Reflections on life, death, injuries, and other lightweight matters

(Disclaimer: My title was stolen from the VHTRC list-serve)

For the past few weeks, the VHTRC listserve has been filled with e-mails about Mike Broderick, a Happy Trail member who recently died of lung cancer, only 4 weeks after he was suddenly diagnosed, and who just completed Western States four months ago.  Stories like that hit everyone, even newcomers like me who didn't know him, because ultrarunners like to think we're strong, invincible, and able to overcome whatever life throws at us... even death. All my housemates went to the funeral, friends changed their facebook pictures to photos with Mike, and paid tribute through a blog post. It was sad to see my friends mourn a loss of another running partner, friend, and coach.

Within a week of his funeral, I got a text message from my cousin that an old friend of mine, Anne Jackson, a cross country runner at Nyack college in NY, collapsed while out for an evening run and died before her family made it to the hospital. She was a senior in college (with a 3.97 GPA--holy cow!), 21 years old, and had not a bad bone in her body. She was young, healthy, and there was no known pre-existing condition. It was so sudden and shocking, and her friends, now scattered across the country, are mourning the sudden loss of a runner and friend. I can't imagine how her family, close friends, and teammates are handling this tragedy. My thoughts and prayers have been with them every waking moment since hearing of her death.

Yesterday, after hearing the news, I stumbled onto another blog with a tribute to Mike, and I was almost angry. His life shouldn't be mourned; he had really lived, he had fair warning, he completed races around the world and had touched so many lives that police were needed to direct traffic to his funeral. Anne was too young, it was too sudden, and it all of it too shocking and unfair.

I became friends with Anne through our church when I was around 14 years old. She was two years younger than me, but we had the same group of friends. We lived near each other and so we would often carpool to events or meet up on weekdays. I have so many wonderful memories that include her, and I don't remember one in which she was not smiling... looking through her facebook pictures, I swear that she is glowing in every one.

Moving away from home to go to college is tough. She stayed close friends with everyone in Buffalo, and was the Maid of Honor at our friend's wedding earlier this year. Unlike me. I barely talk to my friends anymore. I think a comment on a facebook photo about the beautiful wedding pictures is sufficient... I didn't even send a card. I envy her ability to stay close with our friends, and I've been hearing from them throughout the last 24 hours. Things like "I feel like I should tell you I love you..because I do! and I never said it enough to anne..and I certainly don't say it enough to you." What kind of person does it make me that I haven't spoken to people that I considered my best friends five year ago, in years? Is it time and miles that bring people apart, or is it people?

And what of the friends and relationships I have now? Already, since it isn't as convenient as when we were in college, I make little room for my closest girlfriends and sorority sisters. I'm fighting an injury, and I wonder what will ever happen if I am out for months on end. If I get seriously injured, will I keep my friendships and ties with the running community I've jumped into, or will I lose them as friends too? I am thankful that while miles have hurt friendships in the past, they build friendships today.

Runners are supposed to be patient people. When we get injured we should build miles up slowly. We shouldn't race too much too quick. We all schedule only 1-2 big races a year. I keep getting told I don't need to do every big race in my first few years of running. Recent events have put into perspective that maybe we shouldn't be patient. You never know when you'll get injured, get in a car accident, or have one of your vital organs fail you. I might not be able to run Western States in 2012 or 13... and it's awful bold to think I will be.

Last night, I wanted to go out for a run for Anne. In a way, to let out all the frustrations of the week and the sadness that I feel guilty for feeling. I walked for about 5 minutes and then tried running again. I was able to run for about two minutes before my IT band felt tight. I stopped and walked home, knowing that the only way it will heal is by resting it. After just completing my 100 mile race (101.87, actually) less than two months ago, I've had to deal with a tight IT Band that kept me from doing well at MCM and kept me out of my running shoes for weeks. Even though I have never felt more strong and able, I cannot overcome this injury.
 
And that's what I've learned recently, as a runner and a person, that even when we feel our stongest, we're still weak and fragile.

