'Till I Collapse: Modesto Half Marathon 3/19/17

                My Boston Marathon training has been a bit derailed over the past five weeks. Looking at my training log, I felt like crud on my early morning run 2/14/17. Hours later I came down with chills and a fever, feeling sick, sleeping excessively for a few days. Briefly feeling better by that Friday, I jumped back on the trails with friends before a weekend out of town. My hypothermia run in the mud, rain, and wind in Cool turned into an asthma attack and three mile walk back to the car. I pulled out one of the more sluggish 20 milers in some time in Orange County two days later. The next week, my log is plagued by comments about asthma and challenges with breathing. My paces were sluggish and I was struggling, fumbling to catch my breath on any hills and with speedwork. The coughing was getting worse, keeping me from finding solace in sleep, and, thus, being unable to rest. I finally figured it might be more than my asthma and a cold and went to the doctor’s office 2/28/17. The chest x-ray came back as right upper lobe pneumonia. I rested, slept, didn’t run for nearly a week.

                I did take a start at Way Too Cool 50K 3/4/17, had a conservative race, being careful not to push, with an unbelievably successful outcome. I figured I was back. But, running conservatively on trails is not the same as trying to push the pace in a road race. In the past 2 weeks, post Way Too Cool, I was optimistic. The lungs would run out of fuel only after repeated sets of speedwork and more so when I tried to replicate 10K- half marathon pace. Yes, I was still having a mildly productive cough, but I could finally sleep at night. And yes, my voice was doing a perfect Kathleen Turner impersonation, but even that was improving.  After my speedwork session last week, I recognized the Modesto Half could go any number of ways. I might be able to maintain an 8 flat pace or something faster if the lungs could clear out further in 4 days. I was partly running Modesto to have a better sense of what Boston might hold and what might be realistic.

Lorena and I pre-race.

                In the pre-dawn hours of Sunday, I woke, dressed, and picked up my friend Lorena to drive down to Modesto. Lorena was running her 7^th marathon, but more or less as a training run with Canyons 100K remaining her target spring race (I’ll join her there 12 days after Boston! Yes, I know… scheduling, Rhino – try it!). The drive passed quickly – too much chatter about liver and onions and odd foods (it seems Lorena might revert to meat for the right liver…. Ewwww!).  We parked a few blocks from the race start, grabbed our bibs, settled in the car for a brief respite before going to the Start. I warmed up for a mile, wished Lorena well, and went to find the 3:22 pacer. On the way, I spot Karyn (pacing the 1:45 group) and Scott who will run with her; always fun to catch up with some stud tri friends! Anne, who I met with my Boston training group last year, eventually arrived – she was going for marathon #3, had worked her tail feathers off this training cycle, and was going for some pretty big goals (which she had every reason to aim for). I would see how long I could hang with her and Mr. 3:22, as that would be a 7:45 pace to start. I was pretty excited for Annie – 26.2 miles just days after turning 26! The half and full courses split after mile 7. I was dubious about my ability to maintain that pace through then, but figured I had little to lose.

                And when you’re not running at peak form, reminding yourself of what you used to be able to do may not be the best idea. I had pulled out my log and stats from when I ran Modesto (the full) in 2014: a sea of 7:40s until a heat fall apart in the final miles, though still a solid 3:32 finish (and 1:41:30 first half). This had come just 3 weeks after my (still) PR at Napa, with a 31 mile and 22 mile long runs in the intervening weekends. I was decidedly in Beast mode that spring! For the Modesto Half, I was just hoping to be in mode enough to finish respectably. I can’t quite trust my body yet; she is hit or miss and  my lungs fight me with speed attempts.

                The race is off on time at 7 am and I’m ready to give it what I have. My body may have her own thoughts, but my heart and my mind remain all in. The first mile, I stick behind the 3:22 pacer and Annie. I am working, but that speed (7:42) feels okay. It’s actually a rather fun pace! I have delusions that the excitement I feel about the pace might maintain. In the 2^nd mile, Mr. 3:22 gets a bit peppier. I hang on for most of the mile, but eventually let him and Annie go. It feels too rich for my blood, so I pull back. I still drop a 7:37, but it’s more effort than my body wants. Over the next few miles, I will settle back into a pace right around 8. That feels tangible and briefly sustainable. In the 4^th mile, we climb Mount Modesto – the hill is the only reprieve from the flattest of flat courses that is Modesto. I actually like the climb, push it, enjoy the downhill that follows. I eat, ready for the water at the next aid station.

                In the 4^th mile, as we stretch out on the country roads, a voice behind me yells, “Runner on your left!” I move to the right as I think what an asshole statement that is. What is this – a triathlon?!? I’m not on a bike! It’s Scott – just teasing me! I promptly advise him of my internal dialogue. We both comment about how long it might take Karyn to catch us (she has to stay with her pace group!). I briefly run with Scott, then let his Folsom Bike shirt drift down the road of farmland in front of me. I’m feeling okay – not fantastic, but maintaining. I clock out the next couple of miles without much worry or fanfare. The pace is drifting ever so slightly slower, though I am near an 8 flat pace at the 10K point.  There are clusters of spectators along the roads, something I did appreciate with the race a few years back. It nearly helps make up for the flatness that I don’t really care for. The day is humid and I am drenched in sweat. My Project Purple tank is soaked and has been since mile 3. At least the skies are overcast and there is a slight breeze through these miles to provide a mild cooling effect.

Mile 1-7: 7:42, 7:37, 8:03, 8:07, 8:06, 8:13, 8:20.   Mile 7 mat 56:14 (8:02 pace).

The sunrise on the horizon.

 

                The course takes a left after mile 7. This is where Karyn catches me with her 1:45 group. She is always the encourager, but also wanting to be sure I don’t take it too hard. She warns me she’ll have to let Charlie (my Boston training group coach) know if I push too much. I know Karyn! Save it for Boston- save it for Boston. I run with her for a brief bit to where the half and marathon fork off from each other and then keep her in my sights for another 2 miles. I eat again. I work to stay in the center of the road, noting there is slightly less camber to the road there. Again, my pace is fading slightly. The course is heading East and there is the faintest of pink on the horizon. It’s small, but beautiful. I want to capture it with something other my memory. I take out my phone for a photo at mile 9. I also grab a few selfies; I think my skills at taking selfies while running is improving! A friend will later comment on one of these photos about the joy I have. And yes, even on the rough days when any non-goal I have has slipped away, I remain grateful for the process, for the ability to race, for the blessing of being able to run. You can’t buy that. You can’t manufacture that.

The joy of running and racing.

