So, with the Twin Peaks 50 Mile Ultra two weeks away, it's time to take stock of where we are now.
What's nice is that I haven't been thinking too hard about the race, which is as it should be. After the AC100, I was a bit worn out emotionally, physically, and mentally, not only from the race, but from events in my personal life. It took about four weeks to become interested in running after that, and another few weeks to really start caring about mileage.
But as of today, I'm back in love with trail running and excited to think about what's to come. I have a few events left this year - after Twin Peaks, there's the Chimera 100 Mile Mountain Race, and one week after that, there's the Red Rock 50 Mile Run (still deciding on that one, but it sounds like such fun it's very hard to say no).
Beyond those races, my mind has been centered on what next year will hold. For 2011, my goal was to learn about 100 mile races, and how to run (hike, walk, crawl.... you get the picture) them. I did that by entering four of them, and yes, it taught me a lot.
For 2012, I'd like to explore some further distances, probably with the help of fastpacking, which holds a lot of appeal... we'll have to see. It will be easier to decide once a few things settle down, but that's the goal.
In the meantime, I've been running in the 55-60 mpw zone for the last two weeks, and while that ain't much to some runners, it's pretty good for me. At least, until I get that fat salary and only have to work 20-30 hours per week, or can afford that full-time nanny I've been hankering for.
So far, I'm feeling great - and I haven't been worrying about races. Not gonna. Won't do it.
At least, that's the strategy. I just want to enjoy running for a while.
Twin Peaks will be a fun one - beautiful mountains, and enough climb to make you feel like you're really earning your finish. Looking forward to getting my ass kicked out there, and actually following the right course all the way to completion this year - no Boy Scout assistance needed this year, thanks very much.
Should be a fun one.
Showing posts with label race preparation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label race preparation. Show all posts
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Mommy - I wan' to say "wheee"
It was one of those runs where the hardest part was actually turning around at the halfway point to go back to my car.
When I first noticed it was time to turn around (so that I might actually get to work on time), I told myself I'd just go up to the tree on the ridge and see what things look like from there... but by the time I got to that ridge, well, by then I'd spotted the next ridge, which looked like the new highest point, so of course I had to climb that one next...
You know how it goes.
Having then climbed to that ridge and then not seeing a nearby higher point to which I could climb next, I started the run back to my car. By that time, naturally, I had to haul ass, having gone further away than initially planned for, but it was mostly downhill and I knew the distance could be covered quickly.
As my legs turned over faster and faster in an effort to stay in control of the descent on a winding and rocky single-track, giggles came bubbling up from within until I was barely able to contain my shrieks of glee.
At one point, I hit a turn wrong and nearly went over with a twist of the ankle, but I caught it in time and began running again with renewed focus on the path. I reached the bottom of the hill in a matter of minutes, sweaty, tired, and happy, then ran back to my car.
It had been exactly the type of run that I had come looking for.
The weeks prior: Building up to the AC100
In the week and a half prior to that morning run, I've been feeling the stress of my recent increase in mileage. The AC100 loomed large on the horizon, and I wanted to do my best, especially after feeling like I'd let up somewhat in my effort during the later stages of the Santa Barbara Endurance Race.
To prepare, I'd been training hard on every day that I could, and on the days that I couldn't... I'd just berate myself over why I wasn't getting in more training.
It was becoming a little exhausting, really.
Thankfully, for the most part, my months of training had been extremely enjoyable - I do love to run, after all - but as the weeks continued and I pushed myself further to add in more miles, well... it became something of a slog. Not helping was the fact that I'd been shorting myself on sleep to provide the extra hours I needed for increased mileage (4-5 hours of sleep per night had become the norm, not the exception), so it was no surprise, really, that I'd been feeling the strain.
But strained I was, and it was showing not only in the way I was feeling physically, but in the attitude with which I was beginning to regard my running. That week, it had felt like a total drag. I no longer looked forward to getting up and getting out there. Hitting the streets in the morning was a chore, and left me exhausted. My lunch-time workout break had turned into just another box to be checked, with increasing reluctance. Worst of all, I found myself irritated, sore, and sleepy in the hours that I wasn't training... and for all the mileage, I was feeling no better about my upcoming race. Instead, I just felt tired.
I knew it was due to over-training.... but with the race and the beginning of my taper getting closer and closer, I told myself I just needed to persevere and push through. I had it covered, I told myself, if I could only hang in there...
But as the dread towards both my running and the impending race itself continued, I found I didn't have it covered. What's more, I was too tired to even care about how to make it right again... I just wanted the race to be over with so I could rest.
Fortunately, all it took was an afternoon of my son to remind me of what I had forgotten - I had forgotten the "wheee".
Remembering the "wheeee"
In the park a few days later, I was walking hand-in-hand with our two-year-old, Caden, as we headed for the swings. As we passed a grassy slope, I felt him hesitate, then stop.
I looked down to see him eying the slope. Then, he looked up at me with a serious expression on his face and said "Mommy - I wan' to say 'wheeee.'"
By now, I've lived with Caden long enough to know what this means, so I smiled and said, "Go ahead."
With permission granted, he dropped my hand and took off for the top of the slope. When he reached that spot, he turned to face me at the bottom, paused for a second (I can only imagine this was to either savor the anticipation or heighten the dramatic effect; both reasons are equally plausible), then began his run toward the bottom of the slope.
And as he ran, he shouted: "WHEEEEEEE!"
Grinning ear to ear by the time he reached the bottom, he then turned to me as he always does and said "Mommy, I wan' to say 'wheee' again."
And again, I nodded. "Go ahead."
So he did - and again, and again, and again. And I let him do it, and I watched his face, because I knew what he was teaching me. Yet again, it had taken one of my kids to remind me of something I had been missing - I had been missing the "wheeeeee".
I had been spending so much time getting wrapped up in all the details of the upcoming race I had allowed that to distract me, undermine my confidence, and take away the one thing I knew best and had learned in the past - that if I prepared to the best of my ability and then relaxed to see where the day and my own two legs would take me, then the day would ultimately be a success... or at the least, a very memorable adventure.
But I had forgotten all that.
I had forgotten the joy, the anticipation, the excitement of a new course and of traveling over trails and through mountains under stars and sky for 100 miles. I could only remembered worry and stress, and the many things that could possibly go wrong.
