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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Product Review: Free Country Swimsuit, size Large.

Dear Diary,

A rep from Free Country wrote me and offered to send me a swim suit if I would review it for my blog.

Say it with me now:

Hell yes I'll take your free stuff!

What I like about the new trend in swim suits is that you can pick your tops and bottoms, mix and match. Of course, the companies get more money that way, because they can charge the same for one part of the suit as they used to for the whole suit, but whatever. I get to customize my look.

The Free Country web site has other things besides swimsuits although, now that summer is drawing to a close, they are having a pretty fantastic sale. Their swimsuits are, for the most part, pretty functional.

Right my, with the 25 extra pounds hanging on, my "look" says, "tankini." What I like about "Free Country" is that they also sell plus sizes, and while their models are not really plus sizes, they aren't Vickie Secret girls either. They look relatively like, well, normal people.

This chick, for instance, looks like she could finish a marathon, and might have even read a book.

This chick, however, does not:

And don't even get me started on how VS insists that I wear a 16, when the rest of the fashion industry says I wear a 12. Fuck you, Vickie.

Here is what ordered from Free Country. I wanted something decorative and functional.

 

When it arrived, Sweet Baboo thought that the convertable swim top was just a regular top. It can be worn that way. It has lined, supportive cups and I'm talking real support, not a "shelf bra" and srsly, is there anything less appealing than the idea of putting pair of breasts on a shelf? I would argue that there is not. It has convertable straps, which I love. I asked ahead of time, about the fabric and was told it was chlorine resistant. It is good, thick material that reminds me of speedos chlorine resistant suits. If they're the same, this thing will last forever.

Test 1: Lap Swimming with DreadPirate. Who hasn't posted in more than a year. Ahem.

Dread Pirate has made herself the boss of me as often as she can. She is a perpetual mom, and knows also that I'm coming out of about a 9 month major depressive episode, which I'm still struggling to find the words for, but plan to post about soon. She convinced me to come swimming with her at our gym.

Anyway, i like my shoulders. Whenever I can I wear racerbacks, and when I have convertable strapes I criss cross them in the back to show off my shoulders. I swam 1200 meters in this and didn't have any problems with movement, mine or the suit's. It was quite comfortable for my hour of swimming.

Test 2: Hot tub.

Eventually, it started raining, and I was all, "oh, it's raining, so I'm going to go sit in the hot tub.' One does not necessarily lead to the other but in my world, it does. of course, since the hot tub is also outside DP gave me a look that used to shame me but it really doesn't work any more, and I went over to the hot tub. No part of the suit crept anywhere it shouldn't, and I felt like I had decent coverage.

NOTE: I noticed today that this particular top is marked way, way down in $$ on the Free Country web site, so if you like it, jump on it.

Test 3: Hawaii.

Actually, I can't post about this because it hasn't happened yet. Sweet Baboo surprised me with trip to someplace warm in December! The Honolulu Marathon is there, and we'll be doing that as well as, I hope, some snorkling and surf lessons, both of which I have long coveted but never done. I'm packing light, under DP's direction I'm taking some flip flops, running shoes, one set of running clothes, a pair of lightweight hiking pants, two sarongs, and maybe a hat. And sunglasses. I'm taking this suit, too, because it's pretty and flattering and I can move comfortably in it without feeling the need to tug at it.

Over all, I'm very pleased with the suit that is pretty but modest, comfortable and durable.

...

 

 

 

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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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I'm about to go all Martha Stewart on your ass.

Dear Diary,
I am testing yet another ap, this time on my Droid X2.  It is editing a post I started in Blogsy so there may be some stray html tags here and there. I dont know how the pictures work either. And I don't know.how to post.

I've pretty much given up in ever being able to post easily again.

13. This week I was informed that my degree has been posted. I am now Herself Geekgirl, MSW/LPCC.  The world seems a little brighter. I'm done. DONE, I tell you!  I am now ready to move on with other growth projects.<br><br/><br/>

12. This week I started on a project to do three random acts of kindness a day.  The key is, it has to be something I wouldn't normally do, for no reason that benefits me.  <br/><br/>

11. I have been taking estradiol and progesterone for 16 days. My hot flashes have become warm flashes. The sheets are only slightly damp. I actually get some sleep.  Since it's all hormones, I just take my estradiol, progesterone, thyroid hormone pills, and EDTA at the same time. My mood started to improve.<br/><br/>

