Tahoe Rim Trail 100, 2010

I’ve often thought that writing and running are complimentary pursuits in my life—both essential parts of holding my world together. After writing my last blog post, and subsequently running the race I was pondering, I am more certain than ever that these two activities come together for me with a result that is more than just the sum of their parts. Using writing to explore my goals and thoughts going into this race is almost certainly what allowed me to have a wonderful and rewarding experience during a hot day on a difficult course. Feeling grounded in my goals and intentions gave me something to focus on when things got tough during the race.

In the weeks leading up to the race I had a few conversations with friends about the strength of the ultra running community, and how we enjoyed being part of it. It had me thinking a lot about what I love about trail running—what I’ve gotten out of it and what I hope to accomplish. I never felt a stronger sense of the running community than I did at this race, on this day.

Donald, me, Olga and George, ready for a big day

It started Friday night with a small gathering of runners at my house for dinner. I love it when runners come together from far and wide to hang out, and it’s especially nice when we can take some time together outside of the race to socialize. It was a perfect pre-race distraction for me.

100 mile chicks!

Saturday morning I arrived at the start a bit earlier than strictly necessary, but it turned out to be yet another great opportunity to say hi to a number of friends I knew I wouldn’t see once we started running. I was excited but not nervous, as we headed off into the dark towards Marlette Lake.

Racer and wingman, pre-race

Is it just me, or am I the only one on the starting line letting loose with a huge belly laugh? Catherine must have been saying something pretty funny!

I ran a few miles with Kathy D’Onofrio, until I realized that her pace was too fast for me and I had to let her go. After that I ran for a while with Mark Tanaka, who is clearly also too fast for me. Unfortunately, I failed to recognize this because he is such an entertaining person to run with. By the time I left Tunnel Creek at mile 11, I was well aware that I needed to slow things down or be very sorry.

As I headed down into the Red House Loop I noticed my stomach was upset, and I really started to worry. Had I made a mess of things already? I was forced to duck into the woods for an emergency bathroom stop with nothing but thimbleberry leaves for TP. I was feeling pretty bummed, and I knew that was a bad way to feel this early in the race.


At the bottom of Red House I took a mental break to assess my situation. The last thing I wanted was to feel depressed about things already, so I made up my mind not to. I made a plan to slow down, eat some food, and get some salt caps from my drop bag at Tunnel Creek. I gave myself a pep-talk and decided that I needed to enjoy myself, no matter what the day might bring. All of this helped me feel much better.

On the way out of Red House, there is a short stretch where you share the trail with runners headed out. It was on this section of steep climbing that I saw nearly everyone I knew in the 50M and 50K races on their way down, and was even greeted by a few anonymous blog readers. Seeing all those smiling faces, getting all those hugs and hellos, was absolutely the highlight of my day. It was exactly the mental boost that I needed, and if you were one of those people you need to know how important you were to my day. Thank you!

At Tunnel Creek my weight was down three pounds already, from 133 to 130. I simply incorporated the information into my plan to take care of myself. All the way to Diamond Peak I concentrated on salt and hydration.

Turning down the new section of the course that headed towards the mile-30 aid station at Diamond Peak Lodge, I checked my watch and realized I might arrive as much as an hour earlier than planned. Would Donald, my one-man crew/pacer team even be there yet? It’s not that I couldn’t have survived without him, but there’s something very comforting about knowing someone is there waiting for you. I was looking forward to the support of someone just asking me what I needed and cheering me on. When I rounded the corner into the parking lot to see my Subaru parked there, I smiled with relief. Donald was somewhere on the other side of the lodge waiting for me. Yes!

Rounding the corner into the Diamond Peak Aid Station

Part of the new course includes a departure from Diamond Peak that leads the runner straight up the ski slope to the ridge. I referred to this section affectionately as the “Hill from Hell” or the “Cliffs of Insanity!” It was simply brutal. No fun at mile 30, I knew it would be unbearable at mile 80.

Looking back down the steep, sandy climb as runners trudge up

The twenty miles back to the Start/Finish transition went reasonably well. I spent the whole time focused on hydration and nutrition, and every time I got on the scale and it said 134 I gave myself a big high-five. I fought the heat with a bandanna full of ice on my back, and a cup of ice in my sports bra at every aid station. The volunteers, particularly the men, were amused every time I dumped ice down my top, (especially when I squealed) but no one made fun of me. They all knew I was being smart.