I was headed into the race with completely the wrong mindset... and now to top it all off, I was going to be exhausted by the time race day arrived.
Except, of course, that I still had time to change.
I started with my run the next morning. While I still had to get up early, I got out of bed feeling lighthearted for a change and took to the trails in a spot that I knew for it's challenging climbs, but also for it's fun and technical single-track that would be a blast to charge back down on the return (this is the run that I described above).
Following that, it was time to start dropping the hammer when it came to my sleeping patterns. I had to allow my body to rest - there was just no way around that one. And with less than two weeks to go, it was taper time, baby, and immediately I could feel my body thanking me for it.
For my workouts, I've started mixing in some swimming so both my body and mind can take a break from running for a change. Finally, I've stopped questioning myself at every step in my race preparation and fretting over taking a wrong turn on the trails, and accepted that I'll be just fine out there... or at least, that I've prepared enough, and don't need to continue to worry further.
All that has been going on for less than a full week now, yet I can already feel the difference, body and soul... and I'm looking forward to the race. Anticipation swells... and I know it will be an awesome day.
And as I tear down those hills, I'm going to do my best to remember, because I know that he'd want me to, to throw my hands in the air and let out one for Caden: "WHEEEEEEEE!"
 |
| Misty mountains in Santa Monica |
You know how it goes.
 |
| Rocky and lovely |
As my legs turned over faster and faster in an effort to stay in control of the descent on a winding and rocky single-track, giggles came bubbling up from within until I was barely able to contain my shrieks of glee.
At one point, I hit a turn wrong and nearly went over with a twist of the ankle, but I caught it in time and began running again with renewed focus on the path. I reached the bottom of the hill in a matter of minutes, sweaty, tired, and happy, then ran back to my car.
It had been exactly the type of run that I had come looking for.
The weeks prior: Building up to the AC100
In the week and a half prior to that morning run, I've been feeling the stress of my recent increase in mileage. The AC100 loomed large on the horizon, and I wanted to do my best, especially after feeling like I'd let up somewhat in my effort during the later stages of the Santa Barbara Endurance Race.
To prepare, I'd been training hard on every day that I could, and on the days that I couldn't... I'd just berate myself over why I wasn't getting in more training.
It was becoming a little exhausting, really.
Thankfully, for the most part, my months of training had been extremely enjoyable - I do love to run, after all - but as the weeks continued and I pushed myself further to add in more miles, well... it became something of a slog. Not helping was the fact that I'd been shorting myself on sleep to provide the extra hours I needed for increased mileage (4-5 hours of sleep per night had become the norm, not the exception), so it was no surprise, really, that I'd been feeling the strain.
But strained I was, and it was showing not only in the way I was feeling physically, but in the attitude with which I was beginning to regard my running. That week, it had felt like a total drag. I no longer looked forward to getting up and getting out there. Hitting the streets in the morning was a chore, and left me exhausted. My lunch-time workout break had turned into just another box to be checked, with increasing reluctance. Worst of all, I found myself irritated, sore, and sleepy in the hours that I wasn't training... and for all the mileage, I was feeling no better about my upcoming race. Instead, I just felt tired.
I knew it was due to over-training.... but with the race and the beginning of my taper getting closer and closer, I told myself I just needed to persevere and push through. I had it covered, I told myself, if I could only hang in there...
But as the dread towards both my running and the impending race itself continued, I found I didn't have it covered. What's more, I was too tired to even care about how to make it right again... I just wanted the race to be over with so I could rest.
Fortunately, all it took was an afternoon of my son to remind me of what I had forgotten - I had forgotten the "wheee".
Remembering the "wheeee"
In the park a few days later, I was walking hand-in-hand with our two-year-old, Caden, as we headed for the swings. As we passed a grassy slope, I felt him hesitate, then stop.
I looked down to see him eying the slope. Then, he looked up at me with a serious expression on his face and said "Mommy - I wan' to say 'wheeee.'"
By now, I've lived with Caden long enough to know what this means, so I smiled and said, "Go ahead."
With permission granted, he dropped my hand and took off for the top of the slope. When he reached that spot, he turned to face me at the bottom, paused for a second (I can only imagine this was to either savor the anticipation or heighten the dramatic effect; both reasons are equally plausible), then began his run toward the bottom of the slope.
And as he ran, he shouted: "WHEEEEEEE!"
Grinning ear to ear by the time he reached the bottom, he then turned to me as he always does and said "Mommy, I wan' to say 'wheee' again."
And again, I nodded. "Go ahead."
So he did - and again, and again, and again. And I let him do it, and I watched his face, because I knew what he was teaching me. Yet again, it had taken one of my kids to remind me of something I had been missing - I had been missing the "wheeeeee".
 |
| Caden never forgets to say "wheeeee" |
I had been spending so much time getting wrapped up in all the details of the upcoming race I had allowed that to distract me, undermine my confidence, and take away the one thing I knew best and had learned in the past - that if I prepared to the best of my ability and then relaxed to see where the day and my own two legs would take me, then the day would ultimately be a success... or at the least, a very memorable adventure.
But I had forgotten all that.
I had forgotten the joy, the anticipation, the excitement of a new course and of traveling over trails and through mountains under stars and sky for 100 miles. I could only remembered worry and stress, and the many things that could possibly go wrong.
I was headed into the race with completely the wrong mindset... and now to top it all off, I was going to be exhausted by the time race day arrived.
Except, of course, that I still had time to change.
I started with my run the next morning. While I still had to get up early, I got out of bed feeling lighthearted for a change and took to the trails in a spot that I knew for it's challenging climbs, but also for it's fun and technical single-track that would be a blast to charge back down on the return (this is the run that I described above).
Following that, it was time to start dropping the hammer when it came to my sleeping patterns. I had to allow my body to rest - there was just no way around that one. And with less than two weeks to go, it was taper time, baby, and immediately I could feel my body thanking me for it.
For my workouts, I've started mixing in some swimming so both my body and mind can take a break from running for a change. Finally, I've stopped questioning myself at every step in my race preparation and fretting over taking a wrong turn on the trails, and accepted that I'll be just fine out there... or at least, that I've prepared enough, and don't need to continue to worry further.
