Relentless Forward Progress

While I may seldom make it to midnight on New Year's Eve, there are two traditions that I faithfully observe before the ball drops: I go to Mass and thank God for the grace and goodness he has bestowed on my life in the past year, and I total my running mileage and set new goals for the coming year.  For a lot of people, that second tradition may seem pretty self absorbed, but both provide the self reflection and spirituality that is paramount in my life.  After all, so much of my running involves prayerful thought and reflection.  I am closer to God when I am out in the woods, with the raw, cold wind blowing on my face, and listening is easier when there is no sound but my footfalls.  There are so many questions that are asked and answered while I am running.

Last New Year's Eve, I was heavily into a training plan to get me to my first 100 mile race.  I was faster, stronger, and so optimistic.  Everything was falling into place, and then, well, it wasn't.  With only 5 weeks to go before the race, I injured my knee and it made running at all, much less 100 miles, an unattainable goal.  But that came and went, and new goals were set, new conversations started.  I wasn't mad, or bitter, just disappointed and resigned to the fact that this year, this race was not meant to be.  My time on the trails had taught me that you just have to keep moving forward - sometimes in a direction that you never intended to take.  So that is what I did - running other races and continuing my pursuit of the 100 (some day).  So far so good.  I am training again for Umstead, and trying to listen more and worry less.  Whatever the outcome, I know it will be the right outcome for me.  So goodbye to 2013 with goals unmet.  Thank you for teaching me perseverance and bravery.  Thank you for not allowing my failures to define me and giving me the opportunity and ability to try again.

Good Times at Rehoboth

Christmastime at the beach...what could be better??  How about 3 wonderful friends, a great suite of a room, and running a marathon just a mere 24 hours before a major snowstorm shuts down most of the east coast!

I wasn't sure how my legs would handle running a marathon just three weeks after the Stone Mill 50 miler.  My legs were crazy sore for 3 full days after that and my first "comfortable" run was on Thanksgiving, just a week before we left for the beach.  I remember the same feeling last year, after doing the same thing. (In case you are wondering, NO, I NEVER LEARN).  But I was excited for a mini weekend away, and knew that the course was flat and fast (its all relative, remember!)

 Surprisingly, flat marathons can really stink.  There were times when I looked longingly at the bridge or overpass in the distance and fantasized that we could go up or down, just to use some different muscles.  My legs were not very happy with me, and the chilly head wind seemed to mock the whole "flat and fast" description.  At one point, in Henilopen State Park, I think I squealed with delight when I realized that we were headed for an "overlook!"  That could only mean one thing...a big hill!!!  In this case though, it was a little hill, but it did lead to a gorgeous ocean view.  For the Rehoboth Beach Marathon, we actually saw very little of the ocean.  But as windy as the day was, it would have probably have been much worse running any closer to the shore than we did.  The roads were broken up by some trails through the parks and through neighborhoods decorated for the Holidays.  I lost Nanette, the other Evil Sister marathoner, somewhere around mile 6 or 7, and never caught her again.  She had a great race!  And Pam and Lucia killed it in the half, both getting 5th in their respective age  groups.  I was the last of us to finish, but not before two fighter jets screamed overhead at about mile 23.  Who knew I could jump that high after running for that long!  I think I started going faster then...

As I rounded the last corner, a kind police officer quipped, "What happened, did you run out of steam?" and I gave my best "Are you kidding me right now?" face, and just said "YUP!" and that was the truth.  After crossing the line and grabbing my embarrassingly large medal, the four of us headed to Starbucks for a quick change, then stopped to buy the most delicious salted caramel fudge and chocolate covered pretzels, (recovery food) and jumped in the car and headed home.

Somehow, my garmin, which I had stopped after finishing, was restarted in the jostle of bags in the back and had my recorded stats:
Total Miles:  167.18
Total Time:  8 hrs. 35 mins
Pace:  3:04/mile   19.5 mph

But, that isn't even the end....the next day my recovery included shoveling the surprise 7" of snow that fell early the next morning!  We couldn't have timed it better!

Reflecting at Stone Mill

I was ready to drop at mile 8 and again at mile 13.  I felt fine, pretty good actually, and the day was gorgeous, but my heart was just not ready to run another 37 miles.  So many things going on in my life, my thoughts scattered like a dandelion in the wind, and I couldn't focus on what I needed to do.

 So I told myself to just get to the river, to the towpath, and decide.  Lucky for me, I am too stubborn to quit, and as they almost always do, things got better.  The heaviness lifted and even though my legs were suffering, I made it to mile 29 where my first drop bag was waiting.  I didn't really need anything, but knowing it was there gave me a boost.  Unlike last year, when my husband accompanied me to this race, I was going solo this year.  At my house everyone was going in different directions, and I felt strangely and uncomfortably lonely.  I knew I could finish, just didn't know if I wanted to.  So I looked around, breathed in the beauty of the day, and reminded myself how lucky I was to be out here on this Saturday in November.

