An unashamed commercial for my home town, and a race report.

Dear Diary,

I imagine at times that one of the reasons I'm not a better athlete is my lack of focus. I tend to get bogged down in little things, like trying to get one particular song to repeat on my player, taking pictures of how beautiful the sky is, and the beginning chafing on my left arm.

I ran the Duke City marathon, here in my town, for the first time ever. The first half of the marathon was pure punishment. My feet, legs, and lower back have now formed a union and have invited me for negotiations on what will happen next weekend. Shh. They don't know about the marine corps marathon yet. Anyway, my legs were tired. Might be related to the 55k I did in sand the week before. Or not.

I made the following statistical observations about cyclists on the bisque trail. Yes, I ran an ANOVA. Don't bother me with details.

• Statistically, cyclists are duchier if they're male. Women tend to give wide passing space and even slow down a bit. Some even say "hi". Males tend to squeeze on by you, causing a breeze, determined to share your half of the trail. Why, how dare you suggest that they give you space as they pass! It's not like they demand space when they're being passed by...oh, wait.
• the more spandex, the more of a duchebag you are. Of course, there are outliers.
• Statistically, if you aren't wearing a helmet, you're friendlier. Still! put on a helmet, please!

Not my picture: Central Avenue, formerly Route 66.

I focused on my white whale, to keep my mind off how tired my legs where, and the odd feeling that someone had their hand wrapped around my rib cage, to keep my lungs from expanding.

White whale number 1: this was the runner with the teal shirt whose family showed up, swapped out her bottles, and gave her new supplies at mile 14. I decided I must catch her. She bolted down the trail and out of sight, sooooo....

White whale number 2: she had on a shiny skirt. She also made all manner of grunts and loud exclamations when she ran, giving her two reasons for me to try to chase her down. I worked on that for miles 18 to about 22, but she was rock steady. It wasn't easy. But then, lo and behold, at mile 23 as I finally struggled past her, there not too far ahead of me was teal shirt. At about mile 24ish. Sweet Baboo met me to accompany me. He doesn't pace, he follows. He'd been worried about me since seeing me on the trail, where I was "way back" in the pack. It wasn't easy, but I passed teal shirt around mile 25, passed a few more people, and blazed into a 6:23 finish that may possibly be the slowest road marathon I've ever run.

Not my picture. Cottonwoods against the fall Albuquerque sky.

It be hooves me to explain why I even bothered. This course was nice, though not the most imaginative one. It winds briefly through downtown and the Country Club neighborhood, before heading up onto the Bosque trail through the blaze of golden cottonwood trees with a Torquoise sky overhead.

Before I'd even reached the half marathon turnaround, the front runner came hammering down the path, a tall, skinny white kid. A quarter mile later the second runner came down. I wanted to say, oh, bless your heart--you're never gonna catch him, so must relax and have a good time on the trail.

I have run this trail in training, as it is the only flat run available here, about a hundred times, alone, I pairs, in groups. I suppose that might be the reason I have never done this marathon--I was so over this trail.

The Bosque trail is a nicely paved, two-narrow-lane trail that cuts through the city from north to south, avoiding all intersections by use of passunders. We are to be envied for it. It is well-maintained, has its own patrol, and on most of on each side there is city-owned "open space" where nobody can build. For much of it, on one side of the path is an equally sized gravel path. It's part of the riparian environment surrounding the Rio Grande River that cuts through the center of Albuquerque. It is heavy with cottonwood trees, and from my house up in the foothills, in the fall it looks like a steak of fire running through the valley.

The path itself is connects with a large number of other paths in the city, and one can literally run very long runs without dealing with traffic. From north to south it is something like 30 miles long, through the middle of the city. It connects with another bike path that runs through the city, slightly to the east, called the North Diversion channel. There are more paths traveling from east to west.

The Bosque bike path as it heads north, under Montano road.

Cyclists, runners, and people commuting by bike and foot use these paths to go all over the city, with minimal crossing of intersections and occasional travel through residential neighborhoods. It's one of the things that makes Albuquerque so great.

If I'm gushing, it's because I've never lived in a place so awesome. The mountains are to the east, so you always know what direction you're heading. In the winter, there is snow on the mountain, and skiing. I do not ski, but I like the idea of living in a desert with a river, where I can bike, run, and hike in the mountains with minimal travel.

The weather is great here, too, since the altitude in Albuqueque ranges from 5200 feet in the valley to around 6000 feet up in the foothills, near where I live. On the day of the marathon it was in the forties in the morning and never got higher than low to mid sixties--perfect for a slow run. Of course, that's an advantage for athletic training, too. We have groups of Kenyan runners that live here and practice running in our foothills. Traffic? Very manageable. Population? Around 600,000, I think. And don't forget that Breaking Bad was filmed here. New Mexican food? Sloppy-looking and extremely spicy and tasty. (Most New Mexicans roll their eyes at what other places call "spicy.")

Not my picture. Mountains, foothills, city, and river valley. FYI: I local saying is, "when the mountain's pink, it's time to drink."