Following the ribbons on the TRT

Back over Marlette Peak

Approaching the Snow Valley Peak Aid Station at mile 43

Friends greeted me at the 50 mile station at the Start/Finish and helped me with my food and water as Donald got ready to join me. Seeing all those people, I again felt overwhelmed by the awesome community around me. I tend to get a little giddy at the aid stations because it’s just so cool to have all those people cheering. I was told by many people after the race how good I looked at various aid stations. It’s ironic since I was struggling physically most of the day, but I’m sure it’s because I was enjoying myself in spite of feeling crummy. I’m really not such a goofball during the miles in between aid stations. I’m pretty sure.

Meghan and I do a little jig together as I come into mile 50.

Weighing-in alongside Kathy. 134! High-five!

As Donald and I headed off on lap #2, I couldn’t help but compare how I felt now to how I felt at this same point during my race in 2008. It was obvious to me that I felt decidedly worse this time around. I’d run about 30 minutes faster for 50 miles on a harder course on a hotter day, so it wasn’t too surprising. Still, my training had been much better this time around, so I held on to the faith that it would get me through.

Heading towards Marlette Lake for the second time that day.

Having Donald as my pacer was a circumstance that turned out to be nothing short of perfect. It might seem odd, since on the surface it would appear that we didn’t know each other well. As I said to him in the weeks before the race, we’d only spent about 30 minutes ever in each other’s presence, and for at least half of that (during his Western States run last year) he was in danger of puking all over me. Possibly not an auspicious beginning to a friendship, but ultra running is funny that way. He’s written enough blog posts that made me think, Whoa, this guy is looking inside my brain and putting words to my own thoughts, that I knew it was going to work out just fine. When he volunteered for the job, I jumped at the chance.

My friend Betsy once gave me advice on finding a good pacer, and she recommended having someone you respect and trust, someone you’ll listen to, but not someone you know well enough that you’ll argue with him or get irritated. With that description, I knew I had the perfect pacer in Donald.

I was excited to play tour guide on my favorite trails, and I busied myself by explaining the course to Donald, and pointing out flowers and views and things he really didn’t need me to point out.

When we landed at Tunnel Creek for my fourth time, I decided it was time to have some blister issues taken care of. They’d been bugging me all day, and frankly I needed a good excuse to sit down.

Jenny, Andy and JoAnn tackle my disgusting feet.

The amazing Tunnel Creek crew took great care of me, as usual. Andy and JoAnn expertly dealt with my blisters, then Jenny and Donald cleaned my feet and put my shoes and socks back on. I was reminded of watching Nikki Kimball’s crew at Western States last year and thinking what a rock star she was to have an amazing crew like that. Here I was now with my own rock star crew! I was only disappointed that no one took a picture of Jenny and Donald cleaning the dirt from between my toes. I thought it was great! I was enjoying myself so much in fact, (acting like a goofball again) that one of the volunteers asked me if I was on drugs.

“You know,” I responded, “I think I might be!” Running is kind of a drug, right?

Have you ever seen people with two such goofy grins heading into the Red House Loop? Complete dorks--both of us!

As the evening wore on, my physical state slowly deteriorated. Somehow though, almost magically, I felt great mentally. We shared stories, Donald kept me laughing with corny jokes, and on the Cliffs of Insanity! we stopped several times to turn off our lights and check out the stars. (It had nothing to do with needing a rest, I assure you!) It was good stuff, for sure.

Back at Tunnel Creek one last time. I can't fathom why I'm still smiling.

The hardest part of the night came somewhere after 4:00 AM. I kept thinking I was feeling dizzy or something when it finally occurred to me what was going on: I was incredibly sleepy! I became so sleepy in fact, that I began nodding off while running, and swerving all over the trail. I kept shaking my head, trying to wake myself back up, but I had to do it every three or four seconds. This went on for hours. All I wanted was to sleep, just to sit down for a few minutes and nod off. I knew of course, that it probably wouldn’t help, and so did Donald, but he indulged me once or twice and let me sit down. If it weren’t for him though, I probably would have curled up at the side of the trail and slept for hours. I’m no good at sleep deprivation.

Sunrise

Taking a 60 second nap in the middle of the trail

I’d heard plenty of stories from other runners of having hallucinations on trail. Since I hadn’t experienced anything like that during my other 100 in 2008, I figured I just wasn’t a hallucinator. Boy was I wrong! I’d been seeing things that weren’t really there a little bit all day, but in these wee hours of a sleep-deprived morning, it all became completely unreal. I entertained myself by watching houses and buildings and cars and people that I knew weren’t really there turn themselves back into trees and rocks. It’s really fascinating the scenes the human brain can concoct in such a depleted state.

