TRT-A-Go-Go

Last Saturday, the RD for the TRT race updated the website to proclaim that the race would not be cancelled due to the air quality. Whew! Given that the two days prior to this (Thursday and Friday) had what appeared to be some of the worst smoke I have seen yet in Tahoe this month, this was a relief. After the cancellation of Western States, the Tevis Cup, and the Donner Lake Triathlon, I think many besides me were worried.

Air quality here in Truckee has not been great over the last 3 weeks, but I am happy to report that yesterday showed a marked improvement, and today was even better! I would have no qualms at all about running if these conditions hold. Also, I keep reminding myself that conditions over at the lake are actually much better than here in Truckee. Here are some pictures from Truckee for comparison:

View of Donner Lake from the dog walk. This was taken last summer.

Same view. This one was taken a few weeks ago, right around when Western States should have been.




This one I took yesterday. It's really hard to tell that the air quality is really a lot better. I think the late day sun created a lot of glare on this one. Unfortunately I don't have a picture from today, which had very little smoke, but I'll try to post more in the upcoming days.

In the mean time, I am super excited for the TRT 100, and I must confess, a little nervous and stressed. Just packing my drop bags is making me nervous, not to mention my husband worrying. He needs some ultra runners to hang out with and influence him. So if you see him at the race, will you please tell him that this is a perfectly normal way to spend a weekend, and that people don't typically die from running a hundred miles? Thanks.

I feel ready, and at this point the waiting is killing me. I am super lucky that my friend Sarah is going to pace me for the last 24 miles. Friday we are having a "team meeting" here and I am cooking dinner for my crew. Then...it's show time! I'll set the alarm for 2:30 am in order to have the morning ritual and make the 45 miniute drive in plenty of time for the 5:00 am start.

I have thought a lot about goals for this race. It's so hard to know what might be a realistic time for 100 miles when you have only ever run 50. After a few moments of stress this week that brought tears, I am reminding myself that this is supposed to be fun. Therefore, I realized what my number one goal should be: Have fun! That is the truth too, not just some scmaltz contrived for my blog. Those who know me know I can't help but get competitive in a race. That's part of the fun. Yes, I will push myself, but not at the expense of having fun. Not if it's going to make me stressed out, or forget to enjoy myself. This is my first 100, and I want to revel in every moment of it-the good and the bad.

With that "spirit of the adventure" in mind, I've posted some photos from two of my best training runs this summer, done in Yosemite National Park. Both were such great adventures. I truly enjoyed being alone on the trails, pushing myself, and climbing to find epic views. [holds up right hand] "I promise to remember to take enjoyment in those things on Saturday!"

RUN #1: Yosemite Lodge to Upper Yosemite Falls, 8 miles

View from Columbia Rock

Sunrise from Columbia Rock

Upper Yosemite Falls

This trail is even scarier than it looks. I held on to the handrail with two hands!

The descent

RUN #2 Yosemite Lodge to Tenaya Lake via Clouds Rest, 20 miles

The Mist Trail

Nevada Falls

Looking back at Half Dome

View of the Valley from Clouds Rest

View of the high country from Clouds Rest. The lake is Tenaya Lake, my destination.

Tenaya Lake!

Burton Creek Trail Run

Sunday was the inaugural Burton Creek Trail Run in Tahoe City. Put on by Big Blue Adventures, the event offered both 10 and 20 mile distances through the Burton Creek State Park. In spite of recent smoke and heat, it turned out to be a beautiful day and I was delighted to discover this network of trails so close to home!

With a 9:00 start and a short drive, I didn’t even need to get up early for this one. The 10 mile course followed single track and dirt roads through Burton Creek State Park, much of which is also used as the Tahoe XC Ski center in the winter. The 20 mile race did 2 loops on the same course. I have skied The Great Race, which shares a starting line with this run, so I was eager to check out the area in summer.

There were about 50 starters, but there was no way to know who was running which race. The race director gave a brief course description, which consisted mostly of “follow the markers.” Personally I prefer these kinds of descriptions, since I just get confused by detailed explanations of a trail I’m not familiar with, and they lead to the assumption that the course is well marked. He also acknowledged the handful of runners present who had intended to run Western States, and thanked them for coming to our event.

With that, we were off! There were 3 aid stations on the course, plus the start/finish area for the 20 mile runners, so I just carried one bottle. We began with a very slight climb that was familiar from The Great Race, and the faster runners got in front quickly. I recognized Peter Fain, and assumed he would win the 20 mile race, but no one else really looked familiar.

I was having a hard time deciding what kind of pace was appropriate for 20 miles, when 2 women slowly passed me by. Even from the back they were clearly twins, sporting the same tall athletic build and comfortable stride. The only difference was that one let her long blond hair swing free in the ponytail, and the other kept it in a thick braid. They looked like they would make a wicked two-person beach volleyball team! I thought they must be on their way to a fast time, so I decided to go along for the ride and fell in behind them.

I was surprised at the great single track through the park, and I was already planning my next run here. I realized though, that without a map (or course markings!) I would have no way to negotiate these trails on my own. I figured it would have to be one of those places that involved learning the trail system through trial and error, which could make for some fun adventures.

The trail was mostly shaded, which was helpful since the day was already warming up. I was lamenting the laziness that had caused me to leave my camera at home, because the lupine was in full bloom, and mixed with the other wildflowers, it was spectacular. The scent was intoxicating, and I wafted along on it, trying to keep up with the twins, who had a killer downhill stride.

All of the aid stations were self-serve, but that was fine since I didn’t actually stop at many of them. They had water and GU only. At the halfway point, there was a race official there to mark our bib, proving that we had really come through this part of the course. I thought this was kind of funny, but I guess Big Blue puts on a lot of bigger events with competitive fields and good prizes, so it makes some sense. I can’t imagine anyone cheating in a trail run though!

The course was beautiful, but the lack of hills didn’t really play to my strengths. Although I appreciated that the downhills were mellow, the one hill climb wasn’t steep enough to justify walking. (Not even the second time!)

I was nearing the end of the first lap and the volleyball twins were starting to pull away. I appreciated their pacing, but they were running the ten mile race and looked like they were heading in for a strong finish. I reminded myself that I still had ten more miles and let them go.

My first split was just under 1:30, which I worried was a little fast. I filled up my bottle and headed out on the course. It was much lonelier without the twins, and the day was heating up. This lap was basically a blur in which I did not see a single other runner. It turns out that there were 38 runners in the 10 mile race, while only 16 had entered the 20 miler.