The population of Albuquerque by and large, is a mixture of Latino Hispanics, White Hispanics, Pueblo and Navajo Native Americans, some African Americans, and oh, some White Euro-Americans too. There's some various Asian neighborhoods and associated restaurants. I don't think a lot of discrimination occurrs these days because nobody really knows what anyone "is." I've met blue-eyed Isleta Indians, and Latinos who speak with a Spanish accents but don't speak any Spanish. After a while, everyone just is. Living their life, doing their thing. I love that about Albuquerque. I take it for granted, and I'm startled when I travel outside of New Mexico and people assume from my white face that they can share very prejudiced thoughts with me. I'm not used to hearing it.

Yes, there is some crime here. There is also goodness. A city that just celebrated its 300 year anniversary has had time to settled into its identity.

So, it's with no small amount of embarrassment that I haven't run the Duke City marathon before. But when Sweet Baboo told me it was their thirtieth running, and I realized it was my fiftieth marathon, I just had to, you know?

So I did. It was my way of honoring my home. When Sweet Baboo brought me here in 2000 I wasn't impressed. Now, I wouldn't live anywhere but kitschy, quirky, Querque.

Giant "pots" representing various pueblo traditions line the inside median of east I40.

...

 

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I am not so spiritual, but I do burn off demons when I run. A race report.

Dear Diary,

Himself the clydeologist is a deep thinker. He plans carefully and fully experiences what he does. I am not so much so. I gut things out. I push through, terrified, often marginally aware of my surroundings until I'm finished. Occasionally I look up and around and take in brief glimpses of beauty, before putting my head back down and slogging up the hill, down the valley, through the river, or into the finish. What I lack in good decision-making, I make up for in persistence. And bravery.

I think it's mistaken that I don't enjoy ultra running, because I always look so pained and I have a tendency to bitch a little. When I run, my mind is busy with the worries and aggravations of my week. As I run along, as the race wears on, the worries burn away. I purge. At the end I am tired, exhausted, and grimly accomplished. If I were a more spiritual person, I might say that the demons of modern life that build up inside of me are burned away, leaving me clean and ready to face new challenge.

And so it is this context that I present a race report for the Canyon de Chelly ultra. Here are six things you need to know about this 55k run.

First, it is gorgeous. I have never been to the CdC before, and although I've seen some pictures, nothing captures the grandeur of the place. If you are a slow runner you may get quite distracted and behind looking around in awe, grateful for this experience, and taking pictures, which will slow you down. That's okay. It's better to have this rare experience than try to put on your personal best. The RD, when telling us about his inspiration for puttin onn this race, was tearful talking about it, and he's run here before. This is an area where outsiders are forbidden unless accompanied by an approved Navajo guide, so it is an honor and privilege to be able to experience it. You don't want to waste that.

The race starts off with a bonfire and Navajo prayer. So after that, they count to three and yell GO, and you yell out your intentions to the gods as you head out.

Sunrise.

Second, it is sandy. The mouth of the canyon, where the race begins and ends, is where any and all waters work their way out. It is soft, deep sand covered on this day with fine mud, and to call it slippery would not do it justice. The first three to four miles were in this environment as you run into the canyon and make the first two or three stream crossings.

Eventually, you are alone, or I was. At the pre-race meeting one of the racers asked Shaun, the RD, about what happens if you have to, you know, GO. He shrugged, hey man, it's ultra running. I was relieved. I'm willing to forgo peeing for a long time if I'm told that this is sacred ground. I have that much respect. I was grateful for the green light.

Arizona and New Mexico have a rainy season referred to as the. Monsoons in late summer to early fall. This year's monsoons were unusually heavy. Which leads me to my next point.

Third, there are many water crossings. Not some. Many. I counted thirty five on the way out, Dreadpirate counted thirty-nine. I defer to the engineer. But what that means is that since it's an out-and-back, there are between seventy and seventy-eight crossings total. The water ranges from just over the top of your foot to perhaps your lower calf in some spots, but you won't be able to jump them. Wear shoes that shed water. If you have feet that can't tolerate this, then this isn't your race. Each crossing involves descending into a small ravine and then climbing back out again, often on very slippery mud. I wore Altra trail shoes, which shed the water nicely.

Other than the crossings, the trail is dry after the first 3 to 4 miles, but will still have some patches of soft, deep sand here and there. I learned to run off the side, where the sand looked deep and soft, but in fact was solidified and settled by the recent rains, and allowed for firm footing. We were told about this by one of the race organizers. Most "faster" people ignored this and ran in tire tracks, which had broken throughout the crust and churned up the sand so it was soft, and deep. Too bad for them. I pride myself on taking time to make things as easy as possible.

What can I say. It's a gift.

Sunrise.

Fourth, it is an out and back. Some people don't like those, but I promise you, the canyon is very different inbound than it is outbound. There's no repetition, no redundancy. You're barely aware that you've been here, or there, before. It's 34 miles of never-ending beauty.

At mile eight, I came upon the eleven mile aid station. They explained that the truck couldn't get back up out of the next water crossing to get to the 11th mile. I looked into the small refine and saw the deep ruts made by four-wheel-drive truck as it tried to extricate itself. I thought, fleetingly, if the truck can't make it out...how can I? But I managed okay.