MCM - Halloween edition

On Sunday, I ran the Marine Corps Marathon for the 3rd time.  I wore my friend Ann's bib, and removed the chip.  Yes, this is generally frowned upon but it's not my fault marathons tend to have giant sticks up their ass and charge a ridiculous bib transfer fee.

On Saturday night I was inspired to dress up like a zombie.  This is why I wanted to do MCM to begin with! I went to CVS to buy black eye make-up and red lipstick when I ran into Brian, who was on his way to get a bib from a guy in Arlington.  I was excited I'd have a housemate headed to the race with me. I made my costume: I ripped up a 5k t-shirt and shorts, lined the rips with lipstick, and wrote "First rule of Zombieland: CARDIO" on the back. 

We decided to leave a little late because I'm always sitting around the start line forever. But, I didn't anticipate a 15 minute metro wait. We were totally screwed. We got to the Pentagon City metro at 8:05 when the race had already started. It wouldn't have been so bad if we knew where the start was. We were in a car with two guys and we all ran out of the metro station. When we got to a broken escalator (typical) the two guys ran up it when Brian and I slowed to a walk at the exact same time. We burst into laughter... it was the most typical road runner v. trail runner scenario imaginable.

There were no directions to the start. We were running around, hitting dead ends, and wearing ourselves out. Finally, we figured out the route to the start, and we were probably 2 miles into the run. As we neared the start, a spectator yelled "You're almost there! You can do it!" #clever

Brian and I jumped into the start just moments before the police cars that trailed behind the last runners.  There was a sea of slow runners and walkers to work through for the first several, several miles. Brian disappeared ahead of me (and finished in 3:09! Incredible!) and I let go of any hope of getting anywhere near my PR or a BQ time. It was like a fartlek: run slow behind a group then speed up the moment a window opens. My only forseeable problem at the time was a blister that already bothered me at mile 3: the most epic blister ever! It literally takes up 1/3rd of my foot.

The race flew by. I couldn't believe when we hit a new mile marker. I got a little bored, started a few conversations, listened to some good music, and started a list of why I like trail running better.  This is what I came up with:

Trail Ultramarathons	Road Marathons
Better aid stations with food and awesome volunteers who feed you and fill up water bottles.	More water stations so you don’t have to carry water—but almost no food.
Made a wrong decision and wore old shoes?  Change them at your drop bag.	Made the wrong decision and wore old shoes?  You’re fucked.
Lots of trees.	Lots of spectators with funny signs.
Run alone or with a group of friends.  Single-tracks usually get crowded at the beginning but thin out over the first few miles.	Run through massive crowds with people cutting you off and getting knocked over.
Built in walk breaks up mountains.  But, this means more time on your feet.	You have to run it all—and fast.  But, at least you can run it fast.
You have to carry all your garbage.	Volunteers pick up all the garbage.
Friends, housemates, or boyfriend chauffeur me to start.	Metro.  Fuck.  Metro.
You can’t get lost in a loud iPod.  People might need to pass, and you need to listen for rattlesnakes and bears.	You can just ignore everyone and blare your iPod to get you through the race… even though they discourage it.
You can find your friends easily; there is hardly anyone else there.	Trying to find one person in a sea of 35,000 people is impossible.
The trail is gentler on your body.  Unless you’re running on rocks.	The constant pounding on roads hurts more.
Always exciting with falls, wild animals, mountains, stream crossings, etc.	You run a road the whole time.  Sort of boring.
You are sleep deprived and bleed real blood.	To look like a zombie you need black eye make-up and red lipstick.
Pictures from event are free.	Pictures from event cost at least $40.
Gear is more expensive.	All you need are the running basics.
Usually in the middle of nowhere.  Requires rental car.	Located in accessible cities.  (Metro.  Fuck.  Metro)
You run through streams.	You run on bridges over rivers.
At mile 19 you realize you have 83 miles left.	At mile 19 you realize you have 7 miles left.
Better value per mile.	Usually very expensive.
Serene and quiet—unless running with Snipes.	People bring cowbells and scream at you as if muscles feed off noise.
After the finish, you can sit right down and start drinking beer and eating food.	After the finish, you are stuck in an unmoving crowd for an hour.  Still standing.
At sunset you are still running.	At sunset you are on the couch watching a movie.