All that has been going on for less than a full week now, yet I can already feel the difference, body and soul... and I'm looking forward to the race. Anticipation swells... and I know it will be an awesome day.
And as I tear down those hills, I'm going to do my best to remember, because I know that he'd want me to, to throw my hands in the air and let out one for Caden: "WHEEEEEEEE!"
 |
| Happy and exhausted... a good combination. |
Thursday, April 21, 2011
SBER coutdown: One week to go!
A week from now, I'll be running the Santa Barbara Endurance Race 100 miler.
AAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGHHHH!
Ok, there, that's off my chest.
I haven't been thinking about it nearly enough. I have been... but I haven't been. There has just been so much other stuff floating around and through and over my noggin... but frankly, me not thinking about it makes me nervous.
Being nervous, in turn, makes me think about it... so, problem solved? Perhaps. Maybe not.
It's a bit of an unknown - some would say a large unknown. It's the first year this race will be run, following two years of the race being advertised (as the DTRE) and then canceled/postponed for what were logistical reasons, I believe.
On the up-side, the runners this year have been getting regular, detailed updates from the Race Director regarding what we can and can't expect on the trail. In terms of communication, the RD is doing a great job so far.
As for the course itself, there have been a few changes made, most recently at the request of the Los Padres National Forest Ranger due to the above average rainfall we've had this year. We've been e-mailed the final route, and while the elevation charts and aid station maps have yet to be posted, in the meantime I can get busy learning the route.
Challenges I foresee with this race:
I'll be crewing myself. This both thrills me and worries me. Thrills me because for me, the ultimate challenge of a 100 miler is the mental aspect, and being without a crew will force me to be even more self-sufficient and draw on my own reserves to get through. It will be a great test for me, considering the emotional lows I felt in the last two 100 milers I participated in.
For the same reason, it worries me - but ultimately I would rather go for it than shrink from it. Let's see what happens. I'm determined to see this one through.
I will miss my family out there, though - that much I know. Let it be all the more motivation to get to the finish.
Nutrition. As much as I like to think a handful of ultras makes me a pro, I am still figuring this one out. In both my 100 milers I have begun weaving and getting wacky after 50-60 miles - due to the physical symptoms this would seem to be due to an electrolyte imbalance.
I have a fuel plan in place, but the important thing will be sticking to it.
Water. In an infamous prior race from this Race Director, the aid stations ran out of water. Due to the RD's demonstrated diligence after this event, however, I'm optimistic that he took this as a very tough lesson learned, and it will not happen on this course.
That said... I will be packing bottles of water in my drop bags. It's just too important to chance.
I'm hoping it all goes smoothly on the day!
Oh, one more thing... I'll be sleeping in a covered wagon at the camp site the night before the race. It's literally a covered wagon. How cool is that?
AAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGHHHH!
Ok, there, that's off my chest.
I haven't been thinking about it nearly enough. I have been... but I haven't been. There has just been so much other stuff floating around and through and over my noggin... but frankly, me not thinking about it makes me nervous.
Being nervous, in turn, makes me think about it... so, problem solved? Perhaps. Maybe not.
It's a bit of an unknown - some would say a large unknown. It's the first year this race will be run, following two years of the race being advertised (as the DTRE) and then canceled/postponed for what were logistical reasons, I believe.
On the up-side, the runners this year have been getting regular, detailed updates from the Race Director regarding what we can and can't expect on the trail. In terms of communication, the RD is doing a great job so far.
As for the course itself, there have been a few changes made, most recently at the request of the Los Padres National Forest Ranger due to the above average rainfall we've had this year. We've been e-mailed the final route, and while the elevation charts and aid station maps have yet to be posted, in the meantime I can get busy learning the route.
Challenges I foresee with this race:
I'll be crewing myself. This both thrills me and worries me. Thrills me because for me, the ultimate challenge of a 100 miler is the mental aspect, and being without a crew will force me to be even more self-sufficient and draw on my own reserves to get through. It will be a great test for me, considering the emotional lows I felt in the last two 100 milers I participated in.
For the same reason, it worries me - but ultimately I would rather go for it than shrink from it. Let's see what happens. I'm determined to see this one through.
I will miss my family out there, though - that much I know. Let it be all the more motivation to get to the finish.
Nutrition. As much as I like to think a handful of ultras makes me a pro, I am still figuring this one out. In both my 100 milers I have begun weaving and getting wacky after 50-60 miles - due to the physical symptoms this would seem to be due to an electrolyte imbalance.
I have a fuel plan in place, but the important thing will be sticking to it.
Water. In an infamous prior race from this Race Director, the aid stations ran out of water. Due to the RD's demonstrated diligence after this event, however, I'm optimistic that he took this as a very tough lesson learned, and it will not happen on this course.
That said... I will be packing bottles of water in my drop bags. It's just too important to chance.
I'm hoping it all goes smoothly on the day!
Oh, one more thing... I'll be sleeping in a covered wagon at the camp site the night before the race. It's literally a covered wagon. How cool is that?
Friday, March 18, 2011
Coyote Two Moon: Before the Race
It's 4PM the afternoon of the race, and I'm in my hotel room in Ventura, waiting for my husband (who is also my crew, yeah!) to get here sometime between now and the race start time... and my head is spinning a little.
It's been a long week at work. We launched a website for a new product line - always a lot of work - and I also had my first (and hopefully only) corporate performance review in which the phrase was uttered "I don't want to fight with you - I love you."
Thankfully, I work for a tough yet kind woman whom I am also very fond of, or that might have been really weird...
But, enough about this week... let's look forward to the C2M!
The groups are staggered so that most people will finish in the timeframe from 6AM - 10AM Sunday morning - this means that Race Director Chris Scott, in his ultimate wisdom, had determined that I will most likely take between 33-37 hours to finish.
That seems like an awfully long time.
I was surprised when I first read that estimate - after all, I did the Headlands Hundered in 25 hours and that was my very first one... but, there are some pretty big challenges that are unique to this race, so I guess we'll just have to see how it goes, and respect the distance and the course.
Challenge 1 is the climbing - 27,000 ft of it. There were over 22,000 ft of elevation in the other 100 miler I did, but to compare them is probably silly - I have heard this terrain is very tough and an extra 5,000 ft of elevation is no small deal. It will be fun to see how my body deals with it.
