On November 3rd, HBO will air a documentary entitled "Marathon Boy", about India's child marathon runner Budhia Singh.
Here's a trailer for the documentary, as viewed on HBO's official site.
I first heard about little Budhia via an article from the BBC News entitled "What happened to Budhia Singh, India's Marathon Boy?" and was reminded of his story today, upon seeing "A Child Running for His Life" in the Wall Street Journal Online.
I was not running ultras when I read the first article, but found the story disturbing. Essentially, "Marathon Boy" refers to Budhia Singh, a child from the slums of India who was sold by his mother to a peddler at a very young age. Budhia possesses a natural talent for running, which was spotted by judo coach Birachi Das, who subsequently adopted the boy. By the age of three, Budhai had run several marathons. By the age of four, he had run 48.
I remember having mixed feelings about the story when I first read it. My strongest and most immediate reaction was of concern for the young boy; even if he liked running and was driven to pursue it (which I think is the argument typically given by the parents of such phenomenal child athletes), it seemed like an extremely harsh schedule for one so young. Indeed, at the age of four and in 93 degree heat, Budhai ran a 42 mile race at 5.75 mph pace while being urged on by Das, only to collapse at the finish, unable to walk a single step further and ultimately requiring medical attention that according to the doctor, saved his life.
I don't care who you are, that's disturbing stuff.
On the other hand, I could not help but wonder at the boy's stamina - a four-year-old running 42 miles at 5.75 mph pace? That's astonishing. And yet, at the same time, unsettling.
It's unsettling because it does not fit with our ideas of what a child that age should be able to accomplish, and while it can be inspiring when adults push themselves past the limits of what we all thought was possible, in the case of a child being urged on by his or her parents, it makes for a far darker tale.
I don't get HBO so I don't plan on watching it. If I did get HBO, I still don't know that I'd watch it, though the trailer is certainly compelling. I find the story alone tough enough to contemplate,and I'm not sure anything would be gained by viewing the footage.
Still, it's an interesting story of human stamina... but also a complex tale of greed and even love. Birachi was not the first Indian youth that Das "saved" from the slums, but to what end? I don't know the answer to that. I even had mixed feelings about the boy being banned from running long distances; I understand the reasoning (and I'm no pediatrician), but the idea of being told you cannot run long distances because a higher governing body does not think it's right rubs me the wrong way.
If the boy wants to run, I think he should be able to run... and when he wants to stop, let him stop... and provide him with guidance and education on everything in between. Or, perhaps the fear is that if he runs again, he will again be caught up in the fervor surrounding his talent, and he will be compelled to push further... I don't know, it's all speculation at this point.
Regardless, there is an interesting story here for us as runners, parents, and human beings. I wish Budhia Singh the best in all that he does, and hope he finds peace in his running and in himself.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Return to Twin Peaks: 50 Mile Race, 2011
The week leading up to Twin Peaks was a tough one, but it had nothing to do with the race. Instead, I had spent most of the week preparing for job interviews, and by the time Friday came I was relieved to turn my focus towards a different matter entirely.
Yes, a 53 mile race with close to 18,000 ft in elevation gain seemed exactly the thing to take my mind off my week, and the Cleveland National Forest couldn't be a better place to do it.
If you've never been to the Cleveland Nation Forest, it's gorgeous. I first discovered it during the 2010 Twin Peaks 50 miler, which I DNFed after losing the trail (and all subsequent hope) about 40 miles into the race. After my DNF, which I took pretty hard, I returned to the area numerous times to train, for not only does it offer the elevation gains I prefer in my trails, but it has some fantastic views, and forest dense enough that for half a day, you can forget that you actually live in a congested and smoggy city like Los Angeles.
But, I digress.
On the morning of the race, I drive towards the Start area feeling uninspired and sleepy, wondering vaguely if my Coyote friend Pedro and our new friend Steve would have trouble finding the right road. I also wondered, quite suddenly this time, if I should be more concerned about the race - I was treating it like it was just another run in the woods, with no drop bags and very little in my pack - would I pay for my lax attitude later by being caught off-guard and between aid stations without the right supplies?
After considering that for a second, I put the worry aside - I had respect for the course, and was not coming in unprepared. I was very familiar with the area, and knew the aid stations could be relied upon for certain supplies - the rest would be up to me. I could certainly be caught off-guard by something, but that's a given. It should all go fairly well, at the very least.
When I pulled up at the start and viewed the lines of cars and runners busily preparing themselves with the application of bib numbers, sunscreen, and the like, my doziness and vague uncertainty was replaced with dawning anticipation. We were getting ready to do it. We had the entire day to run on the trails. This was going to be awesome.
I got my bib, fussed with my water bottles, rechecked my pack, posted the obligatory Facebook status update, took several pictures with my cell phone despite feeling certain they would be of too poor a quality to use for anything (they were), and then left my car for the last time to wait at the start.
Pedro and Steve joined within a few minutes. After that, the group was addressed by Twin Peaks Race Director Jessica DeLine.
After going over the course route one last time and instructing us to have at least 40oz of water between stations, Jessica called us up the the line, and at 7AM, we were off (note runner 150 in the picture below; I'll get back to him later).
The first stretch was 6.5 miles up Indian Truck Trail, with about 2600 ft of climbing. We hiked and chatted, trying to move briskly up the trail while still wanting to conserve energy for the long day ahead. Some folks were running, but I knew that hiking was better for me on that section, with some running mixed in when the trail evened out on its way up and around the mountain.
After starting any ultra, my typical routine after settling into a climbing or running rhythm is to conduct a quick mental review of my goals and race plan - it helps me focus, and kicks the race off right.
For Twin Peaks, my goals were simple, and were directly tied to my performance at AC100: (1) enjoy yourself, (2) no complaining, regardless of how bad things got, and (3) I had to run the last mile as hard as I could.
Hey, I said they were simple.
In retrospect, running the last mile seems like a very easy goal in a 53 mile race, but I was used to being in significant pain by that stage and did not have much confidence in my will to endure.
In my effort to keep it simple I had no goal time for the race, but as I trekked up the hill I figured that over 52 miles, if I averaged 4 miles per hour I'd finish in 13 hours.... with all the elevation gain and adding in time for stopping at aid stations, finishing in under 13 hours seemed very reasonable. I decided to shoot for that, knowing that if I felt good in the second half of the race I could then aim higher.