At mile 22 I ran into my hasher friends and I hung out too long and had 4 (or 6) cups of beer. I ran into thisamazingday and stopped to chat.  I thought my 4 hour goal was totally do-able.  Then, my IT band really started to act up and I was really slowed down at the end. I pushed through it and unofficially finished in 4:00:32.

At 6:00:32, I made it through the start area and headed to Chadwicks where I drank several glasses of champagne, then stumbled/limped home (it was to make my costume better, I swear). But I woke up this morning with sore quads, and achy IT band, a swollen ankle, and low energy. It doesn't matter if I proved I can run 100 miles, 26.2 still isn't easy.

Grindstone 100

Start/finish line, picture courtesy of Bobby Gill

Most people don't celebrate their 23rd birthday with a 100-mile race.  I'm pretty sure that my finishing Grindstone was against all odds.  Of the 106 starters, only 72 finished, and only 6 of us were women (11 showed up).  Not only was I a 100-miler virgin who picked the hardest one on the East Coast because it was local and started on my birthday (it was destiny), but I've been running trails for uh… 7 months.  The first time I even climbed up a mountain was after I signed up for it (confession).

At the start, picture courtesy of Bobby Gill

As the race approached, I was hit with exactly how long 100 miles is.  I recognized that this wouldn't be all fun and games.  Grindstone would be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  I would likely spend most of it miserable.  I got to the race somewhat excited but honestly, I was not up for it. This course was going to chew me up.

The best advice I received was from Quatro, who told me “Don't run 100.  Just run from aid station to aid station.  It'll be all good - next thing you know, you will find yourself back where you started.”  I always did this during ultras, but I had never thought to really only think about each section and nothing else.  Anytime I let my mind wander to what I did or had yet to do, I told myself to forget it.  All that mattered was getting to the next aid station.  So, this is how I broke up my race report.  It was a somewhat uneventful race, but beware, it’s a long report!

Splits can be found at my eco-x runner page.

Start! Picture courtesy of Bobby Gill

 Start to Falls Hollow

Brian and I signed up for Grindstone together and so we ran the first mile together (how corny and sentimental, I know).  He’s the one who made me change from the North Face 50k to the 50 miler and sign up for the race.  The first portion was rocky but quick, and I knew the race didn’t really start until we got started on summitting Elliot Knob.

Me and Brian, ready to go

 Falls Hollow to Dry Branch Gap

Getting to Elliot Knob requires about 3,000 feet of climbing, two stream crossings (the day after 3 inches of rain), and a 1.5 mile climb up a crazy steep gravel road.  I played leapfrog on the still-crowded trail, and I ran a lot of the gentle uphills, the flats, and got my feet wet.  It got dark, and I was glad I couldn’t see the never-ending road.  It wasn’t as bad during the race as my hike (since we didn’t have 95 degree weather), but a cold breeze hit me on that road.  After the summit, I had never seen the rest of the trail in this section.

It was nasty.  I’m still scarred from my Ring experience in the Massanutten and I was not happy to see all the rocks!  I even yelled out to the group I was in "I thought MMT was the rocky one!" There was a little ridge running, and then the descent was switchbacks along a rock trail with a scary drop off.  I heard and saw Snipes and his group ahead of me, but mostly ran it by myself with my iPod.  I’m surprised I did this portion in less than 4 mph because was near impossible to run a lot of this and I wasn’t happy to give up a running descent.  But, it’s ok, I had plenty of chances later!