Challenge 2 is the nighttime. This might just be a big one. I entered the C2M specifically because it was a night race, and I did so poorly in the night section of the Headlands Hundreds... and I'd like the opportunity to get better.
In the Marin Headlands of the Headland Hundreds race, I was completely taken off guard by the mist and fog, and allowed it to slow me to as little as 2 miles an hour in some sections. As for my mental state? I was low, man. I don't remember crying, but I did swear a lot as I stumbled along that night section alone, muttering sentiments similar to "Let's finish this bitch," along with other rather rude references to the course...
Sorry, Marin Headlands... it wasn't pretty stuff. You don't deserve that... I love you, I don't want to fight with you.
In the Coyote Two Moon, we'll be running at night not once, but twice... so I'm expecting to be learning a lot about night running out there.
All this is fine, of course - I need to make mistakes; have new experiences in new conditions, and see what works and doesn't work... that's why it would even be a good thing if we get rained on hard tomorrow. I don't get exposure to rainstorms much here in CA - how better to learn to run and race in the rain than to have it happen?
It will be a great race. The Race Director is so organized and on-point, and I have nothing but the utmost confidence that we are in good hands, with a great team of race volunteers who are smart and savvy and not willing to put up with crap, but still kind... these are good folks. I'm glad to have met them and excited to hang out with them more these next few nights.
My goal? To finish - and to finish in 30 hours or less. From looking at the times of people who have done this race and the other 100 miler I did in 25 hours, it seems like it will take me 29-33 hours to finish this one... and let's face it, the longer I'm out there, the uglier it will get, so I'm going to try to stay focused, more forward consistently and smoothly, keep postive, and finish strong!
I'm gonna move through the night with as much focus as I can muster and then hit the day hard (but with steadiness) so I can see how early in the 2nd night I can finish.
It's been a long week at work. We launched a website for a new product line - always a lot of work - and I also had my first (and hopefully only) corporate performance review in which the phrase was uttered "I don't want to fight with you - I love you."
Thankfully, I work for a tough yet kind woman whom I am also very fond of, or that might have been really weird...
But, enough about this week... let's look forward to the C2M!
The groups are staggered so that most people will finish in the timeframe from 6AM - 10AM Sunday morning - this means that Race Director Chris Scott, in his ultimate wisdom, had determined that I will most likely take between 33-37 hours to finish.
That seems like an awfully long time.
I was surprised when I first read that estimate - after all, I did the Headlands Hundered in 25 hours and that was my very first one... but, there are some pretty big challenges that are unique to this race, so I guess we'll just have to see how it goes, and respect the distance and the course.
Challenge 1 is the climbing - 27,000 ft of it. There were over 22,000 ft of elevation in the other 100 miler I did, but to compare them is probably silly - I have heard this terrain is very tough and an extra 5,000 ft of elevation is no small deal. It will be fun to see how my body deals with it.
Challenge 2 is the nighttime. This might just be a big one. I entered the C2M specifically because it was a night race, and I did so poorly in the night section of the Headlands Hundreds... and I'd like the opportunity to get better.
In the Marin Headlands of the Headland Hundreds race, I was completely taken off guard by the mist and fog, and allowed it to slow me to as little as 2 miles an hour in some sections. As for my mental state? I was low, man. I don't remember crying, but I did swear a lot as I stumbled along that night section alone, muttering sentiments similar to "Let's finish this bitch," along with other rather rude references to the course...
Sorry, Marin Headlands... it wasn't pretty stuff. You don't deserve that... I love you, I don't want to fight with you.
In the Coyote Two Moon, we'll be running at night not once, but twice... so I'm expecting to be learning a lot about night running out there.
All this is fine, of course - I need to make mistakes; have new experiences in new conditions, and see what works and doesn't work... that's why it would even be a good thing if we get rained on hard tomorrow. I don't get exposure to rainstorms much here in CA - how better to learn to run and race in the rain than to have it happen?
It will be a great race. The Race Director is so organized and on-point, and I have nothing but the utmost confidence that we are in good hands, with a great team of race volunteers who are smart and savvy and not willing to put up with crap, but still kind... these are good folks. I'm glad to have met them and excited to hang out with them more these next few nights.
My goal? To finish - and to finish in 30 hours or less. From looking at the times of people who have done this race and the other 100 miler I did in 25 hours, it seems like it will take me 29-33 hours to finish this one... and let's face it, the longer I'm out there, the uglier it will get, so I'm going to try to stay focused, more forward consistently and smoothly, keep postive, and finish strong!
I'm gonna move through the night with as much focus as I can muster and then hit the day hard (but with steadiness) so I can see how early in the 2nd night I can finish.
I'm ready for my adventure... into the night we go!
 |
| Me finishing the Headlands Hundred - I want this feeling again this weekend! |
Saturday, February 26, 2011
C2M Prep Time!
On my long run this morning I was thinking about my race. Three weeks from now, it's the Coyote Two Moon, or C2M - there's a 100K and a 100 Miler. I'll be doing the latter.
I'm pretty excited - always am to get out and race again - but I'm also feeling a lot of anticipation. This one sounds like a challenge. Over 25,000 ft of elevation, plus a 9PM start time on Friday night, so by the time Sunday morning rolls around I'll really be feeling wonky.... and then there's the weather.
Over previous years it sounds like the participants have experienced rain, snow, mud (ok, fine, mud is not weather), and winds, along with some pretty dramatic temperature swings. Probably fairly normal stuff for many 100 mile races, but it's still critical to be amply prepared for it... and I'm not sure I'm amply prepared.
These thoughts and others were going through my head as I ran over the trails this morning. It was muddy out, after it rained off and on through the last day and night. But it was the wind that bothered me more than the mud. At first, I had not noticed the cold breeze, but the longer I stayed out the more I felt it.
I would warm up and begin to sweat as I worked hard up the hills, then the wind would catch me at the top and give me the chills. It was a good reminder of a conversation I had just the day before about the importance of being adequately outfitted for the C2M.