I reached the first aid station at approximately 8:30am, which was right on track for that climb. The station was well-staffed, and after refueling quickly I moved on. At that point I was ahead of Pedro and Steve, a position I would try to maintain through the day not only for the fun of it, but to challenge myself to push further.
Following that, we gained a bit more elevation (1000 ft) running along the Main Divide to Trabuco Peak, then descended to the Horsethief AS. This 4.5 mile section has steep rolling hills, but overall it's a fast run, with more descent than ascent. I chatted with several other participants on the way, two of which had also completed the AC100 this year. None of recognized the others, something we chalked up to being almost completely destroyed by the time we reached the finish line in Altadena (yet, all of us were debating a return in 2012... go figure).
After the West Horsethief aid station, the course took a sharp right to go down into the canyon, descending nearly 2000 ft in 2 miles via switchbacks, making it both the best and the worst section of the entire Twin Peaks course.
It's the best when you're running down it. Descending this section is both thrilling and terrifying as the loose shale shifts and rolls under your feet and the shrubs' branches reach out to trip, and to trace long red scratches on your legs, arms, and face. At the same time, what thrills are the views and the speed that is possible if you allow yourself to let go, just a little... but that's often all that is allowed, as the switchbacks taunt you with hairpin turns that must be taken at a slower pace, or you risk slipping off the trail and into the brush, and possibly falling further down the mountain (unlikely, but it could happen).
As for when it's the worse? Well, when you have to climb back up it, of course. But that comes at mile 32; we've got 20 more miles between here and there and will discuss it in due time.
Regardless of its hazards, it's still my favorite section of the course. I made up some time on the descent, my familiarity with the trail coming in useful as those behind me took the hill more cautiously, and even with noisy complaints.
At the bottom of the canyon, the trees are dense and lovely, and there is a coolness in the air that is augmented by the sound of the river rushing past to the right as you make your way towards the rocky banks. I passed a series of small houses, then came to the parking lot at Holy Jim, and the third aid station. This marked 15 miles into the course.
Next, we'd be hiking to Santiago Peak, with a water stop on the way. I had been doing very well in monitoring my electrolytes and water; prior to each aid station I would check my supplies and make a mental note of what I needed to fill up on at each station, so I could be sure to leave properly stocked.
The climb to the Bear Springs water stop was 2300 ft, with trails through dense woods and several stream crossings. It was 4.5 miles to the water stop, then another 3 miles and 1700 ft up to Santiago Peak.
I was familiar with the peak and not intimidated by the climb - in fact, I was feeling surprisingly comfortable with everything so far. I felt really good. Tired, but good. My electrolytes were on track, my water was on track, and headed up to the peak I decided to push hard, knowing that the turnaround at the peak would provide us runners with our first opportunity to see where we stood in the field.
I did not know where I stood in the women's race and had no idea who was ahead, but wanted to get a lead on anyone just behind me so they didn't get any big ideas about trying to catch up. On another note, I was eager to see how Pedro and Steve were faring, and hoped they would be looking good.
Approaching the top, the peak's radio towers would come into view, then would disappear again, only to reappear fleetingly around the next corner in what seemed like a perpetual peep show. I took heart in noting that they did appear larger and closer with each sighting however - the peak was definitely approaching; the climb was finite (despite all rumors to the contrary).
In confirmation of this, more runners were now passing on the way back down the mountain. Included were some runners I had never seen, a confusing detail until I remembered that there had been an early start, at either 5:30 or 6am for those runners who requested it. I spotted about 5 or more women ahead of me, but felt certain that they had not been in my starting group.
In fact, I was pretty certain that at that point, I was the first woman (not that there were that many of us, because there weren't). Still, I began to move faster, in case the second-place woman was right behind me.
Upon reaching the top, I was pleased to see faces I knew, and like every aid station, the volunteers were happy, smiling, and ready to help. Mieko was at this aid station, with John Hockett and photographer Janine Swiatkowski, who would later be kind enough to allow us to download her pictures from the event.
Leaving Santiago Peak was a good feeling. We were 22 miles into the race, and in my mind, what remained could be split into two manageable chunks that I was unafraid to tackle. The weather was warming, but so far had been very pleasant with mild temperatures that were ideal for running and racing.
Making matters better was seeing Pedro shortly behind me coming into Santiago Peak. He looked strong and happy, and it was good to see him - I felt like we were putting forth a good (Coyote) team effort so far.
Steve Rose was not far behind, looking a little more tired but still going strong and in great spirits. Steve was also stopping every so often to take pictures of the course, which he was also kind enough to share for the purpose of this report.
From Santiago, we descended via a sandy and somewhat impetuous single track. Now: typically, I like single track, and have never referred to one as impetuous, but in this case, the description was earned. The trail began enjoyably enough, but as it continued the walls of the trail became increasingly steep and you had to choose between walking directly along the winding thin ravine on the bottom of the trail or bouncing along the steep, sandy sides. Both options were slow-going and required concentration, though you still could not be guaranteed not to fall (of course). The one relief was that is was relatively short, and before long the trail dumped us out on the Main Divide fireroad.
By that time I had passed several more women, all of whom I suspected had taken the early start, though I could not be sure. It was at that point that I set my mind on winning the women's race and breaking the women's record, which at that time Jessica reported stood at 13:20.
*NOTE: We would later come to find that the actual women's record was set in 2008 by Gina Natera-Armenta in a time of 12:00:00, but this would not be set straight until the week following the event. As my eventual finish time was 12:18 (uh, spoiler alert?), Gina's record still stands.*
After hitting the water station at Bear Springs one more time, I headed back down to Holy Jim. I did my best to move quickly, feeling weariness setting in, and for the first time, the tiny sense of desperation and impatience that can sometimes creep in as the race wears on, especially if I'm not minding my electrolytes.
I felt like I was walking along a thin line, with focus and my current optimism on one side and a quick slide into hopelessness on the other... but it was far too early for hopelessness, and no reason for it. It was a beautiful day. I had the race in hand. The most challenging section lay ahead of me, but only just; and after that I could focus on completing the last section. I just needed to continue to monitor my electrolytes and water, and all should be well.
