Lost Sierra 50K

Just east of the Sierra crest, about an hour north of Truckee, the tiny community of Graeagle played host to the first Lost Sierra50K Trail Run. Late September is a beautiful time for a race in the mountains, and as with most days this fall, this one turned out to be especially warm, sunny, and beautiful.

I hadn’t done any real training since before Hardrock, but I’d been getting out on the trails for a bit of fun. In spite of waning fitness, I knew I wanted to check out this new race that took place on trails I’d never seen. Am I glad I did!

Katie and Annie, bundled up and ready to be the awesome support crew.

I started out in my tank top, although most people were more protected against the chilly mountain air at that hour. I knew we'd spend the first several miles climbing and that it would warm up quickly. The challenge of being cold for 10 or 15 minutes is totally manageable when compared with the irritation of having a jacket or shirt tied around my waist until the first drop bag location.

After about a half mile of road, we moved quickly to singletrack.

The climb up Mills Peak was long, about 10 miles, but it was so gradual that I could run almost the entire way. We were in the trees the whole time, steadily gaining elevation. It was quite a nice way to begin the day.

Cruising along in the early miles. (Photo courtesy of Lost Sierra 50K)

I found myself running near this friendly runner for several miles...

She was clearly a local, and dropped information now and then about the trails, and what was coming up. I was totally unfamiliar with the area, so it was helpful to run with her. Once we hit the Mills Peak summit, she blazed the downhill and I ran on alone.

Mills Peak Fire Lookout

Spectators had been telling me I was 6th woman, but apparently some of the leaders were running the 14 mile race. Once I passed through their finish line, I suddenly found myself in third. 

Based on what I could tell of the map, it looked like a challenging course. That, coupled with the fact that I'd only been getting slower in the second half of my summer, led me to a guess of finishing between 6 and 7 hours. I felt like I was more or less on target for that, and I was having a blast!

"Free your mind and your ass will follow." Mountain bikers are so funny!

The scenery up at the higher elevations was spectacular: classic high Sierra. This also meant that the trails were quite technical, and progress was slow.

I found myself running alone for the entire second half of the race. I was thrilled to find such beautiful trails, and around every corner there was another reason to stop and snap a photo.
 

Peter Fain on his way to the 50K win.

I made the second big climb of the race, up Mt. Elwell. This climb was much shorter, but it was also steep, technical, and warm. Still, I enjoyed the hike and the solitude.

By the time I made my final descent to the finish, I was feeling pretty beat up from the terrain. My feet were sore, and I had trouble making use of the downhill. As I dropped in elevation, the temperature rose, and I was ready to find that finish line.

It appeared quite suddenly, and with little fanfare, I crossed in 6:44. Just about what I'd expected.

It turned out my friend Camille finished right behind me, and we stood around chatting a bit and sharing thoughts on the race with Annie, who'd finished sometime before I had. Eventually we all made our way to the finish festivities (Music and beer - the important things!) which were, oddly, about a ten minute walk down the road.
 

Truckee represent! Me, Camille, Annie, finishing 3rd, 4th, and 2nd respectively.

We spent an hour or so after the race kicking back on the lawn, cold Sierras in hand, listening to the band. They presented some nice schwag for age group winners, and I took home a bottle of wine for taking second. This struck me as hilarious, since Annie, who won our age group, was awarded a large Sierra. I'll take the wine over beer any day, thank you! (And it turned out to be quite a good bottle of wine, too.)

And, guess who else was there to make her racing comeback?

It's Betsy! Running strong and taking the age group win. It was awesome to run with her and see her healthy and happy.



The Lost Sierra 50K was the brainchild of Reno ultrarunner David Funk, who had been running these trails and saw the potential for a great event. (He was right!) He designed the course, and then approached the race organizers of the Downiville Classic mountain bike race, who did an awesome job of putting it together. It's also a fundraiser for the Sierra Buttes Trail Stewardship and the Graeagle Fire District. I can't see how they could have done a better job of pulling off a first time event.

Lost Sierra was a wonderful race on a beautiful course. It was well marked with plenty of aid stations, and friendly volunteers. A lot of Truckee and Reno locals showed up to check out the action, which gave it a great community feel. I would definitely recommend it for next year. I know I'll be back!

