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Thoughts on the New Year, 2016

Last Tuesday morning, pre-dawn, I peered out the window at the solid blanket of rain-soaked snow that had fallen overnight. We had returned from our Holiday travels a day early due to the forecast of wintry weather and slippery highways, so I know it was coming. But I still had a visceral reaction, an emotional kick in the stomach, a Pavlovian reaction of profound despair and dread of the New England winter to come. This was compounded later in the morning as I struggled to remove the wretchedly heavy slush from the sidewalk and driveway. Mr. P broke his right pinky finger during our Holiday, which means I’m on the hook for a lot more domestic duties, like shoveling textbook New England “heart attack snow”. Since he can’t fit a glove or mitten over his splint, this also effectively means he can’t spend prolonged periods of time outside for the next 4-6 weeks. Just in time for snow season!

At least Little Boy experienced profound child-like joy in making a snowman as freezing rain slowly soaked us. It was hard to believe that, only four days before, Mr. P and I were sweating through a steamy humid tempo run in Pennsylvania. With none of our fingers broken.

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The snow has since half-melted, with just enough pockets of ice lingering to make a below-freezing morning run rather treacherous. Conditions on the trails are not much better. This is what I’ve been waiting for: the off-season, treadmill season, focus on pure speed and not elevation, hills, endurance, and terrain. Yet, the timing is a little daunting, as today I “won” entry in the Tahoe Rim Trail 100 miler in July. This is my big goal race for the year (if I hadn’t won the lottery, I would have signed up for the Vermont 100 again). The TRT 100 is a relatively tough 100-miler that will require a lot of fast-hiking practice. Though the race is 7 months out, I’m already feeling a bit frenzied in my need to train for it. Couple this frenzy with the obligatory “New Year’s” focus on self-betterment, and I’m feeling pretty anti-snow this year.

I actually had already half-entered my off-season in November. In fact, I weighed myself on our digital scale around Thanksgiving and saw, to my horror, 145 pounds! About 12 pounds heavier than I weighed in the summer. I told myself that some of it was muscle (I was swimming and weight lifting, and contrary to what they say about women not easily gaining muscle mass, I bulk up instantaneously) but I knew most of the weight was my almond-butter-from-the-jar habit and beers-after-work habit coupled with decreased mileage and general lower levels of activity (i.e., not walking to Little Boy’s school for afternoon pick-up, not spending hours romping around the playground, etc). So I gave up the almond butter habit and cut down on beer. I am already down to 140 pounds, which is a pretty good off-season weight. Besides, most of it is muscle 😉

So I don’t need to make resolutions about running, exercise, eating or weight, because those are things that I am motivated do anyway. There are two things, however, that I used to “naturally” be motivated to do that I no longer do… and that’s reading and writing. The luxury of being able to sit down with a book — a bonafide book, made from paper — had alluded me for the past, oh, five years. Also eroded is my ability to consistently write and blog. A lot of factors have contributed to this: the joys of parenting and domestic servitude, slowly grinding my way through Grad school to get my Masters, an exponential increase in responsibilities at work, and, of course, ultra running. But it is up to me to combat it. I have made no specific measurements of success around this resolution. I could say “Blog twice a week” or “finish a book every month,” but I don’t think that’s a valid way to make something become, once again, natural. And if I have to choose between spending time with Little Boy or writing a blog post, well, it’s obvious what I will choose. But I can certainly commit to maximizing my time in other areas so I can make incremental steps towards more writing and more reading.

So here’s to a more verbose 2016!

 

 

 

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France, August 2015

We’ve been back for almost two weeks and I’ve been avoiding writing this post… which is ridiculous, because we had a wonderful, relaxing, amazing two weeks of vacation in the French Alps, filled with quality family time, yummy food and beverages, and amazingly scenic hikes. It was truly a vacation I’ll remember for years to come. For the best of reasons…

And, the not-so-best. I was a DNS (“did not start”) at the UTMB, the big 107-mile ultra marathon that I had been training for all year.

I could rattle off a half-dozen reasons for the DNS, but it comes down to my knee/upper quad, injured slightly before we left… and it really, really did not like the steep Alpine downhills. One should really not start a race like the UTMB with a bum knee. On practice runs/hikes, my climbing was on track, but I just could not move quickly on the downhills without feeling a niggle in my knee.