Trail running has become more of a challenge since the Evil Sisters have slowed their pace.  I find that I am gravitating back to road running, and oh how I miss those days on the trail.  I reminded myself of this as I shuffled along the C&O Canal towpath.  I was pleasantly surprised at the time, and knew I was going faster than last year.  At the 35 mile mark, I had no doubt that I would get to the finish.  My quads were screaming on each and every downhill, so I just let the momentum take me and hoped that there was no unseen root that would catch my foot. None the less, I did fall once, a slow motion fall that was met with a welcoming cushion of mud and pine needles.  Even the ground knew that today I just needed a break.  I stayed deep in my thoughts, barely talking to anyone, just letting my life play out inside my head.  This is what running gives me - the time to sort out, to reflect and to breath.  I haven't been breathing enough lately.   Not those big belly breaths that signal peace and contentment.  I have been a whirlwind of decisions, planning, scheduling, and trying to formulate a strategy for my next move in my career and my life.  Scary things and not usually compatible with the tranquility of running.  But running was exactly what I needed.  Time alone, time to consider.  Before I knew it, the sun was setting and I was at the second to last aid station searching my drop bag for my light.  I didn't need it yet, and wouldn't for another hour or so, but just the security of having it made me feel better.  Last year I had a mini panic attack in the darkening woods with no course markings in sight. This year, as I passed each reflective strip, I said a little prayer that I still didn't need the glow it provided.  Eventually, however, I did, and that is when I fell in with other runners who also felt the confidence of camaraderie on this darkened trail.  We traveled together for a few miles until the end was clearly visible.  I was able to charge up the final hill in my best toe tipping run, and finished well before the 13 hour cut off.   I was tired, sore, but satisfied with my run and my day.  What began as a hesitant journey in the darkness ended as a comforting, smile inducing effort for which I am so grateful.  No matter what direction I take in this life, it feels better to be doing in on the trail.
And hot soup at mile 47 is good too!

Running and Writing

I promise...I really am training.  I really am taking this seriously.  I really am following a plan.  I am just not writing about it!  Not sure why, but I have several great starts to blog entries that just didn't make it to the "posting" stage.  I suck at blog writing!!
Here is how I started my Baltimore Marathon post...

October 10, 2013

Saturday I will be running my 10th Baltimore Marathon.  Of course that is what I said last year at this time, and it didn't quite work out that way.  But lightening doesn't usually strike twice in the same way, so I am optimistic that things will go smoothly and I can finally have that 10th finish in the books.  It is fun to look back at some of the race photos through the years and realize how much has changed.
I was all road runner then, sleek and fast (well, not so much fast (or sleek), but fast -ER), and so serious!  Just like every other runner before the marathon, I would bounce up and down, all wound up and anxiously waiting for the gun.  I started too fast, kept going too fast, but interestingly enough, never finished too fast!  But I always finished...

Good thing I am better at finishing runs than I am at finishing blog entries....

And here is how that story ended...

October (?) 2013:

The marathon went well - I ran conservatively and while I didn't make my time goal, I wasn't unhappy with my time.

  The last few miles were tough, and immediately after crossing the finish line I "left" the stingers, oranges and everything else I ate in the porta pot, but after that, I felt fine and walked the mile back to the hotel and drove home.  I was happy to have completed my 10th Baltimore Marathon, and even happier knowing that for the last 13 years or so, I have been in good enough shape to complete several marathons and/or ultras each year.    And while this is not politically correct to write, it wasn't the 10th finish of this marathon that will stick with me, it is the fact that I puked, wiped my  mouth and moved on as if nothing had even happened.  I know, not the "Rocky" moment for most, but for me, it proved to me that I was tough enough!  And that is what I need as I ramp up the training for Umstead.

Next up is Stone Mill 50.  Check back in a few months and I may have gotten around to actually writing about it!!

You Did WHAT?

It's been a while...a crazy end of summer that had me reevaluating lots of things and deciding on new plans and ideas...
There was some running:

A pretty good run at the Annapolis 10 miler...

And some time on  the trails with the Evil Sisters.

But mostly, putting my house back together and spending time with family "down the ocean"

walking and shopping our way from 142nd street to the inlet (~10 miles).  My sister calls vacations with me "Boot Camp."  Nice!

Anyway, I was antsy and frustrated without a clear direction for my running.  First I thought I would spend the year conquering the 50 mile distance since I am already registered for Stone Mill 50 in November.  Then I thought about cutting down to shorter distances and really nailing speedwork.  And I also thought about doing more cross training, biking, maybe a triathlon?  So what I really did was this:

I guess you can take the girl out of the woods but you can't take the woods out of the girl.  So the journey to my first hundred continues....