As I neared the finish line I was happy to see that my time would not be far off 3 hours, which meant my splits were fairly even. I was the first women in the 20 mile race (7th overall) with a time of 3:05. Mostly I was just happy that I hadn’t slowed down more on the second lap, but I also won a pair of Merrell shoes for my effort, as well as custom footbeds in the raffle.

In the men’s 20 mile race, thwarted Western States runners took top honors, with Benoit Laval from France winning in 2:16, and Hiroki Ishikawa from Japan taking second in 2:28. For the 10 mile race, Peter Fain of Truckee won in a time of 1:06, and Sarah Raitter took it for the women in 1:15. Complete results can be found here.

The event was put on well by Big Blue Adventures, and I hope they keep this one on their list of events. I also hope the field size increases. Thanks to everyone who worked on theis event!

For me, it capped off a strong week of high quality and high mileage running. It was kind of a rough week training through the smoke, but miraculously most of my miles were on fairly clear days. This week I’ll cut back on mileage, while keeping the quality. After that…it’s taper time!

100 Mile Visions Lost in Smoke

Below is an article that came out today in the Sierra Sun. My effusive thanks to the runners who took time to respond to my questions and/or allowed me to quote from their blogs. Your comments are clearly the cornerstone of this piece, and I never cease to be amazed by the wisdom emanating from this group.

Tomorrow, look for my pictures from some beautiful training runs in Yosemite last week!


Hundred Mile Visions Lost in Smoke

Early Wednesday evening, through the thick smoke blanketing the forests, you may have heard the sound of 390 hearts collectively breaking. These were the runners slated to be on the starting line this morning at the 35th running of the Western States 100 Mile Endurance Run. Dreams dashed with the cancellation of the race, the runners did what ultrarunners do: they kept on going.

Although most people meet the idea of any 100 mile foot race with awe, among ultrarunners Western States holds a special status. It is considered the race to run, and everyone has it on their race “wish list.” As a runner myself, I had the audacity to start dreaming about it back in high school, when I thought 8 miles was a long run.

The trail itself crosses rugged mountains and canyons on a route once followed by Indians and pioneers alike. For runners, the historical significance of the race began when Gordy Ainsliegh crossed the line in 1974 as the only runner among horses in the Western States Trail Ride. From there, the legends and lore surrounding the race have grown, with names like Ann Trason, Tim Twietmeyer, and Scott Jurek drawing a hush of respect from athletes dreaming of running the famed race one day ourselves.

Runner Scott Dunlap, of Woodside, CA, was to run his first Western States this year. Referencing the belt buckle awarded to finishers, he said, “The community around the event is amazing. So many of the people around States have been in it for 10 or more years. To have a buckle and be a part of it is to be a part of this family.”

Race legend and 14-time winner Ann Trason reportedly said that the dust from the trail gets in your blood and never goes away.

The popularity of the race has made it very challenging to gain an entry, and thus running Western States represents more than just the 8-12 months of training. Runners must first run a qualifying race and then enter a lottery process. It’s a drawing with so many entries that hopeful athletes this year only had a 16% chance of getting selected. Because of this, most runners have been trying to gain entry into the race for multiple years.

“It took me three years to win a lottery slot,” Dunlap said, “but I started training as soon as I did, in November of 2007.”

Donald Buraglio of Carmel Valley, CA, welcomed his first 100 mile race on his blog “Running and Rambling” with these words, “After months of training - not to mention years of anticipation - I’m finally on my way to the Western States Endurance Run.”

Today was supposed to be the culmination of dreams.

With the cancellation of the race due to the proximity of several fires, runners are forced to come to terms with a painful loss. Are they crying in their Gatorade? Sending irate emails to the race director? Swearing off running forever, madly shaking their fists at mother nature?

Although the runners are understandably devastated, the pervasive attitude seems to be one largely of philosophical acceptance.

“It’s kind of funny how my emotions went up and down more than the Western States course,” Dunlap shared. “At first, I was angry thinking about the hundreds of hours put in to be ready for this day, and the years of waiting just to get in. But then I also realized that given this escalation of commitment, I was prone to do something stupid like try and run through 24 hours of smoke. I respect that a race director and their staff need to be the sane ones who think about our safety, and I thank them for making a decision that couldn’t have come easy.”

Buraglio had similar sentiments. “Although this is a heartbreaking turn of events for everyone associated with the race, I certainly can’t say I’m upset by the cancellation – because I know it was probably the right thing to do. As much as I was looking forward to it, I’m sure that nobody loves Western States more than the race committee. They undoubtedly exhausted every last possibility to make this event happen, and their decision wasn’t made irrationally.”

Part of learning to endure 100 miles of trail running is knowing how to make the best of things. Dealing with the adversities of the trail seems to lend itself to an understanding that some things are beyond our control, and that there will always be another day. Ultra runners know how to think long-term.

Andy Jones-Wilkins, who finished 2nd in the 2005 race, was already anticipating the 2009 race with enthusiasm, just hours after Wednesday’s announcement of the cancellation. In lieu of Saturday’s race, Sean Meissner planned a weekend of running in the wilderness near his home of Sisters, OR, along with fellow top Western States contenders Prudence L’Heureux and Kami Semik. Donald Buraglio took the opportunity for some family time, spending the weekend on an impromptu family vacation.

Although stomaching the loss of a dream isn’t easy, the sentiments of many of the runners are summed up well by Buraglio. “I’ve always felt that ultrarunning isn’t so much about the races themselves as it is the process to get there. In fact, by the time we stand on the start line, most of us are already fully aware of the physical ability and psychological resolve we’ve forged within ourselves.”

And so, for these racers, dreams will have to wait for yet another year.

“We ultrarunners are patient and tenacious,” said Dunlap. “There will always be another day to enjoy this race, and it will be that much more epic when it arrives.”

Auburn Trails 50K

The Auburn Trails 50K, with it’s somewhat misleading title, was held last week in Cool, California. As with a handful of other ultra races in the area, it began and ended at the Cool fire station. When I first signed up for the race, I was envisioning the shady river canyons that I always run in Auburn. I guess I ignored the part on the website that said “Olmstead Loop.”

Nonetheless, it was a pleasant race, and many of the usual suspects were present. It felt like a small turn out, but while on the course, I rarely found myself running alone.

I began with a very comfortable pace. The air was still pleasantly cool at the 7:00 am start, and I carried only one bottle. I didn’t know anything about how many aid stations there were, or how far apart they were. I just ran.

After we were about 1/3 of the way through, we began a steep climb. I felt great, and when I realized I was passing people, I decided maybe I should continue this trend and run a little faster. At this point, I think I switched from “running” to “racing.”