And then, on a practice 17-mile race through the amazing Pralognan-la-Vanoise, I woke up the next morning feeling like someone hit my right knee with a hammer. It felt normal the next day, but that’s when I knew the UTMB wouldn’t be a good idea.

Lovin' the uphills

Lovin’ the uphills

But oh, those downhills

But oh, those downhills

And, while I feel a twinge of regret, I honestly couldn’t start a race that I knew I couldn’t finish. Ultimately, I didn’t care!

Ah, the mountains

Ah, the mountains

Mid-long-hike with beloved cousins

Mid-long-hike with beloved cousins

Those mountains, that lake

Those mountains, that lake

Mid-hike picnic

Mid-hike picnic

Dunking myself in freezing water to win a 10-euro bet

Dunking myself in freezing water to win a 10-euro bet

Cousins

Cousins

Fun run Beast Mode in Chamonix

Fun run Beast Mode in Chamonix

Discovering a (lasting?) love for rock-climbing

Discovering a (lasting?) love for rock-climbing

Mr. P, suffering through the 120-km TDS

Mr. P, suffering through the 120-km TDS

Finishing the TDS with Little Boy

Finishing the TDS with Little Boy

My Happy Place

My Happy Place

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Vermont 100 Miler, 2015 Race Report

100 miles was a new, very scary distance for me. My mission coming into the race was to finish the Vermont 100 without incurring a lasting (> one week) pain… and that mission was accomplished! Here’s the good and the bad:

THE GOOD

  • I finished in 25 hours, 15 minutes. Before the race, I had set my optimistic finishing time at 26 hours, which was really a wild guess, given I had never run a 100-mile race before. So though I managed my pacing horribly (see below), it was still a very respectful 100-mile time for a newbie mid-packer like me. I think if (IF!) I ever were to run another 100-miler, I acquired many ‘lessons learned’ that would result in a better time.
  • I had quality family time. Particularly with my most wonderful husband Mr. P, who paced me final miles 70-100 and provided such reassuring fortitude that he ought to be declared a performance-enhancing drug (although we walked most of miles 90-100, because of chafing and shot quads and he was fine with that). Seriously, nothing can test the strength of a relationship like pacing a significant other in an ultra! IN ADDITION, my father and stepmother journeyed to VT to take care of Little Boy whilst Mr. P paced me, and provided additional support (like the Sunday morning surprise-knock-on-the-hotel-room-can-we-use-your-shower visit, which saved my sanity). Similar to how my mother and father-in-law helped me complete the VT 100k two years ago, ultras can very much be a family event, and having loved ones there makes it even more meaningful. Knowing that people believe in me enough to come and help me finish made me believe in myself.
With my Little Boy at the starting line

With my Little Boy at the starting line

  • I remained healthy, fed, and hydrated. No nausea, no kidney failure, no muscle injuries. I ate copiously amounts of PB&J, grilled cheese, turkey sandwiches, and (after it got dark on Saturday) ramen with broth. It took me only three days to recover and I’ve already run 60 miles this week with only traces of discomfort.
Dutifully eating turkey sandwiches at mile 30

Dutifully eating turkey sandwiches at mile 30

THE MEH

  • My “race management.” I knew that the first 50 miles shouldn’t feel like work. And they didn’t… except I ran it in 11 hours — a 50-mile PR. I thought as long as I felt okay, the faster-than-planned pace was okay. After mile 50, I shared miles with people who kept talking about going sub-24 hours in order to “buckle” (runners finishing under 24 hours got a belt buckle; runners 24-30 hours get a coaster). I hadn’t planned on shooting for 24 hours but, running with people who were shooting for 24 hours, I started to get “buckle fever.” I ran miles 50-70 much faster than planned. I even arrived at mile 70 (Camp Ten Bear) at 7:30pm, one hour faster than I had planned, and before my pacer Mr. P arrived. (The medic stared at me. “Are you okay?” he asked, probably noting my darting eyes and confused expression, taking it for ultra-delusion. “I’m just looking for my pacer!” I insisted.) Mr. P showed up a few minutes later. I had 8 1/2 hours to run 50K to the finish and earn a buckle, which seemed highly doable… except, it wasn’t. By mile 90, I told Mr. P we’d be walking it in. I just had no will to run anymore. Since this wasn’t an “A” race for me, I wasn’t going to further aggravate my quads on the downhills. (But heck, I’m impressed that it took me until mile 90 for the wheels to come off!)
  • The weather. It was humid for sure. Not particularly hot or sunny, but humid. I did sweat copiously, but I felt grateful that at least the sun was shrouded and thus the humidity was bearable. Plus, the bugs stayed away… until the sun reared its ugly head at 5pm. Flies started following me. Right after mile 70 when I picked up Mr. P as my pacer, the skies opened up into torrential rain. honestly, the rain felt great but it turned the next section of trails into a muddy, slippery mess. It became humid again overnight. Still, the next day was about 90 degrees, sunny, and humid… so I felt grateful