10. But then, despite a week of improving sleep, I was tired again. On what should have been a relatively strenuous hike up a mountain to the crest trail,  that I should have easily handled, I was stopping several times. Was I short of breath? No. Were my legs tired? No. I was exhausted. Despite drinking a red bull, I needed a nap and could have easily taken one right there on the trail. <br/><br/>
Instead of going the full 4.5 miles, I turned back at 3.8. It was exhausting running back down. I was discouraged, and bewildered. What the hell was wrong now? I should be recovered from my 100k. It was three weeks ago. i should be stronger from it!<br/><br/>

9. On a lark, I googled THYROID INTERACTION ESTROGEN, and there it was. <br/><br/>Motherf... yet aNOTHER thing that interferes with thyroid medication. In as many as 40% of women taking thyroid meds and HRT, an adjustment is needed in their thyroid medication.<br/><br/>
Does it ever end? At what point do I get to stop feeling like I'm no longer a person, but an amalgam of pills and parts?  Time to see the endocrinologist, I think.<br/><br/>

8. I want some bread.  I have been making bread all week. Living a mile above sea level as I do, it has taken some adjusting to get it right.<br/><br/>

7. I'm now training for Javalina Jundred. I'm going to try to finish it faster this time. Also, Bandera 100k, in January. <br/><br/>6. Blind Kitty is now a lanky teenager. She knows her way around the house well enough for take a running leap onto a breakfast nook she knows will always be there.  She follows me around and snuggles next to me on the bed. And for some inexplicable reason, likes to sit in open windows. <br/><br/>

5. I have an apple tree, laden wi fruit. This week I bought one of those crank things that peels apples, canning jars, and a canning tool set. I made four pints of apple butter, using my crock pot. For the second two pints, I used splenda.  Since the grapes are ripe, grape jam is in the works. This, I imagine, is what people who are not in school do with their time. They garden. They make jam and bread.  Hopefully, it will set. If not, there will be plenty of grape nectar to go around.<br/><br/>
So, yeah. Homemade bread, lots of jam. What could go wrong?

4. This week Twenty-first Century Mom was in town for the wedding of Dreadpirate Rackham to...uh, Mr. Black. He doesn't have an alias, so I'll call him Mr. Black.  <br/><br/>

3. Also, people not in school any more hang bunches of herbs to dry around the house. And make rosemary wreaths. I'm about to go all Laura Ingals up in here.  Martha Stewart is in the hiz-ouse.<br/><br/>
I have instructions for using my car, sitting in the August New Mexico sun, as a giant dehydrator to create sun-dried tomatoes from my garden.  I promise to take pictures of this.<br/><br/>

2. This week, we went to Leadville for three of the four races that Baboo is doing for his Grand Slam of Ultrarunning series. Mini Baboo and Mama Baboo, who recently moved to New Mexico, joined us. mama Baboo had never seen the finish line of a 100-miler, and Sweet Baboo got a big hug from Mama right before.crossing the line in 29:13.<br/><br/>
Next, we head to Salt Lake City for the last run of the grand slam: Wasatch Front Endurance Run.

1.  While in Twin Lakes, I went for a run by the shore of the lake. I had very idealic picture of what this might be like. As it turns out, it is much better in thoery than in practice. The shoreline was steeply sloped, covered in cobbles. Underneath the cobbles I had my choice of soft, deep, dry sand or wet, spongy sand.
But, it was crisp, in the forties, just the break I needed. I wound up finishing my shortened run on the road. Still: running alomg the shoreline. In case you thought it would be awesome, I'm happy throw myself on that the sword for you.

You're welcome.

So, now, very very late post. Thursday 13.

Dear Diary,

13. I PR'd the 10k last Sunday by about 10 seconds. I didn't beat one hour, but I scored third place in my age group. I'd like to thank my coach, who had me do a warmup before the race (it was 45 degrees) as well as thank the fast women in the 40 to 49 growho slept in, went to church, or whatever it is that people do on Sunday mornings.

12. The day before, I hiked up about 3 miles up into the Sandias and ran back down.   Not a whisper from the ankle which, by the way, has no more bruising.

11. Through both of these, I had no ankle pain. So I consider the matter finished. A mystery, but finished. 

10. The drama that is my only daughter has come to a close. She moved to South Dakota, where her father's people are, to go to job corps.   South Dakota is a much safer place to be poor than Albuquerque.  In Albuquerque, you have to live in a section called the "war zone".  years ago, when I first moved here, I looked at a map that was color coded according to types and frequency of crime.  The war zone areas were all bright, bloody red. 