Way Too Cool 50K 2012

Nothing marks the beginning of the ulra season for me like the Way Too Cool 50K. If you live in another part of the country, I’m sure you have a similar race – the one where you finally see all your ultrarunning friends again after the hiatus of winter and its accompanying holiday binging. Cool is a big race – approximately 700 runners – and although I typically prefer fewer people, in this case that’s one of the draws. The excitement generated by seeing so many friends is a great way to start the year.

Jenelle and I carpooled down the hill together, and soon we were gathered in the start area with Jamie, Clare, Amy, and several hundred of our closest friends. Truthfully though, standing with those ladies before the gun was a great feeling. They are all fast, badass chicks who I know can push me to have a good race. Plus, they’re all super fun to run with!

My legs were still in pretty rough shape after Napa, and I could feel the soreness in my quads just walking around. I had run only easy, recovery miles in the previous six days, so taking off at 8-minute pace was a bit of a rude awakening for my legs. I knew I had put forth a truly hard effort at Napa and wasn’t nearly recovered, so my expectations for Cool were wide open. It would be nice to go under five hours and run a similar time to last year’s 4:56, but I also knew something like 5:30 might be in the cards. I was still pretty stoked about my new marathon PR and happy to accept whatever race I could muster at Cool.

I ran the first few miles with Jamie. That’s not typical for some reason, and it was a really nice way to feel relaxed about the fact that it was a race with a lot of fast people. Clare and Amy were just in front of us, and Jenelle, possessing the most leg speed of the group, took off out of sight. Jamie and I got caught up on life together before I eventually moved ahead on a downhill and kept my eyes glued to the back of Clare’s pink shirt in an attempt to stick with her.

Please do not mock my running form. My PT would laugh at this picture. But what the heck - I'm having a blast!

After about two miles, runners merge from the road onto singletrack. The landscape is marked by open, grassy hills dotted with broad, ancient oaks. We were still running in a long line of people both ahead and behind, but I felt the pace was right for me; I didn’t feel crowded or trapped. Shortly before the first aid station at mile eight I ducked into the bushes in a move that was to become a theme of this race for me, although this time it was just for a quick pee. This allowed a solid gap to open up between Clare and me, but I knew she was close and I worked on regaining my place.

After exiting the aid station, which is at the start/finish at the fire station, runners hit a nice, downhill singletrack heading toward the highway 49 crossing. I was flying down this technical section when I suddenly realized I really needed a bathroom. Like, NOW.

Have you ever run down the trail while squeezing your butt cheeks together in a desperate attempt not to soil yourself? Well, yeah, so have I. But doing it in a race, while trying to run fast? That’s a whole other level of challenge. Holy-moly, I thought I might die! I knew there was an outhouse at highway 49, so I just tried to hold myself together until then. Sadly, I had to slow my pace for this effort, but certain things are more important than being fast, you know?

Of course, the most horrific of nightmares ensued when I arrived at the Quarry Road trailhead outhouse at highway 49 and it was occupied. Gagh! Nevermind – I knew there was another port-a-potty about a quarter mile down the trail. No problem. I was sure I could make it.

Until I got there and it, too, was occupied.

I let the occupant in on my state with a bit of a door shake and a solid scream of frustration. I’m certain he appreciated that.

But wait for him to leave? It was a race! I was too freaked out by my own quandary, and my brain apparently had shut down because I made the huge mistake of running on down the trail, bathroom unused.

This section of the course, on Quarry Road, is quite wide open. No bushes. No trees. Just river to the left, and steep slope up to the right. No place with even a shred of privacy to do my business.

It only took a half mile before I knew that not stopping to wait for the outhouse had been a fatal error. I began to imagine the scenario if I crapped my pants. I can’t even write this without laughing hysterically, but at the time, I was near tears. It was sure to mean a DNF and an annihilation of my dignity.

Miraculously, I could see Clare and Jenelle ahead now, and I tried to focus on closing the distance. If I could just get my mind on something else, maybe the lack-of-bathroom situation wouldn’t seem so dire! Slowly, in my squeezing-the-butt-cheeks-shuffle, I came up behind them.

Just when I was close enough to say hello, I spied some picnic benches about a hundred yards off the trail. Could there be an outhouse near those benches??? It was hidden by a slight bend in the trail, but I was sure there must be. I sprinted off course to investigate. Hallelujah! I’m saved!

I must have spent at least five minutes in that outhouse. Maybe more. I could not have cared less about all the runners who, I knew, at that very moment, were flying by on the trail. I had found an empty outhouse and some toilet paper, and that was really all that mattered in life. Seriously. The race was over. I had won!