THE BAD

  • Friday night. I slept by myself in the “tent city” next to the starting line. There were probably over 100 tents packed onto the grassy field. Earlier in the day, immediately after we set up my tent, a pick-up truck pulled up and 7-8 svelte 20-somethings jumped out and set up a giant alcove right next to my tent. I contemplated moving, since the rest of the field was pretty much empty, but I took a chance. Later that evening, after the pre-race BBQ, I said goodbye to my parents, Mr. P, and Little Boy and laid down in my tent at 8pm. I couldn’t help but to eavesdrop on the people in the alcove; it turned out one of them was running the 100K, two other guys were pacing, and the girls were the “crew.” Of course, the crew can stay up half the night drinking pomegranate sangria (“Like, so yummy.”) and not have to sleep. When I finally did fall asleep, a car alarm woke me and everyone else up at 11:30pm. I dozed fitfully some more, then torrential rain started. My tent was humid and I was sweating. By then it was 2am and I decided to ready myself for the 4am start: Eating, drinking canned coffee, downing supplements, applying glide, braiding hair, and just generally freaking out. Is there anything more daunting than started a 100-mile race on about three hours of sleep?
  • Epic chafing. I wore my North Face “Better than Naked” shorts, which I’ve worn in at least 2 50K races and never had problem with chafing. I applied Glide everywhere I normally chafe. At about mile 35, I pulled off the trail for a pee break in the woods… and noticed that my enough bikini line was inflamed, as were other parts. I was carrying some vaseline-like stuff, which I applied… but this seemed to move the salty swear into the chafing, and it burned. At mile 58 (the famed Margaritaville Aid Station) two older women held up blankets for me so I could apply another coating of vaseline to my entire nether regions. Still, it burned. It burned for the entire race. In fact, if anything prevented me from running the last 10 miles, it was the horrific chafing in my crotch. At the mile 92 Aid Station, the young volunteers helped me pin my shorts to my underwear and jovially convinced me I was “ready for the runway.” I can’t say enough about these wonderful people.
  • Toes. I made a rookie mistake: I tried something new on race day. At 3am, huddled in my tent with the rain beating down, I decided it would be a great idea to apply Glide to my feet to prevent blisters. Now, mind you, out of all the running ailments, the one that has never afflicted me are blisters. I don’t know what I was thinking. The Glide made my feet slide forward in my shoes on the downhills, hitting the fronts of my shoes. Around mile 25, I was running with three brothers from Texas (really) and I fell into the conversation so easily that I started to push the pace on the downhills. (The brothers were hilarious. They were good guys, yet seemed to have little clue about ultra running. I told one of them how I ran the 100K two years ago and it killed my quads, and he asked  “The quads are the front of your leg or the back?” I was in disbelief, yet very happy and surprised to see they finish in 28 hours.) My big toenails are now black and I expect them to come off eventually.

That’s about it. Honestly, it wasn’t as hard as thought it would be, but it was still damned hard. I’m much more of a fan of 50Ks these days and I feel like I should perfect that distance, and then the 50-miler, before attempting another 100-miler. (Well, of course I am signed up for the 104-mile UTMB in France in late August… but I’m already planning to drop out at mile 50. Unless divine intervention strikes.)