My conversation was with Jimmy Dean Freeman, an experienced ultra-runner and coach in the Los Angeles area. I had heard of Jimmy's running group, the SoCal Coyotes (or Coyote Running, not sure which is their official name... but I do know they howl a lot in their communications to each other on Facebook) and I had contacted Jimmy to find out more about the group and their training plan.
I got the information I was looking for, and a few tips besides that, as Jimmy was kind enough to offer advice on my upcoming race. "From what I've heard of that race, the swings in temperature can be a real challenge," Coach Jimmy said. "If you don't have a crew with you..." (I won't) "...then how you prepare your drop bags - what you put in them, and which stations you leave them at, will be essential. How well you plan those bags could increase or decrease your likelihood of a drop significantly."
The funny thing is, I kinda knew all this stuff, having read blogs and race reports about the race from previous participants, but still... I hadn't really digested it, or really thought about it, perhaps... whatever the reason, I heard it more clearly when Coach Jimmy said it. I thought about it again this morning as that chilly wind hit my damp skin. It's all very well getting chilly on a 5 hour run, I thought, but overnight on the mountains...
Well, that might suck. Worse, if I get too cold, I'll have to drop.
So enough screwing around - the race is 3 weeks out, and it's prep time. I will not drop out because I failed to be prepared.
Step One of Prep: Review the Inventory
I don't often need gear for the rain, cold, or snow, and subsequently, don't have much for those conditions. But, I better get some.
For running clothes, I believe I have most of the pieces I need:
Regarding additional accessories: I already have a headlight, hydration pack, sunglasses, bandana (for the sniffles I get when I run).
Accessories I still need: replacement batteries for the headlight, replacement bottles for the hydration pack (because the two I'm using now are odd shapes and sizes and look stupid, which quite frankly, I'm above).
Besides that, I'll still need to pack my fuel for the race - I won't list that here as it's a bit more detailed (and a bit more tedious to list). But I do need to get some Nuun and Powerbars, because I am out of both of those.
So, those are the things I'm aware of needing. Of course, there are also going to be things I haven't even thought of yet.
Step Two of Prep: Research the Race
Ok, this one I've covered before so it's nothing new... it's just researching prior race reports, reading blogs, and sending e-mails to folks who have done the race before, either successfully or unsuccessfully. This is another piece of info I already knew, but that Coach Jimmy re-iterated in a way that really impressed on me how critical this piece is to finishing the race.
"Read as much as you can," Jimmy told me. "When I raced Badwater last year, I probably talked to about 30 people who have run it before."
I nodded when he said that, as I knew to do this... kinda. In truth, I've never researched a race to the level the Jimmy was suggesting, but as he talked further it was impressed on me that this, too, was critical to a successful finish. I made a note to start my research that day.
After doing both these steps (which are really done at the same time, versus in order) I'll be ready to arrange my drop bags. After that, I'll make a rough plan of what my time should be as I hit each aid station on the course - I typically do this by looking at previous finishers and in particular, the times for the top 2-4 females that finished.
With this type of preparation regarding my gear and my race, I'll have a much better chance of finishing the C2M - and the mental boost I'll need knowing I'm organized and stocked.
And did I mention? I'm starting to really get excited for this race!!
UPDATE: I've been checking out some reports and blogs about the race via RealEndurance.com; turns out this site does a great job of compiling videos, links, and blogs about each race. A great resource.
I'm pretty excited - always am to get out and race again - but I'm also feeling a lot of anticipation. This one sounds like a challenge. Over 25,000 ft of elevation, plus a 9PM start time on Friday night, so by the time Sunday morning rolls around I'll really be feeling wonky.... and then there's the weather.
Over previous years it sounds like the participants have experienced rain, snow, mud (ok, fine, mud is not weather), and winds, along with some pretty dramatic temperature swings. Probably fairly normal stuff for many 100 mile races, but it's still critical to be amply prepared for it... and I'm not sure I'm amply prepared.
These thoughts and others were going through my head as I ran over the trails this morning. It was muddy out, after it rained off and on through the last day and night. But it was the wind that bothered me more than the mud. At first, I had not noticed the cold breeze, but the longer I stayed out the more I felt it.
 |
| Brooks Cascadias did well in the mud |
 |
| Gloves are worn and have new holes in the seams |
I would warm up and begin to sweat as I worked hard up the hills, then the wind would catch me at the top and give me the chills. It was a good reminder of a conversation I had just the day before about the importance of being adequately outfitted for the C2M.
My conversation was with Jimmy Dean Freeman, an experienced ultra-runner and coach in the Los Angeles area. I had heard of Jimmy's running group, the SoCal Coyotes (or Coyote Running, not sure which is their official name... but I do know they howl a lot in their communications to each other on Facebook) and I had contacted Jimmy to find out more about the group and their training plan.
I got the information I was looking for, and a few tips besides that, as Jimmy was kind enough to offer advice on my upcoming race. "From what I've heard of that race, the swings in temperature can be a real challenge," Coach Jimmy said. "If you don't have a crew with you..." (I won't) "...then how you prepare your drop bags - what you put in them, and which stations you leave them at, will be essential. How well you plan those bags could increase or decrease your likelihood of a drop significantly."
The funny thing is, I kinda knew all this stuff, having read blogs and race reports about the race from previous participants, but still... I hadn't really digested it, or really thought about it, perhaps... whatever the reason, I heard it more clearly when Coach Jimmy said it. I thought about it again this morning as that chilly wind hit my damp skin. It's all very well getting chilly on a 5 hour run, I thought, but overnight on the mountains...
Well, that might suck. Worse, if I get too cold, I'll have to drop.
So enough screwing around - the race is 3 weeks out, and it's prep time. I will not drop out because I failed to be prepared.
Step One of Prep: Review the Inventory
I don't often need gear for the rain, cold, or snow, and subsequently, don't have much for those conditions. But, I better get some.
For running clothes, I believe I have most of the pieces I need:
- several pairs of compression tights (these noticeable reduce aches and pains for me in the days following a race)
- several short and long sleeve tops
- one lightweight wind and rain resistant jacket
- one waterproof jacket (Marmot Precip was recommended)
- 2 pair Drymax socks (recommended for running in rain and snow)
- gaiters (recommended for running in dirt and snow)
- several sportbras and pairs of undergarments (I was trying to say that in the most unsexy terms possible, which I think I accomplished)
- running cap (to keep sunlight out of eyes)
- two pairs sneakers (Brooks Cascadias and 1 other NB pair I used to wear as extras).