I went through Holy Jim, then on towards Horsethief. This was the section I looked forward to the least; the climb that had been so fun to descend was now a grueling series of switchbacks that must be conquered before moving forward. I grew impatient to begin as the trail wound further - where was the first turn, so I could get this thing over with? Then, I passed another woman, and we exchanged words of encouragement, though she was feeling poorly. Whatever words I said had a positive effect and she appeared to leave our exchange with better spirits, which in turn made me feel better.
We began the climb, with me glancing at my watch to gauge the carnage. In training, I could climb this hill in 20-30 minutes; tracking the time would help me determine to a certain degree where on the hill I was. The trick there, of course, would be to mimic the pace I held in training...
Yeah, there was no way in hell I could mimic the pace I held in training.
But, I did my best to keep moving forward. Within the first 1/3 of the climb, Pedro passed me easily - I saw him coming and yelled some smack-talk just for the hell of it, and also for the entertainment of myself and the woman I saw behind me, but it had no effect on Pedro - no, he was too busy passing me like I was a cactus rooted by the side of the highway. We exchanged encouragements, then he took off, and my feeble and hasty plan to stay behind him step for step evaporated in the heavy canyon air.
Actually, I remember watching him go and making a mental note to ask him later about his training plan. I have always considered myself to be a good climber, but this dude was moving. Still, it had lifted my spirits to see him and made me all the more determined not to let him get too far ahead... I wouldn't be giving up without a fight!
After passing some fallen companions who were trying vainly to find shade on the trail, I made it to the top... but it did take a damn slight longer than 20-30 minutes. At the aid station, the volunteers offered me a rag for my face, which I refused but then accepted when they told me my face and neck were crusted with salt.
From there, it was back over to the Indian Truck Trial AS, at mile 38. I ran and walked, but mostly ran, trying to get a glimpse of Pedro up ahead. He was nowhere to be seen despite my efforts, and I reckoned he had quite a lead on me by that time. I kept pushing forward, certain I could break the record but not knowing how far behind the next woman was. Around each corner, I would accelerate, trying to stay out of sight in case the next woman was gaining on me.
There was another fellow I kept seeing, the aforementioned runner #150. We had been crossing paths all day, most memorably because I seemed to pass him on every downhill, and then he'd pass me on every uphill... because he would run the uphills. All of them. But, then he'd walk some of the downhills, so I'd catch him again.
It was an odd system, but he seemed to be progressing well and that's tough to argue with. However, I did give him a bit of ribbing at the next aid station, where I discovered that he'd been running without bottles all day. Not only that, but this fellow had never run further than 14 miles before.
Again, while a part of me thought that was crazy, another part said "Yeah, but look, he's doing it." And, so he was... as we climbed back up to Santiago Peak (it would be our final big climb of the race), he started jogging again, and I'll be darned if he wasn't moving forward with steady and controlled progress.
As for me? I was hiking that part, but did run when I could, and was very pleased to be able to run uphill at all by that time. Truly, I was feeling very encouraged by my position in the race, and had nothing to complain of. As I had with the first climb to Santiago, I focused instead on reaching the peak quickly so I could widen the gap between myself and anyone on my heels, and possibly even catch up to Pedro.
After reaching the peak, there would be 10.5 miles to go, with a descent of 4500 feet. My legs were feeling great, and I couldn't think of a better way to end the race.
I passed Pedro not far from the peak, and again we exchanged excited words at how well we were both doing. At the aid station, I was in and out fairly quickly, the main focus being to get my supplies, then get back on the trail. On the way down, I passed two women headed for the top, and while I was 99% sure they had started in the earlier group, I told myself not to assume that.
At one point I even pretended they had started in my group, so I had to finish as hard as I could to make sure they did not overtake me on the final stretch. With this in mind, I passed the final aid station at 46.0 miles - only 6.5 miles to go.
It was starting to get dark, but the sky was beautiful and the air temperature was perfect. I reminded myself that it would be easier to go fast before the sun went down at 6:30PM, so I ran as hard as I could, stopping to walk in just one section where the road climbed sharply.
Descending the hill, I grew tearful as I looked at the sky and moon. It had been an incredible day, and I felt as fresh and invigorated as if I had only done 10 miles.
By about 6:40pm it was dark enough that I needed my flashlight, especially on that rutted fireroad, and I held the light down low so it would cast long shadows on the largest rocks sticking up. At that time, I told myself I had to finish by 7:00, for a course time of 12:00 - I thought the record was 13:20, but getting in under 12:00 seemed like a better goal.
I focused on the road and ran faster, pretending I was running to catch a boat that was leaving at 7:00 sharp, and if I didn't get there before then I would miss the boat. For a minute or two I even imagined raising the stakes by imagining my kids were on the boat, but then I decided that was a foolish game to play, and that running to catch a boat was quite enough.
Yes, these are the things that I think about :)
As 7:00 neared, I realized I had misjudged the amount of road remaining, and that finishing in under 12 hours was significantly out of reach. I slowed slightly; just enough to be sure I would not trip on the rutted road in the darkness - my light was detectably dim, and I wondered if the kids had been playing with it at home since the last time I had changed the batteries.
With about a mile to go, I felt the tiniest touch of desperation again nip at my heels... where was the finish? Where was the damn gate, to signify that I was getting closer? Oh, there it was... focus. Stay calm. Stay on track. You got this.
Then, with half a mile to go, on the road ahead I heard "HOOOWWWL!" It was Pedro!
"Whooo-hooo!"I cheered back, to let him know if was me in the darkness (a howl would have been more appropriate, but I'm fairly new to this Coyote thing and honestly, under the circumstances, it slipped my mind).
"Hey Pedro, how's it going!"
I can't remember his response, but suffice it to say we were both pretty pleased with ourselves. I was excited he had done so well, and he was excited I was about to finish, and to smash the women's record so decidedly, as well... or so we thought.
We rounded the final turn, and there was the finish - it was hard to see anything, but the lights showed the finish line, and that was all I cared about. Jessica walked over to congratulate me warmly on being the first female finisher in 12:18, and then gave me $250 cash for first place, plus $100 cash for breaking the women's record... or so we thought. She also gave me a mug for being the first woman in my age group.
It was all pretty sweet.