 

                The running is getting harder for me, I am fading. I have not gone full agonal breathing or anything, but I am struggling. My heart is in this, my body stubbornly has no interest in following. It is what it is. I continue on. At mile 10, my pace starts to dip further, threatening a 9 minute mile. ‘Till I Collapse by Eminem comes on my playlist. It’s a new song for me, added by my friend Dani, as part of a fundraiser for Project Purple for Boston ($10 donation for a song choice). Yes, added by my friend Dani, who is kind of spirit and generous of heart, and who should have been running her 2^nd marathon at LA today, had her training not been derailed by health issues. The timing of the song is just what I need as I attend to the lyrics. “ You gotta search within you,  And gotta find that inner strength….”  Basically, I will run “Till my legs give out…. till my bone collapse.” The song has also been preceded by text from my husband “Finish Strong” and is followed by “Stronger” from Kanye.  Needless to say, I am back on track and I feel the love and support. I am not necessarily very much faster, but I am maintaining. Emotionally, I am coming to grips with the implications for Boston as I push on.

Miles 8-13.17: 8:17, 8:27, 8:44, 8:38, 8:34, 8:47, 7:50.

                I eat one final time and push back up Mount Modesto, passing someone on the uphill, though I won’t quite catch the stroller that just breezed past me.  I descend and am counting down the remains of the course. A sub 1:50 should be safe. That puts me at my fitness pre-Chicago, when my foot was fighting me. 3:50 perhaps, but heart might get me to an optimistic 3:45. And I do still have 4 weeks, not one left. It may be still too early to make that decision. I give what I have remaining in the final couple of miles. I turn the final corner of the course. The clock still reads 1:48:xx. I’ll take what I can get.

Official time: 1:48:52 (8:19); 7^th AG F 40-44/156, #34 F/903, #128 OA/1446.

Garmin: 13.17 miles in 1:48:56 (8:16), +59 ft.

                I collect my medal, finisher’s jacket, and some food. I catch up with Karyn and Scott. She had a perfect pacing gig (and is 3^rd in her AG!) and just barely passed Scott at the end. We walk back to our cars; they grab warmer clothes, I grab a jacket and water bottle, dump my medal, so I can add miles. I feel better as Karyn debates dropping Canyons: too much with pacing gigs and Oceanside. Balancing is hard and I struggle to accept that. I struggle to accept my limitations. And yet, they’re knocking at my door. I say my goodbyes to Karyn and Scott so I can run some miles; need to get in the 20 for the day.

With Scott and Karyn post race.

 

                It’s getting warmer and it remains humid. I run the course backwards, find a cute canal running path, circle back to the finish. Annie is showing strong on the online tracker- metronome for the available checkpoints. I anticipate her around 10:20 am. Lorena is also solid through mile 14. I wait at mile 26. There is a man who is staggering, but tries to get going as he sees marathoners behind him. This distracts me. So, I nearly miss Annie coming through on the other side of a volunteer on bike with boombox (he did entertain me around mile 8 with Lady Gaga). The flash of orange catches my eye though and I call out, cheer, grab some photos. Then I sprint across the course and dart around the sidewalk at the corner to catch the glimpse as Annie finishes in an amazing 3:18! (This is beyond her A++ goal!) I meet her parents as we walk through/around the finishers’ chute. Soon we are able to confirm she is the 2^nd overall female in the marathon! I am filled with joy for her – and pride at how all her hard work in training has paid off on a beautifully executed (negative split) race! Can’t wait to see her again in Boston in 2018!

Mile 26 joy for Annie!

 

                I take my leave after a bit to run my final miles and find Lorena. I run out to around mile 24.8 and wait. I finally spot my girl in her bright corral shirt. I have the pleasure of running her in to the finish of her 7^th marathon. We enjoy lunch in town then drive home. Our conversation centers around motivators for running and reasons for racing, personality types, and discomfort. We have come to running from opposite motivators, but we come together in friendship. I find myself fortunate to call her my dear friend. I also see the racing potential she doesn’t quite yet glimpse in herself. It’s a balance thing: running trails, running on the road- finding yourself, pushing yourself.

Lorena approaching mile 25.

                Once home, I get cleaned up. I struggle with that balance. I struggle with a mixed bag of emotions. I did pretty good, considering. But, it’s so far off of my potential. I was diagnosed with pneumonia 2.5 weeks ago; to complete a 1:49 half isn’t too bad. It’s just hard when your body fails you. I pulled back to have a safe race. And I feel I should be racing fine; there is no “injury” present in my mind. I look okay; I’m not visibly injured. So, I feel as though I should be in my usual form. My lungs obviously tell me otherwise. I have 4 weeks until Boston. It’s Boston! You want to show up at Boston and be able to race to your potential. You want to be in peak form after a solid training cycle. You want to go out there and give it your absolute best. Each of the past four years, I have arrived at Boston fit and fast. Even the 2014 celebration year for me, I opted to take my time and savor the race, but was in BQ shape, should I have made an alternate choice. I shed a few tears as I come to terms that I won’t have my best to give this year. My body is not there yet and it is unrealistic to expect it to get there in four short weeks. I will give Boston all I have in me on April 17^th. It may be more in terms of heart this year than speed. But, I still have a lot of heart to give.

33 Seconds and a Heart Filled With Gratitude

 
       A month from today, I will run my 5th Boston Marathon and my 26th lifetime marathon. On April 18, 2016, I was not sure this would even be an opportunity. The 2016 Boston Marathon was a hot one and tested me physically, though more so emotionally, coming two months after the worst marathon I have run in my racing career. I fought every step of the race for 96 seconds, what is better known as a "squeaker BQ". Based on prior year statistics, I left Boston the next day heartbroken, sensing the likelihood of a return to the 2017 Boston Marathon was slim. I tried to grab another BQ, but it was not to be. I would have to sit with my 96 seconds. In late September, my hopes were dashed when the cutoff for the 2017 race was announced as 2:09 under the BQ. I was 33 seconds short.

       33 seconds. 33 seconds. It's nothing: a few blinks of a eye, a diversion to grab water, a kiss, a hug. It's more than I could give last April, because I still know gave it all I had that day. And I sat there for a few days, debating what to do. Do I let it go for 33 seconds? Interrupt the dream that is Boston, interrupt the yearly celebration with family, with friends, with a community of runners, with my favorite city? I think those who have run Boston understand, as I know others who are avid runners also understand. Those of us who were there in 2013 understand. It's become such a part of who I am and I am grateful for everything I feel it has given me. I could just let it go. I was confident in my ability to get back in 2018. But, could I just let it go?

     The choices were limited to return. I would have to apply for and be accepted by a charity. It sounds simple enough. But, that decision can't come lightly. It's a commitment. I would have to raise between $5,000 and $10,000. I, who has absolutely no fundraising experience, would have to raise a massive amount of money. I, who struggles to ask people for help, would have to ask people to help me - again, and again, and again. I've spent too many years priding myself on the ability to do things by myself, to never have to rely on others. Certainly, I am only too happy to help when others request it, but it's different if I have to suddenly ask. I brainstormed, trying to figure out if the goal was feasible. I brainstormed, thinking about different strategies. Ultimately, I decided, I might as well face my fears, overcome some more of my hang ups, give it my best shot, and apply for a charity bib for Boston. This would be a new challenge, so much different than my comfort in training and racing.