Regarding additional accessories: I already have a headlight, hydration pack, sunglasses, bandana (for the sniffles I get when I run).
Accessories I still need: replacement batteries for the headlight, replacement bottles for the hydration pack (because the two I'm using now are odd shapes and sizes and look stupid, which quite frankly, I'm above).
Besides that, I'll still need to pack my fuel for the race - I won't list that here as it's a bit more detailed (and a bit more tedious to list). But I do need to get some Nuun and Powerbars, because I am out of both of those.
So, those are the things I'm aware of needing. Of course, there are also going to be things I haven't even thought of yet.
Step Two of Prep: Research the Race
Ok, this one I've covered before so it's nothing new... it's just researching prior race reports, reading blogs, and sending e-mails to folks who have done the race before, either successfully or unsuccessfully. This is another piece of info I already knew, but that Coach Jimmy re-iterated in a way that really impressed on me how critical this piece is to finishing the race.
"Read as much as you can," Jimmy told me. "When I raced Badwater last year, I probably talked to about 30 people who have run it before."
I nodded when he said that, as I knew to do this... kinda. In truth, I've never researched a race to the level the Jimmy was suggesting, but as he talked further it was impressed on me that this, too, was critical to a successful finish. I made a note to start my research that day.
After doing both these steps (which are really done at the same time, versus in order) I'll be ready to arrange my drop bags. After that, I'll make a rough plan of what my time should be as I hit each aid station on the course - I typically do this by looking at previous finishers and in particular, the times for the top 2-4 females that finished.
With this type of preparation regarding my gear and my race, I'll have a much better chance of finishing the C2M - and the mental boost I'll need knowing I'm organized and stocked.
And did I mention? I'm starting to really get excited for this race!!
UPDATE: I've been checking out some reports and blogs about the race via RealEndurance.com; turns out this site does a great job of compiling videos, links, and blogs about each race. A great resource.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Who's afraid of a DNF?
Me. Over here - I am.
Well, maybe afraid isn't the right word... but I don't really enjoy them. I avoid them wherever possible. I find them highly distasteful.
Ok, fine, DNFs suck. And actually, it was that statement exactly that led to me writing this post.
I was told just yesterday that I worry too much about DNFs, and as this feedback came from a seasoned ultrarunning veteran whom I respect highly, it got my attention. And what exactly prompted the feedback? I told a fellow runner that "DNFs suck" and he should "do everything he could not to DNF"...
I can see how this may give the impression that I hold DNFs in a negative light.
This fellow, my veteran associate, was arguing that I need to re-examine that attitude. And, I decided he's right.
Re-adjusting the attitude
Truth is, his comments did get me thinking, and I realized that I do fear DNFs... and I realized that's not entirely rational. It would be nice to be able to re-frame the concept of a DNF, because, let's face it - they are going to happen.
In fact, if we're not getting DNFs, then we may not be pushing hard enough.
Why? Because some DNFs happen when you dare to enter a race you are not sure you can finish. When you eye up a race, find it challenging, realize you're not even sure you can finish, and then, with a gleam in your eye, say "Aw hell - let's go for it anyway."
I wanna have that gleam in my eye.
I wanna look for the challenging races and decide to go for it, understanding that I might not finish, but damn sure I'll learn something in the process. In fact, this is what I already do... it's what all of us do. We're ultrarunners. It comes with the territory. Whenever we enter an ultra-event, triathlon, or endurance challenge of any kind, we're entering something we may not be able to finish... and along with that comes the possibility of a DNF.
But the probability of a DNF? Well, that part is negotiable. We can increase our odds of finishing by training harder. Training smarter. Understanding what we are getting ourselves into - in the distance, on the course itself - what are the unique challenges? Where have race participants gotten into trouble in the past?
That's where I like to do a little thing called...
Reducing surprises by researching your race
An example of how this works in practice:
Later this year I hope to run in the Plain 100. The Plain 100 is a self-supported 100 mile race in Plain, WA (actually more like 106 or 112 miles, no-one knows for sure... mysterious and alluring, right? Right).
The race caught my eye due to it's low finishing rate and reputation for being a "tough" ultra.
True to my "I'm afraid of a DNF" nature, I vowed a month ago that I shall finish this race, come hell or high water, and I set about doing my research to understand the challenges out there - what are the main reasons people DNF at Plain?
I started out by reading some race reports online; there were several on the race website itself, and more were found by conducting an online search. In either case, I was able to find reports from both finishers and DNFers, and I read reports from both groups with interest. What were some of the techniques the successful folks used? What critical mistakes did the DNFers make? I read the reports earnestly, and scribbled my notes.
In addition to this, I scanned the list of race finishers from previous years, looking for people I knew in the ultrarunning community. When I saw the name of a fellow I know, I e-mailed him, let him know I am intending on entering the race, and asked if he could offer any advice.
Mark's reply was prompt, good-natured, and full of sound advice (Mark would be Mark Swanson, another experienced and highly knowledgeable ultrarunner). Mark was kind enough to share with me how he prepared for the race, what he enjoyed most about it, what took him by surprise, and what he wished he had been better prepared for.
One tip in particular I thought was a great one - he noted that the only aid station was in the middle of the race, between 2 loops, and as this was also the Start/Finish area, it is also the spot where participants leave their cars. From what Mark described, when you finish the first loop and arrive back at your car, you must be fortified against the desire to drop out and stay with your car. As Mark told it, this point on the course can come as it is starting to get dark or may already be dark, so you will feel the pull, the irrepressibly strong desire, to stay with your car and not go back into the dark.
This made a lot of sense to me, and I was glad to have it called out so specifically. On the day or night, when you are tired and your defences are down, I can see being caught of guard by something like that, and it making the difference between finishing the race or deciding not to go on... and I was glad for the warning of this particular siren's call.
Research your race... but what else?
Regarding other ways to ensure a successful finish, these are also fairly common sense, and include the following -
But, after all this talk about how to ensure success, at some point, the inevitable will happen. It might be due to injury, hypothermia, hyponatremia, or a number of other conditions or circumstances... but we will find ourselves having to pull out of the event we are in, without finishing.