Fifth, to get to the turnaround, you will climb. You will climb up a rock trail on the edge of a cliff that rises a thousand feet over a little over a mile. On the way up, I started feeling queasy. I chalked it up to unusual exertion. When I was about ath the top, I heard some yelling and whooping from people at the top,

but...it wasn't coming from where I thought the top was.

I looked around, and then straight up, and way, way up the cliff. I saw people, very small and far away, far above what I thought was the top. Oh, areyoufuckingkiddingme, I muttered. And continued onward. Eventually, I reached the top and sat down to rest and admire the view. It took me nearly five hours to get seventeen miles.

I drank some Ensure Clear, did not refill my water pack for reasons I do not understand, whooped loudly into the canyon, and headed back in. The steep, rocky decent was not rewarding.

Lastly, the trip back was not easy. Not at all. My Achilles started barking. My left ankle was a little whiney. I wound up power hiking. I became increasingly queasy, which I decided first was because of the ensure, and later from lack of water.

I ran out if water before I got to the mile 23 aid station, which was actually around mile 26. But, the cool water crossings felt good on my Achilles and ankle. On the way back, I saw an important site that I realized I had missed outbound.

Not my picture. But I saw this, and it was totally worth ever painful step.

I started looking around more, really taking in the canyon. About mile 27, I came around a bend and happened on a small group of deer. I did not get a picture.

Around mile thirty, I heard a loud snap, and turned to be face-to-face with a huge and somewhat disgruntled, or so I imagined, bull. He was about five feet away, starring at me, a cow slightly behind him. As I do not know bull-diversion tactics I quietly slunk away, hoping he didn't take my bright pink shirt as a challenge.

Sixth, and I'm not lying about this: the last two miles are possibly the hardest. Remember I said that the first few miles were deep! soft, wet sand? Much of that is packed down by jeeps and trucks running in and out of the canyon, but increasingly the sand is soft and deep and slippery.

Not my picture, but shows the scale of the surroundings.

As I rounded the corner I could see the finish line, about 1/2 mile ahead. Maybe less. The announcer boomed my name, and there was an outbreak of applause. Then, as I slipped slowly in the mud and sand, oh, so slowly, the clapping petered out and there was some silence. After a few minutes the announcer announced my name again. Another applause, which dwindled. This was repeated until I finally crossed the finish line, just past the ten hour mark, at mile 34+. The RD hung a Torquoise choker around my neck. I had some Indian fry bread and vegetable stew.

Not my picture, but shows the scale of the surroundings.

You will see a point at which it appears that I leapt up 600 feet around mile 27. That was an anomaly caused by my Garmin pinging off the canyon walls.

Not my picture, but shows the scale of the surroundings.

This is an awesome run. It plays to your weaknesses and rewards you with an experience that is one-of-kind.

For a deeper, more thoughtful race report, chcpeck out Sweet Baboo's race report.

...

 

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Very Fast Persons

Dear Diary,

I used to refer to the lightweight (i.e., anyone lighter than me) and fast people as "tiny bird people," a somewhat derogatory term until three things happened: 1) some of them became my friends, 2) some of my friends became them, and 3) Sweet Baboo, who is not tiny, became very fast.

Thus, I now refer to them in my mind as Very Fast Persons. You may know some. They chatter about how they're going to try to get under 3:30 FOR THEIR FREAKING MARATHON TIME but then again, "maybe I'll just relax and turn in a relaxed 3:45 time instead."

I wish my skin was this smooth when I'm standing up.

Occasionally , we'll be talking about someone else, but if it's the day before a marathon and we're all competing, er, participating in the marathon, well, eventually the conversation drifts towards working on maintaining an 8 minute pace for 26 miles and not going out too fast, and I start counting the holes in the ceiling tiles, or cracks in the sidewalk. Or whatever.

And so it was at the Lincoln National Guard marathon in Nebraska. We flew in with friends Bones and Miki, and met up with Chief. Chief, Baboo, and Miki are all in the National Guard and they, along with Bones, are all Very Fast Persons. In contrast I try to remind myself that I am a Very Brave Person, or at least, at times, a Somewhat Interesting Person, given that my all time Marathon PR, two years and twenty pounds ago, is around a 4:45 and yet I keep showing up for these things. I think I garner a fair amount of respect, too, even from Very Fast Persons because, after all, in about 3 to 3-1/2 hours they are done and off their feet and resting, and I'm still at least 2 hours out, on my feet, blazing past the walkers with my 12- or 13- mIle pace.

Now, I am in no way saying that everyone doesn't have their concerns. it's just that the concerns are different in the back of the pack. For me it's chaffing and finding a decent bra, and whether or not my new running skirt makes my thighs look heavy. These are both things that tend to fall off my radar when I am in the lower end of my weight. The comparisons I tend to make of others in my corral are different, too. When I'm feeling svelt, I might mentally compare my muscle tone to another Female and wonder what age group she's in. When I'm zeftig, I console myself with things like, "well, my breasts are bigger than hers, so there." Then I feel better.