After that, I got some food, talked with the other finishers, got some warm clothes on, and waited for Steve to finish, which he did, fairly shortly afterwards. Runner #150 also finished, despite not having a flashlight in the dark (somehow, I had guessed that he might not have one).
All in all, it was an incredible event - low-key, challenging, and very satisfying. It was also fun to get to run with people I knew; besides Pedro and Steve, there were folks I recognized from other races, and the camaraderie made it even more fun to be out there.
As for the record: Later that week I would find out that I had not actually set the women's record, which was disappointing, but important to get right, obviously. And, it pretty much settles my decision to return next year... I simply have go back and take another crack at it, along with any other woman out there who'd like $350 cash for her effort.
In conclusion... what did I learn?
I always like to follow races with what I learned, and what I'd like to do differently next time.
What I learned:
So after Twin Peaks, what's next?
Well, there's the Chimera 100 miler in 4 weeks, in the same area... now that's going to be a kick in the pants. I'm glad that Pedro will be there doing the 100K, and other new friends I've made on the trails; it should be a good time.
And, there's always next year. Now that I've come so close to breaking the record, I feel an obligation to return - but more than that, I want to return for the race itself. It's a beautiful location, with just the right amount of ups and downs to keep it interesting and keep us runners rolling along. I'll definitely be back to see what happens next year, and hopefully we'll get a repeat of the ideal weather from this year's race.
Thanks to Jessica and to all the volunteers for a great race experience, and to Pedro for being great company out there, especially during the final stretch. Thanks to Jimmy Freeman and the Coyotes for being great inspirations and training partners - this group has a weird mix of taking their running seriously while having some serious fun doing it, and it's a pleasure to be a part of.
Anyway, that's it - hope to see you there next year!
Yes, a 53 mile race with close to 18,000 ft in elevation gain seemed exactly the thing to take my mind off my week, and the Cleveland National Forest couldn't be a better place to do it.
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| Sunrise on a training run, about 6 miles up the Indian Truck Trail |
If you've never been to the Cleveland Nation Forest, it's gorgeous. I first discovered it during the 2010 Twin Peaks 50 miler, which I DNFed after losing the trail (and all subsequent hope) about 40 miles into the race. After my DNF, which I took pretty hard, I returned to the area numerous times to train, for not only does it offer the elevation gains I prefer in my trails, but it has some fantastic views, and forest dense enough that for half a day, you can forget that you actually live in a congested and smoggy city like Los Angeles.
But, I digress.
On the morning of the race, I drive towards the Start area feeling uninspired and sleepy, wondering vaguely if my Coyote friend Pedro and our new friend Steve would have trouble finding the right road. I also wondered, quite suddenly this time, if I should be more concerned about the race - I was treating it like it was just another run in the woods, with no drop bags and very little in my pack - would I pay for my lax attitude later by being caught off-guard and between aid stations without the right supplies?
After considering that for a second, I put the worry aside - I had respect for the course, and was not coming in unprepared. I was very familiar with the area, and knew the aid stations could be relied upon for certain supplies - the rest would be up to me. I could certainly be caught off-guard by something, but that's a given. It should all go fairly well, at the very least.
When I pulled up at the start and viewed the lines of cars and runners busily preparing themselves with the application of bib numbers, sunscreen, and the like, my doziness and vague uncertainty was replaced with dawning anticipation. We were getting ready to do it. We had the entire day to run on the trails. This was going to be awesome.
I got my bib, fussed with my water bottles, rechecked my pack, posted the obligatory Facebook status update, took several pictures with my cell phone despite feeling certain they would be of too poor a quality to use for anything (they were), and then left my car for the last time to wait at the start.
Pedro and Steve joined within a few minutes. After that, the group was addressed by Twin Peaks Race Director Jessica DeLine.
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| With Pedro at the start - photo by Steven Rose |
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| Final address by Jessica (far right) - photo by Janine Swiatkowski |
After going over the course route one last time and instructing us to have at least 40oz of water between stations, Jessica called us up the the line, and at 7AM, we were off (note runner 150 in the picture below; I'll get back to him later).
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| The Start - photo by Janine Swiatkowski |
The first stretch was 6.5 miles up Indian Truck Trail, with about 2600 ft of climbing. We hiked and chatted, trying to move briskly up the trail while still wanting to conserve energy for the long day ahead. Some folks were running, but I knew that hiking was better for me on that section, with some running mixed in when the trail evened out on its way up and around the mountain.
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| Mountains off to the left at the bottom of ITT - photo by Steven Rose |
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| On a training run: Looking back on ITT, about 3 miles up the trail |
After starting any ultra, my typical routine after settling into a climbing or running rhythm is to conduct a quick mental review of my goals and race plan - it helps me focus, and kicks the race off right.
For Twin Peaks, my goals were simple, and were directly tied to my performance at AC100: (1) enjoy yourself, (2) no complaining, regardless of how bad things got, and (3) I had to run the last mile as hard as I could.
Hey, I said they were simple.
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| At AS #1, mile 6.5. Photo: Janine Swiatkowski |
In my effort to keep it simple I had no goal time for the race, but as I trekked up the hill I figured that over 52 miles, if I averaged 4 miles per hour I'd finish in 13 hours.... with all the elevation gain and adding in time for stopping at aid stations, finishing in under 13 hours seemed very reasonable. I decided to shoot for that, knowing that if I felt good in the second half of the race I could then aim higher.
I reached the first aid station at approximately 8:30am, which was right on track for that climb. The station was well-staffed, and after refueling quickly I moved on. At that point I was ahead of Pedro and Steve, a position I would try to maintain through the day not only for the fun of it, but to challenge myself to push further.
Following that, we gained a bit more elevation (1000 ft) running along the Main Divide to Trabuco Peak, then descended to the Horsethief AS. This 4.5 mile section has steep rolling hills, but overall it's a fast run, with more descent than ascent. I chatted with several other participants on the way, two of which had also completed the AC100 this year. None of recognized the others, something we chalked up to being almost completely destroyed by the time we reached the finish line in Altadena (yet, all of us were debating a return in 2012... go figure).