Rattling Around at Catoctin

My name isn't on the "official" finisher's list for the 2013 Catoctin 50K.  But I was there and I DID finish...in exactly 9 hours and 18 minutes - 3 minutes after the air horn.  I heard the last finisher before me, heard the horn, and surprisingly, I was still ecstatic for a finish at all!
After a couple unsettling months of good and bad running, injuries, and more than a few disappointments, I wasn't even sure I would be starting this race.  My house was torn apart as new floors were put in, my family of 4 was living in one shared room above the garage, and I hadn't run a long run of more than 10 miles since my failed attempt at Highland Sky 40.

But I had registered for Catoctin and really, really needed a play day in the woods.  So with minimal sleep, and coffee brewed in the bathroom, I climbed in the car at 5:30 a.m. and headed for the mountains.
Because I arrived pretty early, I was able to snag a parking spot right near the start (and the bathrooms) so I had plenty of time to mill about, and take in the views.

I'll never get tired of looking out at views like this...
And this...

Even with the fog, it was cool and comforting to be back at Catoctin.  When I picked up my shirt, I knew it was destiny, since I have almost the same words on a plaque hanging in my laundry room.

 The start came quickly and we all took off - down, down, down.  (Not thinking about the "up, up, up" that had to follow on this out and back course.)  Running really felt good and I was thinking about how thankful I was to be on this trail... when the runner in front of me warned me about the rattlesnake ahead.  Wait - what??
I knew there were snakes on the trails and had even run into a few black snakes, but a rattler?  Can't they kill you???  I continued on, eyes darting left and right and sure enough, there he was, slithering back into the brush at the side of the trail.   I always wish I were faster so I would have time to take pictures as I am running, but this time, all I wanted to do was keep going!  That was the fastest climb ever!
I managed to make all the cut-offs to the turn-a-round and was pretty happy that the two mile climb up from the river (the halfway point) didn't seem as bad as I remembered from prior runs here.  And then I heard it - an unmistakable rattle that left no doubt as to its origin.  To  my left, a huge snake, coiled and rattling like crazy.

 I jumped to the right, off the trail and comically started talking to the snake as if it was a dog...."easy there boy, I won't hurt you...you're okay...".  I took a few tiptoe steps then ran like a bat out of hell until I caught the runner in front of me. I asked if he had seen the rattler, and then instantly regretted it when I saw the look in his eyes.  He hadn't seen it, so we continued on, but I swear every stick on the trail looked like a snake now. That put a spring in my step and I actually think I gained some time on the cut-offs after that!
The last 6 miles really were my undoing.  Because I was heating up, I filled my shirt with ice at the last aid station, (than goodness for elastic sports bras) and tried to make some time on the downhills.  I passed more than a few runners here and was certain that I would make the 9:15 deadline.  Somehow I had forgotten about all that downhill on the way out that was now slow and painful uphill.  Those climbs the last three miles were brutal, tiring and as much as I wanted to just plug into my ipod, the thought of not hearing more warning rattles unnerved me more than I care to admit.  I carried on, but despite my best efforts, came up 3 minutes short.  I was the first "unofficial finisher" but that seemed unimportant after 9 hours and 18 minutes on this demanding trail.  For me, it was a victory of sorts - feeling good for the whole run, eating and drinking well throughout and finally completing this brutal race.  I'll take it.

Battle Between Body and Mind

This is a picture of the backside finish at the Highland Sky 40 Mile Run in Canaan Valley:

Unfortunately for me, this is the only view I got this year.  While I had planned on a redemption run for a finish 5 mins over the 12 hour cut off in 2011, it didn't quite work out that way.  Instead, after making it to mile 32.9, I dizzily picked my way over a short rocky descent to a waiting car, where I was forced to admit defeat.
The day didn't start that bad.  The weather looked promising, I felt pretty good, and was optimistic that I could make the last cut-off at 27 miles that would allow me to continue on to the finish.

The bus ride was uneventful and the knowing driver even let us out just steps from the port-a-pots, so that wasn't a problem.  Everything felt great as I started the 2+ road miles before we hit the trail.  It was still a little foggy and I noticed that the stream we ran alongside was pretty high, but we would be climbing soon, so how wet could it be? (BWAHAHAHAHA)