Consistently, though, since I am merely a Very Brave Person and, at times, a Somewhat Interesting Person I consume my time with having something cute to run in and having a good mix on my shuffle, and wearing lots of Sportslick

And so it is with spirit in mind that I make no attempt to tell you, dear diary, what I might have done to move faster, so much as what I might have done to move cuter and having fun. I tried three new purchases for this one, first, I wore my new Brooks running skort, which has "Marathon Maniacs Diva" embroidered on it.

--> FYI, ipad has just informed me that there is no such word as "skort." Helpfully, it suggests "snort" as one option.

Second, I wore my new Aqua Flood shuffle (purple) and skull candy earbuds (pink and black) and third, I wore a belt that holds gels (black, with pink trim).

I haven't done a big City marathon in a while and they are both interesting and challenging. This is one of the marathons that has a major corporate sponsor (The Army National Guard) and thus, so far, has managed to avoid being taken over by the Rock and Roll series. The day of the marathon was forecast to be in temps mostly between the forties and mid sixties, at least during my run, and mostly cloudy. The course has very gentle rollers, lots of local support--including locals handing out odd things such as donut holes. This is a sports lovin' town, and those are the best towns to run a city marathon in, especially when it's not football season, because the folks are looking for someone to root for, so, it might as well be you. Since the bib numbers are personalized, they'll shout out your name, too.

The good: mostly flat, some gentle rollers here and there, good weather for heavy runners, a nice finish in Husker Stadium at the 50-yard line. There are lots of porta-potties but you will wait in line. The marathon is well-organized, with friendly guardsmen at aid stations that are about every mile, I think. There are pace groups all the way up to 5:30 finishers, something you don't normally see.

The bad: lots of cement. Not blacktop, cement. You'll get a bit beat-up on the course. Also, the first thirteen miles are pretty crowded, given that the half marathoners start at the same time. Also, the massage people left right as I finished. No massage for you!

My finishing song, or songs, are that one song or song sequence that I find particularly motivating, and so will back up my shuffle and play them over and over, especially in the last 5k. This time it was "Rock Me Tonight by Billy Squire" and "Little Bird" by Annie Lennox.

I used a mostly 1:1 Galloway run-walk, and finished just under 5:30.

And I'm tired. And I smell. So this is the end of my report.

....

 

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If it were easy, it would be your mother.

Dear Diary,

That was on the best-selling shirt at the expo. They sold out. This was the marathon I did Sunday in Texas.

You know, I just love Texas.

I don't want to live there, because spring is about three weeks long in between windy, dry, horrid winter and hot, humid, horrid summer, but for visiting, it's just fine.

I was born in Dallas at Baylor Medical Center. I moved around some with my parents for a few years, but when I started high school, we stayed put. My first two children were born in Dallas. My first husband is buried there. The second one still lives there, just like the old George Straight song. I left Texas in 1991, heartbroken, but returned nine years later with Sweet Baboo when he was doing his psychology internship at the Dallas VA. Sweet Baboo and I were married in a little church near his mother's house just outside of San Antonio. Sweet Baboo is also generally from Texas and played Texas high school football in Wichita Falls.

When I am in Texas, a twang starts to creep back into my speech and I find myself eyeballing whattachicken sandwiches.

Other reasons why ah luuuv Texas:

First off, everyone is so friendly. They just are. As long as you don't say something bad about George Bush or Jesus the entire state is your new best friend. The passive-aggressiveness is even friendly. Why, she's just as lost as a goose, bless her heart.

Second, in April, there are bluebonnets.

Third, everyone there is crazy about soldiers and gives military members steep discounts. The state is just full of Fort this and Fort that. They're all over. I'm married to one so I get all the benefits of being in the military with none of the aggravation.

Fourth, every athletic event that I've been in, from Lubbock to Houston, from ultra-runs to triathlons, starts with a prayer and ends with a beer. You get brisket or chili at the end and usually some ice cold beer. I don't personally drink the stuff but it just seems like a very nice way to end a day of endurance, dontcha think?

Sweet Baboo and I ran the inaugural Army marathon there last weekend.

We flew into Dallas Love Field the day before, rented a car, drove down to Killeen--which is south of Waco and near Fort Hood. At the expo, Sweet Baboo bought me some new compression leg sleeves and some Newtons, which I got with my/our nice, "I married GI Joe" discount.

I was hoping for a really nice experience after getting caught in wind storms at the El Paso marathon in February and the Corpus Christi Navy marathon in March.

And, holy crap, I got it.

It's a point-to-point, 26.2 miles of gentle rollers, all on blacktop, on a protected course, with a net downhill from Killeen to Temple, Texas. It was beautiful, mostly overcast. The sun out a bit during the last hour or so, and there was some wind in the last ten miles, but nothing to get in a twist about. I finished just under 5:30. I really pushed myself. I was motivated by the promise of a shower before our three hour drive back to Dallas.

During the race there was a woman ahead if me I was determined to finish, my very own White Whale. She was relentless. She never stopped running her slow, steady pace. I gave up trying to lass her until the end, when I passed her at mike 25 ish.

I got a nudge to my self esteem by all the young bucks that took off like rockets at the beginning but that I passed near the end.