9.  Meanwhile, youngest son returns on the 12th, while I'm in San Antonio. Still not ready to talk about that yet. 

8.  It was 27 degrees this morning.  The San Antonio marathon is expecting a high of 83 that day.  "Run fast," says Coach Baboo.  Ha.  Whatever.

7. Hey, where the hell is my yoga mat? I've got a Groupon for yoga, but you have to bring your own mat.  What on earth could have happened to a yoga mat? 

6.  Considering the following races for 2012: Bander 50k, Grasslands 50 miler.  Also considering the Javalina 100K again for 2012.

5.  Also considering the Grand Columbian Tri v. Redman Tri.  Yes, a TRI.  With cycling and shit.  The Grand Columbian has a special award for couples to complete the triathlon.
4.  The kitten thing is getting old.  My hands are hamburger.  They, along with my feet, are covered in hundreds of tiny holes and scratches.  So is my cleavage.  I've gotten to where I just carry her straight out from me, which of course freaks her out more.

3. I didn't post anything because I've been emotionally preparing myself for Himself's departure.  He is spending November and part of the first week of december in San Antonio at Officer's Basic training.  I hate being alone.  I truly do.  I don't ever want to go to sleep, and I say up way to late, eating too much, watching too much TV. 
This should give you a snapshot into my life if Baboo wasn't in it: I would be huge.  I would still be running, because I have been running...but I would be huge.  And tired.  yes--I'd have dark circles. 

2.  So, but, Himself is flying me out to San Anotnio this weekend.  I'm staying on base.  It's kind of Himself's very own bootie call.  He'll probably cringe when he reads this. But there it is.  Oh, and the marathon on Sunday.  My fantasy goal: sub-4:45.  Hey, he's pretty damned lucky to have me as a wife, right?  I mean, I'm all ready to run, and rhomp, and work out.  And Sunday I'll run a marathon.

1.  Oh, and did I mention that it's 83 degrees this weekend in SA?  AND HUMID?  Hmm.  the hoped-for PR is looking dimmer and dimmer.  But that's okay.  I'll get a break from being clawed by tiny kitten claws. 

Meow.

....ee

A race report, with plenty of color. Language and otherwise.

Dear Diary,

The first "why the fuck am I doing this?" occurred at about 2 am when I woke up to eat. I have two apps in my ipad that I love; one is called Sleep Sphere and plays the sound of rain, or crickets chirping, or wind, or saves, or all of these at once. I pick the crickets and rain. It plays these and when I'm in hotels it totally blocks out the sound of other incredibly loud guests, and I sleep like a baby. The second one is called Night Stand, and it is an alarm clock that allows you to choose a standard alarm or a song from your collection to play.

I am of the belief that In order to awaken one an alarm should be thoroughly obnoxious, and drive one out desperately out of bed to shut it off.

Hence it was that on race day, at precisely two AM the rain and crickets suddenly faded, to be replaced by

SHOT THROUGH THE HEART, AND YOU'RE TO BLAME
BABY YOU GIVE LOVE A BAD NAME

The reason I got up so early is twofold. First, I need time to get in 800 calories at lest three hours before race start, which today was six AM. Second, but bus leaving for the start line left at four AM from Dayton, which was 15 miles from my hotel. One needed time to eat, travel, park, and stand around in the dark cold swearing because after all, it's just not an event without these things, right?

I am usually unsuccessful getting in all 800 calories that early in the morning, but I do my best, eating foods no mortal should ever consume unless, of course, they are getting ready to do s marathon or longer. These foods are available almost exclusively at Wal Mart, which is troubling.

• 38 cent cheddar ramen (300 calories and 1120 grams of sodium)
• Seneca fruit and oatmeal, two of these (180 calories each)
• Starbucks energy + coffee drink, mocha, (200 calories, 550 MG potassium)

First, I will first tell you that this is the most beautiful course I never finished. It was, essentially, as brutal as Jemez, but with lots of muddy stream crossings thrown in. On the edges of the stream crossings was thick, gloppy, slippery mud. There were long sections of the course that were streams, and no way to avoid it, you just had to splash your way down the running water.

I passed Baboo at about his mile 65 and my mile 8 or 9 or so, and he seemed subdued. I found out later that he was stunned at how difficult this course was, so much so that he wanted to stop me and say, don't go down there. Just don't. Drop out and come finish with me.