I AM SO NAIVE (read: ignorant) when it comes to this trail running stuff.  Within the first 4 miles, we were already running up stream beds as the water poured down, and that was the easy part.  Swollen streams necessitated ropes for crossing, and even then, I full out fell in one when the runner in front of me grabbed hard on the rope to steady himself.  Not sure the etiquette for who lets go, but I did and no, it wasn't smart.  At least this water was clean and even somewhat refreshing.  Not true for the miles and miles of bog we churned through in most other places.  The water was so black and so deep, I kept waiting for a snake to slither out and just wrap around my legs.  After a while, I had to just not think of what I was stepping on, and continue on my way.  Most places the water was high ankle to mid calf, but there was more than one step where I seriously sunk to my thigh.  No choice but to pull the leg out like a huge suction cup and keep going. It was exhausting.  Then there were the downhills.  My trusty Brooks Cascadias held their own in the mud but were no match for running down waterfalls, which is what we ran down for most of the first half of the course.  I slipped and fell more on this trail than I have in my previous four years of trail running.  One of the more memorable "slips" was when I stepped on a rock just inches from the trail cliff edge and my leg started right down the side of the mountain.  Luckily, a nice hard tree was able to catch that leg, but yeah, it left a mark.  Even the one place I remember from 2011 that was relatively easy to run, was waterlogged and slippery.  I kept telling myself it would get better, but really, for the first 19 miles, it just didn't!  Finally hit the bridges, which although wet, weren't underwater, so that gave a much needed break before the mid way aid station.  And I was almost there when another rock, another slip and this time the right leg was saved by another branch that pretty much skewered my quad.  So I arrived the aid station with my husband wondering just what the hell had happened to me since I was dripping blood from both hands (the nettles) both knees, and a particularly nasty blow to my thigh.

Cut-offs were a huge problem and while I stayed about 15 minutes ahead for most of them, the last two were tight.  I had about 12 minutes when I saw my hubby, so no time for much but sunglasses, refilling the pack, and some first aid.  I was able to eat and drink, and grab and go.   Off to the "road across the sky" and a walk/run to make the last hard cut-off.   That I made with 5 minutes to spare, but I paid a price for sure.
Once I hit Dolly Sods, I had decided to take it easy for a little and walk some.  Here it wasn't as soupy and I could keep up a pretty good pace. Plus, the scenery is just breathtakingly beautiful.  But after a mile or two, my stomach started to hurt and I was getting dizzy.  I kept focused and moved forward, but I could tell something wasn't right.  I ate some more, and drank, but that did little to stop the dizziness and nausea.  Splish splash through more black water, over rocks until the boulder hopping.  By now I was on a mission, since I knew the 32.9 aid was not far away.  In retrospect, when I think of how dizzy I was climbing across these enormous boulders, it was pretty stupid.  But I still thought I could make it, and with three hours to go 8 miles, I was sure of a finish, and maybe even in 11:45, which would be amazing.
Closer to the aid, I started feeling the urge to get sick, and as I approached the aid station, I was having a mental battle with myself.  Me:  You can do this, it is only 7 more miles!   Me:  ARE YOU NUTS?  YOU ARE GOING TO PUKE! YOU ARE DIZZY!  FLIES ARE CHEWING YOU ALIVE!  It went on like this for a few minutes while the aid workers gave me ginger ale and bug spray.  I ate a piece of watermelon and sat on a rock watching horseback riders and trying to appreciate this gorgeous top of the world view.  There was another runner in a tent nearby who had dropped earlier and was waiting for a ride.  I so did not want to be him, so I went from dropping to not dropping to dropping.  Finally, one of the very kind kids said "you know, you have to listen to your body" and I thought "yes, this time my body wins out over my very stubborn mind".  And with that I dropped.
A ride back to the start, where hubby was parked in a chair at the finish waiting for me.  Surprised to see me coming from the backside, he sat with me watching runners come in until I felt I could get up and get back to the lodge.

From there, things get a bit fuzzy.  There was the dog yapping next door, the repeated trips to the bathroom, the paramedics, checking out at 2 a.m. and the 4 hour drive back to Baltimore since I insisted on going back there, and since the paramedics had kindly supplied us with a nifty car barf bag.  Then the hospital, and three days later, I am still working my way back.
So many things contributed to this DNF, some from the race and some not.  I remember someone saying that race day weather doesn't matter nearly as much as what the weather is like in the days proceeding the race, and this could not have been more true.  The amount of water on these trails was incredible.  The rocks and roots were so treacherously slippery that falls were pretty common.  But even with this, I was able to persevere and make that final cut-off.  My undoing came from probably something that is unrelated to this race or even trail running, so once that is sorted out, I might even consider making one more go of Highland Sky.  It is just so amazing out there and such a gift to be able to run through so much beauty.  And, they say, the third time is the charm!

The Winds of Change

Each time I run on a trail, no matter how many times I have been there before, it is different.  From one day to the next, week by week, new flowers bloom while others die, trees lean and fall, creeks swell and lower.   These changes are what makes each run a new and delightful experience, much like the changes in our life.  If everything were to stay the same, we could never fully appreciate what we have.

Four years ago I met up with an incredible group of trail runners that introduced me to the forest.  Not the "occasionally I go camping" forest, or the "lets take a hike with the kids" forest, but the miles and miles of rocky, hilly, muddy, sticky, quiet forest where you can run forever, because it goes on forever.  You only need to stop when you get tired, but even then you can sit down, have a drink, eat a sandwich, and continue running.  It is limitless, boundless, and beautiful.  And that is what my friends showed me.  It is like a well kept secret that anyone can know but few can understand.  And it is beautiful.