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Around mile 60

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Taper Madness

I loath tapering for any race. One would think that after a hard training cycle, the 2-week taper before a 100-mile race would be heavenly. But with 5 days prior to VT 100, when I finish a short, easy run… it’s like someone who regularly gorges on hamburgers and fries for lunch opting for the salad. Totally unsatisfying.

Yesterday/Sunday (the day of the week that is typically my long-run day) I ran an measily 5 miles and then staved off taper madness by whisking Little Boy to Crane Beach. (Mr. P. had to do some off-hours database maintenance). Even I get lazy on beaches.

Crane Beach Frolic

Crane Beach Frolic

It’s T minus five days until VT 100, and I’ll admit my fear. 100 miles is long. Vermont is hilly, hot and humid. Suffering is inevitable.

My consolation is that I finished the VT 100K (basically the last 60 miles of the 100-miler) two years ago… so I know what to expect from the course. I’m also in exponentially better shape than I was 2 years ago, which is funny because I certainly wasn’t in bad shape 2 years ago — I did finish a 100K — but I’ve been much more rigorous about hill/elevation training and I’ve gotten faster, leaner, meaner. Of course, all of that might mean little if my knees/feet/hips/back starts screaming at mile 40 and I have to mentally deal with “60 more miles”. Or, if I start puking.

I have 30 hours to finish (the leading women usually finish around 19-20 hours). And my only goal is to finish. My optimistic finish time is 26 hours, realistic is 28 hours, and 30 hours is the cut-off time. So even my realistic running time will have me running from 4am Saturday morning until 8 am Sunday morning.

Mr. Kitty Cat felt little pity, as he instinctively inhabited a box in which new running shoes arrived:

Cat loves box

Cat loves box

“What seems to us bitter trials are often blessings in disguise.”
–  Oscar Wilde

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Camping, Mt. Ascutney, Fourth of July 2015

After last weekend’s trip to the Trappe Family resort, our collective inner miser kicked in and we decided to exercise extreme economic austerity by spending 4th of July weekend at a Vermont State campground. Since we have all the gear, this put us back about $100 of campground/wood/ice fees for 3 days/2 nights… but as I said to Mr. P, it’s not about the money saved. It’s about the camping experience: disconnecting from devices, television, electricity, any type of creature comfort… connecting to each other, to nature, to mosquitos, and to the bodily foibles of strangers in the communal bathroom/shower.

We left Friday mid-morning in the fully-loaded Subaru, heading to the Mt. Ascutney State Park in mid-state Vermont. We packed lunch so we could stop half-way at Pisgah State Park, to revisit a much-reminisced swimming hole where we took Little Boy when he was four years old. Funny how much more scared he was to jump from the rocks now than he was when he was four.

My boys, getting ready to SWIM

My boys, getting ready to JUMP

This is this part when my stomach and mind lurch:

Nooooo

Bombs…

oooooo....

…Away!

Me, not jumping

Me, not jumping

We continued driving north to the campground, where our lean-to awaited. The rest of the day was a flurry of setting up camp, playing games, cooking dinner, and wreaking havoc on ant communities within our site’s vicinity.

Saturday morning I woke up early and, as arranged earlier with Mr. P, started on my “long run” up Mt. Ascutney. Since I was hardly running the gnarly, technical trails, it was more like a fast hike. Still, it’s the type of training I need to start doing more often.

Early Morning Mountain Fog

Early Morning Mountain Fog

I tagged the summit and came back after 3 and half hours, only to drive back up with Mr. P and Little Boy after a quick breakfast. There’s a parking lot about a half-mile from the summit; we decided to hike on the trails on and around the summit rather than endure having to force Little Boy to do the whole hike up the mountain. He likes views and technical terrain; he doesn’t like mud, bugs, and endless tree-lined trails. We hiked around for about two hours with relatively few complaints.

West Peak, Mt. Ascutney -- hand glider platform

West Peak, Mt. Ascutney — hand glider platform

While we were up there, it started to rain, which surprised us. Rain was not in the forecast, yet it continued for much of the afternoon. We returned to the campsite and Mr. P set off on his long run while Little Boy and I colored and listened to the radio.

The rain slowed in the evening. We made dinner and played with sparklers. We were pretty relaxed and content.