There were lots of soldiers. The women I recognized from their tight, neat hair buns and the men from their high and tight haircuts. But like many youngsters, they didn't pace themselves well. At one point the couple I was running near came upon a fellow soldier standing near the side of the road, rubbing his calf. They asked him why he'd stopped running and teased him. He looked at them woefully. "This is some bullshit, right here."

When I finished I crossed the finish line and flooped down into the shade. About 20 minutes later another young soldier stumbled over and flooped down nearby, and started complaining on the phone to somebody. First he complained about the hills.

"I should have trained for the hills," he said.

Elevation Profile -->

Then he complained about "all these old ladies out there, and they were kicking my ass!"

I am pretty happy with my pace. It wasn't blazing, but it was steady. Once I get on too of that whole, "speed" thing, I might be a fair marathoner. If you use the Galloway method I will tell you that i used 4:1 run:walk in the first half, the 3:2 for a while, and then the last five miles, 1:1.

Here's my splits:

What I didn't like, and this is my only complaint: Baboo said that the first shuttle started nearly an hour after he finished, to take him back to the start. He quickly showered and then headed back, which is when he found out that he could park no closer than three miles away from the finish.

As a result, he didn't get to see me finish, and I sat around for an hour, wondering what the hell was going on, and then after beating myself up to my blazing sub six-hour finish, I got a three mile hike to the car.

This is some bullshit, right here.

Boo.

Otherwise, well done. I'd recommend this marathon. Aid stations were well stocked, friendly volunteers, plenty of portajohns, and I believe the cut off was seven hours, possibly longer.

Next up: the Lincoln Marathon in Lincoln, Nebraska.

 

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A half-assed race report.

Dear Diary,

after reading some of these articles, I have to admit I'm intrigued.

• http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2129159/
• http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2716748/
• http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/21558571
• http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/sites/entrez?cmd=Link&db=pubmed&dbFrom=PubMed&from_uid=22835211&holding=f1000%2Cf1000m%2Cisrctn

I'm at the perfect place to experiment, too. I had a great year last year, and then lost a lot of fitness due to the sloth.grad school matrix. I'm at my running baseline, and about to start a new training plan for the Bandera 100k. During this time, in addition to losing strength and speed, I've gained 13 pounds.


So, I have a bit of a background in chemistry, and I've read the research, and I have to say, it's intriguing.

Much of the time when I binge, unlike others I've known, I don't binge on candy or cookies. I binge on cheese and meat. So, I'm trying out the New Atkins diet. Yes, they got some of my money. I bought the book, and am currently in induction phase. So far, I'm on day 3, and I don't feel unusually tired or have horrible breath.

I have to say it's odd that in a decade, the pendulum of my dietary habits swung from vegan to keterogenic.

Here's a typical work day:

Breakfast: an omelet, with 1-2 eggs, cheese, turkey bacon, some roasted red peppers and herbs, and chai made with half-and-half.

Snack is a low carb/low sugar light and fit yogurt and crystal light.

Lunch is broccoli, mashed cauliflower or the like, and usually fish, cooked in olive oil and herbs.

Afternoon snack is some sort of Atkins creation, like a bar or other treat.

Dinner is usually chicken or fish and some greens.

It turns out that some of my favorite foods work well with this. Greek salads. Antipasto. Fish. The only craving I anticipate having is breaded meats. The only other possible stumbling block might be my love of crackers and cheese, but as the crackers are simply vehicles for cheese, I'm researching flax meal crackers. There is also a way of encrusting meats and fish with flaxseed meal.

I actually kinda started this diet last week, but went off it this past weekend to do the Mt. Taylor 50k. I didn't think that a brand new style of eating, four days old, was a good way to go into a race I was neither trained for nor ready for, starting at 9000 feet and climbing to 11,000 feet. Twice.

The race, btw, was gorgeous. The aspens were turning, and there were part of the course where the light shone golden through the aspens and the forest floor was littered in golden leaves and dappled sunshine.

Other parts of th course, I'm sure were beautiful, but I was whining and crying at 10,000 feet on my way up to 11,300 feet. I was a regular I Love Lucy

WAAAHHHH.

Why am I doing this? I shouldn't be here. I wasted a spot that could have been used by a real athlete!

WAAAHHHH!

I did the first 25 or so miles with Caroline, who is Deaf. have you ever had a friend whose lamguage you dom't really speak? i know very little ASL, relatively speaking. We drove out together, and I tried gamely to communicate what was happening at the race meeting to her in my pidgin sign language, usually falling back on providing a type of closed captioning on my ipad.

At the race, we quickly fell into the back of the pack. The first part of the race is a clmb up to La Mosqua Peak, maybe 10,800 or so. then downhill for a while, then another climb up the Continental Divide Trail to the start, where you begin the second loop, which climbs Mt. Taylor. I turned my ankle a couple of times, nothing major, but Caroline started having serious knee problems heading up Mt. Taylor, and had to drop soon after.

Caroline is interesting because she can cook. As in, COOK.

She is always posting these wonderful dishes she's made on Facebook. Here's an example:

See, now, if it were me, it wouldn't look that pretty. It would be on a paper plate, sans garnish. Might even have ketchup on it. I would call it "beef with mushrooms." But not Carolyn. No. This is breaded petite sirloin with balsamic portobello mushrooms. Except she wrote it in Italian. Cause she's all classy and shit.