Since I was well aware that none of it was real, I didn’t say much to Donald. When I did point out a little black dog that turned into a tree stump, I think his response was something like, “Boy, you’re really going through it, aren’t you?” I wasn’t sure if he was laughing at me or freaked out. I refrained from pointing anything unusual out to him after that.

In those last ten miles, my brain and emotions were all over the place. I kept reminding myself of the goals I’d written up before the race, and that’s what kept me from falling apart mentally. The few moments when the pain and the sleepiness were so hard that I was overwhelmed and I thought “I just want to be done with this,” I immediately put the brakes on that thought. I remembered to acknowledge what I was feeling and accept it as part of the experience. I remembered not to fight it. I’d been looking forward to this race for so long, I didn’t want to wish any of it away, not even the worst, most painful parts. I breathed deeply, took pride in how far I had come, enjoyed the presence of a friend, and kept moving down the hill with painful, little steps.

I already knew, as I made my way around Spooner Lake in the last mile, that I was happy with my race and proud of myself. I’d made a few mistakes early on, but I’d been smart and kept it together for most of the day and night; I’d stayed positive throughout the race. I think that, most of all, is what I really feel good about.

Physically, I felt much worse than I think I should have, and it was a very hard race for me starting early in the day. After my pep talk at the bottom of Red House though, I never felt down or disappointed with how things were going. I just remembered my goal of accepting my best effort without judgment. I knew I was giving my best effort, and that allowed me the freedom to enjoy myself, the freedom to let go of everything else outside of the run itself.

Andrew surprised me by being at the finish line, and the race officials surprised me by telling me I was the third woman.

“Third?” I sputtered in confusion. “But what happened to all those women in front of me?”

A woman standing nearby raised her eyebrows and hands and said quietly, “They all dropped like flies.”

I guess that’s the way it goes sometimes on a hard course on a hot day. The finish rate for the 100 was 56%. Ouch.

This race was so challenging for me, I’m not sure I’ll be back to the 100 mile distance. I said the same thing in 2008 though, so I’m certainly not saying I won’t be back. A runner passed me in the last few miles, being paced by Rob Evans. Rob told us as he ran by that he loved being a pacer this year. (He ran the 100 last year.) I told him I was seriously keeping that option in mind for next year, and I am!

I can’t express enough gratitude to all the people involved in this race. Everyone from the directors and the volunteers, the other runners, my pacer/crew, to the friends and family cheering on the sidelines. A special community indeed—this race is where I have felt it the most. Thank you!

Return to Diablo

Week number three in my “race every weekend in April” extravaganza brought me back to that hot, hellish, yet beautiful mountain known as Diablo. In thinking about why this race has gotten so popular, (both the marathon and 50 miler sold out this year) I concluded that it must be the challenging course, beautiful scenery and strong sense of camaraderie present at this race. Whatever the reason, it seems to draw a good percentage of the ultra-runners in Northern California (and beyond!) When I scanned the list of entrants a week before the race, I was excited to see many familiar names. I think it was the pleasure of these friendships, and new ones made on the trail, that made this year at Diablo special.

The weekend began when Prudence and I piled in my trusty Forester and headed down the hill from Tahoe on Saturday morning. Even in Truckee it was hot, and I had to change into shorts to be comfortable for the drive. This did not bode well for the next day’s temperatures at Diablo! We planned to stay at a hostel in Marin—still a bit of a drive from the starting line, but beautiful, affordable, and with an abundance of trails on which to spend Saturday afternoon.

On the drive down we planned the future of trail running in Tahoe. (Ask Prudence about her future RD duties!) We got pretty excited about ideas for some upcoming adventures, and soon enough we were in Marin, where it was about 20 degrees cooler.

As planned, our late afternoon run on the Coastal Trail through the Marin Headlands was a perfect answer to the stiffness of the long drive. I made the mistake of letting Prudence take the lead, and was reminded of one of the things that makes her such a wicked fast runner: she’s a killer on the downhills! Even though she was taking it easy, I still couldn’t keep up with her down those hills. Fortunately for me the terrain was rolling, and I enjoyed a fun game of pushing the uphills to close the gap that would inevitably re-open on the next downhill. We spent the rest of the afternoon stretching out, and cooking dinner in the vast kitchen of the hostel.