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| On the Main Divide, looking back on the sandy fire road |
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| Runners headed up the Main Divide. Photo: Janine Swiatkowski |
It's the best when you're running down it. Descending this section is both thrilling and terrifying as the loose shale shifts and rolls under your feet and the shrubs' branches reach out to trip, and to trace long red scratches on your legs, arms, and face. At the same time, what thrills are the views and the speed that is possible if you allow yourself to let go, just a little... but that's often all that is allowed, as the switchbacks taunt you with hairpin turns that must be taken at a slower pace, or you risk slipping off the trail and into the brush, and possibly falling further down the mountain (unlikely, but it could happen).
As for when it's the worse? Well, when you have to climb back up it, of course. But that comes at mile 32; we've got 20 more miles between here and there and will discuss it in due time.
Regardless of its hazards, it's still my favorite section of the course. I made up some time on the descent, my familiarity with the trail coming in useful as those behind me took the hill more cautiously, and even with noisy complaints.
At the bottom of the canyon, the trees are dense and lovely, and there is a coolness in the air that is augmented by the sound of the river rushing past to the right as you make your way towards the rocky banks. I passed a series of small houses, then came to the parking lot at Holy Jim, and the third aid station. This marked 15 miles into the course.
Next, we'd be hiking to Santiago Peak, with a water stop on the way. I had been doing very well in monitoring my electrolytes and water; prior to each aid station I would check my supplies and make a mental note of what I needed to fill up on at each station, so I could be sure to leave properly stocked.
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| Holy Jim Trail - photo by Steven Rose |
The climb to the Bear Springs water stop was 2300 ft, with trails through dense woods and several stream crossings. It was 4.5 miles to the water stop, then another 3 miles and 1700 ft up to Santiago Peak.
I was familiar with the peak and not intimidated by the climb - in fact, I was feeling surprisingly comfortable with everything so far. I felt really good. Tired, but good. My electrolytes were on track, my water was on track, and headed up to the peak I decided to push hard, knowing that the turnaround at the peak would provide us runners with our first opportunity to see where we stood in the field.
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| The Main Divide from Santiago Peak. Photo: Steve Rose |
Approaching the top, the peak's radio towers would come into view, then would disappear again, only to reappear fleetingly around the next corner in what seemed like a perpetual peep show. I took heart in noting that they did appear larger and closer with each sighting however - the peak was definitely approaching; the climb was finite (despite all rumors to the contrary).
In confirmation of this, more runners were now passing on the way back down the mountain. Included were some runners I had never seen, a confusing detail until I remembered that there had been an early start, at either 5:30 or 6am for those runners who requested it. I spotted about 5 or more women ahead of me, but felt certain that they had not been in my starting group.
In fact, I was pretty certain that at that point, I was the first woman (not that there were that many of us, because there weren't). Still, I began to move faster, in case the second-place woman was right behind me.
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| Santiago Peak. Photo: Janine Swiatkowski |
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| Hug from Mieko at Santiago Peak. Photo: Janine Swiatkowski |
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| View from Santiago Peak. Photo: Janine Swiatkowski |
Leaving Santiago Peak was a good feeling. We were 22 miles into the race, and in my mind, what remained could be split into two manageable chunks that I was unafraid to tackle. The weather was warming, but so far had been very pleasant with mild temperatures that were ideal for running and racing.
Making matters better was seeing Pedro shortly behind me coming into Santiago Peak. He looked strong and happy, and it was good to see him - I felt like we were putting forth a good (Coyote) team effort so far.
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| Coyote Pedro at the Peak. Photo: Janine Swiatkowski |
Steve Rose was not far behind, looking a little more tired but still going strong and in great spirits. Steve was also stopping every so often to take pictures of the course, which he was also kind enough to share for the purpose of this report.
From Santiago, we descended via a sandy and somewhat impetuous single track. Now: typically, I like single track, and have never referred to one as impetuous, but in this case, the description was earned. The trail began enjoyably enough, but as it continued the walls of the trail became increasingly steep and you had to choose between walking directly along the winding thin ravine on the bottom of the trail or bouncing along the steep, sandy sides. Both options were slow-going and required concentration, though you still could not be guaranteed not to fall (of course). The one relief was that is was relatively short, and before long the trail dumped us out on the Main Divide fireroad.
By that time I had passed several more women, all of whom I suspected had taken the early start, though I could not be sure. It was at that point that I set my mind on winning the women's race and breaking the women's record, which at that time Jessica reported stood at 13:20.
*NOTE: We would later come to find that the actual women's record was set in 2008 by Gina Natera-Armenta in a time of 12:00:00, but this would not be set straight until the week following the event. As my eventual finish time was 12:18 (uh, spoiler alert?), Gina's record still stands.*
After hitting the water station at Bear Springs one more time, I headed back down to Holy Jim. I did my best to move quickly, feeling weariness setting in, and for the first time, the tiny sense of desperation and impatience that can sometimes creep in as the race wears on, especially if I'm not minding my electrolytes.
I felt like I was walking along a thin line, with focus and my current optimism on one side and a quick slide into hopelessness on the other... but it was far too early for hopelessness, and no reason for it. It was a beautiful day. I had the race in hand. The most challenging section lay ahead of me, but only just; and after that I could focus on completing the last section. I just needed to continue to monitor my electrolytes and water, and all should be well.
I went through Holy Jim, then on towards Horsethief. This was the section I looked forward to the least; the climb that had been so fun to descend was now a grueling series of switchbacks that must be conquered before moving forward. I grew impatient to begin as the trail wound further - where was the first turn, so I could get this thing over with? Then, I passed another woman, and we exchanged words of encouragement, though she was feeling poorly. Whatever words I said had a positive effect and she appeared to leave our exchange with better spirits, which in turn made me feel better.
We began the climb, with me glancing at my watch to gauge the carnage. In training, I could climb this hill in 20-30 minutes; tracking the time would help me determine to a certain degree where on the hill I was. The trick there, of course, would be to mimic the pace I held in training...
Yeah, there was no way in hell I could mimic the pace I held in training.
But, I did my best to keep moving forward. Within the first 1/3 of the climb, Pedro passed me easily - I saw him coming and yelled some smack-talk just for the hell of it, and also for the entertainment of myself and the woman I saw behind me, but it had no effect on Pedro - no, he was too busy passing me like I was a cactus rooted by the side of the highway. We exchanged encouragements, then he took off, and my feeble and hasty plan to stay behind him step for step evaporated in the heavy canyon air.
