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!