Deep and dark, or sunlit and sparkly, the trails are always holding a surprise.  Yet, even as they change, the trails are comfortingly familiar.  Excitement lies in what might be ahead, but at the same time, you know that there is always a way back if you venture too deep, or ever want to return to where you came from (if only for a little while).  It's not hard.  Because the trails, just like the Evil Sisters, will be ready to open their arms and welcome you back whenever you want to come back home.

Love to Evil Sisters Rhonda and Beth....as they take the path less traveled.  

Back on the Horse...

After a pretty miserable late March and early April, I finally feel like my old self again.  In fact, I feel so good that I ran both a half marathon and a 50K in the last seven days. Crazy, I know, but now that I have gotten all my "issues" figured out, I am like a new woman.  I didn't burn through the course at the Frederick Half, but finished in the top half of my age group, so I was happy with that.  I wondered how my knee would feel as I picked up the pace, but it stayed so well behaved I had to remind myself it had ever been injured.  It was a cool, crisp day, perfect running weather for me (and just about everyone), and with the relatively fast course, I didn't struggle at all.  Probably should have gone faster, but with a 50K just 6 days later, I didn't want to risk it.  It was good to cross the line and feel good.

The following Friday, after a v-e-r-y long drama banquet, we headed to West Virginia for the Capon Valley 50K. I first planned on driving in early Saturday morning, as I had done in the past, but my hubby suggested cashing in a few hotel points to get the extra hour or two of sleep. Coincidentally, it also gave him a nice place to resume sleeping after I began running (;
We didn't arrive until midnight, and I woke at 4 a.m. but at least we were close to the race start.  It had poured and poured all through the night, but was just misty when we arrived.  It seemed strangely lonely without the rest of my "Evil Sisters" there, but we were off so quickly, I didn't have time to think too much about it.
Three words can sum up the run this year: Mud, Wet and Deforested.  I had received an e-mail warning the runners that many trees had been cut, but new ones had been planted.  It was so sad to see some of the majestic trees lying in heaps in the mud, even with so many new ones planted in their place.  These areas were shoe sucking mud pits that threatened to swallow you whole if you stepped wrong.

Add that to the steady rain that fell and you can imagine the coating from thighs downward.  Luckily, the race directors planned the course with an abundance of stream crossings that were very high, so bathing was no problem.  I was worried about my knee in the sloppy conditions, but once I started running through the mud, it actually felt like my shoes had extra cushioning and I was bouncing over the trail!  I didn't try to avoid the puddles (there was no way) and instead stirred up the water and mud as much as I could.  I was already a mess, might as well have fun!  And I had a ball.   I really felt like I was six years old and had an endless supply of mud and water to play in.  The small streams had become rushing waterfalls that were just beautiful and at some points I was knee deep in water. There was no way for me to run really fast, but I ran a lot, only walking some of the steeper inclines.  Twice I saw tiny orange salamanders (newts?) crossing the trail, and running under the power lines with the rain pouring down gave off a strange electric sound that had me stepping up my pace!  I was truly happy on this run from start to finish.  My knee was completely fine, even on the pounding downhills and I didn't get tired at all.
Hubby was waiting at the finish to snap a few pictures, and after scarfing down one half of a chicken and a piece of blueberry pie, we headed back home.  Back on the horse and ready to get down to business in preparation for an official finish at Highland Sky!

No More Hurting People

Ever since I started running marathons, my family has almost always been at the finish.  One of my favorite pictures, taken at the first marathon I ever ran, shows my husband holding the hand of our then eight year old daughter while her three year old sister lays on the ground, pressed up against the fencing, sound asleep.  They always wanted to be right there, so worried that I might need something after the long race.  They always carried a backpack, with dry, warm clothes for me, a nice cold diet coke, and flip flops, since my running shoes never remained on my feet for very long.  My husband has continued the tradition years later, joined by the girls when they aren't busy with high school or college activities.  They are there to shout out my name, take pictures, and embrace me once I cross the line.  And while they worry for me, I never thought about worrying about them.
The attack this week at the Boston Marathon changed everything.  It left a vulnerable and open place that mixes shock, fear,anger, and even guilt among the running community.  One pediatric doctor, who ran the marathon and then aided the wounded, spoke with raw emotion to CNN when she said "Did they die because of me?"  I can't begin to understand what it feels like for those who might have been there - to witness horror unimaginable.  I do understand, however, how that young doctor might feel.  Anyone who has run a race knows the incredible amount of support it takes from family and friends as the runner trains:  no late nights before long runs, special diets that are adhered to, carving into family time to work in another run.  It is a sacrifice made by many families so that their runner can achieve a personal, even selfish, dream.  But my family, like countless others, never question the dream.  They share in the excitement of the planning, the training and the race.  They get up early to see the start, and are right there, holding signs and ringing cowbells at the finish.  We may be the ones running, but those who support us are every bit as important to our success.
When the bombs went off in Boston, they attacked the heart of the running community.  Those bombs killed and wounded the very fiber of the runner by attacking those who make our running possible.  By targeting the spectators, those bombs did more damage than if they had been aimed at the runners alone.  In the process, they left a wake of disbelief and pain that will be difficult to overcome.  I can't bear to think of my own family standing at that finish line in Boston.  It is just too real.  Time heals, or so we are told.  I am praying that it is true for all who were affected, in Boston and beyond.