Mile 1.5

Dry Branch Gap to Dowells Draft

The main motivation for this section was seeing my crew at the next aid station.  We went over Crawford Mountain and this was probably my favorite section of the whole race.  There were rolling hills interspersed with steeper climbs on the way up and then I flew down it.  I’ve really just got the hang of running down technical trails about 2 months ago, and I totally put it to work.  I was laughing the whole time and had a blast.  I’m pretty sure that running down a mountainside is the closest thing to flying that man can get on its own.  I passed a man and yelled “this downhill is amazing!” and it really was.  I knew that if I didn’t let myself just fly down the hills, my knees would be destroyed.  If I wanted to finish, I needed to hold off the brakes and just go.  I flew through this section and had a blast.

Heading out of Dowells Draft, picture courtesy of Bobby Gill

My crew was amazing and Tyler got me out of the aid station in 7.5 minutes.  I ate butternut squash (it was perfect) and got refueled and on my merry way.

Dowells Draft to Lookout Mountain

This was another great section.  I made a friend and getting to talk and meet new people on the trail is always one of my favorite things.  He ended up deciding he couldn’t keep up and I ran ahead.  It ended with several miles downhill on a fire road that I took really easily.  The aid station came up sooner than I thought and it was the best aid station of the race (both times through).  The people were so supportive and energetic.  They screamed and clapped when they saw you coming, they had coffee, they were super helpful, and it really lifted my spirits.

I hit 30 miles in 7:08, only 45 minutes slower than my 50k PR.

Lookout Mountain to North River Gap

I had done Lookout Mountain as a hike, but I completely forgot how rocky it was.  It was really late and dark, and I started getting spooked.  A log was a wolf.  The moon was a fire.  A stick was a snake.  It was silent, I didn’t see anyone, and I was letting my imagination get the best of me.  I focused on my iPod and the trail, and belted out to Miley Cyrus.  I know, you thought I was hardcore until you read that.  But who can resist Party in the USA?

Coming into the next aid station, I was excited to see my crew and I finally decided road running was ok.  Running down the road to the aid station, the crescent moon was visible through a tree gap and the sky was covered in stars.  It was such a clear, gorgeous night!

There was a weigh-in at the TWOT lot and I had lost one pound.  Not bad for 35 miles, but I made a note to continue to hydrate.

North River Gap to Little Bald Knob

I knew this was the worst part of the race.  The 7-mile climb just got worse and worse.  I tried to run the flats and the downhills, and the climbs killed me.  I think I pushed it too hard.  I reached the “bald knob” that was covered in grassy meadows, but there was no aid station.  The mileage was off and instead of 7.74 miles, it was 8.83.  I was cold, tired, and was frustrated that the aid station wasn’t where it should be.  I saw Sean pacing the leader in and Keith, who was kicking ass as usual.  Finally, I got there and sat by the fire and had three cups of soup.  I dropped my pack, grabbed an extra handheld with some gels and salts in the pocket and ran toward Reddish knob feeling quite miserable. 

Little Bald Knob to Reddish Knob

Even though this was an easy piece of trail (other than the mud) I took it pretty slow.  My feet hurt, I was exhausted, and not feeling hot about the run.  I saw the first woman on her way back and Brian, who looked fantastic.

Before really getting to the Reddish Knob station, you have to summit it.  I caught up to Snipes and a group of us dropped our things and walked up the asphalt road. 

The view from Reddish Knob made the entire 47 miles to get there worth it.  We arrived as the sun rose and the 360-degree view of the Northern Virginia and West Virginia mountains was amazing.  I remembered seeing the intersection of the Black and White desert in Egypt and being motivated to travel and do more with my life if the world had places like that to offer.  I was sure that was one of the most beautiful, unreal views I’d ever see and the view from Reddish Knob topped it.

The mountains looked blue, and you could see about 8 ridges, the last topped with a line of red to bright pink.  The valleys were filled with fog and this really lifted my spirits.  It inspired me to want to run more trail races if this is what ultrarunning has to offer.

The aid station had brown sugar poptarts.  ‘Nuff said.