The first challenge of the weekend came at 5:00 am Sunday morning when we discovered that someone had parked their car and blocked us into the parking lot. We freaked, naturally. We had no way to get back into the hostel, nor any knowledge of whose car it was even if we could. Desperate, I finally set off a car alarm. That awoke a rather grumpy hosteller, who grudgingly stumbled out into the dark to move his car. We had no sympathy for him, but we were relieved nonetheless. We were running late, but we knew we would make it. Disaster averted!

We eventually parked the car at the Mitchell Canyon trailhead at 6:40. We had both been hoping to arrive by 6:15, not only to keep things feeling relaxed, but also to socialize with friends we might not get to see once the race started. Instead, we found ourselves rushing to check-in and get to the start on time.

As the crowed of runners headed toward the start, I heard someone call my name. I was excited to see Leslie, and to finally meet Keith.

“Your race report from Diablo last year is what convinced me to come this year!” Keith declared.

“Oh God!” I was slightly mortified. “You actually read that comedy of errors?” We laughed and enjoyed a shared enthusiasm for the potential of the day ahead.


Leslie and Keith

The race began, and we set off up the hill into the light of the rising sun. The trail turned to single track and the colorful ribbon of runners wrapped smoothly up and around the lush hillside. The air was still comfortable, but a warm breeze whispered of the torrid day to come.

Early miles of uphill single-track (photo courtesy of Sean Stephenson)

We had to limit ourselves to the pace of the runners ahead, and I was content with this. We ran some of the hill, but walked much of the steeper sections. I felt like I was moving at the right pace, and enjoyed the company of other runners. As I pulled out my camera for a photo, I noticed not only the runner in front of me doing the same, but several runners ahead Rick Gaston was also going for the photo-op. I couldn’t resist the urge to heckle such a display of paparazzi! (I hope you know it was just me teasing, Rick!)

During the week preceding this race, I had been learning to play “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” on the guitar. I’m here to tell you that nothing gets a song stuck in your head like learning to play it on the guitar. Even with an easy song such as this, by the time I have it dialed, I’ve played it so many times that I don’t ever want to hear it again. Even worse—with this particular song I don’t know the words all that well, thus I found myself plodding up the slopes singing in my head, “I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known. Don’t know where it goes, but it’s only me and I walk alone.” Then all I can recall after that is the part that goes, “I walk alone I walk alone, I walk alone I walk alone.” Sort of an inauspicious refrain to loop through one’s brain on a long, hot trail run. Fortunately, it did not turn out to be an omen of any sort.

We moved off the single track and on to the dirt road, and this allowed a pleasant amount of socializing as runners variously passed one another and grouped up. I ran a bit with Scott from Sacramento, who was running his first trail marathon, and exchanged speculations with others about whether today would be as hot as last year’s race.

I heard my name posed as a question, as a tall runner came up beside me. It was a familiar face, but one that I had yet to meet in person.

“Donald!” I declared in delight, as he smiled his affirmation. I have been an admirer of Donald’s blog for some time now, and it was one of the bigger disappointments of my rushed morning that I had been forced to cross “find Donald and say hi” off my pre-race checklist. This serendipitous trail meeting however, more than made up for it. I resisted the urge to greet him with a hug on the run, visualizing the trip-and-crash into the dirt that it would inevitably cause. (I thought that might leave a bad first impression.) We shared a few minutes running together, exchanging training and racing tales, before his faster pace moved him ahead up the hill.

Donald and Rick--still fresh and full of smiles! (photo courtesy of Sean Stephenson)


About this time I met a couple from Calgary, running the 50 mile event.

“So,” I hesitated, “This is going to sound kind of dumb. I mean, I don’t really think that everyone in Canada knows each other or anything, but do you guys know Leslie?”

“Oh yeah! She only lives about 45 minutes away.” came the response. (Whew, they didn’t think I was stupid for asking!) “Anyway,” the woman went on, “I think wherever Leslie goes, she immediately gets to know everyone within a 5 mile radius.” And we all proceeded to espouse the various brilliant aspects of Leslie—her friendliness, adventurous spirit, awesome blog, etc. Yeah, we think she’s pretty darn cool.

By this time, people had sorted themselves into their various positions and paces on the trail, and I found that I was still running with the guy who had been in front of me the entire way up the initial single-track. This guy turned out to be Sean Stephenson, and we would share our entire day at Diablo together. I walked plenty, yes, but I did not walk alone.