When I finally got back on the trail I wore a triumphant smile, but inside somewhere, I knew my body had not yet had its final say. What’re you gonna’ do though? I just kept running.

Turning up the American River Canyon Trail, we traveled my favorite miles of the course. Beautiful singletrack follows creek and waterfall, eventually connecting with the Western States Trail. Past the ALT aid station runners are treated to miles of smooth, runnable, and just slightly downhill singletrack. Heaven.

If it hadn’t been for my intestinal rumblings, that is.

One advantage of being familiar with the course was that I knew at this point there was no hope of a bathroom until the finish. I also knew the options for ducking into the bushes weren’t going to get much better. It required a sketchy scramble down a steep ravine to find any privacy, but, once again, what’re you gonna’ do? I was only worried that I might lose my balance and go tumbling down the hill through gobs of poison oak with my shorts around my ankles. Things could be worse than just a little upset stomach, right?

I had to make one final dash to the bushes to finally put an end to the drama. After each stop, I worked hard to catch back up to the same people. There’s the guy with the argyle arm warmers, the girl with the braids and green headband, the girl with the Urban Cow shirt. Every time. Same people. Was I even getting anywhere in this race?

Once I realized I had control over my bowels for good though, my attitude shot way up. Did I care that I had lost at least ten minutes to digestive issues? Nope. I really didn’t. I felt great, and I was no longer worried about finishing the race with diarrhea legs. (It’s the little things, you know?)

I was all smiles up Goat Hill, happily greeted Norm and Helen at the aid station, and had a blast pushing my pace to see if there was any possibility of catching up with any of the girls. I knew everyone had to be well in front of me at this point, but I figured I had nothing to lose by running hard the last eight miles.

I knew the last aid station was 1.4 miles from the finish, and I’d been keeping a close eye on the watch. I came through at 4:46, giving me 14 minutes to go sub-five – exactly 10 minute pace. Normally that would seem pretty doable at the end of a 50K, but I was also aware that those 1.4 were nearly all uphill miles. I ran straight through the aid station, knowing it would take a little effort to make it in under five hours.

I crossed the line in 4:59, ecstatic to see Jamie and Clare cheering me across the line. Jenelle and Amy had already gone to clean up. We'd all finished under five hours!

It may seem strange to feel good about a race where I had so many problems, but I can’t help feeling proud of myself. Given the post-Napa state of my legs, and the fact that I lost at least ten minutes to emergency bathroom breaks, I can hardly believe I was only three minutes slower than last year. The stakes were not high for me at Way Too Cool, and I figure if I was going to have a race with such issues, this was a good time to have it.

Recovery beverages and frog cupcakes in the lounge.

Afterwards, Jenelle, Jamie and I kicked back in the Patagonia “Recovery Lounge.” Oh yeah – Patagonia knows how to recover in style, with plenty of sofas and a keg. It was a perfect place to enjoy our frog cupcakes! Jenelle and I entertained ourselves when we found a copy of the latest Ultrarunning Magazine and searched out all our names on various top-100 lists for the year. I already knew that I train with some hardcore ladies, but I’m glad to see the rest of the ultrarunning world knows it, too.

Thanks and congratulations to RD Julie and everyone who worked hard to put on this fabulous event. It makes a perfect start to the season, and seems to get better every year!

Jamie and I had also planned to ski the day after the race, because who doesn't what to follow up back-to-back race weekends with a little tele skiing for recovery? We'd been picturing spring corn and t-shirt weather, and this is what we got. It was awesome anyway!

 

Perspectives from the Auburn Trails 34 Miler

It was late afternoon, and the sound of the rain on the roof kept increasing in volume. I stretched out on my yoga mat, my back to the floor and legs straight up the wall. After six and a half hours of running that day, it was exactly where I wanted to be.

“I want to start with this pose today so that we can all think about turning things upside down a little,” the instructor explained in a voice like a soothing blanket.

Immediately, that Jack Johnson song, “Upside Down,” popped into my head. (I’m good at finding stillness in my body during yoga, but stillness in the mind still eludes me.)

The teacher asked us to try accepting things as they were. “Don’t fight adversity,” he said, “instead try to look at things from a different perspective. Sometimes that’s the only part of a situation you can control.”

I think he was referring to the endless winter, which has caused no shortage of grumbling around here recently. I’m not entirely sure though, since while he was talking, I was still singing in my head and trying to remember what came after the line “Who’s to say, I can’t do everything? Well I can try.”