Still running at mile 66, picture courtesy of Bobby Gill

 Reddish Knob to Briary Branch and back to Reddish Knob

I thought for sure that when I saw my crew again, I’d take a nap.  I saw Mario on the way out and he said that he did it last year and woke up a new man and had a negative split.  I half ran the road down because my feet were throbbing.  I was worried I wouldn’t be able to run any more of the race.  I was determined to nap.

I got in, left my iPod to charge, changed my socks and shoes, and felt like a new woman!! The difference between my Inov-8 and Masochists was crazy.  I was so excited that I could run again! Mark took me to the turn around, and now I was headed back to the finish.  I saw Doug and Steve Pero and walked a lot back to Reddish Knob due to exhaustion.

Reddish Knob to Little Bald Knob

I barely stopped at Reddish Knob and had a tough time with this whole middle section.  I wasn’t feeling great when I got to Little Bald, especially knowing what was ahead.  I decided to cave and take some painkillers and holy crap, they worked!

Weigh-in at TWOT, picture courtesy of Bobby Gill

 Little Bald Knob to North River Gap

I don’t know if it was the painkillers or knowing that I’d be picking up my pacer, but I ran a lot of the descent into the TWOT lot.  I hung out and chatted with some cool people, listened to my iPod, and ran all but the very steep and rocky descent… which was most of the trail.  I knew if I ran those, I would have to put the brakes on and I might not be able to run downhill for the rest of the race.  Again, this section never ended and just got worse and worse.  I came into North River Gap saying that it was an evil trail.  Then I got weighed and found out I gained that pound back and I made a joke about running for 20 hours and not even losing a pound.  I was able to get down a rice and bean burrito (a little one) and my pacer and I went out for the finish.

Me and James out of North River Gap, picture courtesy of Bobby Gill

North River Gap to Lookout Mountain

James and I hauled up Lookout.  We made excellent time and started chatting about everything.  I could run well and I felt amazing.  He was surprised I had so much energy, and I was too!  The huge bummer about getting to this aid station was seeing Brian there shrugging and telling us he DNFed.  His ankle was irritated and swollen.  Since Brian and I were in this together, it was tough to know he was out. 

Lookout Mountain to Dowells Draft

From North River Gap, James and I passed 10 people through these sections.  He was really pulling me along and making me run everything that wasn’t uphill.  I felt so great, and I can’t believe I felt like this after how miserable I was earlier.  I remembered ultrarunnergirl telling me to remember that it doesn’t always get worse, and that was great advice.  James and I just had great conversation and he had so much energy.   One of the best things about having a pacer was being able to look forward to meeting him and then drawing energy from him.  It made me feel so fresh!

Dowells Draft to Dry Branch Gap

Clark Zealand is a sadist.  There are two, 2,000 ft, 4 mile (ish) climbs in the last 10 miles of this course.  It was hard to focus on just this section knowing I had to do it again.  The sun started going down, and James had heard it was 5 miles hard, 4 miles easy, and so we tried to run the easy parts.  It started off as a nice run and then we took the climb pretty hard.  Once the climb was over I told him I was finished running. No more running for me.  He says “But look what you just did… its like waking up Sunday morning and saying you’ll never drink again and then by Wednesday you’re out at a bar.” 

We took it slow for a moment to get our energy back.  This is when I started losing it mentally.  I was seeing crows everywhere, and sticks looked like they were twisted into some type of voo doo doll.  The sunset made the trees look like I was seeing the course ribbons everywhere.

James said we should try to run a quarter mile.  So, we did and I started to feel really good.  We got to a descent and I just leaned forward and ran effortlessly again (seriously, I just loved Crawford Mountain both ways).  When we hit the rolling hills part, running up the slight uphill rocked.  It was all new muscles being used and we tore through that section.

Me and my awesome pacer, picture courtesy of Bobby Gill

 Dry Branch Gap to Falls Hollow

The sun was down when we left the aid station, with just one to go.  I remember ultrarunnergirl also saying that at one point, you will want nothing more than to stop, and that’s where the race begins.