The buffet at Juniper (photo courtesy of Sean Stepehnson)


After the first aid station at Juniper Campground, I found a faucet under which to soak my head. It was heaven! I made use of this technique numerous times throughout the day to keep cool.


Donald makes his way down from the summit as I head up.


I hit the summit feeling good, and on the way back down all the nearby runners were full of enthusiasm.

Trip #1 to the top!


“Wow, everyone’s mood just skyrocketed!” one runner observed.

Kiera, from Laguna Nigel, was running the 50, and I think she alone contributed about 80 percent of the surrounding energy. She was so positive and friendly! That kind of thing is just contagious, and we all enjoyed picking our way down the trail together.

After the 50 milers made their turn off, it was just Sean and me again. We took a lot of time for pictures and exchanging tidbits of our lives. This was Sean’s second trail marathon (his first was this same race last year) and he was considering making the foray into the world of ultras. I assured him that this race was probably harder than most 50K’s out there.


Views, flowers and endless down hills.


Sean had spent time as a teacher in the Ukraine, and we exchanged philosophies on education until a missing trail marker forced us to focus on more immediate issues. Several other folks were running in circles at this junction, unsure of where to go, when finally someone who knew the course well arrived and led us forward with a very confident, “It’s this way!” We obediently chased after him, a pack of lemmings down the precipice.


"Ooh, ooh! It went this way! Follow me!"


Somewhere on the approach to Rock City the pack of three lead men came by in the opposite direction. Shortly thereafter, Prudence came bouncing up the trail looking strong. We cheered her briefly, then made bets about whether she’d take the overall win. I certainly didn’t bet against her!

We blew through the Rock City aid station without stopping since we knew we’d be back there in a mile and a half. We made the turn around for the marathon runners, and refueled back at the aid station. I was still feeling good, which was fortunate since we were about to start the long climb to the summit for the second time that day. By this time Sean and I had reached an unspoken agreement to run together, and this fact dawned on me when I automatically checked for his presence before departing the aid station. Water? Check! GU? Check! Sean? Check! And we were off!

Last year I finished the marathon in about 6:30 and Sean had finished in about 6:20. We were both hoping for about a 6 hour finish this year, and I began to check my watch to see if we would be close. I told him I thought we would need a minimum of 90 minutes for that last 8 miles from the summit to the finish line. As soon as I said it, I realized that I was almost certainly underestimating the time it would take. (I was.)

The day sizzled on, and we kept a steady hike up the sun-drenched slopes. The intermittent shade provided little respite, as it was packed with swarms of gnats that were only too happy to fly into any bodily orifice available. Yuck! Still, it was great to have someone with whom to share a laugh over the irony.

Upon reaching the summit for the second time, my spirit soared, but my stomach wasn’t quite as happy. The idea of forcing down any more GU’s was just unpleasant, but I persisted in sucking them down in spite of the fact that the only flavor available was chocolate. Ugh! I purposefully slammed a quantity of water and coke at the aid station, knowing that 8 miles in this heat was a long way to go with only two small water bottles. Almost as an afterthought, I popped two salt caps, and I’m quite certain that was the key to improving the state of my stomach. Twenty minutes later it felt 100% better.


Trip # 2 to the top


I recalled this last stretch of the race as being by far the worst. I guess that’s true with any marathon, but Diablo reserves a special hell for those who hit the wall. It’s 8 miles of technical downhill, with just a bit of uphill thrown in for fun. After a day full of pounding the quads, we had to negotiate some downhill switchbacks so steep and loose that we were forced into a treacherous and careful walk. I had checked my watch at the summit and saw that we had only 85 minutes left if we wanted to finish in 6 hours. I knew it was a lost cause, and I happily forgot about looking at my watch from that point on. We would run what we would run.

At some point it became clear that Sean was falling behind, and I kept pausing to make sure I could hear his footsteps in the distance. I forced some clif blox on him, and inquired about his water supply. He said he still had a little, but I didn't totally believe him. His footsteps became more and more distant, and eventually I couldn’t hear him at all. Suddenly, in this barren heat, I felt quite alone. “I walk alone, I walk alone…(Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ahaa…)” I contemplated my choices. I knew Sean wouldn’t begrudge me the need to finish at whatever pace was comfortable for me. However, I’d already had a brilliant workout, and a beautiful, fun day, and much of that was due to the shared experience of having a running partner. It just didn’t seem worth giving that up in order to finish 10-20 minutes faster. When I reached the creek at the bottom, I decided to take my time soaking my head in the icy water and make my way to the finish with Sean.