It occurred to me that 50K would be over with fairly quickly, and the earlier I finished, the less heat I would have to endure. With these thoughts, I sailed on across the dry golden grasses and past massive spreading oaks.

The aid stations were well stocked, but I noticed that I was less interested in eating than usual. I stuck mostly to GU’s and a few potatoes, washed down with ice water.

By the time I was on the last lap of the OImstead Loop, the day had warmed considerably. I was beginning to wish that I’d stashed a second water bottle, since clearly just one would be stretching it between aid stations at this point. It was too late now though, and I just tried to drink as much as possible at the aid stations before heading out. I was almost done, and knew I would just have to tough it out.

When I crossed the line I felt good about my race. My time of 5:37 was nothing special (some runners said the course was long, but who knows) but, as I said to my husband later, I was on the tail end of the fast people’s lunch. In other words, folks like Bev and Alan Abbs, Ray Sanchez, and Peter Lubbers were still at the finish area eating their home cooked lunch. (Grilled burgers and Linda’s potato salad!) Frequently these folks are long gone before I get to the finish line, so it felt like a bit of a treat to hang out with them.

Although it was warmer than I would have liked, it was ultimately a beautiful day, and my coolest (no pun intended!) race of the year. Thanks as always, to Robert, Linda, Norm, Helen and the rest of the volunteers. Another great race!

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!

Miwok 100K

The Other Side of Racing

I know what you're thinking: The other side of racing…what would that be? Answer: Not racing. Duh. But in this case, not only was I not racing, I was actually helping with the race and crewing for a friend. It’s pretty enlightening to see what actually happens in order to pull off one of these ultra things, and I had a great time last weekend being a part of all the behind-the-scenes action at Miwok.

My day began Friday morning (May 2) when the 3 hour drive from Truckee to Marin only took 2 ½ hours. I don’t know what happened to the Friday morning traffic through Sacramento, but I suddenly noticed an excessive number of Prii (pronounced pre-eye, plural for Prius of course) cruising the lanes next to me. This, along with the light coastal moisture in the air, told me I was clearly in the Bay Area, in spite of the early hour. I had planned to meet race director Tia Bodington in Corte Madera at 10 am. I decided to spend the extra time locating the closest Starbucks, and by the time I met Tia, I was well-caffeined and ready to go.

Tia had a giant U-Haul truck rented, and it was absolutely packed with water, coolers, bananas, boxes of food, boxes of GU, bags of GU20, tables, banners, “caution, runners on road” signs, orange cones, flagging and a myriad of other aid station sundries. I wondered how long it had taken her to pack and make the drive from Colorado. I also wondered if people get paid for being an RD, because they seriously should! I thought it might be rude to ask though, so I refrained.

Fellow volunteers Jeff, Hollis, Ken and Fred were there to help as well, and soon we set off towards the aid stations. Fortunately traffic was light on the Scenic Highway, as our little caravan slowly cruised the windy road: a fleet of Prii with license plate frames that read “Western States 100 Mile Endurance Run” led by a loaded U-Haul.

We spent the day cruising up and down the coastal headlands of Marin on a breathtakingly beautiful day. I got a great preview of the course, as Jeff pointed out much of the route while we drove along. At every stop, we lightened Tia’s truck while she consulted one of her many lists and told us how many bananas should go where. We visited Bolinas Ridge (where I noted the distinct lack of parking available,) Pan Toll, Muir Beach and the Start/Finish. Thanks to an incredible amount of work and organizing that Tia had already done, the day went pretty smoothly. I hoped race day would go as well!




At 4:30 I met up with Tate at the Marin Headlands Hostel where she had reserved a room. It was great to see her again! Tate and I had met last year at the TRT 50 miler, and I was excited to be pacing her on her first 100K. She had come down from Bend OR that day with friends Sean Meissner and Prudence L’Heureux who were also running the race. Although I didn’t know Prudence, I had met Sean once several years before at the Tahoe Triple.

After settling into the Hostel and touring the start of the course (which was a very short walk from the hostel,) the four of us went for an early dinner. Sean and Prudence were both fighting colds and everyone was interested in getting to bed early.

The Marin Headlands Hostel

After we all finished the typical night before organizing, I let the racers go to bed while I went down to the living room to socialize. The Marin Hostel is beautiful, with a huge kitchen, dining area and living room. It’s not furnished with your typical moth-eaten hostel furniture and chipped dishware either. The living room is filled with plush comfy couches, large windows and a piano, and you certainly can’t beat the location! I sat around chatting with other runner types, and soaked up the much-needed environment of runners. (I just don’t hang out with many runners here in Truckee.) I met Leslie who had recently run Diablo as her first 50 miler! I listened to tales from Shane, a runner who had helped on the search for the lost Western States runner last month. I also managed to rustle up a ride to the Bolinas Ridge aid station from the wonderful Kayla, who was planning a hike in the area on Saturday. She agreed to give both Shane and me a ride out there so we could pace our runners in and not have to worry about leaving (and retrieving) a car.

The Comfy Livingroom

On race morning my roommates were up at 3:45. I rolled out of bet at 5:20 to jog down the trail and catch the 5:40 start. I couldn’t find Tate, although I did manage to give a quick good luck to Prudence before everyone got on the “starting line.” I tried to take some photos of the beautiful sunrise, but I only had a little disposable camera, so I’ll be shocked if any of my pictures turned out. (I'll post photos later this week if they are any good.) I scanned the crowd and noticed someone I was pretty sure was Mark Tanaka. I was working up my nerve to introduce myself since he was literally surrounded by a who’s-who of ultra running, including Scott Jurek, Hal Koerner, and Bev Anderson-Abs among others, when Tia announced 60 seconds until the start. Hmm, maybe not the best time to run up and start chatting to the runners on the front line.

After seeing everyone off, I jogged back to the hostel and crawled into bed for another 2 ½ hours of sleep. Ah the luxury of being a pacer! Kayla and Shane and I headed off to Bolinas AS at 10:30 and arrived about an hour later. I knew I would have several hours to wait, so I dressed warmly and planned to shove the extra layers into my hydration pack for the run. It was chilly in the shade at Bolinas, and even with the warm layers I still joined a group of other waiting pacers following a patch of sunlight on its migration throughout the day.