     I was fortunate to be offered a spot on the 2017 Project Purple Boston Marathon team, significantly enough, on the day before Thanksgiving. 33 seconds brought me to Project Purple as my father brought me back to the Boston Marathon. I undertook the daunting task of raising my goal of $10,000 to help fight pancreatic cancer, which had taken my dad's life in 2011. And so, over the past many months, I've worked on putting myself out there, asking for what I need. I've worked on my social media presence, my marketing skills, my writing skills, my asking skills. And all the things that seemed so scary back in the Fall have filled my heart in other ways instead. The stories that I've heard in the process of asking and in the process of expressing my gratitude, have filled me more than I could have imagined. Oh, I've shed many a tear and, some days, I've cried a small river. I have been touched by the ways in which we have been able to connect through the challenges we have been through, through our grief, through our sorrow, through the love we have had from those we have lost. So much of what I feel about this journey remains hard to express. The words seem inadequate in light of the gratitude I feel. The generosity, both of heart and in terms of donations, has been overwhelming.

     So a month from now, I will toe the line at the Boston Marathon. It will no doubt be an emotional day. My dad will be running with me as I don my Project Purple singlet and as I run through the eight towns on course to the finish line on Bolyston. Each year at Boston is special and each is unique. But, I nearly can't fathom 2017. This won't be a traditional racing year for me. It's not because my body has struggled in recent weeks, thanks to pneumonia. But maybe partly because of that, I return to what this journey is about. It's a thank you to my father, for all that he provided for me, for the love he gave me, for the parts of me that are him. And, so when I run next month, I run for him, for my loss, for my love, but mostly for my gratitude. I am a better person because of him. And, so I thank him for the 33 seconds and for all it has afforded me this year. While the money that we have raised is just a small piece in the greater fight against pancreatic cancer, it is filled with hope.


I have included my race report from the 2016 Boston Marathon: the hardest marathon I have run and the one that brings me back next month.

Rising Boston Strong: 120^th Boston Marathon 4/18/2016

 

 

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat. – Teddy Roosevelt, 1910

 

            Since January, I’ve been taking an online course by Brene Brown about vulnerability – about the risks we take and the falls that may come in the process. She often references the above Roosevelt quote about the Man in the Arena: if you dare greatly, sometimes you will face plant, need to wipe off the dust and sweat and blood, and find a way to rise above and to rise strong. The process has been challenging at times as I’m forced to examine who I am, why, and where I want to be. I never thought it would apply to my running. Running was always the outlet, the means by which I could process life and work through life’s challenges. Running was my peace, my comfort, my provider of confidence, my solitude. And then, the LA marathon happened. I was ambitious in my goals and my plans and I just floundered and fell apart. What ensued was a crisis in my confidence as relates to my running ability. I found myself face down in the arena and just had no interest in even thinking about getting up. I would suddenly find myself stopping runs early, not having much interest in pushing myself, often just plain not wanting to run. I revamped what I thought was necessary: I cut back on running, dropping mileage (I was too aggressive for LAM and I think I had worn my body out), giving myself rest day permissions, and no longer followed a set schedule. I just wanted my mojo back. I think it returned in fits and starts, but by mid March, I think I was back on track. And I say “think”, because, I just didn’t know. I have always been fairly spot on in knowing what I am capable of athletically. But I just didn’t know when I might give up or give in; maybe I just didn’t care anymore? The truth is, I cared too much, and I just wanted that love for running back. I was gradually getting my paces back, gradually getting back in shape. Two weeks before Boston, I ran a local half marathon. It was the purest of joys – I pushed hard and I was back in love. My heart was all in! And I was precisely where I needed to be heading in to Boston. The 3:30 goal was realistic.

 

Cheers to arriving in Boston and being in a dive bar!

 

Seeing Nuria at the Expo!

 

            My husband and I flew out on the red-eye, arriving in Boston on April 15^th in the early morning. We were fortunate a room was available and we were able to settle in before the expo. The expo was uncrowded, so it was a quick pick up and merchandise selection. I had the pleasure of seeing my friend Nuria; we have trained with the local Boston 365 training group the past two years. She is a source of boundless and positive energy that I have come to appreciate during training runs. The support of the training group and coach Charlie have been invaluable in pushing me to the limits of my fitness, while providing encouragement over my rough post- LAM patch. Later in the afternoon, I headed to the Finish Line where I sat in the stands for roughly an hour. It was the first year post 2013 that I have been in Boston on April 15^th. I marked it with quiet reflection and emotions across the way from Marathon Sports. So much of the meaning of Boston to me came from that day, from my first Boston. In essence, it’s the inspiration of a city and running community rising strong. The solemnity of the afternoon was followed by celebration, meeting up with Jen (who I met at Boston 2013) and Laurie for our protein loading meal at Fogo de Chao.

 

 

The first time being there on the anniversary.

 

            I was the official bag holder and spectator for the BAA 5K the next day, managing to catch photos of Jen, Laurie, my cousins Andrew and Erin, and my uncle Cap. I only missed my husband who was focused on a bet he had with Andrew; he ended up on the right side of 4 seconds. While waiting for the race, I was chatting with a couple of folks. We had an amusing conversation about shoes and psychiatry, with the guy referencing Billy Rodgers when it came up that I had attended Wesleyan. I had grabbed a photo with Bill Rodgers (4 time Boston champion) the day prior, spotting him outside the Nike store. The guy looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him and nothing in my conversation suggested I knew him. In any case, the 5K was a success: solid times and my uncle did the race while carrying an American flag (he’s 70!). I met up with my family and we watched the invitational and high school miles; twin brothers crossing in joint victory with a 4:33 mile was the highlight. My husband Jim and my cousin Julie and I then headed to lunch and then Fenway. The first pitches were thrown out by the Rio Olympic marathon qualifiers: Meb, Shalane, Amy, and Desi. Just before that they announced the John Hancock (race sponsor) team for the marathon, all being coached by Greg Meyer (1983 Boston champ). It finally clicked! I had been chatting that morning with Greg Meyer! I didn’t know him, but had recognized him from Boston Legends talks I have attended at prior Boston expos. I sent him a message on Facebook and we chatted for a bit- he has a great sense of humor. I did go see him the following day at his talk; he had mentioned my custom Boston Cons shoes to Amy Cragg. Cool. So the people you could randomly meet on a magical weekend in Boston? At the Red Sox game, I got to chatting with the gentlemen behind me – they were from where I was born in Rhode Island. Small, inspirational world.