It's worth noting that this kind of thing generally goes against my nature. I love running with others, but when it comes to racing, I'm a competitor. I can't help it. I like setting goals and pushing myself to achieve them. I suppose since I already felt at peace with the fact that I certainly wasn't going to run 6 hours that day, it was easier that I would have thought to let go of the competitive mindset.





We meandered down the trail, which had now become smoother and less technical, and I have to admit, it was somewhat refreshing not to be in a hurry. We startled a small flock of wild turkeys, (which was very startling to me!) and tried to catch a snapshot of a coyote as it loped across the grass. I wondered if this was the same coyote that I had spotted at this point in the trail last year. I felt like he had come out just to say hello.

A loquacious turky bolts into the bushes.


Somewhere close behind, Sean called out, “You are really wonderful!” I smiled, and knew I had made the right call in not blazing down to the finishline solo. I challenge you to find anyone who doesn’t absolutely light up when told, quite sincerely—especially at the end of a long, difficult trail run—that she is wonderful.



We were all smiles as we crossed the finish line, and per usual, I immediately donned my flip flops and headed to the food table. I got the recap from Prudence on her race: She finished fifth overall and first female, in spite of some frustrations with getting lost numerous times. The three of us sat with our feet soaking in the creek and happily sucked down pizza and coke, as runners continued to finish.

Although this was only my second Diablo, I think this race has earned a special place in my heart. Maybe it’s a bit of one of those twisted, love-hate relationships—the kind where you keep returning to the boyfriend who has treated you badly at times, but you can’t help it because there are also so many wonderful things about him, and you've shared so many poignant experiences. Last year’s race was an epic adventure for me. This year was equally tough and even more rewarding, but in a much different way. I accomplished a few big things, namely finishing a tough course. I also managed not to get lost (unlike last year) and had a more social day on the trails than I can recall in recent years. I happily left my ipod in my pocket all day.

Prudence and I prepare to head home after a long day.


Thanks to everyone out there who made this day so awesome: the volunteers, Sarah and Wendell, and most especially to all the awesome runners sharing the trail with their upbeat attitudes!

Silver State 50

Now that school is out and the mountain of papers is graded, I have a chance to re-visit my weekend at the Silver state 50 miler in Reno. Just in time to avoid the backlog of race reports too, since Auburn Trails 50K is this Sunday!

The week before the Silver State 50/50 unfolded with a few inauspicious events. For one thing, the forecast was predicting temperatures in the 90s in Reno. After running Diablo under similar conditions, I wasn’t really looking forward to that. In addition, a mysterious ankle pain that has plagued me all spring had an unexplained flare up. I had planned to run some real miles that week and go into the race on tired legs as training for my upcoming 100. Instead I took most of the week off, logging only 16 miles prior to race day, albeit high quality miles.

I decided that since my goal of running tired was thwarted, I should just go out and try to have a decent race and see how I dealt with the heat. I felt the ankle thing had the potential to cause a DNF, but other than that I felt great going into the race.

I had considered skipping the pre-race meeting on Friday. Last year I found myself more confused than helped by Stan’s description of the course. There had been a large course map available though, and I was hoping for the same thing this year since the course had changed quite a bit from the previous year. I arrived at the check-in just before the start of the meeting. I got in line behind a woman who turned out to be Kami Semick. Upon hearing I was from Truckee she said, “Oh, so do you know Betsy?”

If you read my Miwok post, you will see the humor in this question. I tried not to laugh, and gave her a rueful “no” in response.

The meeting did turn out to be helpful. Although most of the directions were confusing as usual, I did learn that there would be one section I needed to pay attention to. The descent route and the return route from the River Bend aid station crossed each other numerous times. It was key to be aware that you stayed on the single track on the descent, and then the road on the return climb.

The race began from a park in north Reno, and even at 5:30 am it wasn’t super cold out. I said hi to friends Sean and Peter at the check in, and we headed over to the starting area. As we waited for Stan to send us off, I heard Sean say “Good luck Betsy,” to a woman next to me. I hastily introduced myself to her, and she in turn introduced me to Paul. More local runners, hooray!

I think there were about 60 starters, and we set off across the soggy grass at 6:00. After maybe a half a mile, whoever was in the lead missed a turn. Of course we all followed him off course like little lemmings. I was jogging up a hill when all the runners in front of me suddenly turned around and started running toward me.