Again, I found myself reveling in being surrounded by runners. There were a lot of people hanging around at Bolinas, including pacers, crew, friends, spouses and volunteers. I swapped stories with other runners, and watched the leaders come through on their way back to the finish while Peter-the-Vespa-guy gave us the lowdown on everyone. Sean came through in around 10th place and looking strong. I was excited to see Prudence in 3rd place for women, just 15 minutes behind Bev at that point! The excitement began to build as more and more runners came through. I realized that I was really glad I was running and not just crewing or volunteering. Being at a race and seeing all those amazing runners was so inspiring that I was jumping up and down with the need to run. I hadn’t realized OIga would be there, so I was excited to see her and cheer her on as she ran by. I cheered a few other familiar faces, and I knew Tate would be showing up soon, so I peeled off my extra layers and made sure I was fueled up and ready to run.

Tate re-stocked at the aid station and we headed off. She looked good, but she didn’t sound too confident when I asked how she was. I had never been a pacer before, so I was a little concerned about exactly what my duties were. Tate and I had talked about it a bit at dinner the night before and while she did have some goals as far as time, she didn’t really want to be “pushed” per-say. It seemed my role would be more to support, encourage, entertain and look for course markings. I personally felt that keeping us from getting lost was a major part of my job, so I focused on paying close attention to the flagging.

It was a long stretch in the sun between Bolinas and Pan Toll, and Tate did awesome. I think mentally this must be one of the toughest stretches of the race because you have already run over 40 miles, but the finish isn’t all that close. It was also the heat of the afternoon, and the chill of the Bolinas aid station was a distant memory almost as soon as we left it.

At Pan Toll Tate restocked from her drop bag and we discussed the merits of picking up her headlamp. It was really too far out to tell if we would finish before dark, and since I wasn’t totally sure what time it would be dark, it made calculations difficult. She realized she really didn’t have a great way to carry her headlamp, so finally decided against it. I had a good flashlight in my pack which I could shine for both of us if it came down to it. Decision made, we headed off.

The Coastal Trail looking back towards Stinson

I think it was somewhere through this section where the trail became massively overgrown with poison oak. It was almost funny, but I didn’t complain too much since that area was also nicely shaded. We cruised along and chatted with a runner from Sacramento named Jeff. Tate was having feelings of regret about the absent headlamp, but I think it was just late race anxiety searching for an outlet. When we got to Tennessee Valley, the volunteers assured us that we would finish before dark and I think we both felt a sense of relief.

After Tennessee Valley, Tate seemed to get her late race surge. She began relating her life story (as she put it) during a steady uphill hike. Somehow the miles flew by and Tate’s spirits were high. Clearly we were going to finish, and under 14 hours! Soon we came up behind a woman who I though might be Kathy D’Onofrio (based on Peter-the-Vespa-guy’s description.) Whenever runners hear that I am from Truckee, they invariably ask me if I know Kathy. Okay, of course I know who Kathy is, but I had never met her. (Incidentally, people also ask me if I know Betsy and Paul, and no, I don’t know them either.) The truth is though, I’m dying to meet other runners in my community. So I brazenly introduced myself to Kathy as we ran with her, and she was so nice! She was genuinely excited to hear that I was from Truckee. It wasn’t really an opportunity to trade contact info or anything, but anyway, the next time someone asks if I know Kathy I can proudly answer “Yes!”

Tate was on fire, so I had to leave my conversation with Kathy and sprint to catch up to her. We were nearing the top of the hill now, and we knew soon it would be all downhill. When we saw the beach and the finish line come into view I got pretty excited. We knew it was still a ways down there, but you could hear people cheering and screaming a long ways off. This was Tate’s first 100K, and there is something pretty emotional about a first finish at a given distance. It’s huge really, and as she flew towards the finish line, anyone who knows me will not be surprised to hear that I found myself getting a little teary. Go Tate!

She finished in fine style, and Sean and Prudence were there to offer hugs and congratulations. It was chilly on the beach and I wanted to get into some dry clothes right away, so I grabbed Tate’s and my clothes out of the car and headed off to change. We took care of business by washing off the poison oak, and Tate had a massive blood blister lanced by an extremely kind volunteer. Ouch! Everyone was happy with their day. Sean had run a solid PR for the course in spite of his illness and running 150(!) miles for the week. Prudence also fought illness to finish a strong 3rd and earn a coveted entry into this year’s Western States. Tate had finished her first 100K in an impressive 13:39 and qualified for the Western States lottery. I kind of felt like a wimp, having only run 20 miles that day.

I had a great time hanging out with everyone at dinner and breakfast the next morning before the Bend crew had to head home. A big congratulations to Tate for finishing a challenging race. I had so much fun pacing, and being a part of the action! Also, I have to offer a solid “good job” to Tia for putting on such a great event. Next year I will get online early enough to actually enter myself! (I hope!)

Next up: Silver State 50M. I’m not expecting big things since I haven't really been resting and am fighting a cold. Although the 7-day forecast can never be trusted, it looks like it could be a hot one. See y’all there!

Who's got my Miwok Carpool?

Hello running friends. This is just a brief post to utilize my enormous (ha ha) network of readers. This weekend I head to the Miwok 100K. Like many of you, I was still sleeping when entries filled, about 12 minutes after they opened on a sleepy January Sunday. Thus, I am not actually racing. I plan to help set up the aid stations on Friday, and pace a certain speedy Oregonian into the finish for the last 20 miles. I can't wait!

The long and the short of this post is: Can anyone give me a ride from the start to the Bolinas Ridge AS on Saturday? I will likely be able to hook up a ride when I get there, but I would love it if I had it arranged ahead of time. I can drive myself, but then I have to deal with getting my car back, road closures, and all that logistical and not-so-fun stuff. Plus carpooling is GREEN, which is just uber hip these days. So help a girl out, eh? (You can email me from my Blogger profile.)

I hope to see many of you there. If I don't recognize you, I'm sorry. I'm bad that way. Please come say hi! I'll be at Bolinas Ridge looking to give you a big high five, and a packet of GU!

Local Runner Lost (and Found!) While Training for Western States

Sunday morning Daniel Rose, a runner from Orangevale (near Sacramento) set out on a 22 mile training run on the Western States trail. After taking a wrong turn and losing his way, he spent 25 hours, and approximately 50 miles, out on the trails. Initial reports stated that he was training for the Western States Endurance run, but todays artical in the Sac Bee indicated that he was training to pace another runner. Either way, he spent a chilly night in the Sierra foothills in a t-shirt and running shorts! Fortunately he emerged relatively unscathed, but it's a good reminder for those of us known to take a wrong turn here and there.

You can read the complete story here.

This is Monday's news segment from KCRA:

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

A Day on Mt. Diablo

Back in February, I picked out the Mt. Diablo Marathon as a training run en route to my attempt at the TRT100. I figured it would be about the right distance for my training at this point, and I knew it was a challenging course. I needed work on my downhill running, and Diablo clearly offered the opportunity. My goals going into the race were to get in a solid day of training, and give myself that motivational boost I always get from immersing myself in a crowd of other runners. Although there were some adventures along the way, I can happily report that I survived a solid training run!