This is where Grindstone began.

The 4-mile climb on the rocks was downright dangerous.  I was cold and wobbly and the rocks were not stable.  For the first time, I sat down on the course.  James was smart and made me take some salts, gels, and water while I sat.  It was a really, really awful stretch.  When we finally hit the gravel road, I tried running but it didn’t work well.  I fell once and another time just sat right down, hugged my knees, and tried to muster up the strength to go on.  If it were possible for someone to drive up the gravel road, I would have quit right there.

When we were off the road and the ridge and finally out of the breeze and cold, I sat down again and was seriously so far gone.  James dragged me over the streams and we got a little running in on the jeep path.  When we hit the last aid station I ran (or walked) straight into Tyler’s arms and started crying.

I couldn’t fathom being out there for another few hours.  I put pants on, I ate (was hand fed) crackers, I closed my eyes, I cried, and I really felt awful.  I spent 23 minutes there and almost locked myself in the car so I could sleep because they wouldn’t let me.  Tyler literally had to drag me out of the car and push me back onto the trail. 

Falls Hollow to the Finish

I’ve never been so slow in my life.  I even needed a walking stick to handle the terrain at this point.  I was so slow but just kept moving and the miles came onto my watch so slowly.  When I finally hit 100 miles, James congratulated me and we discussed this whole “101.87” thing.  Can you imagine if you’re signed up for a marathon and you check out the elevation profile and it said 28.17?  Seriously, why can they do that in a 100-miler?! It just wasn’t fair.  We hit the 1 mile to go sign when I thought we had about 8/10ths and so that was a major bummer. Then James says, “look behind you”

There were 2 headlamps.

“Let’s move!” We did some running with some walking and I still had my stick.  Then I heard a female voice. I was not giving up my 5^th place finish in the last ½ mile. Hell no! (FYI, she was a pacer)  I threw my walking stick and took off.  My pacer fell, and I left him there and damn near sprinted across the lake (ok, around it, I cannot run on water - and I really did sprint. I got my pace down to 7:23 min/mi!) and then got lost for the first time about a tenth of a mile away.  I ran through the flume and then stopped, done!  I did it!  Clark Zealand then told me I had to actually cross the finish line, and I got my first belt buckle and hugged the totem pole.

Finish photo

 I don’t believe (still) that I made it.  I made it to the finish line uninjured, with no nutrition problems, perfect hydration/sodium balance, a tough finish, but a good race, and a great time.

Totem pole hug

Thank you to Tyler and James, I couldn’t have done it without either of you.  The ultrarunning community is truly amazing.  Everyone has been so eager to help me, to share their knowledge, to give me a ton of advice and encouragement.  Grindstone was a success not just because I finished, but because it introduced me to so many great people.  There are few things I am more proud of than being able to call myself a 100-mile finisher and an ultrarunner.

Grindstone... its here!

If you wanna follow updates, Tyler (my crew) will be updating my twitter page, accessible at www.twitter.com/beezales

Eat extra calories for me this weekend!

When I get older, I will be stronger.

During Catherine's I ran with a man in his late 30s who was an elite speed skater and then became an ultrarunner. He loved that he could still be growing at his age and that few sports allow for that. It's incredible to see generations of a family running the same race (hell, that's common) and that I'm constantly picked on for being so young. I think I'm getting involved in the only athletic community where 22 is young.

The beauty of ultrarunning and trail running in general is that "PRs" don't matter. If you can run 50 miles on a towpath and get a great time, it actually won't mean as much as a 50-mile mountain race that takes 4 hours longer. There seems to be no magic formula, no training plans, and the one thing that matters most of all is experience.

For my last big long run on labor day weekend, I set out to run from Camp Roosevelt to the finish of the Ring, a 71-mile fat ass known as a tougher, rockier course than the 100 mile MMT. I tagged along with Snipes again, a man in his early 40s who has run almost 200 ultras. Snipes is known for finishing a steady race and talking the whole time. He's always trying to teach the younger gang something on the trail.  I only did 38 of the 46 miles I set up to do. By the time I dropped, my legs and feet were destroyed from the rocks, I had several blisters, I couldn't speak, and hadn't been able to swallow water for the last three miles.