 

Greg Meyer!

 

The Rhode Islanders!

 

 

            Sunday, I met up with a couple of my running group friends Azi and Vickie for a bit at the expo. I later had lunch with my friend Vicki, who I had met on my first bus ride to the Athlete’s Village in 2013. Dinner was at my cousin Julie’s home, who is kind enough to host the extended family pre-race each year and to provide me with my lean protein and veggie meal. I slept well that night and think I had managed any pre-race anxieties fairly well. I was calm. I knew the conditions would not be ideal for me, but I had no pretense that I was going to have a repeat of LAM. I would give it my best shot – because, no matter what I could execute, this was Boston! The race day temp forecasts were bad – highs in the 70s. The only saving grace might be that the temps would likely cool as the race progressed and as we ran closer to the ocean, though headwinds would also likely pick up. In most races with a 7 am start, 70s would be manageable as the high. But Boston starts at 10 am and my wave would not start until 10:50 am. I would have to be aggressive in my race management: aggressive with hydrating and cooling measures, conservative enough with pace, knowing a fade would be likely. The original 3:30 goal pre-forecast was put to the side. I was aiming for a 3:40, which would be my BQ-5, to gain entry to the 121^st Boston in 2017 (though a 3:38 would be ideal as that would also qualify me for NY). My race schedule over the next few months (which culminates at the same time as the qualifying window for Boston 2017) is hectic with a 100 miler and an Ironman. I needed to get the BQ here to maintain my streak.

 

With Vickie and Azi - my Animals!

 

 

Family pre-race.

 

            Race day, up, ready, dressed in a stylish pair of Oscar the Grouch PJ pants, I walked with Jen and Laurie to the Common. I later hopped on a bus to the Athlete’s Village, chatting with “The Legend” a 55 yo woman from Ontario and an Ironman stud. Once at the village, I felt that magic that is Boston on race morning! I grabbed my photo at the “It all starts in Hopkinton” sign, used the facilities, then met up with my girls in a spot of shade. My friend Vicki and her friends from Washington would later join us. It was warm. I was keeping my layers on so that I could give myself the illusion of being cool when I finally took them off (not sure that worked! But I was trying to limit my sunburn!). There was a woman in a unicorn outfit at the AV; she looked so hot! (Not the sexy hot, but just hot- 1980s unitard with full leggings.) Our friends had left before us for the wave 2 start. Finally, it was our turn! Jen and I walked down the road to the start. It is the only time we have done this walk when we could see the road – it wasn’t crowded in the least and we were thankfully not rushing to the start. We used the facilities one last time then proceeded to the starting corrals. We had finally ditched our throwaway clothing. It was a scorcher! The sun was shining brightly, there was no cloud cover. A few minutes before the start as we are taking pictures, I check my weather app: it’s 70 degrees and sunny. Well, that’s the typical starting weather you want for a marathon! Not! I didn’t need the app to tell me that; you could easily feel the heat. Control what you can. Stay calm, take in the race, enjoy the day, push yourself enough but don’t blow up.

 

 

Mom of 7 Vicki from my first Boston.

 

Jen and Laurie in the Athlete's Village- looks cold, right?

            We were off with wave 3 which started at 10:50 am. Jen and I crossed the start line at 10:51:26. I was off on my own as I had to go get that BQ! I know well enough to moderate that first mile; I don’t fight the crowds, I run with them to avoid the excess energy expenditure. I did have a water bottle with me to use for the first two miles until the aid stations started. I had had water and Gatorade prerace and had eaten more than I usually do to be sure I was fueled. It was easily the warmest start I have had at Boston. The only upside to the weather is that it was great for spectating. Boston is always teeming with on course fans, but the crowds were so amazingly thick throughout. We runners made them spectate in a storm last year – so they can have a lovely summer day this year! About a mile in I see Katie from my Boston 365 group and comment on the heat. We go back and forth every handful of miles until I lose sight of her sometime after Heartbreak. In prior years I have seen more runners I know on course, but 2016 was a solo venture.

 

Jen and I at the start line: 70 degrees!

 

Miles 1-5: 8:16, 8:09, 7:52, 7:47, 7:58.   

5K 25:14 (8:08)

 

            At mile 5, I enter Framingham. A large Boston Strong banner is on the left where it has been the past three years. They are playing my song: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun! I sing a few words as I pass by, but even that is an energy expenditure that is hard on this day. Downtown Framingham is teeming with even larger crowds. I see the commuter rail and a train there to my left- Rosie Ruiz comes to mind at such moments! Santa is back on the uphill at mile 7. I high five him and put in my official wish for snow. I continue to work, but am maintaining pace. I eat every 2-3 miles, taking in electrolyte tablets as well. Elvis is at the Welcome to Fabulous Natick sign at mile 10; unfortunately I catch him in between sets and don't have time to ingrain his song choice as I run away. From the start of mile 12, I start to hear the roar of the Scream Tunnel at Wellesley. The girls are out in full force half a mile down the road. The signs they made are on the barricades and the girls are leaning out for kisses. I have had a couple of signs made (Run Rhino Run and another for my fellow ACME animals). My brain is working hard to focus, so I skip scanning for the barricade posters. Instead, I focus on the Kiss Me, I'm ... Signs. I have to choose the right girls! I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm ever skipping through this section!  There are fewer Kiss Me signs- so I kiss a girl with corporate sponsorship, Kiss Me, Just Do it!. Then to balance my ode to Nike, I kiss a girl with Kiss Me, I'm a Virgin! Both seemed appreciative- trust me, I'm cuter than some of the males I saw leaning in for kisses!  And I am off! Towards the halfway mark!

 

Miles 6-12: 8:00, 7:56, 8:01, 8:12, 8:11, 8:18, 8:20  

10K 50:08 (8:04). 15K 1:15:24 (8:05)

 

            I pass the half way mark in 1:47. It is reasonable, conservative, good enough. I continue through the throngs in downtown Wellesley. I am keeping my eyes open and see the library. I spot Sarah ahead- give her a big smile, greeting, and wave as she takes some photos. Sarah is a Wellesley resident and non-runner who cheers for the marathon each year (we bonded during a cramped ride on the T last year). This boosts my spirit! I grab an otter pop shortly afterwards, having to gnaw at it with my teeth to open it. It does serve to help cool me over the following mile. Later I drop some ice in my sports bra. I am doing whatever I can to stay hydrated and to try to cool my core. I feel myself struggling by mile 15. This is hard. I am aggressively hydrating and fueling. I continue to dump water on my head and down my back.

Yes, I can smile through anything! It's still Boston!