Marshmallow

Marshmallow

Mommy Photo Bomb

Mommy Photo Bomb

It’s hard to believe we’ll be returning to the campground in two short weeks for the Vermont 100. I have started tapering my running, telling myself that the hay is in the barn and there’s nothing more I can do to get ready. My confidence in my ability to finish wavers from day to day, but these are certainties: I will be walking most of it, if I finish it will take me 27-30 hours, and my ability to finish will depend heavily on the weather. It’s been a cool summer thus far, so if it’s a sunny and humid day I will struggle. (Hell, it’s 100 miles… even if it’s a perfect weather day I will struggle). Bombs away…

 

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Catamount 50K, 2015

I wasn’t intimidated by the Catamount 50K in Northern Vermont, despite its 5,000 feet of elevation gain. The past two months had been a blur of hill repeats, pounding my quads, glutes, and calves into submission at Prospect Hill Park—a local treasure with a short but brutal 400-foot climb. On other days, I’d hit the buttery trails near home for speedwork. I felt strong, injury-free, and ready for this challenge, with the Vermont 100 miler looming just 2.5 weeks away.

We stayed at the Trapp Family Lodge in Stowe to be within walking distance of the starting line and, frankly, to indulge in some much-needed frivolity. After months of no getaways since Christmas, it felt like time. The lodge, with its storied history (inspired The Sound of Music, rebuilt after a fire, and… not much touched since), was equal parts charming and overpriced.

Still, the proximity to the start made race morning feel downright luxurious. Two minutes from the line, in my private bathroom, I shoved nut bars into my mouth and applied anti-chafe petroleum with the dignity of a princess preparing for battle.

At the starting line, everyone looked fierce—because it’s a 50K, and that’s just the vibe. We set off with the energy of a pack of over-caffeinated deer, prancing up the first big hill at an unsustainable pace. I told myself to slow down, but the herd had its pull, and my heart rate was already yelling at me.


Loop 1: Finding Rhythm (15.5 miles, 2:35)

The first loop unfolded predictably: climbs, descents, mud, and a surprising number of people passing me early on. I let them go, sticking to my plan. The course was tough but rewarding—steep ascents, rolling trails, and just enough mud to make shoe choice matter. The grassy uphill section, featuring a conveniently placed photographer, was my least favorite. (Mental note: braid hair next time to avoid finishing with a bird’s nest.)

By the time I finished the first loop, Mr. P and Little Boy were waiting with fresh socks—much needed after navigating those thick, swampy patches of mud. At the aid station, an older volunteer kindly refilled my handheld bottle, but it was obvious who he was catering to. “I want a banana,” Little Boy said. “Me too,” I muttered. Guess who was cute enough to dotingly get the banana;-)


Loop 2: Cautious, Not Slow (15.5 miles, 2:49)

I started the second loop intentionally slow. Let’s call it “cautious.” The first loop’s faster-than-expected pace had me dreaming of a 50K PR, but I was feeling the strain and hadn’t eaten enough. The aid stations, while plentiful in spirit, were heavy on whole-wheat PB&Js that turned to sun-baked bricks in my hands. Still, I kept moving, passing some runners and getting passed by others, pacing myself through the endless climbs and descents.

Somewhere in the final miles, I had a memorable aid station encounter. A group of senior lodge guests watched me sprint out at an 8-minute mile pace, rogue jelly smeared across my hands, hydration bottle, and shirt. Their concerned faces said it all: this woman is feral. But I was too focused to care. I kept pushing, knowing I was close to the finish.


The Finish: A Strong PR (5:24)

The final stretch was all mental. My legs were sore, my stomach protested the PB&Js, but I kept running, spurred on by the thought of pizza, beer, and a post-race soak. I crossed the line in 5:24, a 50K PR, finishing 27th out of 96 runners and 7th woman out of 32. The hardest 50K course I’ve run, but also the most rewarding.

The rest of the day was a blur of pizza, beer, hot tub reviews from Mr. P, and post-race chatter. I soaked it all in, grateful for a strong race, a beautiful course, and a rare weekend getaway. The Catamount 50K delivered everything I could’ve asked for—and more rogue jelly than I ever anticipated.

I really should have braided my hair...
I really should have braided my hair…
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… because it was a giant knot at the end

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Birthday Season

It is Birthday Season… not just for me (yesterday) and Mr. P (today), but for seemingly every one of Little Boy’s friends. (And, soon, in three weeks, Little Boy himself will be seven!?!)