Anyhow, both the song and the advice to accept difficult things rather than fight them summed up my day rather well. Circumstances weren’t exactly ideal, but the Auburn Trails 34 Miler had been absolutely brilliant!

Friday morning before race day, I awoke with a sore throat. With Western States just three weeks away, I met the situation with a heavy sense of doom. However, three weeks could be plenty of time to recover from something minor. Suddenly the prospect of running for 34 miles in the rain didn’t sound like such a wise idea. What if I gave myself pneumonia? Then again, what if I was just suffering from drama-queen-taper-paranoia? The whole dilemma just depressed me. I put the option of skipping the race on the table, and headed to bed early and undecided.

The sore throat was still with me in the morning, but no other nasty symptoms had manifested. In fact, mentally I felt great and couldn’t imagine going back to bed and not running that day. The idea didn’t sound like any fun at all. (Know what did sound like fun? Running. In the rain.)

At the start in Auburn, I had some clothing decisions to make. I had recently received a sweet little blue Power Peak Jacket from Columbia – a waterproof breathable number that I’d yet to really put to the test. It was a little much for running I thought: No matter how breathable a jacket is, if it’s waterproof, it never seems to keep up with the sweat rate of a high-octane run. However, I knew I wouldn’t be running too hard that day, (This was merely a last long training run before beginning my taper.) and I was really tired of being cold and wet in my non-waterproof windbreakers on my runs. (Remember that endless winter thing?) Plus, if I was going to protect myself from a full blown illness, it wouldn’t do well to be cold and shivering all day. So I went with the jacket. It was the first of a couple of smart moves that ensured I had a great day.

The race started at the Overlook Park in Auburn, headed down to No Hands Bridge, and then did two laps on a modified Olmstead Loop before returning across the bridge and finishing back at the park. The rain came down steadily as Robert implored us to depart the shelter of a large oak and gather at the starting line. I said hi to a few friends before finding Donald, and we headed down the hill together with a small group of intrepid runners.

I had figured Donald and I might be a good match for running together that day since we would both be taking it easy, so when I lost him a few miles into the first downhill, I was disappointed. We cruised down from Robie Point along the Western States Trail, and I couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to run this trail in the opposite direction, the last few miles of Western States,  in just a few weeks time. Or, um, hike it, as the case may be. It was pretty fun to let myself get excited.

After crossing No Hands, the course headed steeply up the training hill, also known as K2. It was a good steady hike – the kind where I usually feel strong and pass people. So it was a pleasant surprise when a familiar voice from behind asked if I knew the joke about the clownfish and the sea anemone. (Well, of course I did.) Donald had caught up!

Now I had my running partner with me, and I figured we may as well stick together. That was my second smart move of the day.

As it became apparent that the rain did not intend to let up, I became more and more grateful for that jacket. My favorite feature turned out to be a little snap at the sternum that allows you to run with the entire thing unzipped for ventilation but prevents it from flapping all around like Superman’s cape. With that and the pit zips opened, I had great breathability! Later in the day I got a little colder and zipped everything back up, which worked out to be excellent temperature regulation.

The little blue jacket that could.

The Olmstead Loop looked pretty green for this time of year, and wild flowers were still out in subtle waves of color. It was also awfully wet and more than a little muddy. We splashed along across meadows and past broad oaks. We went for long periods without seeing anything but grass and flowers and trees. Mostly, it didn’t feel like a race at all, and that was just fine with me. I couldn’t help smiling. Is there much better than a long, rainy day of stomping through mud puddles with a friend?

We talked about training and time commitments, reading and writing books, family, past and future adventures, Catcher in the Rye, shoes, and rabbits that poop jelly beans. 

You know – the important things.

On our second lap, the puddles and streams were clearly wider and deeper, the mud more plentiful. I didn’t worry about hurrying through the pond-sized puddles; I splashed joyously. I turned to swing my leg, aiming a spray of muddy water at Donald. Hey! Where was he? Undoubtedly he'd been held up by some photography mission, craftily escaping my ambush. I just kept splashing along, confident he would catch up eventually.

The return hike up to Robie Point was a breeze. I barely felt like I had even run. I suppose that’s an appropriate situation for someone who will be running 100 miles pretty soon here.