“Uh oh,” I said grimly, “this can’t be good.” As everyone behind me also turned around and discovered the missed turn, the runner who was now in the lead put his hands triumphantly in the air as if to say “I’m winning!” and we all chuckled. This did not seem to bode well for the rest of the race. I did, however, enjoy chatting briefly with all of the faster runners as they passed by me. I usually don’t see these folks once the race actually begins.

The first part of the race climbed steadily, but much of it was runable. I figured since it wasn’t too steep, and it was still relatively cool out, I may as well run while I could.

Before the first aid station I noticed a hot spot on my right heel. I wondered if I was running funny because that was my bad ankle. Perhaps it had precipitated the blister? I had a drop bag at the mile 15 aid station with plenty of blister remedies, so I figured it would have to wait until then.

I had seen Jenny Capel take off early and knew it was a given anyway that she would finish well ahead of me. I could see Betsy and another woman off in the distance as we steadily climbed Peavine Mountain. My hot spot was clearly turning into a blister, and I also had to pee like mad. The desert terrain was not offering any likely bathroom stops, and I trudged along very distracted for the next several miles. I finally found a mildly descent spot behind a rock; not exactly screened from view, but good enough. I was wondering at my own modesty, recalling once dropping my shorts in front of 20,000 or so people at the Boston Marathon. I suppose showing my butt to the faceless mob is different than showing it to someone I might end up running with for 10 hours.

Betsy Nye rounds a switchback on the initial climb

When I finally arrived at my drop bag at the Ranch Creek aid station, I removed my sock to see a nasty blister on my heel. No wonder it hurt. It seemed a little early in the day for such issues, and I was not pleased. I had pre-taped the only areas that I sometimes blister, and they were doing fine. I had never gotten a blister on my heel before, and I was wearing the same shoes I always wore. What was going on?

I spent about 5 minutes refueling and dealing with the blister before heading out. I had drained and patched the blister, but now it hurt worse than ever, causing me to limp down the trail. I was a little concerned about this development, and wondered if I could possibly DNF at mile 20 because of a blister. How depressing would that be?

Just before I left the aid station, Peter Fain came in leading the 50K race. I headed off alone on the loop that would eventually bring me back to that same aid station, desperately trying to ignore my blister, and in search of another bathroom spot. Eventually I came upon Betsy and a guy in a blue shirt coming towards me. I got that sinking feeling again, and started searching the area for telltale pink ribbons.

We met up right at the turn that they had missed, and headed off downhill. I decided to try to keep up with Betsy and Blue Shirt Guy, but it wasn’t long before I realized their pace was not one I could hold for long. I figured I would stay with them on the downhill to practice my descending, then let them go once the trail flattened out. Soon though, Betsy ducked off into the woods, taking advantage of the fact that there actually were trees through this stretch, and I lost Blue Shirt Guy at the next aid station.

This stretch was relatively flat with some small bits of shade. Soon I caught up with a man who turned out to be Bill Finkbeiner. We chatted for a while, and upon hearing I was from Truckee, asked, "Oh, so you know Betsy?"

"Yes!" I practically screamed in triumph. "I mean, um, I just met her, but yeah." I ammended. He seemed to feel he wasn't having his best day and soon he too ducked off into the woods. Well, at least it seemed everyone was maintaining their fluids.

I was still feeling fine when I finished this loop to arrive again at the Ranch Creek aid station. I took another 5 minutes or so to re-do the patch on my blister, and noticed that several other small blisters had sprung up. I was a little frustrated, but proceeded to slap some more tape on my feet and figured I would just have to tough it out. I was at mile 27.

I chatted with a few other runners at this aid station. On a day this hot, I think you feel an extra bond between runners, and we all checked in to see how each of us was faring. I found out later that one of these runners, Austin, was only 16 and running his first 50! That’s so impressive. I can’t imagine having that kind of tenacity at only 16.

The next stretch was the descent to the River Bend aid station in Verdi. I had filled my Cool Off Bandana with ice at the last aid station, and it was pleasantly dripping ice water down my back as I ran through this dry, hot and exposed section of trail. I really think the ice in the bandana was a big factor to having a good day under less than ideal conditions. Packed with ice, I tied it to the straps of my tank top, and it sat between my shoulders keeping the sun off and keeping me cool and wet.

Bouncing down the singletrack, I noticed that I felt a little shaky, and realized that my blood-sugar must be low. This was bad, and I immediately shoved down a GU, afraid that it was already too late and would just upset my stomach. Fortunately it seemed to help, and I immediately followed it with another one for good measure.