But, that's not the most interesting part of Carolyn, the cooking. The most interesting Carolyn Fact is that she apparently used to weigh 200 lbs more. Three years ago she started power walking, then jogging, and she lost 200 lbs. She did her first half iron a year later. She hasn't finished an ultra yet, but she will. 200 lbs makes my 40 lb loss seem kinda like, well, bullshit.

But, I digress. During the race, we hiked along, running the downhills. We were followed closely by chatting people pulling flags. One of them was Sweet Baboo, who has breathed the same air as me for twelve years and knew, at mile sixteen, that I was building a case for dropping out of the race. Unfortunately, he's too ethical to give me any real aid on the course other than carrying my bottle of Tylenol (shhhhhh.) but he was sympathetic when I did my Lucille Ball imitation.

After climbing Mt. Taylor, there is a cutoff, which I made by a few minutes. Then, you run down, down, down (three miles) into Water Canyon, where you see a sign informing you that it's one mike straight up back to the aid station. THAAAAAT's right. Three miles down, nearly 1000 feet, and then one mike back up.

The last few miles of the course were straight down a ski slope. The last mile or so, I saw this

I came into the finish and got this

..

I also got lovely turquoise and lava rock bracelet.

Last night, we had a "debriefing" at a local pizza place. After rewarding my feets with a pedicure, I headed over there and had a Mediterranean salad. Mmmm.

If you are interested in the Mt. Taylor 50k, which I fully expect to be New Mexico's signature ultra, the website is http://www.mt50k.com . All money raised goes to the runners and to charity, the charity being a Navajo running organization. Mt. Taylor is sacred to the Navajo, as is distance running

So, that was my week, Diary. Now I'll spend the next two weeks focusing on "Induction" and getting ready for Javalina Jundred.

TTFN.

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An annotated course description: the Vermont 100k

Dear Diary,

32 mile drop bag.  Contents: headlamp
jacket, extra pair of shoes, sunscreen,
extra shirt and shorts,
and of course, Ensure Clear + Larabars
(my super foods)

What follows is a description of the course from the website, and my comments.

Vermont 100 Mile Course Description - 2012

There is 9000 feet in elevation gain…the course is going up or down most of the time with only a few stretches that are flat. The last 30 miles are rather challenging....

Yeah. Thanks for that, by the way.

...The first six miles are rollers on a paved road, mainly, leading up to the point where they connect with the 100-milers at mile 6.7. Then there is a mile of paved moderate uphill, then back onto some climbing single track/horse trails until you get to Jenne Rd. Up some, then a sweeping down and up and soon a nice downhill stretch into Camp Ten Bear (the first time)

I didn’t take gels on this course. Instead, I loaded my pack with Gatorade and ate PBJ on white bread throughout the course. It seemed to do the trick.

…a half mile hump that connects you to a 22 mile-long loop. Some road, then meandering trail and Agony Hill – a lumpy steady uphill grind to the halfway point, then on gravel again to Pinky's. Cross Tyson Rd. and it's class 4 dirt road for 2 miles of easy upgrade to Birminghams… Cross a big field into the woods and snowmobile trails, up and down and out onto gravel for a nice 2 mile downhill breather to Tracer Brook.

51 mile drop bag.  Contents: socks, Ensure clear + Larabars.
This bag was deliberately left largely empty in casee I wanted
to drop off gear here.,

The downhill breathers are, pretty nice. But I had a sense of entitlement by the time I reached them, because after all, the course owes you this. Here, at mile 19, I took out my Ensure Clear and 2 larabars (nearly 700 compact calories), and changed my socks. Then, according to the course description:

…now facing mostly uphill for 9 miles. First 3 are the steepest and only a few level sections…then that hump again and Ten Bear again (mile32) where pacers can join you.

My take: After mile 19, you start a a soul-sucking long uphill. It rises nearly 1000 feet, all the way. Here you will hate everyone and everything. You ask,who am I kidding? I’m no distance runner. I have no business being here.

"Somebody, somewhere, owes me a flat, cool trail run," I grumbled darkly, "and that someone is wearing a ring that looks just like mine."

Occasionally, a horse would go clopping by, with unnervingly cheerful riders on their backs. "I'd be cheerful too, if a large animal was doing all the work," i grumbled darkly. But it was pretty cool seeing the horses. We had gotten a lecture on how to approach, or be approached, by the horses, and they us. They were far, far more courteous than being passed by, say, roadies. And they smelled better too.



Oh, shut up. You know it's true.

At Camp Ten Bear (mile 32), I was weighed. My weigh-in was at 160.6, and at Camp Ten Bear I weighed in at 160.7. Story of my fucking life – I run 32 miles and gain an ounce. A nurse told me it was white around my mouth, and that I needed to sit down. She tested my Oxygen and said it was a little low, but coming back up. I put on my ice bandana, drank/ate some more Ensure clear and Larabars, and headed out, and started up “heart break hill” but take it from me, after the climb after mile 19, nothing will bother or surprise you again. Okay, that’s a lie – it will bother you, but you won’t have the energy to be truly angry. Instead, you just try not to cry.