The finish area was quiet when we strolled in, the rain not being very conducive to socializing I suppose. I was ready to get into some dry clothes, while my running partner still had business to take care of. What do you call it when an ultrarunner doesn’t find an untramarathon to be long enough and needs to keep running? Ultra-ultrarunning? I know what some people would call it, but I’d say tenacity is the best word. Donald still needed 16 miles to complete his planned 50 for the day. A few minutes after we crossed the line he was strapping on his hydration pack and heading back out on the trail. Damn, that man has heart. (He’s also a glutton for punishment, but I think that’s probably a good thing since he’s training for the TRT 100 this summer.)

This whole day can be described in one word for me: Fun. Circumstances which could have made for a very bad day turned out not to be challenges at all. I was very lucky to have a friend to share the miles with, and some of my fun surely came from turning the world upside down.

“I wanna turn the whole thing upside down. I'll find the things they say just can't be found. I'll share this love I find with everyone. We’ll sing and dance to Mother Nature’s songs.” 

Oftentimes, finding the fun in a situation is all about perspective.

I am incredibly grateful to Robert, Linda and their team for braving the rain all day to put this event on for us. It got me out on a solid run which surely would have been much shorter without all the support. Thank you!!  

Silver State 50K - 2011

The Silver State 50/50 races always seem to find their way into the perfect high-volume training time in my spring schedule. It doesn't hurt that the starting line is only a 30 minute drive from my home in Truckee, but the real reasons to hit these races are the beautiful trails, high-desert scenery, and running friends.

With Sarah at the start.

I opted for the 50K version this year, instead of the 50 mile race. Given my lack of any sort of taper and the underlying fatigue still remaining from Miwok, I am thankful that I made this choice. I was thankful at many points during the race, too!

I planned to take it fairly easy since it was only to be a training run, and things went fairly well in that department. I met up with Sarah at the start, and my only concern for the day was what to wear. I've had incredible luck with weather at the races so far this year, but this day's forecast called for rain. Since I'd be running at a casual pace, I was a little concerned about being cold. I'd also been up on the mountain a few days earlier and it had been frigid and insanely windy. I decided to forgo my usual race-day tank and opted instead for the Waldo shirt and a pair of lavender arm warmers. Paranoia induced clothing - yes - but it worked out for me. Plus, Gordy said he liked my outfit, so I may have to keep this one around.

Before the start, I ran into Jennifer Benna, whom I had met at Miwok a few weeks prior. Let's pause in the race report for a moment to talk about Jennifer.

This woman blows me away. She has a 7-month-old, just finished Miwok in 11 hours, and then two weeks later put down Silver State in 5:20. That impresses me beyond explanation. I know there are a lot of great performances out there, but to see someone so strong right after pregnancy is a beautiful thing. She'll be toeing the line at TRT 100 later this summer, and I can't wait to see what she does!

I enjoyed the first climb, while reminding myself that I needed to take it easy. I watched Jennifer pull ahead of me up the hill and felt no need to try and keep contact. The pace felt right.

The biggest thing I noticed this year was that the 50K is a lot shorter than the 50 miler. I know, right? Crazy. I just came up to Micheline's Ranch Creek Aid Station so darn fast, I was almost disappointed that I hadn't entered the 50 mile race. But by the time I hit mile 20 and the Summit Aid Station at Peavine, I had changed my mind about that. I could feel the fatigue from all the training, and I was thankful that A) I had taken it easy, and B) I only had 11 miles to go.

I tried to simply stay relaxed on the long downhill to the finish. After a few light sprinkles in the morning, the day had cleared beautifully and I found myself simply enjoying my surroundings. Yes, I was tired, but the birds were singing, the trails were good, and my legs were strong.

I had figured 6 hours would be an appropriate time for a relaxed run on a course like this, so I was perfectly happy to cross the line in 5:44. Sarah came trotting in right behind me in 6 hours, totally glowing from her first 50K. Yeah, Sarah! You're an ultrarunner now, girl!

I stretched out happily in the sunshine, coke in hand, and cheered finishers across the line. Peter Fain had won the 50K in 4:15, with Jen Pfeifer taking the women's win in 4:52. Tim Olson looked relaxed as he crossed the line in the 50 Mile race for the win in 7:16, while Joelle Vaught was first woman in 7:54. (Complete Results) Also, Joelle and the Idaho contingent definitely took the carpool award this year. Nice job, ladies!

Thanks to the Silver State Striders and everyone involved in putting this event together. It has really become an excellent race, and I think that's reflected in the high level of competition that it's attracting. Great job, everyone!