In between celebratory festivities, soccer games, and endless training runs, we squeezed in a trip to a local pond up in the moneyed hills of Belmont, a pond Little Boy and Mr. P had never been to (and that I only recently discovered during a run). It’s a secluded, quiet, smallish, kinda buggy but amazing area, with insane baby ducks, bellowing toads, grazing goats, and overprotective mommy/daddy geese.

The best birthday present by far!

Binoculars never get old

Binoculars never get old

Never!

Never!

Watch out, I'm going to...

Watch out, I’m going to…

flip you!

…flip you!

The obligatory spring blossom pic

The obligatory spring blossom pic

 

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TARC Spring Classic 2015

Up until one minute after the race start, I considered the TARC Spring Classic 50K to be just a training run… not something I’d run hard. But I felt good, the day was crisp and sunny, and I was running a TARC race — life is good! The momentous snow of the winter is gone. (Was it ever really here? Did I really spend the entire month of February running on a treadmill? How did I make it through a 2.5 hour run on a treadmill?)

So yeah, this race was supposed to be just “time on my feet.” No speed involved, because speed plus ultra distance requires recovery, and with the VT 100 and UTMB looming, I don’t have time for recovery. I must be constantly pushing the limit yet not exceed the limit. With this race, I definitely pushed the limit.

The Twin State 50K

My first ultra of the season was actually a month ago, in VT, the low-key Twin State 50K, which I ran last year. Because Mr. P was on call for his work, I drove up to VT by myself, ran 50K essentially by myself, and finished in a muck of excitable French Canadians.

Twin State 50 Starting Line

Twin State 50 Starting Line

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Twin State 50, Mile 12ish Aid Station, AKA a guy on the side of the road with Oreos

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Twin State 50K Finish Line! Cue the cheering Quebecois

So Twin State was a good race for me, given the hills. I finished slightly over 5:35 and showed great sportsmanship by not ratting out the Quebecoise who I saw cutting the course. Overall a nice way to commence the season after the horrific Spring Thaw.

Back to the Spring Classic…

With the Spring Classic coming a month after Twin State, and with my legs feeling strong and injury-free (thanks mostly, I suspect, to my renewed commitment to strength and mobility work) I knew I could do a pretty fast Spring Classic 50K. It’s a really flat trail, as far as 50Ks go. The weather was ideal. And the course is 5 loops of 6+ miles, so I only had to carry a handheld water bottle and I could grab PB&Js at the end of each loop.

Mr. P volunteered to go early and help park cars. Little Boy and I arrived at the race start in Weston just as the main parking area was filling up. Little Boy thought it was hilarious to see Daddy in the safety vest, directing cars to various areas of the field. They left shortly after the race start, as I didn’t want them to spend a Saturday spectating an ultramarathon.

When the race started, I was accidentally (really!) at the front of the pack and I could see that there were no 50K girls in front on me (confirming my suspicion that several of the really fast girls who signed up to run were not, in fact, running). During the first mile, about 5-6 girls did pass me, but I still had the motivation and the feeling like I could finish this race near the front of the pack.

So I went for it.

TARC Spring 50K -- in the first mile feeling cold, focused

TARC Spring 50K — in the first mile feeling cold, focused — photo by Edith Dixon

The first loop was crowded as the shorter distances began to pass us and the pack settled down. I was thrilled that the course wasn’t terribly muddy — the last race I ran in these woods was the TARC 50M almost two years ago, which was epic mud. My miles ranged from 8:30 to 9:40, which is much much faster than I typically go on trails. The second loop was more being passed and passing. I told myself I was going to “calm down” but I felt exceptionally good.

After each loop I passed through the starting line/aid station/drop bag area, where I filled up my handheld with water and grabbed two quarters of good ole’ PB&J. I ate nothing else the entire race, not even my typical “Oh, I earned them” peanut M&Ms.

Cruising on the second loop

Cruising on the second loop

The pack really thinned out on the third loop, as most of the half-marathoners had finished and the ones remaining were mostly walking and easier to pass. I finally passed another 50K girl I was leap-frogging with and didn’t see her the rest of the race. I slowed down a bit but still managed 9:40-11:00 minute miles.