Perspective (Part 2)

I guess it is all relative.  Tomorrow I should be on my way to North Carolina to anxiously prepare for Umstead.  Today should have been a day of dizzying excitement, packing, and obsessively checking lists to make sure nothing is forgotten.  I wouldn't have even dreamed of getting a run in, even a little one.
But I did run today, a full four miles at an 11 minute pace and without pain numbing drugs in my system.  And I am over the moon about that!  I feel amazing.  Because last week at this time, I could not even run 2 miles without feeling sick to my stomach from  the knife jab that insisted on attacking my knee.  Little victories.  I would not have wanted to go another 96 miles today, but my knee stayed calm, my breathing was relaxed, and I knew I had made the right decision to DNS.  Maybe, given time and patience, my body will heal itself.  Maybe I can skip surgery and work my way back.  Maybe Umstead just wasn't meant to happen this year, and maybe, with what I have learned, I can find a happy compromise between my lofty goals and my body's ability.  For now though, I am happy with four gentle miles.

Perspective

I wasn't sure how to start a post describing the decision to pull out of the Umstead 100 Mile Run.  I knew it had to include struggle, since I felt that really described my last four weeks.   I thought of the typical images of trying to climb mountains and pushing  and dreaming, but nothing seemed right, so I scrolled through some pictures on images.google.com  and this one stopped me in my tracks:

Right beside the many other images of struggling runners, climbers, bikers, and other athletes, this picture appeared as if to say, "Not having the ability to sit up is a struggle.  Needing help with feeding, dressing, living, that is a  struggle.  Being able to train to run 100 miles through the woods, whatever the outcome,  is a gift.  Be thankful everyday that you had the experience to try, and can try again." 

Nothing More to Say...

Hi Blake

Well, after 7 months of training, I tore my meniscus 4 weeks ago, and even though I tried everything, it hasn't been cooperating, and I will have to DNS for the 100.   I am sure you get more than a few of these e-mails, but it sure sucks having to write one!  I'll try again next year if I get my knee squared away, but for now, wish you great success for the race.  

Carole   That is truly bad luck this close to the Race. I hope the knee heals well and you can come run with us in 2014. I know it is disappointing but there is next year and the finish will be all the sweeter. Thanks for letting us know your status.  Best regards  Blake

I can almost see itThat dream I am dreamingBut there's a voice inside my head saying"You'll never reach it"
Every step I'm takingEvery move I make feelsLost with no directionMy faith is shaking
But I gotta keep tryingGotta keep my head held high
There's always gonna be another mountainI'm always gonna wanna make it moveAlways gonna be a uphill battleSometimes I'm gonna have to lose
Ain't about how fast I get thereAin't about what's waiting on the other sideIt's the climb
The struggles I'm facingThe chances I'm takingSometimes might knock me downBut no, I'm not breaking
I may not know itBut these are the moments thatI'm gonna remember most, yeahJust gotta keep going
And I, I got to be strongJust keep pushing on
'Cause there's always gonna be another mountainI'm always gonna wanna make it moveAlways gonna be a uphill battleSometimes I'm gonna have to lose...

Cautious...But Hopeful!

After three weeks of a modified schedule, I have actually nailed it this week - of course, so far, that has only consisted of one 6 mile run...but that felt so good!!!

 I knew I was healing, both mentally and physically, but that run did more for my confidence than any words the doctor could have spoken.  And when I did finally see the doc, he had more good news...nothing joint related, nothing sprained, strained, or torn.  My MRI did show a very small tear of the meniscus, but he was quick to point out that if 100 random people at the grocery store had MRIs, at least 40% of the "over 40 population" would have similar tears.  (And I am well past that age!)
Great article here:
 http://www.howardluksmd.com/sports-medicine/meniscus-tears-why-surgery-isnt-always-necessary/
He was not concerned.  My tear could have become angry at all the miles I was piling on, and that could have been the reason for the strange twinges I was getting.  (I love that we both refer to my knee as if it has it's own mind, which I guess it kind of does...)
Anyway, he gave me the news I wanted..."Go ahead and run if it feels okay, you will know when it is time to stop."  And seeing how each day it feels more and more "normal", I guess that is what I will do.  I have only one more thing on my schedule, and that is the HAT 50K.  I intend to go, listen to my knee, and test the waters.  If I make it to the end, that will be the icing on the cake to make Umstead a reality. If I have to bail early, that is still okay, because I will have "done nothing stupid."  And with two additional rest weeks, I am feeling pretty optimistic that, despite the detour, I will get to where I want to be.