Actually, I remember watching him go and making a mental note to ask him later about his training plan. I have always considered myself to be a good climber, but this dude was moving. Still, it had lifted my spirits to see him and made me all the more determined not to let him get too far ahead... I wouldn't be giving up without a fight!
After passing some fallen companions who were trying vainly to find shade on the trail, I made it to the top... but it did take a damn slight longer than 20-30 minutes. At the aid station, the volunteers offered me a rag for my face, which I refused but then accepted when they told me my face and neck were crusted with salt.
From there, it was back over to the Indian Truck Trial AS, at mile 38. I ran and walked, but mostly ran, trying to get a glimpse of Pedro up ahead. He was nowhere to be seen despite my efforts, and I reckoned he had quite a lead on me by that time. I kept pushing forward, certain I could break the record but not knowing how far behind the next woman was. Around each corner, I would accelerate, trying to stay out of sight in case the next woman was gaining on me.
There was another fellow I kept seeing, the aforementioned runner #150. We had been crossing paths all day, most memorably because I seemed to pass him on every downhill, and then he'd pass me on every uphill... because he would run the uphills. All of them. But, then he'd walk some of the downhills, so I'd catch him again.
It was an odd system, but he seemed to be progressing well and that's tough to argue with. However, I did give him a bit of ribbing at the next aid station, where I discovered that he'd been running without bottles all day. Not only that, but this fellow had never run further than 14 miles before.
Again, while a part of me thought that was crazy, another part said "Yeah, but look, he's doing it." And, so he was... as we climbed back up to Santiago Peak (it would be our final big climb of the race), he started jogging again, and I'll be darned if he wasn't moving forward with steady and controlled progress.
As for me? I was hiking that part, but did run when I could, and was very pleased to be able to run uphill at all by that time. Truly, I was feeling very encouraged by my position in the race, and had nothing to complain of. As I had with the first climb to Santiago, I focused instead on reaching the peak quickly so I could widen the gap between myself and anyone on my heels, and possibly even catch up to Pedro.
After reaching the peak, there would be 10.5 miles to go, with a descent of 4500 feet. My legs were feeling great, and I couldn't think of a better way to end the race.
I passed Pedro not far from the peak, and again we exchanged excited words at how well we were both doing. At the aid station, I was in and out fairly quickly, the main focus being to get my supplies, then get back on the trail. On the way down, I passed two women headed for the top, and while I was 99% sure they had started in the earlier group, I told myself not to assume that.
At one point I even pretended they had started in my group, so I had to finish as hard as I could to make sure they did not overtake me on the final stretch. With this in mind, I passed the final aid station at 46.0 miles - only 6.5 miles to go.
It was starting to get dark, but the sky was beautiful and the air temperature was perfect. I reminded myself that it would be easier to go fast before the sun went down at 6:30PM, so I ran as hard as I could, stopping to walk in just one section where the road climbed sharply.
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| The sky as the sun went down; pink, purple, and blue. Photo: Steve Rose |
Descending the hill, I grew tearful as I looked at the sky and moon. It had been an incredible day, and I felt as fresh and invigorated as if I had only done 10 miles.
By about 6:40pm it was dark enough that I needed my flashlight, especially on that rutted fireroad, and I held the light down low so it would cast long shadows on the largest rocks sticking up. At that time, I told myself I had to finish by 7:00, for a course time of 12:00 - I thought the record was 13:20, but getting in under 12:00 seemed like a better goal.
I focused on the road and ran faster, pretending I was running to catch a boat that was leaving at 7:00 sharp, and if I didn't get there before then I would miss the boat. For a minute or two I even imagined raising the stakes by imagining my kids were on the boat, but then I decided that was a foolish game to play, and that running to catch a boat was quite enough.
Yes, these are the things that I think about :)
As 7:00 neared, I realized I had misjudged the amount of road remaining, and that finishing in under 12 hours was significantly out of reach. I slowed slightly; just enough to be sure I would not trip on the rutted road in the darkness - my light was detectably dim, and I wondered if the kids had been playing with it at home since the last time I had changed the batteries.
With about a mile to go, I felt the tiniest touch of desperation again nip at my heels... where was the finish? Where was the damn gate, to signify that I was getting closer? Oh, there it was... focus. Stay calm. Stay on track. You got this.
Then, with half a mile to go, on the road ahead I heard "HOOOWWWL!" It was Pedro!
"Whooo-hooo!"I cheered back, to let him know if was me in the darkness (a howl would have been more appropriate, but I'm fairly new to this Coyote thing and honestly, under the circumstances, it slipped my mind).
"Hey Pedro, how's it going!"
I can't remember his response, but suffice it to say we were both pretty pleased with ourselves. I was excited he had done so well, and he was excited I was about to finish, and to smash the women's record so decidedly, as well... or so we thought.
We rounded the final turn, and there was the finish - it was hard to see anything, but the lights showed the finish line, and that was all I cared about. Jessica walked over to congratulate me warmly on being the first female finisher in 12:18, and then gave me $250 cash for first place, plus $100 cash for breaking the women's record... or so we thought. She also gave me a mug for being the first woman in my age group.
It was all pretty sweet.
After that, I got some food, talked with the other finishers, got some warm clothes on, and waited for Steve to finish, which he did, fairly shortly afterwards. Runner #150 also finished, despite not having a flashlight in the dark (somehow, I had guessed that he might not have one).
All in all, it was an incredible event - low-key, challenging, and very satisfying. It was also fun to get to run with people I knew; besides Pedro and Steve, there were folks I recognized from other races, and the camaraderie made it even more fun to be out there.
As for the record: Later that week I would find out that I had not actually set the women's record, which was disappointing, but important to get right, obviously. And, it pretty much settles my decision to return next year... I simply have go back and take another crack at it, along with any other woman out there who'd like $350 cash for her effort.
In conclusion... what did I learn?
I always like to follow races with what I learned, and what I'd like to do differently next time.
What I learned:
- For me, focusing on heartrate as a gauge of how fast I should be going is a better technique than trying to adhere to any pre-determined pace. If my heart is pounding early on during a long uphill climb, I need to ease back just a bit, and bring the heartrate down to something more manageable for that stage. The goal for me is steady and consistent effort, not using myself up in the first third and dragging myself through the rest of the race from there.