I spent Friday night at a friend’s house about 20 minutes from the starting line. Although I wasn’t particularly nervous about the race, I had put in a full week of mileage already, and I knew the predicted 90 degree temps for the day could make things, well...unpredictable. I spent most of the night checking the time on my watch instead of sleeping. Finally at 5:30 I arose, donned shorts and a tank top for the first time in probably 7 months, and slathered myself with sunscreen. I ate my bagel and banana in the car, and headed off to the nearest Starbucks for a much needed venti coffee. Say what you want about Starbucks, but at least they’re open at 6:00 am, and their coffee is strong.

My caffeine needs getting satiated, I sat at a stoplight at a deserted intersection, confident that I should arrive at the start about a half hour before the race began. I was looking forward to the day, and as I gingerly sipped my coffee in an attempt to avoid burning my tongue, the light turned yellow.

Wait. Yellow? Huh??

Since lights don’t generally turn from yellow to green, I stepped on the gas to get through the intersection quickly. Had I really been sitting stopped at a green light? I shook my head and took another swig of coffee. I reasoned that the caffeine had not hit my bloodstream yet. Unfortunately, the oversight turned out to be more of an omen for the rest of my day.

I arrived at the start with just enough time to check in, gear-up and hit the bathroom before heading to the starting line. There was a good sized crowd gathered, and I didn’t have much time for socializing since Wendell was already giving pre-race instructions. I positioned myself somewhere in the middle, knowing that I didn’t want to go out too fast, but also recognizing that many of the runners were going 50 miles and would undoubtedly be starting at an even slower pace than myself. When Wendell asked if this was anyone’s first marathon or 50 miler, several folks actually raised their hands. I was blown away that anyone would choose this as a first attempt at either distance. I sincerely hoped all of those first timers would have a good day.

As we set off into the shadow of the mountain, the trail immediately began to climb. The first thing I noticed was the plentiful amount of oxygen available at this altitude. I had no trouble with a slow steady jog up the hill, and soon found myself on single track in a long train of runners.

The trail wound up to the spine of a ridge that I immediately dubbed the devil's backbone. We were thrust into the bright morning sunshine which still only whispered of the day's impending heat. A line of runners was strung out before me on the ridge like popcorn on a Christmas tree. The lush green of spring covered the hillside, and it was painted here and there with a colorful palette of wildflowers. As I cruised along the backbone, I attempted to absorb the stunning vistas and watch my footing at the same time: a serious but worthwhile challenge! As we moved through some short, loose bits of downhill, I suddenly found my feet in the air and my butt smacking down hard on the dirt. I discovered the advantage to handheld water bottles is that they protect your palms in a fall, but the disadvantage is that using them to brace my fall caused me to squirt GU2O all over my legs. Ick! I quickly assessed the damage at zero, brushed myself off and kept going.

The fact that we were well into the race at this point and still climbing didn’t worry me too much. I knew the course climbed all the way to the summit, headed down the other side, and then promptly returned to the summit before heading back down towards the start/finish area. In short: we would either be ascending or descending all day. At times, flowering shrubs croweded the narrow trail, and the air was thick with their intoxicating perfume. In spite of the hot day, this was clearly the best time of year to be on Diablo.







I soon found myself at the 3800 foot summit of Mt. Diablo, which required climbing all the way to the top of the observation deck. I paused for a moment to take in the view and re-pay some oxygen debt. Although still early, the day was a bit hazy, and I had trouble identifying any significant landmarks. I knew that deep blue sea was out there somewhere, but the coastline was hidden safely under a curtain of fog. With a satisfied smile I skipped down the steps two at a time beginning the long descent to the marathon turnaround point.

Dodging the oncoming traffic, I took a left turn clearly marked with a stripped ribbon. At this point the 50 mile course and the marathon course were still following the same trail. Based on my one previous experience at a PCTR event, I had decided to give the course map a good study the night before. This is not because the courses are poorly marked; in fact they are quite thoroughly and clearly marked. I am just aware that when there are multiple distances being run at the same time, and the course is routed through various intersections or aid stations more than once, I get easily confused. When I ran the Muir Beach trail run, I managed to stay on course mostly by questioning the volunteers at every aid station about where to go next. Fortunately for me, they all knew the course well. I remembered though that following my own color of ribbon, among the myriad of other colored ribbons, had required paying close attention, something which is challenging for me when I get tired.

Unfortunately, in spite of doing my route-studying homework, I still wasn’t sure exactly where I was on the course. The map in my mind had turned into a confusing jumble of pink and yellow arrows smeared across a zebra of contour lines. That zebra was currently galloping away through the grass towards the ocean.

And so it seems inevitable that I arrived at the Juniper Oak aid station to hear a volunteer say, “Uh oh, we have a marathon runner.”

“What?” I asked, already knowing exactly what that comment must mean.

After volunteers informed me I had made a wrong turn, I immediately commenced with a small bout of swearing. My sincere apologies to the aid station workers and any runners who may have been offended by my initial reaction! My mind was imaging that I would now have to finish a 40+ mile day or drop out, and I was bummed. Fortunately Sarah, one of the RD’s, was there and told me I had just missed a turn about a mile back where the marathon and 50 mile courses split. This meant that I had only added two miles to my marathon, which was actually a considerable relief. I refilled my bottles with water, and said to the volunteer helping me, “Well, I came here for a training run, so now I’m just getting some bonus miles!”

I headed back the way I had come in acceptance of my fate, and happily noted that it was easy downhill going this direction. I recalled that I had seen a runner with a number heading down when I had still been running towards the aid station, and realized that I probably wasn’t the only one to make a wrong turn. I wondered then, why that returning marathoner hadn’t warned me of my mistake, instead of letting me run all the way to the aid station to find out. The devil take the hindmost, eh? I vowed to check the race number of the runners coming towards me incase any of them were mistaken marathoners that I could help out. As I neared the intersection where the courses split, I saw a couple of men with marathon numbers coming towards me running with some 50 mile runners. “The marathon course goes this way,” I called, pointing in the direction of the other turn. They agreed with me, but continued the way they were headed. I shrugged, thinking maybe they had upgraded at the start to the 50 mile race. Anyway, I had done my duty.