The fourth loop was the loop that I dreaded. Miles 20-26, things get lonely, minds turn zombie. My legs still felt pretty good but my energy was falling fast and it took more effort to maintain my pace. Towards the end of the loop, I could hear two girls chatting distantly behind me. It took about one mile but they passed me; one was a 50K girl, the other was apparently a pacer. I was totally fine with her passing me except when the pacer girl said “Good luck!” to me, and in my tired mind I took that as an insult. Most people say “Good job!” or “Keep it up!”… but “Good luck?” Did I look like I was hurting so much that I would need, like, luck?

Luckily that was right before the end of the fourth loop, so I was quickly distracted by the thrill of going through the aid station and the PB&Js and whatnot, and then starting my fifth and final loop. Ah! Mentally I was relieved; every inch of trail I passed, I told myself “Last time I see that rock. Last time I cross this grass field. Last time I run this mud.”

I passed a few 50K guys on this loop. Towards the end of the loop I passed one guy who was breathing heavily. My passing seemed to invigorate him, and for about one mile I could hear him panting behind me. The fear of being “chicked” finally pushed him passed me about 2 minutes from finish, though he was wheezing like a dying man.

Finish! 5 hours, 36 minutes. 6th girl out of 33. (It turns out the girl with the “good luck” pacer was a mere 30 seconds ahead of me, but I had no way of knowing.) Overall another great TARC race.

 

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A PR, and a PW

It’s Spring, supposedly.

PW (Personal Worst)

My first race of 2015 was the TARC Spring Thaw. Last year I came in second place by running 28.5 miles in six hours — the trail had some snow and ice, but it was minimal and manageable. This year, there was a 1-2 foot snow pack that caused ankle-tweaking postholing and just general unpleasantness. I went to the race with low expectations, and after completing one 4-mile loop of mostly walking in a long conga line of equally frustrated trail runners… I was done. One hour, 15 minutes for 4 miles… Sure, I could have done more loops, but given the scheduling constraints of the day, plus my realistic fear of damaging my ankles/lower calf in ridiculous conditions, I decided to pack it in and go run 13 hilly road miles.

This gave me a ridiculous 14.04% rank on Ultrasignup (based on the total miles of the top woman — a local legend — which was 28.5 miles). Embarrassing Internet result… but in ultrarunning, there is a very fine line ‘tween grit and foolhardiness. I am content with my 4 miles and 14.04% rank.

At the start, with hardier runners than me

At the start (far right) with hardier runners than I

PR (Personal Record)

This past week, we visited family in Pennsylvania. Since all of the early-spring road half-marathons in Boston have been cancelled due to snow banks, Mr. P and I decided to look for a half-marathon around Philly… and serendiptiously found the Caesar Rodney half-marathon in Wilmington, Delaware. It was hilly, but I decided to go for a PR road half-marathon (judging my previous PR — 1:47 — to be soft).

On Sunday morning we left Little Boy with his grandparents and drive to Wilmington. We don’t go on dinner dates anymore — just half-marathon dates. And it was such a treat to go to a race with Mr. P! It was windy. Well-organized, about 1000 runners? Delaware Senator Tom Carper — who was running — gave a speech at the starting line. Over the megaphone, I couldn’t understand a word. When the race started, Mr. P ran ahead of me and I fell into a 7:30 pace, knowing the first six miles were flat and fast. The hills were madness. Still, with all the winter’s treadmill speed work, I easily attained a new PR in 1:42.

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I’m Not a New Englander After All

This was our front yard last Friday:

Could it get any worse?

Could it get any worse?

It couldn’t possibly get worse than that…

Could not possibly…

Can’t get worse…

BAM.

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I got home from the gym this morning at 7am. It was -2 F degrees without the windchill, probably -15 or more every time the bitter Arctic wind gusts. Mountains of snow are everywhere. There is more snow coming. There is not a day over 32 degrees in the 12-day forecast (and that is a snow day).

“I’m done,” I told Mr. P. “Done.”

I’m so ready to run away to San Francisco. It turns out I’m not a hardy New Englander. I like being outdoors. I don’t mind some cold, I don’t mind some snow, but…

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