“Many of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.” ― Thomas A. Edison

Day By Day

Yes, its true, I really DO feel like this.  I have gone back and forth over the last week and a half, wondering what I have gotten myself into, wondering how could I possibly have developed an unexplained knee pain just 5 weeks out, and most of all, wondering if I am even nearly trained enough to finish a 100 mile run.  

To that last question, I don't know if anyone ever feels that they have trained enough.  But the good news is that after one week of no running, I was able to do a 4 and then a 6 miler pain free.  The bad news is that my knee just isn't quite right.  That led me to an orthopedic sports doc, which then led me to an x-ray, which led me to an MRI, which leads me to now.  Anyone who runs knows this drill...and the search for the answer we all want..."Yes, you have (fill in the blank here)  but YES!  You can still run!" Cue the Hallelujah chorus!  I may or may not get that answer, but I haven't resigned myself to the fact that my long journey to Umstead might have to end a short three weeks before the race.   Through all the training miles, the snow, ice, wind, mud, stomach aches, face treatments, cold, cold and more cold, I never thought I would get so close to only be so far away from my goal.  But for now, I am still holding on, and desperately hoping that my MRI is clear and I  can finish what I started.

Seriously???

Yup, that is EXACTLY what I said on Saturday when I woke through the night with a sore knee....Well, it wasn't EXACTLY what I said, but you get the idea.  I had an amazingly good run on Wednesday, and then decided to do the 20 miler on Friday since I knew I would be working at the Book Fair all day on Saturday.  And to further simulate a "tired" run, I worked until mid afternoon Friday and didn't leave for my 20 until 3 p.m.  That would be good though-  it would force me to run after being on my feet for hours and then I would even get the chance to run for a bit in the dark (well, dusk).  It turned out to be a good run.  I was tired, and got cold toward the end, but I felt strong, and even burst through the door shouting "I just knocked off another 20 miler" to no one in particular.
But through the night, I knew my knee was not happy.

I iced it and even wore compression socks to work at the Book Fair on Saturday.  It was a long day, and I was busy and running around from 7 a.m. to 5 p.m.  It was easy to ignore the ache in my knee, but I sure felt it when I got home.  More ice, some advil, elevation, all that good stuff.
Sunday, when it wasn't magically better, I enlisted the advice of Coach to put things in perspective.  After discussing all the symptoms, we diagnosed it to be overuse.  Along with ice, and advil, I have now added REST to my regime.  Yes, rest.  Less than 5 weeks before I attempt to do a 100 mile run, and I can't run, at least not for now.
Luckily though, (if there is anything "lucky" about this), I have time to heal, and pick up with my schedule, which no doubt will be modified!!   And while I am feeling much better everyday, you can bet I am heeding Coach's wisdom and his threat to abdicate his role of "Coach" if I run before the all clear.  I knew this journey would be full of challenges.  I am up for the challenges, I just hope my knee is on board as well!

A Very Special Race

Hashawha Hills 50K will always be special to me for a number of reasons.  It was Hashawha where I took my first trail run on a day with so much ice, I shudder when I remember it now.  Hashawha was where I learned to run trails...where I learned of a special band of friends and trail runners who even took their name from the relentless hills, together "lovingly" called "the Evil Sisters."  Hashawha is where Beth taught me not to be afraid, Chris taught me to run straight through streams, Pam taught me how to "chop-chop" down hills and Coach Alan taught me not to be a sissy with pithy advice like, "it takes more energy to try and run around mud than to run through it" and "its not if you will fall, but when, and how bad." But he always ended every run with "Did you have fun?" and I could honestly say "YES!"  And four years ago, it was at the Hashawha Hills 50K where I ran my first ultra.  I had no intention of becoming a trail runner, let alone an ultra runner.  But that is what Hashawha did to me.  The peaceful beauty of the trail wrapped itself around me and called me in.

Each of the last three HH50's I have become faster, from 7:35 on my first finish to a 50K PR of 6:45 last year.  But years and times can't be compared, because the trail holds all the power.  Weather, footing and training change, and what looks like the same trail can turn into a completely different run.  I like that.  It is what makes trail running magical.  The first loop this year was an icy, frozen, horse print filled trail, with numbing stream crossings and slick road sections.  I did my best to run steady, controlled, and even then, I slipped more than once.  I felt good coming through the mid way aid station, and headed back out looking for more of the same, but was treated to a kinder, gentler trail for the first few miles.  The earth had softened, the mist had let up, and the untreated roads were now dotted with puddles rather than ice.  Ahhh. This was nice.  Then, the out and back to the rubber bands.  Slipping, sliding, down through the stream, and using my hands to get back up on the bank.  More running, more sinking, more rinsing and repeating.  Then the fields; the first time through, they were hard, unforgiving clumps of grass and corncobs.  Now they were soft, mushy and refreshingly pleasant.