I wish my camera didn't wash everything out so much. This was gorgeous.

But, he didn't, because he's all about letting me spread my wings and shit.

I love him for that.

And when I say down, I mean DOWN. There were sections that went on for a mile or more that were tantamount to descending a flight of stairs, and with each step my heart sank because I knew the brutal truth; this is an out-and-back.

I made the first cutoff, but just barely. I probably would have made it sooner but I was acting likes an idiot, exclaiming over how the flowers smelled, etc. And taking pictures. But what else is there? I'm not trying to win the thing.

Heading into the footbridge aid station, about mile 15

When I got to the aid station, they told me hello, checked me off, and said I had three minutes to get the hell out. Well, they didn't really. They just said get out. The aid station closed at 10:30, and I got there at 10:25. I had five minutes to use the bathroom, get my drop back, change my socks, fill up on water.

That part was important, because there are large portions of the course where the aid station is natural spring water flowing through a pipe in the ground. But I don't do well when I'm rushed, and I just did the basics, and took off my jacket, because everyone I'd seen coming back up the hill was pouring sweat.

That, it turned out, was a HUGE mistake.

Whenever I crossed the face of the mountain, I was FREEZING. but I survived, very much alone there at the back of a the pack (hello, old friend). However, I would occasionally round a corner to be confronted with yet another wall of trail fifteen percent grades rising up, up, up in front of me, and my cheerfulness was starting to flag, just a bit...when another climb presented itself I would just mutter, You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Interestingly, Sweet Baboo told me he was thinking just that same thing many, many times.  But I'll let him tell you about that..

View of the river from the footbridge.

The turnaround for that first part of the course included a trip down 2200 feet in descent over 3 or so miles. Which meant, yep, that the return included climbing 2200 feet over 3 or so miles. What the hell is up with me and these mountain ultras? That was just the first of several steep climbs. They views were breathtaking. So was the hike.

By the time I came up on mile 27, I knew the truth. I had 75 minutes to travel 6 miles. My 10k PR on a flat road is 61 minutes. These six miles included lots and lots of climbing. It wasn't happening. I sat down at mile 27 and said, I'm done, and I want a ride back down the mountain. I caught a ride with a search and rescue guy driving a Toyota f2 and to give you and idea ofmhow rugged this course is, it took his truck an hour to traverse the six miles of road that I would have traveled on foot.

Across the face of a mountain.

I went back down to the race finish and ate and waited for Himself, the Baboo, who finished his 100-miler in about 33 hours. For the runners there was charbroiled hamburgers with all the fixin's, and brats.  Baboo finished in about 33 hours.  He was stunned and dazed at how hard it was, harder than Leadville, he said.

We drove back to the hotel and slept well. The next day was a free ham and pancakes breakfast during which the following occurred, and this is my ONLY complaint about this well organized course: they were utterly confused over the times:

It took them, I shit you not, two hours to give out awards. 

At the end of ninety minutes, we were desperate and afraid of missing our flight, so we asked for Baboo's buckle early, which they cheerfully gave. Then, we drove back to Denver, stopping at Starbucks and Taco John's along the way.  Once at the Denver airport, my WeightWatchers app 

(I've been on a break from WW for a few months) informed me that I'd taken in 64 points by 5 pm.

Ulp.Time to get back on track.

PS The awards, if you're reading this and so inclined to go for your age group, are stones that have the awards etched into them.  Big old river rocks, about 10-15 lbs each, just right for you  and your luggage.  

An aid station.

IF YOU GO: I adored Sheridan. We stayed at the holiday inn, where the bed was comfortable. Within walking distance to the hotel is Albertons, WalMart, a super buffet, nail place, and Arby's.  The all-you-can eat buffet had free wi-fi, which was almost the perfect storm (they didn't have mocha lattes).   There is a nice running trail nearby that is only a few miles long and cement sidewalk, but very pleasant. The race start is fifteen miles away, and there was a shuttle that took you to it, although we chose to drive.

There are also hotels in the town where the race starts, but the packet pickup, preface meal, and drop bag drop off are all in Sheridan.

A word of warning: This is not a race for beginners. To convince you of this, here is the profile of the 27 miles I finished:

NEXT UP: assorted 10ks around town, and the LaLuz trail run the first of August, which traverse over nine miles from about 6200 feet up to 10800 feet to the top of Sandia Peak.

...