- 300-400 calories and 300-400 mg of sodium is about what I need for fuel and salt. I kept those levels dialed in all day, with about half of my calories coming in the form of Gu energy gels, which are easy to digest (the rest came in whatever looked good at aid stations, but usually peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, potato chips, mini candy bars, etc.). For this race and for the SBER, those levels worked, though in different weather conditions they may vary.
- Knowing the course provides a distinct mental edge. This is a tough course, but knowing what to expect made it manageable, and I was able to focus on knocking out certain sections at a time, knowing that the rest of the course held no surprises. There are many times when I can't practice a course in advance, and that's OK - but when I can, it definitely helps.
- Prepare for the terrain you will be racing on. In this case, that was big climbs, and having spent many Saturdays steadily hiking up mountains had to be of help. That may be why my legs still felt so fresh towards the end... or perhaps that was all in my head as I was so excited to win the race and finish strong. Regardless, my legs were ready for the climbing. It only makes sense.
So after Twin Peaks, what's next?
Well, there's the Chimera 100 miler in 4 weeks, in the same area... now that's going to be a kick in the pants. I'm glad that Pedro will be there doing the 100K, and other new friends I've made on the trails; it should be a good time.
And, there's always next year. Now that I've come so close to breaking the record, I feel an obligation to return - but more than that, I want to return for the race itself. It's a beautiful location, with just the right amount of ups and downs to keep it interesting and keep us runners rolling along. I'll definitely be back to see what happens next year, and hopefully we'll get a repeat of the ideal weather from this year's race.
Thanks to Jessica and to all the volunteers for a great race experience, and to Pedro for being great company out there, especially during the final stretch. Thanks to Jimmy Freeman and the Coyotes for being great inspirations and training partners - this group has a weird mix of taking their running seriously while having some serious fun doing it, and it's a pleasure to be a part of.
Anyway, that's it - hope to see you there next year!
Saturday, September 24, 2011
The strategy is... there is no strategy
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Dogs: They're on to me
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| Not all dogs can be as happy as this li'l guy |
How else would you explain the following?
Just a few days after my last post about fences that keep in yappy dogs, I had an encounter with one, except this guy didn't just yap. He growled, ran, and then bit.
His breed was of the Spuds Mckenzie fame; a bull terrier. He ran out of his owner's yard as I passed on the sidewalk in front of his house. The children who lived there were sitting out front having a yard sale, and I smiled at them as I ran by.
Then, I heard them start to yell: "No, Cody, NO!" followed by the unmistakable sound of a dog's growls, and nails on pavement...
Goddammit.
I jumped forward, hesitated, then shot forward again - my hesitation came from the brief wondering if the dog was only chasing me because I was running (I have known dogs such as these), but I quickly decided that running was the better option.
As I ran, he jumped and bit me on the leg. I say "bit", but really, it was more of a nip - literally less than a 1-inch puncture, and enough force to generate some nice bruises that would flower the next day. It was very, very minor.
It was enough to shake me, however - as I jogged a few more feet after the children had called the dog off, the Chihuahua at the next house saw me coming and ran to the fence, yapping... and well, I nearly jumped out of my skin (in fact, for the remained of the run I was very jumpy at the sound of any bark).
After that, I wasn't sure what to do. Really, I wanted to just go home, and was worried if I went back to the house that the dog would run at me again. After thinking a second further however, I knew I had to go back and at least talk with the dog's owners - they needed to know what had happened, and I needed to hear from them what they would do to make sure it would not happen again.
So, that's what I did - some people may think that was not enough, but I just was not comfortable reporting the dog to Animal Services based on the minor level of the encounter - it just hadn't been that serious, and while the dog had apparently been excited enough to take a snap at me, it withdrew pretty quickly and had seemed entirely spurned on by my running... once I stopped, he was no longer interested. All in all, I did not think he presented enough of a threat to report.
The incident has, however, made me consider what to do if actually attacked by a dog - it's one of those situations where you think you know what to do, but really don't.
So, here's the scoop - what to do if you have a run-in with an aggressive dog (the article was published on Good Morning America, and has similar recommendations as those of dog trainers who have also published advice online).
What To Do If You Encounter a Seemingly Aggressive Dog:
- Stand still. If you keep approaching, the dog will interpret this as an attack
- Don't make eye contact. This is a challenge to the dog
- Don't smile. The dog thinks you are "baring your teeth" at him. This is an invitation to fight.
- Wait for the dog's owner to come and restrain the dog
- Respect the dog's wishes! If the dog is barking and growling, he is expressing his definite displeasure with your actions. Don't push the envelope. Most dogs make good on their warnings!
- Don't move! You cannot outrun a dog, no matter how fast you are. Running only provokes an angry dog.
- Look away. Staring an aggressive dog in the eyes is a challenge.
- Use a soft, soothing tone of voice. Loud, angry-sounding words and screaming only spur on the dog.
- Keep your arms to your side, with your fingers curled in so the dog can't bite them.
- If he bites you, DO NOT PULL AWAY. This only spurs the dog on. Remain calm. Try to ram a stick, broom handle, etc down the dog's throat to make him gag and let you go. Don't hit the dog. Again, that just makes the situation worse.
- If you are on the ground, curl into a fetal position. Cover your head and neck. Lay perfectly still. Usually a still target is boring to the dog and they will retreat.
I hope this advice is helpful, but I'll admit the advice regarding "What to Do if You Are Attacked By a Dog" seems very hard to follow. Our natural instinct is to run, to fight back, and to yell; but this article (and other dog training articles online) tell us that those behaviors are not the best response.
Interesting stuff. I'll try my best to avoid any attacks in the future by slowing down if I hear a dog getting too aggressive, or not contained - usually I just run right by and hope for the best (as evidenced by my "Ode to the Fence" where I just HOPE that the fence will hold).
Now, I understand that hoping for the best isn't good enough - I've got to use my eyes and ears to make sure I don't get in the way of an aggressive dog. And yeah, it sucks that we have to worry about this, but it's better than getting "nipped" in the back of the leg... or worse!
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Ode to the Fence
I ran a really fun 8 miles tonight, but as usual it was made even more lively by all the yappy-snappy dogs that live in the neighborhood.