Now happily back on track, I headed down the trail towards the marathon turn around. There were a few stretches of steep downhill, and I found myself taking them at almost a walk, cautiously stepping through loose gravel, trying to avoid landing on my butt again. Eventually I saw another runner coming towards me. Was this the marathon leader headed back? To be honest, this guy did not look like an elite runner, and I had definitely seen one or two fast runners on the list of entrants. I was wondering if anyone had dropped out, when the truth dawned on me with a slow sinking feeling. Those men who had ignored my directions earlier were the marathon leaders!

I felt like a complete idiot. They had ignored my directions because of course they had already run this part of the course. Although I was immensely relieved they had ignored me, I still felt like I had nearly caused a serious disaster and I felt terrible. From now on, I promised myself, I would never give directions unless I had complete and intimate knowledge of the course. I was beginning to understand why the other marathoner who had gone the wrong way hadn’t said anything to me.

As I neared the aid station, I began to see more runners coming towards me. I was still feeling like a jerk for giving misinformation to the lead runners, but just kept reminding myself that they had been too smart to listen to me, so no harm done. I saw the women who had been right in front of me and right behind me earlier, and realized that I had been in second place when I had gone the wrong way. I decided it was probably better this way, since I would have undoubtedly started racing and getting competitive if I though I had a shot at finishing in the top 3. With no such opportunity now, I simply continued on toward the aid station.

After reaching the turn around, I noticed that somehow I was miraculously in 10th place. I attributed this mostly to the fact that there were something like 12 women entered in the race. It would be a long climb back to the summit, and I settled in for the ascent with a steady hiking pace. Although my heart rate was high, I knew I could continue the pace for a long time. I was going up a particularly steep section when I noticed a runner coming the other way had stopped.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “just a cramp.” I offered him a Salt Stick Cap, which he gladly accepted. I was pleased they turned out to be useful, since I had been carrying them all day but hadn’t taken any. I also marveled at how ultrarunners will happily swallow a pill produced by a stranger from a little ziplock baggie full of unlabeled white pills. Seems pretty sketchy when you think about it, doesn’t it? ;)

Back at the junction where I had made my wrong turn, I crossed paths with a confused marathon runner.

“Where do I go?” He asked desperately. I was terrified of giving him directions. I interviewed him thoroughly.

“You’re running the marathon?” I inquired.

“Yes.”

“Have you run the out and back section yet?”

“No.”

“Okay,” I was pretty confident now, "you go this way until the turnaround. Then when you get back to this intersection, you go that way."

We parted ways, and I felt a little better. Perhaps, I thought, if I could help more people in this race than I harm, I can neutralize the bad karma I have surely incurred. In a series of changing promises to myself, I now vowed to become a do-gooder trail fairy for the rest of the day. To be honest, picking up the few GU wrappers I found on the trail did make me feel better, and I wondered why I hadn’t been doing that from the outset anyway.

At about this time, a man I had been chatting with earlier came up behind me. We were still hiking, and his pace moved him slowly by me. As he moved ahead, he let slip the admonishment “Don’t chick me” through his labored breathing. I managed a good natured laugh in response. I knew he was a nice guy, and that he didn’t mean anything rude by the comment, but the following paragraphs were already forming in my mind as I hiked.

I have planned at various times to write an entire blog post on this topic, but have been somewhat unsure of exactly how to tackle it appropriately. Well, here goes. What it comes down to for me is this:

The use of the word chick as a verb has got to stop.

When it comes to ultra running I think this word is frequently employed because maybe the playing field for men and women is just a bit closer to level than it is in other sports. I just don’t think the men who use it understand how it makes them sound. Yes, I know most of the men who lament “I got chicked!” are nice guys who probably don’t actually mind getting beaten by women in a race. In fact, sometimes I think guys really believe this is some way of showing respect to those fast women who almost always beat them. In most ultras, the elite women are faster than over 90% of the men’s field. (That’s just my estimate, not an exact figure.) Should all those men really feel bad about themselves? When talented women like Bev-Anderson Abbs, who took 3rd overall in the 50 mile race at Diablo, come in ahead of you, can you really feel bad about it? No. And I know that most, if not all, of those men do not feel bad about it. So why comment on it at all?

I don’t let my students get away with using that phrase, just like I don’t let them get away with using “retarded” or “gay” as a slur. If you don’t understand why this term can be rude, or even offensive, let me put it in another context. When someone says “you got chicked,” this is what I see:

Two 10-year-old boys are on the playground. One just took second in the playground races at recess. The winner was a girl. The boy laughs and points at his friend, crying in a sing-song voice, “You got beat by a girr-rel! You got beat by a girr-rel!”

No kidding guys, this is what you sound like. A 10-year-old. And how do you think the girl in that scenario feels? The loud and clear message is that it is shameful to be slower than a girl. So even if you think I’m just some uptight feminist chick, could you please do me a favor? Don’t pass this phrase on to the next generation. Please don’t say it in front of your sons, or even worse, your daughters. Don’t say it in front of anyone else’s sons or daughters for that matter. Don’t tell them that being a girl is anything to be ashamed of.

So enough of that diatribe, back to the race. After reaching the summit for the second time that day, I was pleased to discover that I only had 8 miles to go. I knew a good portion of the 8 miles would be downhill, and I was looking forward to an easy descent to the finish line. Unfortunately those 8 miles confirmed something I already knew: down hills are not my strength. I cruised when I could through the mellow stretches, but whenever it got steep and sketchy, I found myself slowly picking my way through the mess. Eventually my knees and quads were starting to feel it and I wondered just how far I was from the finish. I was running with a few other people at that point, and one guy had a GPS. He informed us that we still had 5 miles to go. It was clearly going to take me longer than I thought to finish this thing.

I kept reminding myself to eat, and shoved down a few clif blox here and there. I always stop eating when I get near the finish, but at the pace I was going, the finish wasn’t going to come as soon as I’d like.

Heading down some singletrack switchbacks, I suddenly tripped. I had some pretty good momentum going and I did not want to fall. I almost caught myself with my next step, then my next, and once again. With each near miss I seemed to gain speed and finally I was airborne and heading for the bushes. The whole experience seemed to take forever, and my brain went like this: “Oh shit, I’m gonna crash. Oh, maybe not! Damn! Wait, maybe not! Shit! Yup, I’m flying through the air, this is not good. Oh God, is that poison oak? Crap. It doesn’t look like it, but I’m not sure. Turn your head! Don’t get it on your face!!” Then my actual voice went like this, “Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!” CRASH!

Fortunately for me I landed in the bushes and dirt, not on any rocks. I got up, but this time it took me a little longer to assess the damage. First of all I was mortified at my own screaming, and checked to make sure there were no other runners around. There weren’t. Hmm, I thought shakily, maybe that’s why it’s embarrassing to get beaten by a girl. I sound like a frigging idiot. Maybe we should just change the phrase to “don’t Gretchen me,” because I can see how that might be embarrassing.