This was such a great way to end training because I was reminded of how far I have come from my first training run in the mountains and VHTRC event. In May, I volunteered at Camp Roosevelt for MMT and knew no one. From there Brian and I did 11 miles on the course, in the dark, and it was awful. I remember thinking that I would have nightmares about this course until October and we only lasted 11 miles. This time around, I knew a great deal of the people there and I lasted 37 miles. But yes, I'll still have nightmares about it.

 image from Bobby Gill

The run started off at a slow climb since everyone had just eaten a good bit at the aid station. I got stung by a bee within a few miles (my first sting ever!) and it was a slow, beautiful day. At the next aid station we picked up another Grindstone runner along for the ride. I didn't want to eat since I wasn't a runner, but I was starving by the the next aid station. We were moving along steadily and I felt great. I got some food and felt that sore throat and cough that had kept me up the night before come back.  By the next aid station, I had no voice left.

Another guy, Tom, joined us and we were a group of four. I was having some serious trouble keeping up. The running part seemed fine, but I just couldn't walk and climb as fast as the guys, especially on the super rocky course. I tried hard to keep up, but I spent the next 20 miles or so chasing them. The course wasn't marked, and since I was a pacer I could not ask them to stop for me and I was scared to get lost. I failed to take gels and salt tablets because I was struggling to keep up. I even ran for about 20 minutes in the dark because I didn't have time to take out my lights. And because I had no voice, I couldn't scream to ask them to stop and wait for me, not that I wanted to.

Because of this, I came into one aid station seriously wobbly. I'd never felt so tired and beat up and low on energy in my life. Snipes could tell. He told me he was worried that I was sick, and that I shouldn't wear myself out for Grindstone, but I told him I wanted to go on. I needed to get some of that mental toughness required to finish 100 miles. This was my last chance to get it. 

I won't do nothing but complain on this post, it's not my style. At every aid station, it was a hard decision to decide to continue on the run. But at one 9 miles stretch, I had a great time. I felt so "in-tune" with the trail (for lack of better terms) and I was enjoying all the beauty, my fatigue, the pain, the rocks, the running and climbing... for a good hour or so I was so, so glad that I had decided to keep running. It was a beautiful night!

My throat got really bad at one point, and I could no longer swallow water. I was going to drop at the last aid station, but it was only 5 miles to the next and I decided to keep going. I was counting down every mile and finally could no longer drink water and nearly lost my group because my energy was so low. I struggled to make it to the next aid station, and then decided I was done for the day, with only 8 miles left.

I hate to think that I dropped early during a training run. I felt pretty awful about the run, but I really did learn a lot. I learned that when I'm racing, to be smart about pace and nutrition.  It did test my mental capacity to run ultras, and I didn't feel very strong by the end. I wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and sleep (or cry).  After that weekend, I took it easy. I went to the gym on Sunday and ended up being really sore after that and a 15 mile run. I'm not feeling as strong as I feel that I should before my first 100 mile race. I'm doubting any ability to do it and finish strong.

This isn't a great way to come back from over a month of no blogging. I've had this post 1/2 written for a few weeks now.  But now that my training has ended, here are some things on my mind.

• There is no way for me to predict how I will do at Grindstone. I love running, I love trail running, I had some great, strong trail runs, and I've worked hard.  But anything can happen that weekend.  I may not have done all I could to train, but I did it smartly. I still had a life and I'm going to get to the finish line un-injured. That's a huge accomplishment in itself.
• Labor Day weekend, I was passed by several people twice my age, running twice as long. This is the beginning of a life-long activity that I will continue to get better at. This is just one race and I know I learn more and more as I continue to pursue them.
• I signed up for a 100 mile race knowing I couldn't do it. It's kind of exciting to not have any idea what will happen.  I've already pushed myself more than I ever imagined. I constantly will feel tired and then remember I've done an ultra every other weekend for 2-3 months. 26.2 is now a breeze.
• Because of my race, I've had some really wonderful weekends hiking in VA with my boyfriend. I doubt I'd know this much about him if we didn't spend hours in the woods together talking.
• Training is always more fun than the race itself anyway. I used Grindstone as a motivator to get into trail running, the ultra community, and to test my dedication. I had a strong summer of running and I've met some real kick-ass human beings. 

