea to switch foods the day of the race, but this actually worked pretty well for me.  Before when I've used my Hammer Gel flask, I have eaten about every 30 minutes (good), but haven't eaten as much as if I'd used a gel packet (bad).  This time, I took a 'sip' off of the gel flask almost every 15 minutes, which seemed to help me balance out the timing/volume issue.

The morning was cool and clear.  I got there in time to help cheer for the 50 mile racers as they started their day, then an hour later, at 7am, I was following in their footsteps headed south on the Pacific Crest Trail.

This summer has turned out to be a bit different - and a bit more stressful - than I had originally anticipated, and in the first few miles, I let my mind wander away from the task at hand.  Then, about 2 miles into the race, I found myself flying through the air then landing unceremoniously in the dirt.  Stood up, brushed myself off (well, as much as I could.  The sunscreen I'd slathered on helped the dirt form a thick paste over my right side).  Some blood, not too bad, and I was off down the trail again.  If there is a good side to falling, the early fall helped me focus, which is a good thing, because the SOB course is awesome.  Most of the course is on the PCT - single track, mostly dirt.  Plus, it gave me a lot of attention as several runners commented on how dirty I was and the aid station volunteers were very concerned about getting me cleaned up.  There are a few sections on gravel roads that are mostly used to prevent conflicts between the people headed out and those coming in.  The scenery on the course is amazing - the course follows the ridgeline, varying between shady pine forests and open meadows.  Each meadow was different than the others and all covered with blooming wildflowers.  I was glad they didn't give us the wildlflower guide that was written for that route until after the race, or else I would have had a much slower time.

I tried to keep my pace under control for the first half.  The course starts around 6500 ft., and fluctuates between about 6800' and 7200'.  I felt mildly nauseous the entire time, but figured it was altitude, not calories, fluids, or salt (in addition to the EFS, I was eating about 75 calories at each aid station and drinking at least 1 cup of coke).  I really wanted to practice being okay with this feeling and keeping my heart rate in check despite the elevation, in practice for Waldo.  I kind-of surprisingly hit the turn-around in around 2:45, feeling great.  I'd remembered the climb up to the turn-around being harder the last time I ran this.

Pure joy (and my "Most Ashland" winning outfit)

I titled this blog "Seeking awe" because there is an experience that you can get sometimes - different than the runner high, but similar in being in that place where you are both outside yourself and completely within yourself at the same time.  Where you can't help but be struck by the spendor and wondrousness of everything around you.  Those moments where the experience itself is breathtaking.  I had about 10? 20? 30? minutes of that heading back to the finish.  The trail was flat to gentle downhill, following a rocky ridgeline, with meadows directly below me and rows of mountains stretching off into the horizon.  I didn't feel my feet on the ground, my breathing was effortless, and I was struck by the pure beauty of it all.  Pure joy.

Eventually, I was brought back to the task at hand by an aid station.  I hit the second to last aid station still feeling good, and decided to start pushing it.  ...and then the uphill started.  The uphill seemed runnable, but my legs disagreed with my eyes.  Luckily, everyone else seemed to be feeling the same way, and I even managed to pass a few people here.  Last aid station and I decided to find what I had left.  Sprint until I couldn't move.  I had an awesome last 4 miles, 8 - 8:30 minutes/mile (fast for me for the end of an ultra).  I hit the last 1/2 mile of pavement sub-8, I'd passed a bunch of people and knew I was going to finish under 6 hours.  Then suddenly, about 200 meters from the finish, a tall thin man passed me -- no way!  I tried to match his pace ... ummm... nope, that wasn't going to happen.  He passed me like I was standing still.  Turns out, he was the 2nd place finisher in the 50 miler that had started an hour earlier than me.

When all was said and done, I finished in 5:53:58. 25th woman, 93 over-all. Previous time was 6:01:23 -- and I felt so good.  Ross had run 13 miles from Ashland to the top of the mountain and got there just after I finished (I was convinced I'd take at least 6 hours) - but it meant so much to me that he was there.  ....and the woman handing out the grab bags decided that my clothing earned me the "Most Ashland" award.  Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.  Whatever.  I like my skirt, and I like my pink.

The Mac 2012

Happy cruise down Dan's Trail

The Macdonald Forest 50km will always be one of my favorite races.  Sure, the course is pretty tough and definitely does not play to my strengths (well, to be honest, I'm not really sure exactly what my strengths as an ultra-marathoner are, but I'm pretty sure I haven't found them on this course with 6800 ft of elevation gain in 50km), but ...it's the Mac.  These are the trails that I train on, I'm surrounded by friends on race day, and you can't beat the attitude, organization, and general atmosphere on race day.  The Mac is fun.

Once again, Clem rung the bell, and I found myself leaving the Forestry Club Cabin for a few hours in the woods.  As the hoard started moving forward, I realized that I was much further back in the pack than I usually start, and I kept getting stuck behind groups of slower runners.  So, for the first 1+ miles on the gravel road, I found myself weaving and surging, trying to get closer to the middle of the pack.  Maybe it was the awkward start, but my legs already felt a bit heavy and tired, my chronic pain in my right hip and hamstring was aching more than usual, and my shins were hurting like I was getting shin splints.  Less than two miles in and I already felt bad!

Coming into the finish

We turned onto Callaway Creek Trail and I found myself fretting about how bad my legs felt, then crash!  my foot caught a root and I was on the ground.  I managed to get up pretty quickly; my knees were bleeding a bit, but they didn't feel too bad, so I figured I didn't do too much damage - and, on the plus side, all of my other aches and pains were suddenly gone!

The rest of the race - well, now, a week later is a bit of a blur.  The hike up Horse Trail was definitely hard and I was a lot slower here than in the past.  In contrast, I was able to run (jog) most of the climb up Road 500 (miles 26.7-29.5), which I've really struggled with in the past; and heading down Section 36 Trail, I was able to pick up quite a bit of speed - where in the past I've been pretty slow due to quad and knee pain.  My finishing time was 6:25:32.

Mountain Rescue scrubbing gravel out of my knee

So.... in hindsight, I probably could have pushed a little harder and had a better clock time. ....but, I personally had a great time.  I really enjoyed the race and I learned a bit more about managing my salt, liquid, and nutrition. I made sure to eat more food before the Mac than before Peterson - a homebaked cookie offered up by Caballo before the race helped top off my tank. I took Hammer Gel every 1/2 hour and tried to get about 100 calories of food plus 1 or 2 cups of coke at each aid station.  Besides Peterson, it was the hottest day I'd run in all year and I didn't drink enough the first half of the race, but really made an effort to drink from my pack the second half and think that really helped in the last 6 miles.

A big thanks to everyone who helped out this year, RDs Ken and Dennis, everyone who volunteered (I feel very lame for not helping out this year), Sander and Clem for all the trail work (and the mountain bikers for making the new connector between Ridge Trail and Alpha after the landslide), all the volunteers at the aid stations (including Jan who, at the last aid station remarked that I was looking a lot better than at her aid station during Peterson), Scott for the beer...

...and heck yeah I'm running the Mac again next year.  It'll be my 5th year and I'll finally get one of the beautiful pieces of pottery made for the Mac (a mug for 5 finishes!).  And maybe next year I'll beat 6 hours  =)