You know the dogs I mean - the ones that sit immobile on the porch or in the doorway, then come tearing out into their yards as you go by, barking as though you've got a lamb chop the size of their neighbor's cat tied around your neck and they're dead set on having it - and you - for their late-night snack.
There was one especially hair-raising instance of this tonight, and as I ran off, feeling the back of my neck tingling, I pondered the amount of faith we place in what seem like relatively innocuous structures: fences.
Then, I wrote a little ditty about it.
Ode to the Fence
Oh Mr. Tall Fence, please hold
When the fierce dog jumps, don't fold
Please hold.
Oh Mr. Tall Fence, please hold
Though he'll claw with his nails, be bold
and please hold.
He'll start his attack
With a launch from the back
And he'll charge for the rails
Leaving troughs with his nails
His teeth sharp and white
As I brace for the bite
I run even faster
And plead 'gainst disaster...
So Mr. Tall Fence, please hold -
Please hold.
When the fierce dog jumps, don't fold
Please hold.
Oh Mr. Tall Fence, please hold
Though he'll claw with his nails, be bold
and please hold.
He'll start his attack
With a launch from the back
And he'll charge for the rails
Leaving troughs with his nails
His teeth sharp and white
As I brace for the bite
I run even faster
And plead 'gainst disaster...
So Mr. Tall Fence, please hold -
Please hold.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
The runner stirs
I was going give this blog entry the decidedly uninspired title of "Update," but thankfully the title you see above crossed my mind next. It seemed a tad more fitting, given the recent inactivity of my inner runner.
I have not felt like a runner this week.
I have felt like... well, I have not been feeling a whole lot at all, except when the kids are around. During the day, I've been trying to stay focused less on feeling and more on doing, and what needs to be done. I even write notes to myself in case my mind wanders off and it needs to be refocused on specific tasks. Right now, on the pad to my left, is written the words "Your job today is to write articles." The sentence is in large letters, and underlined.
Under that, a smaller note says "File unemployement."
Last Friday, I lost my job. It was a surprise to me, though in retrospect I should have seen it coming. I should have been looking for another position some time ago, frankly, but instead I chose to work harder at doing an even better job in my existing position over finding a new post.
Ultimately, it was not to be, which is ok - though unpleasant, these things happen. But it does mean I've had to start looking for a new position immediately.
I am hopeful about my opportunities. What's more, I actually feel joyful not to be tethered to my last position anymore, for while there were many great people and benefits, the industry never really evoked as much passion in me as I would like.
By being released from that position, I feel like I am now free to make closer and closer approximations towards more true career goals.
But... back to the running. As I mentioned, I have not been feeling much like a runner... I have gone for short runs here and there, but nothing over 6 miles and probably no more than 12 miles total so far this week (YIKES!).
It's just hard to get out there for a quick run when there is so much to be done here at home. That said, I know we all have certain hobbies or activities that help keep our sanity and sense of balance; that provide a mental and physical break from other activities. For me, that is running... but of course, it's more than that.
It's also a reminder of who I am... what I love... what I'm here for. It reminds me of what's real, and takes my mind to what's important....
Family. Health. Happiness. Security. Living and loving with an open heart. Boldly and fiercely going in the direction of your dreams, and doing everything you can to achieve them.
I yearn to remember these things, to feel them.
My goal today is to continue writing articles - it says so on the pad on my left, you see - but if I accomplish what I need to there, I will take half the day tomorrow to run in the mountains under the sun.
It seems almost irresponsible to take half a day to do so, but the weekend will be be spent with the kids, with no breaks to be had... no, it must be tomorrow. Half a day to climb up ridges and skip over rocks. Half a day to sweat, trip, and stumble, to swat at flies and to dodge under branches. Half a day to run in my outdoor playground. Half a day to wake the runner within.
And then she can sleep again, when Monday comes, and the job hunt resumes in earnest... and for now, that is exactly as it must be.
I have not felt like a runner this week.
I have felt like... well, I have not been feeling a whole lot at all, except when the kids are around. During the day, I've been trying to stay focused less on feeling and more on doing, and what needs to be done. I even write notes to myself in case my mind wanders off and it needs to be refocused on specific tasks. Right now, on the pad to my left, is written the words "Your job today is to write articles." The sentence is in large letters, and underlined.
Under that, a smaller note says "File unemployement."
Last Friday, I lost my job. It was a surprise to me, though in retrospect I should have seen it coming. I should have been looking for another position some time ago, frankly, but instead I chose to work harder at doing an even better job in my existing position over finding a new post.
Ultimately, it was not to be, which is ok - though unpleasant, these things happen. But it does mean I've had to start looking for a new position immediately.
I am hopeful about my opportunities. What's more, I actually feel joyful not to be tethered to my last position anymore, for while there were many great people and benefits, the industry never really evoked as much passion in me as I would like.
By being released from that position, I feel like I am now free to make closer and closer approximations towards more true career goals.
But... back to the running. As I mentioned, I have not been feeling much like a runner... I have gone for short runs here and there, but nothing over 6 miles and probably no more than 12 miles total so far this week (YIKES!).
It's just hard to get out there for a quick run when there is so much to be done here at home. That said, I know we all have certain hobbies or activities that help keep our sanity and sense of balance; that provide a mental and physical break from other activities. For me, that is running... but of course, it's more than that.
It's also a reminder of who I am... what I love... what I'm here for. It reminds me of what's real, and takes my mind to what's important....
Family. Health. Happiness. Security. Living and loving with an open heart. Boldly and fiercely going in the direction of your dreams, and doing everything you can to achieve them.
I yearn to remember these things, to feel them.
My goal today is to continue writing articles - it says so on the pad on my left, you see - but if I accomplish what I need to there, I will take half the day tomorrow to run in the mountains under the sun.
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| The views and the setting that will be mine once more |
It seems almost irresponsible to take half a day to do so, but the weekend will be be spent with the kids, with no breaks to be had... no, it must be tomorrow. Half a day to climb up ridges and skip over rocks. Half a day to sweat, trip, and stumble, to swat at flies and to dodge under branches. Half a day to run in my outdoor playground. Half a day to wake the runner within.
And then she can sleep again, when Monday comes, and the job hunt resumes in earnest... and for now, that is exactly as it must be.
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. |
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