Now the only thing I can do is run a little, cross-train, stay healthy,  recover, plan, and then hope to God October 1st is my day.

Brittany's Fat Ass

31 miles in 100 degree heat? I knew I could use this one as a "stop-whining-look-what-I-did" for at least a few years. Drinking out of a spring instead of a cooler? Post run grill, beer, and body shots?

Oh, VHTRC, where have you been all my life?!

Hanging out with Mark at the race start

Picture courtesy of Bobby Gill

The day started late--at 8:00 a.m. I had two handhelds and started off on my own, with no one to talk to, and trying to decide what I felt like doing today. There were two distances offered because of the heat and I was contemplating either racing, or taking it easy to get more time on my feet. I started to join a group of 4-5 men, and ended up sticking with Sniper for the rest of the race. Sniper and Mark both ran Grindstone twice, so we talked about the race a lot. I ended up running the rest of the race with "Professor" Sniper who did what he could to get me well-educated on trail running. He's run almost 200 ultramarathons.

On the trail

Picture courtesy of Bobby Gill

The first 8-9 miles were without aid, with some fun climbs, rocky downhills, and hot weather. We came into the first aid station just to eat, before heading up a gravel road about 1.5 miles to a natural spring to fill up water and they poured buckets over our heads to soak us up and cool off.

 Best post-race party ever (with ultrarunnergirl)

Picture courtesy of Bobby Gill

 

The volunteers were amazing and I ate more at these aid stations than I did at my last 50k. I ate PB&J sandwiches and they settled very well. I need to remember to eat gels more because I was starving at the finish. I stayed well hydrated in the heat (I had to pee three times) and had no cramping. I was disappointed the race wasn't actually 31 miles, so we did the overlook twice, taking down those ribbons for the sweeper. I ended up doing 8,224 feet of elevation gain and 8,243 of descent--way more than I expected.

I'm big at stealing hats when I'm drunk

Picture courtesy of Bobby Gill 

The after party was a blast. It was hot, but I handled the heat well. We all but bathed in the streams and I carried a rag to dip into ice water at the stations and in the creeks to cool off.  My knees felt way better than they have for any long run and with a slow, 8.5 hour finish, I felt great at the end. And yes, my average moving speed was only some 14 min miles, but I think it was smart. Sniper made the point that today would probably be more beneficial if we took it slow, since at Grindstone "this may be the fastest you can move."

and holy hell was he right.

Almost there!

On Sunday, my friend and I climbed Elliot Knob, one of Grindstone's big climbs. There was a 1.5 stretch of gravel road, and in the heat it was just way steep and really brutal in the sun. The four mile climb was tough on my legs, and I wasn't even planning on getting another 98 in that day. The loose gravel would make running down it without tripping very tough on the way back to the start.

 The gravel road

I also realized that planning to run with a pack, and then not doing so all summer was a big mistake. I might plan to run with two handhelds. My shoulders were sore after hiking in my backpack all day.

At the summit of Elliot Knob

All in all, it was a great weekend. I got 40 miles covered, ate a lot of good food, was surrounded by good company, and learned a lot. Next time I'm planning on getting out to the mountains is for the big training weekend August 14-15th! Way too far away!

Playing hooky

I skipped my race this weekend. I was moving, my family was in town, I had a lot to do, my legs were tired, and I didn't really have a ride.

So, I'm ok with it! Instead, I got my whole room unpacked, my old place closed up, and I got to see the boy before he left on vacation.