 

            I hit the first of the Newton hills in mile 16, heading up towards the 95 over crossing. My pace is dropping. I am working harder than I should be this early. Usually I am buoyed by the Providence sign, getting emotional with thoughts of my father and aunt. I miss the big sign, barely catch the tiny sign for it as I focus all my energy on moving up the hill towards the Portsmouth sign. It is really warm, likely mid 70s but warmer feeling with the bright sunlight.  The past 16 miles of moving near an 8 minute pace in this heat are wearing me down physically. I have conserved my energy as best possible, limiting my interactions with the crowds. They are part of what fuels me at Boston; they fuel me in a way no other race does. But I can't repay that favor today. Instead of greeting and high fiving the spectators, all I can do is pay attention to the road ahead, to maintaining the pace, to safely make it in and out of aid stations. Gatorade in, water in, water over the head. Rinse and repeat a mile later. I do take added water in between aid stations- opting for kids as they seem to enjoy the successful pass off as much as I appreciate the quench of my thirst.  I refocus on the crowd as I near Newton Wellesley Hospital, scanning for my family. I spot them! I give hugs to my husband, my cousin Julie, my uncle Cap, my cousin Nichole (as I introduce myself to her fiancé in passing - hi Ben!), and my friend Vickie! Always well worth the hug by! I take the encouragement I get and run on. I think only my husband Jim picks up on how I am struggling; he knows how hard this heat is for me and he has picked up on the very slow fade in my pace.

My uncle Cap at mile 17.

 

Miles 13-17: 8:20, 8:14, 8:31, 8:17, 8:48.

20K 1:41:24 (8:09) 13.1 1:46:58 (8:09) 25K 2:07:36 (8:13)

 

            After 17, we make one of the few on course turns on to Commonwealth. I've run this race three prior times and on this forth time pick up the famous fire station at this corner. They have a misting tunnel that I happily run through - anything to cool myself off. Throughout the rest of the course, I gravitate to any sprinklers, hoses, sprayers on course, anything that might cool me and stave off my demise in the heat. The winds have picked up since the half way point and they are a headwind, maybe 10-15 mph. They have the slightest cooling effect- I'll withstand the wind resistance for anything at this juncture. I know I need to just get through these hills, then maybe I’ll be okay. Maybe it will be cooler and I'll have some legs left. The second Newton Hill is conquered without fanfare. I move to the left side of the road before mile 19, looking for the John Kelley statue for my next rendezvous. The crowds are thick through here, but I am scanning, scanning, scanning. I never do see the John Kelley statue, but do spot and yell out to my cousins Erin and Andrew, wave, smile, and run on! The third Newton Hill- I grab another Popsicle. The gal had all colors in her hand- but leans out with a purple one- darn it, I wanted the green! It's really not the time to be picky- but these are about the level of deep thoughts running through my mind by this juncture. Purple is still slightly cooling. Mile 20 in 2:47. I am really off pace and fading and still have Heartbreak ahead.

 

            Heartbreak Hill won't take me down today, though it will be my slowest mile of the race, as it should be. It ends up being the only mile above a 9 minute pace, so respectable. I eat watermelon on the way up; anything to cool myself. I think of my friend Lorena, who doesn't like watermelon (but will one day run this race with me). I do not walk up Heartbreak. In fact, I do not walk for a millisecond of the race. Often I have been known to walk or stop briefly at the end of an aid station in races to ensure the fluid I am grabbing actually gets in my mouth. But I cannot take such chances today. I will take whatever mess the Gatorade slosh does to me and whatever misses from the water cups. I know I cannot stop. If I stop for one single solitary second, I am unsure if I could start up again. If I give in to an ounce of the walk, I will be right back at LAM. Walking would be so much easier than this level of discomfort. I just don't trust myself. So run it is, and run is all it will be until I cross that finish line.

Just focusing and working to survive the heat.

 

            I hit Boston College at the top of Heartbreak. They are loud and cheering. In the annual battle of BC vs Wellesley on course, I'm calling it a tie for 2016. Thank you! But I have to keep moving. Some kids are giving red roses; this is new. I think about grabbing one, but it is an energy expenditure I don't have and I can't fathom where I would put the rose for the next 5 miles. My brain cannot process simple equations at this juncture. Past BC, I notice the cemetery on the right; there was some story I read recently about Boston and making it to the cemetery. The littering of rose petals along the course seems an homage. I stay to my left, doing my best with the downhill and left turn to Cleveland Circle. The green line is there and calling for me! 

 

Miles 18-22: 8:55, 8:36, 8:53, 9:35. 8:45. 30K 2:35:02 (8:19). 35K 3:03:19 (8:25).

 

            I pushed so hard through this section last year vs my fade here in 2013. This year I am working hard. My legs are in such pain between the heat and the ups and downs of the prior 22 miles. My heart and lungs are struggling. I don't think it's my asthma, but my breathing has become agonal. I am suddenly that person I can't stand running next to during a race: panting heavily with each breath, with gasps of air with each inhalation. It sounds ghastly as though each were my last breath. I catch myself momentarily, trying to slow it down, stop the gasping, but then I'm back at it because it's all that keeps me moving. I think it has cooled somewhat, but I am so far past the point of being overheated that I feel no relief. I know I'm running the race of my life. This is the hardest marathon I have run. This is the most effort I have had to sustain. I am running a very very fine line- get that time to get back here or pass out trying. I have picked up my pace from the hills. I am doing the absolute best I can. I take in what I can of the crowds. Damn you Boston! Damn you! I love these fucking crowds! I just want to come back and be part of this again. You know I wouldn't run this redline for any other city or race on the world!

 

Coming down Hereford before the final turn.

            I hit the 40K mark and head over the Mass Turnpike. 1.25 miles to go. I honestly don't know if I can make it. My body is in such bad shape at this juncture. My legs are in pain. My breathing is beyond labored. My head is not right. I can't think clearly. Just 1.2 miles to go. I am not looking at my watch and haven't in a few miles. I know I am pushing as hard as I physically can. There is no more effort to give. I'm giving you all I have Boston! I reach Kenmore Square. I am scanning the crowd and stay to my right, but know I won't divert for hugs this time. Every second counts at this juncture and every ounce of energy counts. I have nothing to spare on either count. I spot Jim and wave to him and my cousins and uncle, flash the best approximation of smile I can. I so appreciate their presence, but feel I have nothing to give.

 

            We head down under Mass Ave. I catch a fellow runner as he starts to puke his guts out. I have not mentioned the carnage on course, but it is the worst I have seen with runners down and with the walking dead. I feel one step above death warmed over, but I have been passing people left and right for miles and miles and miles. I turn on Hereford and stay to my right. There are no runners on the right. I easily spot my uncle Walter and my cousins Mary Ellen, Emma, and Stephen. I throw my hands up in greeting and give a big smile! Woo hoo! I am almost there!  My uncle grabs a great picture. He will later be surprised when he hears about how I was struggling- "you looked so good!"  Marathonfoto has the evidence of my whole race. I am energized though by catching my final cheerleaders! Let's get this done!