…In your planning keep in mind that the last 30 miles are challenging, with a number of trail sections and short, steep uphills. Just out of Ten Bear, there's a half mile level trail then ¾ mi. fairly steep up Heartbreak Hill on bumpy, usually wet jeep road. A mile of easy grade gravel and first up and down on 2 miles of trail, then back on road at Seabrook at 75.1.

My note: Don’t get off track here. I was busy unwrapping a Larabar and went down the wrong path; it cost me about 20 minutes. At about mile 45, Sweet Baboo came strolling up, I say strolling though he was moving at a sub-10 minute pace. He was maddenly cheerful and gosh, I have to admit I was too, because I was on track to finish. baboo had made me a pace chart, and if you Plan to do this 100k ask me and I'll send it to you.

Anyway, he showed up and asked his pacer if he would stay with me, as it was getting dark. I was, to be honest, pretty grateful for this; although I was to be running until 4 or 5 am, it never occurred to me to get one. I think the pacer was somewhat annoyed at first, as he engrossed himself in conversation with another runner and appeared not to hear the same question when asked it, loudly, about three times, but he redeemed himself by become the most awesome pacer ever. If it weren't for him, I don't think I would have finished.

Bob the Pacer is a physician from Massachusettes. He's getting ready to run The Bear. He was friendly and kept me talking by asking me about myself, which of course is my favorite subject at times. He didn't seem to mind that I wass mostly walking by now, and even got me to run at times when I though I didn't have it in me.

...Then single track up and down and up a steep gravel driveway to Spirit-of-'76 handler station (which is actually at 39 miles). Head out onto 1.5 mi. of up and down trail, then 10 miles of uninterrupted road, most of it downhill, and then a couple of steep roller coaster ups in the last mile to Bill's at 51.5 mi..

At Bill's they weighed me again. 161.5. DAMMIT. See what I mean? But by then I knew that my nutrition and hydration were spot on. i sat down for a bit, but not too long because I didn't want to get chilled. After this, you don’t really know what’s going on because it’s pitch black and you’re trying to watch for glowsticks and not wander off the course. If you have a pacer extraordinaire, as I did, then you can simply focus on the growing pain in your feet—thank goodness for that. i took a no doze, and two advil, and two Tylenol, and I was ready to rock and roll. Or trudge 11 miles. They told me thirteen more. I wept. But at the same time, I have to mention, I was enjoying myself. I loved seeing the horses, and there wasn't NEARLY as mich horse manure on the course as I'd envisioned.

All in all, though, I didn't suffer as much as I had at Javalina 100, despite this being a much more challenging course. Toward the end the hills were simply inevitable. They just kept coming, and were shorter, but since I was moving slower they seemed about the same. At mile 59, my Garmin finally died, taking to heaven all of its data. Yes, that's right. Fucking 310x didn't retain a sing bit of of the 59 miles , like it never happened. It hate it for that. I hurt, but it wasn't the kind of pain that made me cry out. It was a loud ache like, well, like I'd been on my feet for nineteen hours, or something.
And then ahead of me I saw lights of a different color. " There's the finish line," said Bob the Pacer.

You're lying. There is no finish line.

"No really. It is. "

I'll believe it when someone hands me a medal, I grumbled.

i found out the next day that I was the last official finisher. Anyone not finishing the 100k was listed as DNF. They gave me these for finishing...and for finishing under 20 hoirs.
When I crossed the finish line I burst into tears. Then I sat down for a while, until someone asked me if I needed anything, and then I wept again. "I want my husband."

"go check over there," motioning to a sea of bodies, prostrate on cots. Many of them had their heads covered. I thought I saw Sweet Baboo's feet, and his pack. But I hesitated. Didn't want to whip a blanket off some total stranger. Just then, he uncovered mis head and looked toward me and grinned.

"You finished!"
I burst into tears again. "that was hard," I sobbed. 

He, who had just run 100 mies to my 63, nodded sympathetically.

"Lets go back to the hotel and get some sleep," he said.

And then we did.
The end.

...

Posted with Blogsy

Bear Chase 50K, Bear Chase Lake Park, CO. (Race Report)

Dear Diary,

Yesterday, I did the Bear Chase 50K in Colorado, near Denver. 

The Good: Very well organized, top-notch friendly, hard-working volunteers, RIVER CROSSINGS that breathe life back into your poor, tired, hot legs and feet (twice!) big-assed medal, nice finish-line party.  It is a great trail run for anyone doing their first 50k.

The Bad: Hot . It was hot.  Did I say it was hot?  If I didn't: it was HOT.  They said it only got up to the 80s, but for running on a trail that's hot enough.  About 2/3 of the course is unshaded, so it gets hot out there.  It's not terribly scenic. 

At 6:49 I kissed Sweet Baboo and wished him a good race, and then at 6:50 sharp, we were off. 

First off, the course is very much like the Palo Duro 50K, in terms of difficulty, except that the trails are a bit more runnable (less rocky, and a bit less technical.)  If you are familiar with Palo Duro, which is my favoritist 50K ever, then you know that you run a 10K loop, and then two 12ish-mile loops. 