I confirmed the absence of poison oak from the vicinity and started a tentative jog. My left arm was on fire, but I didn’t really see any wounds. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself and shuffled along down the hill. When I came to a creek crossing, I gratefully stopped to soak my bandana and wash the dirt from my legs. I discovered two bloody knees, a bloody elbow and slightly bloody shoulder. None of it was very severe, and I felt much better after cleaning off.

Nearing the finish now, I spotted a young coyote trotting gracefully through the grass. It was beautiful, and I smiled. It’s natural athleticism provided a stark contrast to the way I felt at that moment. I was clearly a stranger in it’s home.

A few minutes later I gratefully crossed the finish line.

When I had made my final climb to the top of the observation deck in the race, I had considered running an additional 2 miles after the race was over. I’d run 28, and I thought I might as well bring it up to an even 30 for the day. After my fall, I’d scrapped the plan in a bout of self pity. Now I gave it another thought. I sipped an ice cold coke, and was about to refill my bottles for the 2 mile jaunt, when I spotted a creek in the shade near the finish line. Hmm, I could run 2 more miles, or I could drink this coke while sitting in that creek and soaking my legs. I decided that 2 miles was not going to make or break my chances at TRT. The icy water was the perfect tonic for my tired legs.

After changing and donning my flip flops, I headed back to the shade for pizza. I enjoyed chatting with some other women that I'd met on the course, but I was somehow missing that post race glow. I finally checked the results to see that I had finished 4th woman. I couldn’t believe it. How had I managed that? Sarah even gave me props, saying I had run really well considering the extra 2 miles. My finish time was 6:30, and I felt okay about it since I had initially estimated it would be 6 hours. The results also showed my pace, which was an agonizingly slow 15 minutes per mile. Now I’m sorry, but that is just slow. Then I noticed that the first place woman came in at 6:03. I started thinking how I might have finished if I hadn’t made a wrong turn. Then I realized I had been going faster than 15 minute pace because I actually ran 28 miles not 26. So what did that mean? I’ll tell you what it means: The math is irrelevant. I finished in 6:30 and took 4th woman, and I think I can feel pretty good about that. As my husband said when I told him about my day, “I guess that’s all part of it, isn’t it?” And he is exactly right.

It will not be surprising to you to hear that the 15 minute drive to the freeway took me 45 minutes. Yes, I got lost. I was just cruising along on a street that should have gone straight to the freeway, when I noticed that the name of the street had changed. How did that happen? I consulted the map. Maybe the map was wrong. I kept going. Finally I decided my best recourse was to turn around. As I was headed back I crossed a street that I recognized from the incorrect map. After several turns, I followed a sign that said “freeway” into a mall parking lot. Huh? Where was the freeway? Clearly my map sucked. After another 10 minutes of frustration I was finally on the freeway heading home.

The next day I still felt pretty crummy. Could my electrolytes really be that far out of whack? I consumed food and fluids all day, with no improvement. It finally dawned on me that I was sick. (The sore throat tipped me off!) Maybe this could account for my lack of attentiveness to my surroundings on race day. So as luck would have it my plan of training through this race didn’t completely work out. I took two unplanned days off after the race in an attempt to recover from the mystery ailment. Unfortunately it’s still lingering, but I did manage to get close to my mileage goal for this week.

Thanks so much to Sarah and Wendell and all the volunteers for being out there on a hot day and doing such a great job. I really appreciate the opportunity that these races provide. Congratulations to all the runners in the marathon and the 50 mile race, and especially to the “first timers.” You guys rock!





Unfortunately I am withough my camera at the moment, so for some real race-day photos and great reports on the 50 mile event check out:


Donald's Blog
Scott's Blog
Leslie's Blog

Much More Than a Six Word Memoir


I’ve been tagged! This particular version of tag is pretty cool as far as I’m concerned, since it only requires writing six words. Perfect for us slacker types! Catherine tasked me with a six word memoir. Here are the rules:

1) Write your own six word memoir

2) Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you want

3) Link to the person that tagged you in your post, and to the original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere

4) Tag at least five more blogs with links

5) Leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!


So I came up with a bevy of six-word mottos for my life, unable to choose the ‘perfect’ one, until the number six suddenly struck a chord. In my Middle School Language Arts class we are studying poetry, and the students are learning about various forms of poetry by writing their own poems. I’ve been writing my own poems along with them to serve as samples, to become a better teacher by looking at things from the students’ perspective, and to make it more of a group experience. (We can all share thoughts on what challenges we found, what we liked about certain forms, etc.) Anyway, back to the number six.

One of the poems we wrote this week was a sestina. Sestina comes from the Latin for sixth. It is a repetitive form of poetry consisting of seven stanzas. It follows a strict structure where the end words of the first stanza are repeated in each of the following stanzas in a specific pattern. The seventh stanza, the envoy, is three lines with two of the six words in each line. Follow?

So I thought the six words from my sestina would be an appropriate six word memoir:

books, students, face, learn, you, change

I’ll admit, alone they aren’t much of a memoir. So here is the sestina I put them in:


“The Musicians”

Laden with books,
I greet my arriving students.
A scowl clouds her young face.
She has so much to learn.
What can I tell you
about change?

I needed things to change.
My mind heavy with books,
listening to the discord flow through you.
But are students
here to learn?
Tension darkens my face.

Some days are hard to face,
and then things change.
What did I learn?
It’s not about the books,
of course. It’s the students.
I strum along with you.

I’m here because of you,
and that innocent grin on your face.
Me and my students:
grasping at change,
devouring books.
Inevitably, we learn.

There is still much more to learn.
Some days I am desperate to see you,
to talk of books
and the music you’ll face.
The instruments change
in a song written by students.

Each day is awash in students
who learn,
and I enjoy the change.
I have walked with you,
and looked into your face.
Together, we write books.

The melody lingers as we close our books. We are students,
turning to face the challenge, to learn about ourselves.
When I think of you I smile, and that is my favorite change.


I won’t make too many apologies for the excessive schmaltz. (That’s just how I roll!) Just know that this poem was really only written to share with my middle schoolers, not for publication to the world. Oh well.

In other news, Diablo marathon is tomorrow. I am excited because I have been training hard recently, and I rarely go into a race without at least a little rest. I will definitely be doing this one on tired legs, and it will be interesting to see how it feels. I know I frequently say “it’s just a training run, I’m not really racing,” but then I have a hard time not pushing myself when I get there. Well, I’m still gonna say it: It’s just a training run! I have committed myself to the plan that every race before July is just a training run for TRT. So in order to hold myself to this, I put in some decent miles this week. My goals for tomorrow are to have fun, practice nutrition and hydration, socialize with other runners and remain uninjured. Oh, and get a good workout! My plan is to run it like an ultra, meaning walking on most of the up hills and not worrying about my time.