 

The finish is in sight and I have reached my favorite corner in all of racing.

 

            I turn the final corner on to Boylston. This is my favorite spot for race photos- the firehouse at Hereford and Boylston is just behind me- I stretch out my arms and flash the grandest smile I can! This is THE best turn in any race. The crowds on Boylston are deep - as thick as they were in 2013. The energy is electric. I glance at my watch, flipping the screen to check my overall time. This is a mistake as the clock bears 3:41:xx. I have not yet reached the 26 mile marker. I am cutting this BQ way too close. Shit. But negativity is not a thought you want to entertain on this stretch of road. I redirect myself. I have the ache that comes from not knowing if I will be blessed with running down this stretch of road next April. I need to savor it, to absorb it, to ingrain it into my pores. And I continue on, giving it all I have. I take in the crowds. I reach out to the fine people of Boston. I pump my fists. I smile. While the past 26 miles are like nowhere else I have ever run, this final 0.2 miles is Boston magnified: joy, celebration, love, strength, perseverance. I stay to the right and give it all I have as I cross the finish line, beaming!

 

 

 

Miles 23-26.54: 8:55, 8:32, 8:35, 8:43, 8:36.  40K 3:31:01 (8:29).

Garmin: 26.54 miles in 3:43:27 (8:25 pace), + 892 ft, - 1309 ft

Official 3:43:24 (8:32 pace): 612 AG F 40-44/ 1939, 3728 F/ 12168, 11875 OA/ 26639.

 

            I cross the line. My heart is full. That was easily the hardest effort I have ever given during a marathon. My time will not reflect what a challenge it was. I have run 17 minutes faster, but I have never redlined so much. Physically, the pain that left momentarily as I headed down Boylston, hits me. My legs are achy, my lungs are out of breath, I am dizzy, I am unsteady.   The weakness that returns to my body compounds the emotions I am fighting. The tears start to swell and overflow. A volunteer asks if I am okay, I say, "No, but I will be." She asks because I am wobbling a modest amount. I use her to steady myself momentarily. I've done this before. I sat right after the finish in 2013, but just as then, I will not end this race in medical. I regroup, grab some water, start rehydrating, and keep moving forward. I will walk this out. I have spent the race overheated and now I start to shiver; the wind tunnel on Boylston is a constant. The tears are trickling. I am given my medal; several volunteers congratulate Rhino. Finally I waddle to the heat sheets (ummm.... I could use the cape from last year!). The post finish line walk continues. As my body physically tries to start recovering from what I have just pushed it through, my emotions just become more and more raw.

 

            I am crying fairly heavily by now. I know I did all I could and I will never fault myself for the effort of the day. I exorcised whatever demons I had at LA and the struggles I found in the weeks after LA. While I know heat and I will never be chummy, I know it does not have to define me. I can race through it and post a decent and respectable time and a BQ in spite of the challenges it poses for me. Those monkeys are off my back. I rose to the occasion and I conquered it. This is a victory. It is also heartbreak. BQ-1:36 is not likely fast enough to secure my return for 2017, for Boston #5. That's a deep ache. In the weeks after LA, I reevaluated all my goals and ambitions as an athlete. There was ultimately only one that was salient- that was the opportunity to run Boston each year. 2016 Boston was my race of resiliency and triumph. I dug deeper and stretched myself further than I had confidence in. And yet it may not be enough. It's a painful, aching juxtaposition. So much satisfaction. So much disappointment.

 

            But I will take this. I will take this feeling. I will own these emotions. This is so much better than how I felt at LA. Looking back, now I can say I just gave up at LA. It wasn't representative of who I am or of who I want to be. I counted myself out at LA long before I should have. So the tears I had after LA were about acquiescing to failure. The tears now are about rising above it. I fell flat on my face at LA. I just changed that story, I wrote a better ending. I will be back Boston. I will return.

 

 

Riding the T with my family.

 

 

 

Come Pick Me Up: Way Too Cool 50K 3/4/2017

“Maybe you'll rest sometime, I wish I could.”- Ryan Adams

 

I'm driving up to Cool on race morning. It is early, the roads are dark. Ryan Adams is live at Carnegie Hall, finishing his concert with “Come Pick Me Up”. The harmonica is intoxicating. It's a song about pain, about love, about loss, about uncertainty. It's about the ties of love that bind us, even while they may break us. And I'm on this road, because despite being five days removed from a pneumonia diagnosis, I don't know how to let her go. Running pulls me in with her smile, her glance, her old love letter. She drives me in a way that others don't. She is beyond intoxicating for me. I have no desire to let her go.

 

I have made many bargains with myself this past week. I have gone through the stages of grief. I have come to terms with the fact that I will not start this race. I have been running for nearly 10 years and yet, the time has come. Time to take the first DNS (did not start). I was there Wednesday, in bed at 7 pm, feeling like crud. I was still fighting the thought. By Thursday, after another night of limited sleep from coughing, I have acquiesced. I will not start. I'm not sure when I can run again. My goals for Boston have gone by the wayside. I will be stuck in another floundering race year like 2016. I try valiantly to sit there. I accept defeat. And then, I retract it.

 

This race day may not come, but I am not lost. I will heal, I will run again. I will modify what goals I need to. But I will keep my eye on the prize. I will keep my eyes on the celebration that will be Boston, where I will find joy, regardless of what time my body can muster. I return to gratitude. I return to hope. I wait in patience. I am feeling better. My appetite is returning. My brain is less foggy. I am mildly productive. I am carb loading, just in case. In case I feel better, I will consider my options.

 

I sleep well Thursday night; three pillows and sleeping with body tilted on my right side seems to be the solution. By Friday, I feel better. It's amazing what sleep can do. I meet with Lorena for coffee. I am optimistic. If I continue to feel well and sleep well, I will start tomorrow. If I start feeling worse, I won't start. If I feel worse as the race gets going, I will drop. These are the only conditions under which I will run. This is not an "all in" situation. It is an exit strategy that I must be absolutely willing to take; if I can't accept the exit, the starting would be folly.

Reasons to Run.

 

So, driving to Cool, I reflect on my love of running. I reflect on the complications she can create at times. I also absolutely understand her mystique. I understand the love she gives in return. I arrive at the race start a couple of hours pre-race. I grab a photo of the sunrise; these are also the reasons to run. I pick up my bib, note my cotton race shirt. Apparently, I'm motivated to run 31 miles for a frog cupcake, because the shirt is not a selling point. I've wanted to run this race for years, but have always had a conflict with my daughter's gymnastics schedule. It's one of the few iconic local races I have not managed (well, save for that run from Squaw). I have been running the trails since October. I have trained tirelessly on the course, through storms, through rivers, through mud fests. I have done my back to back long runs. And for whatever goals I had pre-pre-race, I have let those go. Stay healthy and don't be stupid. The goals have been simplified. Pull the plug if you must, just don't make yourself worse.