Besides food, I will also run for pottery.

Note: photography on the Acoma Reservation is forbidden, so the pictures of the landscape here are taken off the Internet.

Dear Diary,

Baboo and I left home on Memorial day at five am, headed for the annual Acoma Seed run. This 8 mile run is held at the Acoma pueblo each year, which is about 16 miles off I40 in some of the most breathtaking scenery you can imagine. As you come over a rise and into the valley near Sky City, you see this:

It's enthusiastically raced by both local tribal members as well runner peeps from Albuquerque. Now, as I'm fond of saying, you can rarely throw a stick in most of New Mexico without it landing on a breathtaking view, so why do they come out 75 miles where there's no cell phone to run 8 miles? Well, first because it's cool: you get to through lands where outsiders are rarely allowed, and second, the age group awards are hand-made Acoma pottery.

The race is informal, timed by yelling "go" and then collecting race bib tags and putting them in order on a board.

I spend much of the pre-race shivering and looking around furtively to try to guess who was in my age group and marveling at the rock formations. The area where the start and finish line looked like this:

See this big sand dune?  Hold this image in your head for a bit.

At the top, Sky City, which has been inhabited continuously since 600 A.D.

Readyyyyyy?  GO!

Mile one a started with a downhill-flattish run that rapidly turned ugly as we turned into about a half mile of deep, soft, fine, sand. Because you know, if you're running a steep uphill, there's nothing better than

Deep, Soft, Fine, Sand. 

After much experimenting, I figured out that hopping up the hill on the balls of my feet worked well for me.
You get to the top and run across an old wooden bridge through a narrow slot in the sandstone, imagining this as the last stronghold holding off the Spaniards, specifically Don Juan Onate, right before he started cutting off the feet of Native Americans as punishment for their rebellion but for some reason there is a town, schools, and statues in honor of this madman.  One of the statues' feet were cut off soon after its dedication, as well it should be, at least.

Anyway.

So then you head down a hill through (say it with me now)

Deep, Soft, Fine Sand. 

End of mile 1.

In mile two, headed down the hill o' sand, I fell in behind a woman as we headed down into a shallow arroyo, and--wait, what? Too late: I tried to leap over a large tangle of piñon and chollo, landing on the other side on a slightly smaller tangle of piñon and chollo branches, rolling over a few times until I wound up on my back, in the arroyo, my legs tangled in branches. I got up, brushed myself off, climbed out of the arroyo, and tried to catch up with the women I had passed on my way down. Most of them turned left at the jeep road and headed for the three mile finish, while I turned right and headed into four or so miles of jeep road covered mostly with large, unexpected patches of

Deep, Soft, Fine, Sand.

The road was described to me as boring, but I disagreed, I found myself headed towards this:

Mesa Enchantida (Enchanted Mesa)

By mile 3, I could feel a pillow of soft, fine sand had built up in the toe of each shoe. It wasn't painful but was an odd sensation having this soft bump under the ball of each foot, like I imagine the sketched shape-ups might feel. I did not feel like I was getting toned, but as I told one guy at one of the many water stations, "I'm going to have to empty my shoes so that I don't violate any tribal laws by taking parts of the rez away."

About mile three or four, I passed a guy who immediately sped up as I passed him, and I was like, really? He ran alongside me for a while, and then I hit a patch of solid jeep road, got some traction, and was able to take off.  For a while. These patches of firm road were greatly sought but well-hidden.

You know, there is nothing that makes me feel slow, fat, and old like

Deep, Soft, Fine, Sand.

I turned onto the road about mile 5.5, and headed into a stiff headwind. It was both cooling and hampering. The last of the 8.3 mile run is uphill. When I finished, there was a Sweet Baboo, (by the way, I'm happy to announce that my iPad now automatically suggests "Baboo"' and even capitalizes it), burritos, fruit and water.

Luckily, despite the bricks tied to my feet, and losing the fight with the branches in a dry river bed, there were only two women in my age group, so I won an award:

When you accept your award, you shake the hand of all the tribal elders.

Lots of the peeps won awards today.

Sweet Baboo, 3rd in his age group, won a pottery medallion.

1st place winners, like friend Ken Gordon, win large pots.  Ken suggested this

 run, and is going to let us know about more like them.  

Closeup of my award, as we are leaving - you can see Enchanted Mesa in the background.

 Will I come back next year and suffer through

Deep, Soft, Fine, Sand?

Oh, you bet I will.

...