And in that event... wait, for it, we're going full circle... it again goes back to attitude.
Re-framing the DNF
Right now I think of DNFs as scary stuff. Of something looming over me. A DNF means being depressed for weeks, not having closure, that you have to do another race quickly (and finish it) to wipe away the feeling of failure from the first.
This is not the case.
A DNF is the opportunity to grow. To learn - to be stronger and more determined.
On some courses, a DNF (or 2 or 3 or 5) may even be what's neccessary before success can be obtained, because without having that first-hand knowledge, the chances of a successful finish are significantly diminished (Barkely, I'm talking about you... I'd be honored to DNF in such a place).
Given all this... a DNF is not such a bad thing. I still won't go running towards it with open arms (and I don't think that's what my u-lister friend was suggesting) but perhaps I do need to put some of that DNF fear to one side.
I'll still do what I can to avoid them. I'll still train to finish strong, research the event and plan accordingly, then run steady and long, all day and all night, for as long as my legs will carry me... but if I DNF, well...
I shall nod graciously, and accept it from the course as my due... then go home, and start plotting my revenge.
Well, maybe afraid isn't the right word... but I don't really enjoy them. I avoid them wherever possible. I find them highly distasteful.
Ok, fine, DNFs suck. And actually, it was that statement exactly that led to me writing this post.
I was told just yesterday that I worry too much about DNFs, and as this feedback came from a seasoned ultrarunning veteran whom I respect highly, it got my attention. And what exactly prompted the feedback? I told a fellow runner that "DNFs suck" and he should "do everything he could not to DNF"...
I can see how this may give the impression that I hold DNFs in a negative light.
This fellow, my veteran associate, was arguing that I need to re-examine that attitude. And, I decided he's right.
Re-adjusting the attitude
Truth is, his comments did get me thinking, and I realized that I do fear DNFs... and I realized that's not entirely rational. It would be nice to be able to re-frame the concept of a DNF, because, let's face it - they are going to happen.
In fact, if we're not getting DNFs, then we may not be pushing hard enough.
Why? Because some DNFs happen when you dare to enter a race you are not sure you can finish. When you eye up a race, find it challenging, realize you're not even sure you can finish, and then, with a gleam in your eye, say "Aw hell - let's go for it anyway."
I wanna have that gleam in my eye.
I wanna look for the challenging races and decide to go for it, understanding that I might not finish, but damn sure I'll learn something in the process. In fact, this is what I already do... it's what all of us do. We're ultrarunners. It comes with the territory. Whenever we enter an ultra-event, triathlon, or endurance challenge of any kind, we're entering something we may not be able to finish... and along with that comes the possibility of a DNF.
But the probability of a DNF? Well, that part is negotiable. We can increase our odds of finishing by training harder. Training smarter. Understanding what we are getting ourselves into - in the distance, on the course itself - what are the unique challenges? Where have race participants gotten into trouble in the past?
That's where I like to do a little thing called...
Reducing surprises by researching your race
An example of how this works in practice:
Later this year I hope to run in the Plain 100. The Plain 100 is a self-supported 100 mile race in Plain, WA (actually more like 106 or 112 miles, no-one knows for sure... mysterious and alluring, right? Right).
The race caught my eye due to it's low finishing rate and reputation for being a "tough" ultra.
True to my "I'm afraid of a DNF" nature, I vowed a month ago that I shall finish this race, come hell or high water, and I set about doing my research to understand the challenges out there - what are the main reasons people DNF at Plain?
I started out by reading some race reports online; there were several on the race website itself, and more were found by conducting an online search. In either case, I was able to find reports from both finishers and DNFers, and I read reports from both groups with interest. What were some of the techniques the successful folks used? What critical mistakes did the DNFers make? I read the reports earnestly, and scribbled my notes.
In addition to this, I scanned the list of race finishers from previous years, looking for people I knew in the ultrarunning community. When I saw the name of a fellow I know, I e-mailed him, let him know I am intending on entering the race, and asked if he could offer any advice.
Mark's reply was prompt, good-natured, and full of sound advice (Mark would be Mark Swanson, another experienced and highly knowledgeable ultrarunner). Mark was kind enough to share with me how he prepared for the race, what he enjoyed most about it, what took him by surprise, and what he wished he had been better prepared for.
One tip in particular I thought was a great one - he noted that the only aid station was in the middle of the race, between 2 loops, and as this was also the Start/Finish area, it is also the spot where participants leave their cars. From what Mark described, when you finish the first loop and arrive back at your car, you must be fortified against the desire to drop out and stay with your car. As Mark told it, this point on the course can come as it is starting to get dark or may already be dark, so you will feel the pull, the irrepressibly strong desire, to stay with your car and not go back into the dark.
This made a lot of sense to me, and I was glad to have it called out so specifically. On the day or night, when you are tired and your defences are down, I can see being caught of guard by something like that, and it making the difference between finishing the race or deciding not to go on... and I was glad for the warning of this particular siren's call.
Research your race... but what else?
Regarding other ways to ensure a successful finish, these are also fairly common sense, and include the following -
- Train consistently, covering distances and terrain that will best prepare you for the event you are entering
- Bring the right equipment for your race - that includes hydration packs, type of trail shoe, weather-specific clothing, etc etc etc...
- Don't eat, drink, or use anything that you haven't already tested in training
- Review the course maps - you can never assume all trails will be clearly marked (and if you DO assume that and DNF due to getting lost, you have no-one to blame but yourself. I know this one firsthand).
But, after all this talk about how to ensure success, at some point, the inevitable will happen. It might be due to injury, hypothermia, hyponatremia, or a number of other conditions or circumstances... but we will find ourselves having to pull out of the event we are in, without finishing.
And in that event... wait, for it, we're going full circle... it again goes back to attitude.
Re-framing the DNF
Right now I think of DNFs as scary stuff. Of something looming over me. A DNF means being depressed for weeks, not having closure, that you have to do another race quickly (and finish it) to wipe away the feeling of failure from the first.
This is not the case.
A DNF is the opportunity to grow. To learn - to be stronger and more determined.