 

I meet up with Azi before the race. We have been training together and I am excited for her as she will become an ultramarathoner today. I also see Marc (a stud runner who I know from swimming) and Paul (fellow ultrarunner in training for his 2nd Western States) pre-race. The time is ticking down and the masses line up near the starting arch. This is a huge trail race and the runners have been divided in two waves; Azi and I joke about our predicted Ultrasignup finish times that have placed us in the first wave. I’m not sure Justin Bieber is the best pre-race start selection: “you should go and love yourself.” (The intent of the song is quite the opposite.) I settle towards the back of that pack.  We wish each other well and are ready to start.

With Azi at the Start!

 

The first mile is pavement. I'm not worried about time today. The goal had been sub 6 hours pre-pneumonia. Most prior Strava course readings have the course at 30 miles, so the goal had been to stay under a 12 minute pace per mile (5 miles per hour, 6 hours). I figure I might end up somewhere closer to 7 hours, assuming I can make the finish today. The watch will not by my concern and will not dictate the push or the pace today. I just run with the crowd, working to warm up. I'm am working to moderate my effort, not to find its limits. We hit the end of the pavement and join the Olmstead Loop. I stay to the far right of the fireroad, giving myself space so that I don't feel the need to push the initial downhill. I've been off the trails for two weeks (since my hypothermia/ asthma attack day here on 2/17) and am gathering my trail legs back. I am timid in my footing. My calves are tight. My legs feel like I haven't run in forever. It's been six days; that's about the same, right? We head down to Knickerbocker Creek. I take my time crossing, planting my feet, not really caring how high the water is. I veer again to the right heading back up the hill. I know the climbs will be the hardest on my lungs, so I will not test them. My lungs still feel tight.

 

I am not feeling great. But I am not feeling horrible either. I am working to be patient. I continue moving with the conga line as we drop in and out of sections of single track trail. And wherever this days goes for me, I can at least appreciate the terrain. The trails are infinitely more runnable than they were two weeks ago. They are worlds better than they have been in the past three months. Two weeks ago was a mud slosh slog of a run with high and cold waters in between stretches comprised of more sliding than running. The trails greeting me today actually make you want to run on them and make the course prettier than my usual forays in Cool. I can even hear frogs croaking as we step through the waterways. I finally appreciate the race mascot.

 

But my body isn't quite right. My lungs are tight. I am not wheezing, but my breathing is restricted. My left foot is going numb. It did this at Redding and on a training run here two weeks ago. I attributed the sensation to the steep downhill at Redding and to my insole a couple weeks back. Now I am more worried that something more problematic is at hand.  Four miles in, I pull to the side of the trail and quickly adjust my shoe, hoping to correct the issue. Azi passes by me and checks on how I'm faring. I advise not great and that I may drop when I reach the start again at mile 8. I am coming to terms that this may just be a $150 8-mile race day.  I get moving and hang behind Azi. We have a conversation with some other gals on the trails. This has me identified as "the sick one" for the remainder of my day. And somewhere in that 5th or 6th mile, I start feeling better. I push on, move past Azi, and start getting my groove back. My lungs finally feel as though they have warmed up. My foot is gradually regaining sensation. I am improving in my mud and water navigation skills. I am starting to find some peace on the trails.

Hey, I figured I'd grab a photo of Azi passing me by!

 

Miles 1-8: 9:03, 12:08, 11:00, 12:36, 11:03, 11:08, 11:25, 11:30

 

 

In to the first aid station at mile 8, I feel steady again. My race will not end here; I will leave my car behind. I quickly fuel up on boiled potatoes with salt and grab some electrolyte. I thank Katy for helping out, though my brain is not working as I misname her and then realize it isn’t right. Not sure if it’s race brain or the residual infected body talking, I apologize. Azi comes in just behind me. She is doing well, looking strong, though comments that it’s harder than she expected. I head off, out of Cool. Jeff passes me by: a triathlete friend tackling his first ultra (which he will claim as his last by day’s end). My brain still seems a bit foggy as it takes me a minute to recognize him. I wish him well as he sails off, figuring he must have been in the 2^nd wave, given his pace. Past the meadows in Cool, I feel my stride kicking in. I leave my worries behind and surge forward.

 

The next stretch of trail covers my favorite local miles comprising a gradual downhill through single track in the forest. I drop my Strava PR through this stretch. I reach my favorite turn, take a wide right into the left turn, arms in airplane position. A runner behind me tells me to “fly girl!” This is the stretch where I always feel like a kid, just playing, breezing through the forest. This is the joy that these trails entail for me. Two weeks ago, I could only slowly walk through these miles as my asthma was flaring on the hypothermia day. No doubt that prompted my subsequent pneumonia. But, today, you will not take me down! I sail. I reach highway 49, cross the road, greet Gordy who directs us on to the Quarry Trail. (It’s all his fault, this ultra nonsense….) I am still flying, using the gentle decline of the fireroad to propel me along. And all I am thinking is how fast this course is. I mean crazy, MF’ing fast! My watch clicks the 11 mile mark in 2 hours flat (10:54 pace); I am a mile ahead of schedule. I am not pushing by any means, but I am just rolling!

The speedy Quarry Trail.

 

 

Miles 9-16: 10:16, 10:27, 10:16, 9:15, 11:57, 10:24, 12:07, 10:03.

 

I use a slight incline another mile out to eat my food. Course familiarity makes the fueling easier as I know when to expect the hills. There are ever so gentle rollers, but the fireroad is a speedway as far as trail terrain is considered. I reach the half marathon mark: 2:23 (10:54 pace). I am quickly in and out of the aid station a mile further down the road, then happy to join up on another stretch of single track, if nothing else, for the scenery. As we run closer to the river, I chat for a bit with a guy from Oakland awaiting the SD100 waitlist. The conversation is interesting, but challenges my lung capacity. I eventually feel a surge of energy and run forward, as running faster seems to be easier than talking. The terrain has shifted with recent rains, leading to washed out sections of the trail and a sudden sandy beach in my path. I move beyond the beach and back up the hill. I am moving, still feeling strong. I push, trying to catch up with the next set of feet ahead of me, trying not to get overtaken by the feet behind me.  I do this all the way to the creek, cross it steadily, then head up the next mini climb.

 

Who says you canlt grab a selfie while running a 9:15 mile?

