What Valley??

A valley is a low area between hills.  Patapsco Valley 50K was more like the hills surrounding the low area.  I know we must have hit that valley at least a few times, but dang, this was a tough race!

Holy elevation, Batman

I convinced a running friend to try her first 50K, and knowing the park as I did (which turns out to be not as well as I thought I did), I thought this might be a pretty tame first ultra.  It was definitely an ominous sign when I tripped over the curb in the dark on my way to the bathroom!  But there was a bathroom - indoor plumbing, a great pavilion to stash a drop bag, and a nice intimate starting field.  At 6 sharp we were off, running through the wet grass under the star studded sky.  We went on like that for about 50 yards before we encountered the first hill!  Luckily, in the dark and with many runners ahead of us, we were able to carefully pick our way up the hill amidst the rocks and roots.  This was repeated for about 75 minutes, until the light started to seep through the trees and we could now see what we were falling over.  Loel had some inspired saves as she caught her back foot on a root or rock and while she came dangerously close, did not fall once.  I didn't either, although I am not so sure "saving" myself was any better. 

this is exactly what I look like when I fall

The course was beautiful.  It just doesn't get much better than being in the woods on a cool fall day and knowing that you have 10 hours before anyone is going to come looking for you.  And I have to say it was pretty inspiring watching Loel set her sights on completing 31 miles and then using everything she had to do it!  We waded through streams, crossed creek beds and railroad tracks,  ran across a swinging bridge and beside a waterfall.  This course had everything.  The aid stations were magnificent, especially the first one with graham crackers coated with thick nutella spread.  There was so much to take in that the miles just passed one after the other.

some of the rocks we navigated

the swinging bridge over the Patapsco River

At some point Loel and I got separated, which was good for her, since running ahead I took a wrong turn and ended up following another runner a mile and a half off trail.  We should have known something was amiss since I can't imagine any race director  cruel enough to take their runners over a mile of small rocks shaped like cylinders, or as I like to call them, "ankle breakers".  We could have stopped and fashioned cairns, but decided to keep running.

its this way....no that way...no, this way....

  After a while of seeing no ribbons, Butch and I backtracked to find the correct turn that we had missed.  (In our defense, we were looking for the double flagging indicating a turn, and saw just one lone ribbon on the gate - and so we went straight - see Coach, I really do pay attention)  By now Loel had passed, so I tried to really put the hammer down and catch her.  I did, and while she didn't say so, I was pretty sure she hated me.

Her knee was hurting, she had blisters and there were still 4 or 5 miles to go.  But she was a trooper.  She got patched up at the last aid station with tape for her knee, and soldiered on.  But just in case she wanted to be "alone" I left some distance between us!  I really wanted to watch her come in and take some pictures.  I passed a few other runners in the last three miles, and felt really good all the way to the end.  I had enough left to really run down the last hill to the street and then across the field to the finish line.  In true ultra style, the finish banner was anchored down with a jug of barbeque sauce.  What is not to love about ultras.

Look at the ultra woman smile!

Crossing the finish!

She doesn't hate me after all!!

Gimme the Medal

Participation Awards have really gotten a bad rap lately, and I feel partly responsible for that.  Giving everybody something just for showing up seems like a fast track to narcissism (and God knows runners don't need more of that) and somehow seems to take away from the "real" winners. 

However, I have to say that despite running a "meh" time in the Baltimore Marathon on Saturday, I worked really hard for that medal.  This is the second time in the past two runnings of Baltimore that I have gotten sick after the run.  Throwing up in a port-a-pot in the stadium parking lot is not how I envisioned ending this race, but it does tell me that I pushed past my comfort zone in the last few miles.  That's a good thing.

Define "good"

One of the not so great things about getting older is slowing down, and since I am not really ready for that yet, I have been trying to be more intentional about running a little beyond my perceived ability.  And those few minutes can make all the difference between crossing the line happy  (yet with something left in the tank), and fully spent (and puking on the sidelines).  Let's compare my finish pictures at the last two marathons I did just two weeks apart:

"ah, what a beautiful day for a little run"

"take the f**n picture so I can find a bathroom"

Honestly, there was only a 7 minute difference in time, but those 7 minutes were hard earned, and so was the green ribboned medal in the second one.  (the Maryland Double is fun and all, but I had 5 months between races - so not terribly challenging).

The point here is that I have reevaluated my thinking on awards.  No one will really ever know what it means to those getting the trophy, medal, or  mug - how hard they have trained, how hard they raced, what they might have overcome.  I came no where near placing in either race, but the effort was real, and the determination for a strong finish in Baltimore did give me a lot of personal satisfaction.  I didn't need the medal to validate that, but hey, it sure felt good hanging around my neck.

Trail Cred

Remember way back to the beginning of the summer when I devised clever goals for my glorious two month break from work?

Well, I did, and I am happy to report that I nailed two of them.  Getting a handle on my e-mail has been painful, but I finally have a relationship with the "delete" key.  I'm not sure, it might be an unhealthy relationship, since I seem to really be hitting it a lot.  As in I DON'T SAVE ANYTHING!

It might be problematic at some point, but for now, I am free as a bird. I mean, really, what could happen?

My second goal was to lower my overall pace time in running.  This is harder to quantify, especially since my garmin stopped working halfway through the summer.  Well, it still worked, but the display wasn't working, so even though it was getting my times, I had no idea what they were.  Plugging it in the computer seemed obvious, but when the computer also stopped working, it really irritated me.  (Hmmm, wonder if that had anything to do with my first goal...?????)  Anyway, I was lucky to find  an older watch and got back on track after a couple weeks.  And, to my surprise, my times really were dropping!  (See multi-purpose gif  above).

This was further confirmed at the Women's Half Trail Marathon in early September.  I have been doing a lot more trail running in addition to faster road running, and that combined gave me my second best time in 6 years at the half.

Me and Kate, who kept calling me her "trail Mama"

I was pretty happy about that, especially since about 3 miles from the finish I fell HARD.  It was "yeah, I think I broke my finger" hard.  Since I was carrying a handheld in my right hand, and landed pretty much with my hand UNDER the water bottle and my body OVER it, it wasn't pretty.  After a few minutes, I was able to continue running, and since now I was pissed off that my great race time might be threatened, I stepped it up to the finish.  I came across the line covered in dirt, and with three fingers on my right hand pretty swollen.  The middle finger was the worse (of course) so I grabbed some ice and soaked it until I couldn't feel how badly it hurt anymore.  A couple folks at the finish gave me "street cred" for not going to an aid station, but I had to remind them it was "trail cred" and  it wasn't like a bone was sticking out!  Geesh,
A couple weeks later and it still won't bend all the way, but I like to follow the two-week, two month rule:
If in two weeks it feels a little better, give it two months, and just about everything  heals. And lucky for me, I am left handed!!