The biggest exception is that this race isn't quite as scenic as Palo Duro.  It takes place on a man-made recreation area, in the middle of which is a gold course and a square, man-made lake. 

The first loop is a 10K, and it's nice, and almost completely shaded, and flat, and you think, wow, this is going to be a cakewalk!   

There is a tiny moment of worry and doubt when you notice the sign for loops 2 and 3 point towards a large hill, and you see a line of people snaking up the side of the hill, but you immediately put it out of your mind, because you are on loop1, and remember, if it isn't happening now, it doesn't exist. 

You come in to the start/finish, where you have a bag o' stuff, if you're like me, lose the arm-sleeves and grab the sunscreen, and head out onto the second loop where, eventually, you become one of those people snaking up the side of that great big hill. 

There is a cool part of the course where you have the first big climb (about mile 12 on the first loop and then mile 24, I think) and when you come up over the top of the climb the skyline of Denver is in view.  It's kind of a strange thing to see in the middle of a 50k trail run, but also kinda cool.

At east aid station, someone would run out and ask what I needed, and take my bottle, and then by the time I got there, it was already filled up with ice, which is one of the main advantages to an urban-type trail run.  They never, ever ran out of ice.

In miles 14ish and 26ish you run through a small woodsy section and there are three river crossings.  You can't jump these; you're going to get wet.  They're only about 12 to 18 inches deep, however, and slow-moving, basically what we call creeks in Alabama, not rivers. 

The first time you just sort of natter to yourself and think, I hope I don't get blisters.  But then there is the second time you cross through these.

Oh.  My. The second time.

Sometimes toward the end of the first full loop God decided to hate on me, and turned on the heat.  The back 2/3 of the big loops are out in the open, with no shade, and it started heating up fast, and there is a little over 4 miles between aid stations in the middle of which is the "big" climb on the course.  When I headed out onto the second loop I took my bandana and loaded it with ice at each aid station.  I had been making excellent time, but no more: my pace had been in the mid 12s and it soared during the second loop.  I am a firm believer in the "run as you feel" mentality, so I didn't push it.

On the 2nd loop when I got to mile 26, when I got to the first river crossing, I stopped and sat down on my butt and let the cold water envelope me from the waist down.  And peed.  That wasn't planned by the way, it just happened.  But the sitting, it was fantastic.  I did it again, twice, (not peeing, just sitting) with each crossing.  Renewed, I bid a sad fareware to the cool water and then headed out to the next aid station at Fox Hollow.  I was pretty satisfied to feel that I was well-hydrtated, and my legs were definitely back online.

After Fox Hollow is another sharp, short, but still disappointing climb, and you run a long section through a grassy plains area, much of it near a highway. It is fully exposed and you are hot.  But, like most of the course, it's runnable, and the rivers had awakened me, along with the knowledge that I was less than 5 miles from the finish. 

Plus, at Fox Hollow, I had two small cups of icy mountain dew, and taken two gels that themselves had caffein in them (that I had with me) as well as a Stinger waffle.  It took a short time for those to work their way into my bloodstream, and I eventually came back to life and started passing people. Mostly men.

You know, I always feel bad for men when I pass them.  I just do.  Usually, they are super fit-looking men, in their 30s or 40s, with close-cropped hair, muscles, and spandex. They have on their zensah leg sleeves, small, efficient and aerodynamic waist belts with fluid, and you can tell they work out.  Everything about them screams aerodynamic.  Everything about them shouts efficiency.


And then *I* trundle past them like a large pack mule.  I usually have a very large floppy hat on, and a back pack full of my crap; I usually have gels, sunscreen, asthma inhaler, various pills, maybe a towel, some TP, maybe a snack or two, some lipstick - shutup - and I'm wearing a bandana loaded with ice, an ipod, and large, round sunglasses.  AND I'm carrying a handheld bottle. Plus, I'm doing some sort of slow shuffle jog when I pass these guys.  I usually just say "hi" or "nice job" or some other inane thing, answer a comment about why my tattoo has a horse on it, and then I'm on my way.  But I do feel bad.  Not bad enough not to pass them.  But bad. 

Big-assed medal. Or breastplate.

I had some waves of nausea at one point but I tried this trick that Sweet Baboo found out about: I grabbed an alcohol prep pad and waved it in front of my nose, and the nausea when away. 

But the last mile or so I became rediculously consumed with passing more men, so I sped up quite a bit and in that heat got a little wasted again.  So then I came into the finish, where of course Sweet Baboo had been done for over an hour.  Holy crap, it was hot . "Do you want any pancakes?" 

Uh, no.  Do you want me to throw up on your feet?

I got a big-assed medal, seriously, this thing could be used to stop bullets.

Eventually, we headed out, and accidentally stumbled upon--accidentally, I swear--a Popeyes chicken place. We got home about 10:30 last night, and I'm whooped. 

I want to give a shout-out to Jennifer, who gave us a place to sleep and fed me the night before, how awesome of her!  She also did this race, and finished, too.  I met her at my failed Bighorn 50 mile attempt. 

All in all, not a bad way to spend a weekend. 

Next Up: The Point Defiance 50k, in Puget Sound.

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