On some courses, a DNF (or 2 or 3 or 5) may even be what's neccessary before success can be obtained, because without having that first-hand knowledge, the chances of a successful finish are significantly diminished (Barkely, I'm talking about you... I'd be honored to DNF in such a place).
Given all this... a DNF is not such a bad thing. I still won't go running towards it with open arms (and I don't think that's what my u-lister friend was suggesting) but perhaps I do need to put some of that DNF fear to one side.
I'll still do what I can to avoid them. I'll still train to finish strong, research the event and plan accordingly, then run steady and long, all day and all night, for as long as my legs will carry me... but if I DNF, well...
I shall nod graciously, and accept it from the course as my due... then go home, and start plotting my revenge.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Another Plan of Retribution... Foiled
After attempting the Twin Peak 50 Mile race last February 2010 and, at mile 42, being mercilessly bitch-slapped by the course with the first DNF in my immature career, I was eagerly anticipating the 2011 event.
I signed up for the race as soon as registration opened.
I joined the Facebook page.
I signed up for e-mail updates.
I even returned to the scene of the crime between 10-15 times for training runs to familiarize myself with the area.
This last action more than any other seemed particularly wise, given that my 2010 race had unraveled as a direct result of not knowing which path to take at a fork on the course, a situation I quickly made worse by pausing for just 0.2 seconds before picking a path at random and charging along it, full speed, for 5 miles... running ever-deeper into the woods, at night, in the wrong direction, with no water, no working cell phone, and 1 gel... stupid.
Thank goodness for that troupe of Boy Scouts.
The group was just finishing up their own 18 mile hike, and were kind and patient enough to listen to my confused questions ("but... where is the START from here?"), my defensive reactions ("I didn't miss the cutoff! I nowhere NEAR the cutoff! I'm telling you, I did not miss the cutoff..."), and my frustrated, tearful implorations, once I realized I desperately needed their help to get out of there ("I... don't... {sob}.. know... where... {whimper} ...I am...").
So, after finally getting home that night (where I promptly threw up in the front yard before dragging my sorry butt inside) I vowed that in 2011, in Corona CA, I would be back.
In 2010 I did some more races. I trained, finished races, learned, trained, and learned some more. Specifically, I trained for the Twin Peaks 2011, going back to the course in Corona and running the sections I found most challenging in the 2010 race. Five weeks from the race, I thought I was ready... until the e-mail letting me know the February race would not be happening.
My first reaction upon reading the e-mail was to gasp, then say "No!" aloud (which I instantly regretted, as I was sitting at the airport next to a young man I didn't know, who immediately started giggling).
Then, I re-read the e-mail and lightly scolded myself (quietly, this time) for my reaction. A race being postponed, or even canceled, is not the end of the world. Sure, this was to be "my" race, but these things happen.
As the race director explained it, the recent rainfall in CA has simply made the ground too unstable in some parts of the course for the run to be safe - indeed, there is even a section where the trail had collapsed entirely, so extensive planning would have had to be made to re-route the course and volunteers around this area were the race to go on... but it all seemed too challenging and uncertain, especially if more rain was to fall in the meantime. The result was that the race would be postponed until October of the same year, when better conditions were more likely.
It's not my ideal result - after all, I have been building up to this race for the last 6 months or so - but it is certainly justified, and it's the right thing for the organizers to do (I'm sure they are relieved to have my approval).
And, it gives me more time to train. Train, train, train... and study. And learn. And get rid of every last excuse.
So when October 2nd dawns, on the bright winter's day in Corona, CA... I'll be ready. And I'll make that course my own... sans Boy Scouts.
I'll be ready for you, Twin Peaks... will you be ready for me?
I signed up for the race as soon as registration opened.
I joined the Facebook page.
I signed up for e-mail updates.
I even returned to the scene of the crime between 10-15 times for training runs to familiarize myself with the area.
This last action more than any other seemed particularly wise, given that my 2010 race had unraveled as a direct result of not knowing which path to take at a fork on the course, a situation I quickly made worse by pausing for just 0.2 seconds before picking a path at random and charging along it, full speed, for 5 miles... running ever-deeper into the woods, at night, in the wrong direction, with no water, no working cell phone, and 1 gel... stupid.
Thank goodness for that troupe of Boy Scouts.
The group was just finishing up their own 18 mile hike, and were kind and patient enough to listen to my confused questions ("but... where is the START from here?"), my defensive reactions ("I didn't miss the cutoff! I nowhere NEAR the cutoff! I'm telling you, I did not miss the cutoff..."), and my frustrated, tearful implorations, once I realized I desperately needed their help to get out of there ("I... don't... {sob}.. know... where... {whimper} ...I am...").
So, after finally getting home that night (where I promptly threw up in the front yard before dragging my sorry butt inside) I vowed that in 2011, in Corona CA, I would be back.
In 2010 I did some more races. I trained, finished races, learned, trained, and learned some more. Specifically, I trained for the Twin Peaks 2011, going back to the course in Corona and running the sections I found most challenging in the 2010 race. Five weeks from the race, I thought I was ready... until the e-mail letting me know the February race would not be happening.
My first reaction upon reading the e-mail was to gasp, then say "No!" aloud (which I instantly regretted, as I was sitting at the airport next to a young man I didn't know, who immediately started giggling).
Then, I re-read the e-mail and lightly scolded myself (quietly, this time) for my reaction. A race being postponed, or even canceled, is not the end of the world. Sure, this was to be "my" race, but these things happen.
As the race director explained it, the recent rainfall in CA has simply made the ground too unstable in some parts of the course for the run to be safe - indeed, there is even a section where the trail had collapsed entirely, so extensive planning would have had to be made to re-route the course and volunteers around this area were the race to go on... but it all seemed too challenging and uncertain, especially if more rain was to fall in the meantime. The result was that the race would be postponed until October of the same year, when better conditions were more likely.
It's not my ideal result - after all, I have been building up to this race for the last 6 months or so - but it is certainly justified, and it's the right thing for the organizers to do (I'm sure they are relieved to have my approval).
And, it gives me more time to train. Train, train, train... and study. And learn. And get rid of every last excuse.
So when October 2nd dawns, on the bright winter's day in Corona, CA... I'll be ready. And I'll make that course my own... sans Boy Scouts.
I'll be ready for you, Twin Peaks... will you be ready for me?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)