I got obsessive about checking the weather forecast for the area this week. NOAA’s prediction for Saturday at Diablo climbed from a high of 71 on Monday, to 90 by Wednesday. ACK! I’m still running in tights and gloves and a jacket up here. Even in the hottest days of summer it does not get up to 90 degrees in Truckee. Obviously I am not a heat runner. Actually, to say that I am not heat trained right now would be woefully understating the matter. Yesterday the forecast was back down to 86, but I just checked it and now they are saying 90 again. I’d better stop looking, I think I’m jinxing myself.

Given the elevation profile of the course, my tired legs, and the heat predicted for tomorrow, I am predicting my slowest marathon ever, which is just fine with me.

Oh, and tags for the six word memoir: Claire, Dean, Eric, Jessica and Eric. I hope none of you have been tagged already, and of course if you don't feel like playing, that's totally cool. I'm not offended!

Happy Trails everyone!

A Smattering of Multimedia

Podcast Interview:

Based on many of my links and comments in this blog, most of you probably realize that I am a big fan of Scott Dunlap's blog, A Trail Runner's Blog. In fact, most of you are probably fans yourself. Mark recently remarked that "we can't get enough of this guy," and although my response on Mark's blog was a bit cheeky, he is ultimately correct. Scott's blog is popular for a reason! Today Endurance Planet posted a podcast interview (here) with the ultra blogger, providing some good insight into how Scott became a runner and blogger.

T&F Video:


After some hints from Lisa about how to actually get the youtube video into my blog (I'm an idiot, I know!) I've posted this video about CMS Track 2007 just to practice my new skills. This probably won't be very interesting to you unless you are a current T&F athlete or an alumni of the Claremont Colleges. (I ran track for CMS from '92 to '95.) The video quality isn't amazing, but the editing is quite good, and I think the music works really well. My favorite part comes after the credits when you can merely glimpse some of the antics of Coach Goldhammer himself!





Finally, here's how I spent my spring break, which explains why I missed my long run that weekend. Oops. It was worth it though!




It's the view from the stage of a Hot Buttered Rum Show. That's me on the far left: red hair, brown shirt.

I'm Back! (And plan on running 100 miles!)

After a winter off from running, and a spring of diving back in, I am finally getting around to posting to my blog. I sort of feel like I’m talking to no one here, since I personally would give up reading anyone who hadn’t posted to her blog in 3 months. I have, however, received of late several comments from folks asking “Where the hell are you, Gretchen?” So, thanks for letting me know you are still out there!

My biggest news is that I am an official entrant in the Tahoe Rim Trail 100. Yup, that's right, I am going to try to run 100 miles.

When I was in highschool, and I though 8 miles was a really long run, Ann Trason was busy kicking the butts of men and women alike on the Western States 100 course. I didn't have any clue what that was all about, but it seemed like such a romantic idea, and I loved the fact that a woman could sometimes be the winner of the entire field. What was ultra running? I didn't know. But Ann and Western States planted a seed that I am finally starting to water, 20 years later.

Several blogs I have read lately address the ever-present question of why we do this crazy thing that we do, be it running ultras, competing in triathlons, or climbing mountains. I know athletes have been asking this question for centuries, and will continue asking it as long as this planet is ours to explore. We all have to come up with our own answers to the question of why, but I also see a clear similarity among most people’s thoughts on this topic.

In particular, several posts on Claire’s blog, Who in Their Right Mind?, got me thinking about why exactly I want to run 100 miles this year. Claire is a triathlete, and her question focused more on "why do 3 sports at once instead of just one?" Her own response to the question though, touched on an idea that I think is true for many of us: the suffering endured in the process of pushing our physical and mental limits is rewarding. Yes, that’s right, it’s the suffering we like. Scott Dunlap also touched on this thought in his recent post on the Rucky Chucky 50K, noting that sometimes he wants it to be as hard as possible. After running out of water with several miles to go he said, "In fact, somewhere inside I was giddy knowing that I was stripped down to the most ancient of human conditions – nothing but your will, two legs, and fortitude to get you to the finish. I often wonder if we all have a secret desire for this to happen on occasion, just to prove to ourselves we can do it without all these fancy gadgets and aid." I knew exactly what he was saying.

Having identified myself as a runner since the age of 11, this is by no means the first time I have pondered these questions. After reading Claire’s post, I recalled a journal entry I had written on the topic in which I felt I had reached some real conclusions about why exactly I loved sports like running and rock climbing; sports that caused other people to give me that funny look and say “You’re crazy!” You know the look I’m talking about.

During the summer of 1998 I worked at a wilderness camp in northern Minnesota as a canoeing and climbing guide. I had just run my marathon PR at Grandma’s Marathon: 3:26, still my PR a decade later. Two summers before, I had spent 5 months backpacking the Pacific Crest Trail. It was also the summer that I met my husband. I was 24, and it was a good time for getting philosophical about the questions of life, and actually coming up with some real answers.

So I went looking for the journal that contained that particular entry, thinking I would recycle that entry and post it here. Two hours later, every corner of my house has been scoured to no avail, although I did enjoy perusing a number of journal entries from my younger days. A brilliant way to spend a Sunday that was set aside specifically for doing taxes.

But what I recall from that journal entry, is that my conclusion on the matter boiled down to essentially this: We do it because it reminds us that we are alive. Yes, the endorphins are great, yes I love the adventure of exploring new trails, being in the outdoors, the community. All of these things have their own rewards, and are part of the whole experience, but I don’t need to run 100 miles to experience those things. The truth is, pushing my own physical limits as far as I can makes me feel alive like nothing else.

I watched a documentary last night, “Steep,” about the pioneers of extreme skiing. (I lost a ro-sham-bo with my husband on this one, I wanted to watch “Across the Universe.”) I enjoyed the movie though, and would recommend it, even if you are not a skier, because it really looks at this same question of why. Although frankly when I meet an extreme skier (not unusual here in Tahoe) I give them a funny look and say, “You’re crazy!” Seriously, wanting to run 100 miles looks pretty sane compared to the stuff in that movie. My favorite quote from the movie was a skier, in response to the question of ‘why’, saying “The closer I am to death, the more alive I feel.”

I don’t think ultra-running is about being close to death, but it is true that the harder I push myself, the more alive I feel.