Another stream crossing, inches of mud, a few more climbs, the little log cabin, and then my favorite part - the pines.  I can vividly remember the first time running through them years ago...how they smelled so good, how soft the needles were underfoot...how they were lined up in perfect rows.  It was a short section, but it signaled the end of the race, so near the finish.  With mostly downhill now, I could take off, and run faster than I had in a while.

Down the hill and through to the finish.  I probably tried to run too fast, since I was out of breath and panting coming in.  I wasn't prepared for the muddy grass at the end, and it took everything I had not to go flying as I came around the corner. But I crossed the line, and received my third beautiful clay mug from the inspiring race director, who just happens to be the original "Evil Sister".  As much as I love Hashawha, I may stop at 4 so I can become one of the amazing volunteers who make this a wonderful memory more than just a race!

Thank you, Hashawha!

Ahead with Running...Behind with Life

In the last 7 days, I have run 76 miles.  That might help explain why I still have winter decorations out at my house.  At least the Christmas stuff  has been put away (okay, not put away, but at least its in the basement!!).  I was feeling pretty guilty about all the snowmen, especially as the temperature hovered near 60 today.  Luckily though, another blast of Arctic air is expected tonight and we may even get snow tomorrow.  Whew, that was close!  It also explains why I went out today for a 20 mile run, even though it was technically a "rest" day.  How can anyone pass up the chance to knock off a long run on a day as glorious as this???  The first 15 miles I did on the road, but just had to jump on the trail for the remaining 5.  I haven't been on this reservoir trail for a while and it sure has taken a beating this winter.  The erosion was wicked and the blow downs were everywhere.  Not sure if the county/city will come in at some point and clean it up, but it did make for a pretty adventurous obstacle course.  I know I probably spent way too much time out there, but boy, did it feel good!  I even shared the trail with bugs - a sure sign of spring!  Now I can look forward to NOT bundling up for a long run tomorrow...heck, I might even get those snowmen down after all!

A 50K Closer...

The wind was howling and it was cold, cold, cold as I headed to Columbia for the Mid-Maryland 50K on Saturday.  I brought a bag filled with clothes, not completely decided on what to wear.  Sometimes being in the woods can really block the wind, and I didn't want to be too hot.  Then again, as I sat in the car before the start and watched the trees bend nearly to the ground, it didn't look like there would be much protection.  Luckily, we came through the starting pavilion 5 times, so wardrobe changes were easy.  The first 10K loop was not!  For some reason, everything felt hard. The ground was frozen and that seemed to extend right into my shoes and up my legs.  I felt as if nothing was bending right and I had cinder blocks on for shoes.

Warming up a little before I started running might have been a good idea, but the thought of moving from the pavilion (and my coat) didn't hold much appeal.  Thankfully, after the first mile and a half of open field, gale force winds and stinging cold, we moved to the woods, where indeed, the wind settled some.  There were still times when it sounded as if the trees above would just crack and land on my head, and in fact, I narrowly missed a chunk of ice that fell off one tree, but for the most part, the running in the woods was a welcome reprieve.  This course was 5 10K loops with a longer field area start, and I wondered how I would do with that.  Umstead is also loops and I have never done a loop course that repeats more than once.  After the first time, knowing that it is halfway over is a big mental break.  Here, after each return trip to the pavilion, I would still have 4-3-2-1 loops to go.  Surprisingly, it didn't bother me all that much.  I think that trails are wondrous in the fact that each time you pass, even if only an hour+ later than the previous time, everything looks and feels so different.  I know the footing sure changed.  What started as rock hard frozen brown ice transformed each time we came through, until the last loop, when it was sloppy, slick, mud soup.  Another aspect of this trail was the runnable nature - other than the mud, there was nothing preventing runners from going all out.  This is good and bad for me.  I have always known that climbing up and running down hills is much easier for me than continually running steady.  Although my garmin had the total elevation being just under 8000 feet, it was a series of little ups and downs that really didn't justify walking.  Slow running, maybe, but not an all out walk. I tried to make sure to take little breaks and stretch, and it must have worked since I am not at all sore today. I haven't seen my splits yet, but I think I probably ran my slowest split on the third loop, and my fastest on 1 and 5.    My watch (which stops when I do) had me running a few minutes faster than the actual finishing time, but it was still my 2nd fastest 50K, and not too shabby for having already run 30 miles in the preceding 4 days.  Bring on Hashawha!