In the next stretch of single track, I pass the guy running this in sandals. I can’t even fathom the concept. The half way point is reached in 15.5 miles and 2:49 (10:54 pace). Trails are normally not quite so metronomic, even for me. We cross the two forks of Hobeken Creek; water crossings no longer phase me after months of them. There is a climb out as we work to rejoin the Western States Trail. Again, I work on fueling as I power hike up. When the terrain flattens out, I am back to rolling again. I lead a short train with some fellow runners and we are chugging along. The amount of energy I feel through this section is ridiculous. We are 20 miles in to an ultra. There is no wall. I have found my endurance. I am pleased as can be with how I am feeling. My lungs are fine and staying steady. As long as I avoid coughing, I know I can avoid the dreaded bronchospasm that might derail me. 20 miles in in 3:44 (11:12 pace). I have given back a wee bit of time on the climb (which totaled 700+ ft over 3 miles), but am nearly two-thirds of the way through the race and am 16 minutes ahead of ideal (healthy) schedule. 21 miles in, our mini train drops a 9:29 mile. It suddenly backs up though as we catch roughly 15 runners in a conga line ahead of us. It’s not clear to me what has happened, but I also know we are now spitting distance from the Auburn Lakes Trails aid station. I rein in my patience. I drop to the aid station, grab some potatoes and saltines and go; they have no electrolyte poured (I have a backup in my pack if needed). I move as I have no interest in the larger, slower conga line formation.

 

Miles 17-24: 10:41, 13:27, 15:31, 10:25, 9:29, 11:17, 9:57, 10:33.

 

I cross the next creek and continue on the forested single track. There will be the periodic tree limb to climb over, but the trail is infinitely runnable. I pick up a couple of other gals and we have a mini train moving again. This is fun and I continue feeling good. What I notice most is that my endurance is everything I had trained for. My body may still be fighting off infection and my lungs may be partially obstructed by the pneumonia infiltrates, but at my core, my endurance is intact. I don’t tire. I could have a sulking moment, knowing today’s performance on this course will not speak to my potential. Instead, I am just eager to return minus the pneumonia. This course is PR worthy. And while, I know today’s race for me will be far off of my PR, I only need to have that glimpse of potential. It’s this thing about magic that I was reflecting on earlier in the week: magical days, magical courses, magical races. This course will have that for me another year. I just look forward to returning. In the meantime, I’m savoring the moment and enjoying the pneumonia run of my life!

 

The course is so fast though that I don’t want to stop. I have no interest in slowing down. In the 24^th mile, I start to feel not-quite-right. I feel ever so slightly dizzy. A quick check and I realize, aside from a couple of potatoes at mile 21, I last ate during the climb at mile 18. Whoops! I pull to the side, shove some food in my face, and walk briefly to digest the calories. I have disrupted the mini train and let the other gals go ahead; they were both kind enough to thank me for my pacing. I am quickly back on track and in the game again. Sailing, I drop a 9:20 26^th mile. I don’t run 9 minute miles on the trails; well, rarely. And there’s no way this should be happening at this juncture in an ultra. But, damn, is it ever fun! Close to the marathon point, we hit the course reroute. This involves a steep climb and then a steep descent to gather us back to the firetrail to connect with the steepest climb of the course up to Goat Hill. I connect with Paul here; he was running gangbusters through 23 miles and then hit a bit of a bonk.

 

I move on up Goat Hill. The climb is steep (+500 ft in less than a mile), though thankfully not too long. The marathon point is reached in 4:48 (11:00 pace). I am tired when I reach the top, refill my pack, drink some electrolyte, shove what calories I can down my throat. I won’t stop at the last aid station, so need to get what I can here while I catch my breath.  The descent I feel is worse than the climb. There is this illusion as you go down a hill that you should be sailing. But this descent is technical and could easily be ankle-spraining. It is steep and you are running down a very narrow river bed that won’t accommodate the width of both feet. This far in, I also have no interest in getting injured. I take my time, play it safe. I run the sections that are more level and tip toe through the rest. Somewhere along this stretch, I realize my Garmin is long or the course is long. I will be well over 31 miles, so my estimate of timing will not quite be right. I’ll know for sure when I hit the final aid station, but know from my familiarity with the trails that it is not within the half-mile of distance I need to break 6 hours. The fact that I’m even this close is a miracle anyway. I will continue to push and give the course what I have left, but am at peace with whatever that clock reads.

 

Miles 25-31.61: 10:25, 9:20, 20:44, 11:35, 12:58, 12:41, 13:23, 9:24.

 

Thanks to Lorena for my mile 30+ photo!

I pop out at the Upper Quarry right after my watch has hit the 30 mile mark. I run across highway 49, while my friend Lorena is snapping pictures and cheering me on. I have no time to dawdle. I have 1.4 miles left and never even glance at the aid station, but move on through it and up the final hill to Cool. I am fairly confident in my math skills (and don’t have a 6:00 mile in me even on the best of days), but my effort does not waiver. I will finish this strong. I push and run the flatter section and the slight incline. I then have to power hike as the trail gets steeper in the final climb. I nearly go ankle deep in the mud (in the same spot I went calf deep two weeks ago…). The mud is thicker right before the terrain plateaus. Get those shoes really dirty before you call it a day! I see the sign for Cool: 0.7 miles. The clock is at 5:56. There is one volunteer, then another, then the spectators start picking up as they encourage me as I take my final right turn of the course. I am pushing and smiling. I am so happy that this race has unfolded as it has. It was beautiful; it was fun. It was even a bit on the magical side. I come across the finish line in the utmost joy!

 

6:02:39 (11:41 pace) official for 50K. #24 F40-49/117, #73 F/279, #299 OA/699

 

Garmin 31.61 miles (11:20 pace), +3819 ft, -3757 ft.

 

Cupcakes with Rhoben and Azi!

            My friend Rhoben is there to greet me at the finish line; he was so kind to come out and spectate. We walk to my car, thinking we have a bit of time before Azi comes through. I need something warm to wear and I need to change out of my wet and muddy shoes. We are walking back to the finish line to catch Azi and she has beat us. She finished her first ultra in 6:12! I couldn’t be more proud and am happy for her as she starts what will no doubt be a stellar ultra career. We hang out postrace for a bit. I make sure to get my frog cupcake; remember, that was my reason for running this thing!

 

I earned it!

 

            I understand at heart that this day could have gone wrong in so many ways. I know my decision to start at all could have been a bad one. I was about as cautious as I could be, for me. I’m working hard on listening better to my body. I took my time and waited until she told me to go. While that shift may seem a small one, it’s not. I’m known for just continuing well past the point of folly, but I never felt on that brink during the race. I was evaluating the day as it developed, pulling back when I needed to, and not pushing until I knew it was safe to do so. And yes, ultimately, it’s all running’s fault. I love her too much. I keep coming back even after the rough days. Because despite the challenges, it’s a love that drives me, that nurtures me, that satiates me. And yes, if I had to do it again, I’d have her Come Pick Me Up.