I could see the runners ahead of me heading back up the hill already. I was still about 3 miles from the aid station when Jenny Capel passed me going the other way. I knew she was the only woman in front of me, but I didn’t have any delusions about making up the 6 miles between us. As I neared the aid station, I took my inevitable fall of the race. Even as I was going down, I knew it wasn’t going to be a bad one. I did get a little bloody on my thigh and shin, but the most annoying part was the dirt on the mouthpiece of my watterbottles. Yuck!

As I “cameled-up” at the aid station, one of the volunteers put so much ice in my bandana that it was almost too heavy. I decided not to complain, and was glad later that I didn’t. It was 6 miles uphill in the heat to the next aid station, but it truly felt like about 12.

The long climb back up to the top of Peavine. This was without question the most hellish 6 miles on the course.

Still Climbing

I did pretty well on the uphill, per usual, and even passed a few people. I got so in the zone though, that I missed a turn. (This also seems to be de rigueur for my races this year.) By the time I got back on track, I think I only went about half to three quarters of a mile extra, so it could have been worse. I was pretty annoyed with myself for a while, but the heat eventually drove all other cares from my brain. (I would later learn the high for the day was 96.) About a half mile from the aid station, a car came down the road and stopped to fill up my bottles with water. Perfect timing, I had just run out! Apparently folks were arriving at the Peavine Summit aid station out of water and in bad shape, so they decided to send some water part way down the hill. Good improvising guys, I think that was a smart decision!

From this point, there were 11 miles to go, and it was largely down hill. It was still getting warmer out, and I wanted to finish as soon as possible. Looking at the runners around me, everyone seemed to be wilting. Aside from a handful of nasty blisters though, I felt pretty decent. My ankle was feeling okay, which was a big relief. I decided to push the downhill and see if I could hang on to second place. I could also see that I had a chance of finishing in under 11 hours. I had run 11:05 at TRT 50 last year, and although this course probably wasn’t quite as hard, I felt like the conditions were much worse, and I would be pretty pleased to finish in under 11 hours.

With that in mind, I had a fairly enjoyable finish. I ran the whole way, passed one or two more people, and crossed the line in 10:49.

Sean handed me a cold bottle of water almost as soon as I crossed the line, and I gratefully sucked it down. I hosed off the dirt and dried blood, and happily put on my flip flops before inhaling a burger and coke and crashing on the grass with Betsy, Paul, Sean, Peter and other racers who were grateful to be done.

All in all I felt pretty happy with my day. I am hoping the blisters can be attributed to the heat, and other than that, everything went quite well. I managed my fluids well and was able to take in food the entire time. I did eat mostly gels, while I usually eat about half gels and half solid food. I also went with GU2O in both of my water bottles, instead of water in one and GU2O in the other. I did take only water at the one aid station that had Gatorade instead of GU2O (who drinks that stuff??) but I balanced this out by eating, and taking a few salt stick caps. The ice bandana was important to staying cool, as was the generous amount of ice the volunteers put in my bottles at each aid station. A second place finish might sound more impressive if more than 5 women had crossed the line, but on a day like that, I think we can all be proud to have finished at all! According to the race results, only 31 people finished. Since I don't know exactly how many started, I'm not sure what percentage finished, but there were certainly a few DNF's.

Jenny Capel won the women's race in 9:28, and Eric Skaden won the men's race in 7:46. In the 50K Peter Fain won the men's division in 5:05 and Kami Semick won for the women, taking second overall, in 5:16.

Someone had placed these two chairs facing the view on the final descent. With only 3 miles to go, it was not very tempting to stop for a rest.

The aftermath of my race came in the form of some heat trauma. Apparently there was an exposed strip of skin on my back between my tank top and shorts. The sunburn made it look like I fell backwards against a wood stove! It blistered up badly and I could only wear low-waisted pants for a week because it killed to have anything touch it. I also got a horrendous heat rash on my face. No kidding, and it seriously looked monstrous. Someone less vain than I would have taken pictures and posted them on her bolg, purely for the entertainment value. Me? It was all I could do to keep from calling in sick to work.

The irony is that the following week the temperatures plummeted, and I found myself on my morning run in 28 degrees and snow. Brrr! Three weeks later, and it still isn't quite what I would call warm outside.

A huge thanks goes out to all the volunteers who were out there in the heat all day! They did a great job of getting us everything we needed, and adding in a couple extra aid stations to help combat the heat. Congratulations to everyone who finished. It was a tough day, and still turned out to be a great training run!