Humbled at the Silver State 50K

Looking back, it strikes me as funny that one reason I signed up for the Silver State 50K is because I was too lazy to travel to an event that was farther away. A piece of friendly advice: if you’re feeling lazy, Silver State is probably not your race.

Race director Stan Ostram gave us the course description at the pre-race meeting on Friday night. I’d never met Stan before, but he was easy to pick out. What is it about ultra race directing that seems to require sweet, skinny white-haired men for the job? I liked him immediately and found myself fighting the urge to call him “Coach.” His course description, however, left me feeling a bit dizzy. It sounded so complicated! After looking at the map he had posted, I decided it didn’t look so bad, but I needed to be sure not to miss the split where the 50K and 50 mile courses diverged.

During the pre-race meeting I spotted Scott and Olga and had a chance to introduce myself. They were both running the 50 miler. I said hi to a few other familiar faces (everyone but me was running the 50 miler!) and headed home to sort my gear.

I planned to run with my REI Runoff hydration pack. This thing kicks butt! I can carry 70oz. of water in it and whatever gear I want. It doesn’t bounce, and rides comfortably. I have never used it in a race before, but always use it on long training runs. I am considering using it for the TRT 50M in July and this race would be a test run. I filled it with GU2O, stuffed in a PB&J sandwich and some GU, chapstick, advil, my camera, sunglasses and visor. I packed a bag for the finish line, pinned my race number to my shorts and fell asleep.

Saturday morning I made the 30 minute drive to the starting line at 5 am. We had a 6 am start and I expected it to be chilly. I had a warm shirt on over my t-shirt, but when I got there I knew it was already warm enough that I wouldn’t need to start with gloves or a headband. I feared we were in for a hot day!

Runners gather at the start. At left, Jasper Halekas (orange tank and white hat) chats with Scott Dunlap

Stan Ostram Starts us off right

Stan got us started on time, and we headed up the hill toward Peavine. My plan for the day was to take it easy. I hadn’t really built up to this much mileage (a 50K that was really 33.5 miles) and I was worried about how I would fare. The first 6 miles of climbing was beautiful. I mostly walked, but the sun was coming up, the grade wasn’t too steep, and it was still pleasantly cool out. I even remembered to stop and take some pictures. Taking pictures was part of the plan to enforce my “take it easy” strategy. A runner named George came by and offered to take a picture with me in it. Thanks George! Soon after, I saw Olga heading up the hill at a steady pace.

The first miles of the race immediately start climbing
Me, hiking up towards Peavine summit

I reached the Peavine summit faster than the 2 hours Stan had predicted for most of us, and I had been primarily walking. I felt good! I checked my water and I still had plenty (maybe 70 oz was too much?) I grabbed some sandwiches and a GU and kept going.

Now we began a pleasant easy downhill. The scenery was your basic eastern Sierra high desert fare. There were only a few scattered trees on this slope. We had a view of snow capped mountains in one direction and the casinos of Reno in the other. A few people nearby made a wrong turn, but a runner named Angie called out to get us back on the right path. I promised to stay on my toes from now on and not miss any more turns! When we came to the 50K split I asked the course director which way to go and he pointed out a trail that I never would have seen! It was well marked, but it just wasn’t an obvious trail, and I was glad I had asked. Later I heard that several 50K runners had missed the turn off. I can’t imagine how they must have felt when they realized it.

This next stretch was my favorite section of the course. It was single track, while we had been on mostly jeep roads until this point. It was also downhill, but not steep or tricky. It was very runnable. I am not typically a strong downhill runner, and a few people passed me through this section, but it gave me a chance to chat with some new faces. I had already met more new people at this race than at most of my previous races combined. Were the runners in this race friendlier than normal, or was I friendlier than normal?

The downhill singletrack heading towards the Boomtown aid station

Crossing the Truckee River

The Boomtown aid station was incredibly well stocked, and I decided it was time for some more liquid in my hydration pack. I tried to help the girl fill it up, and in retrospect maybe I was just getting in her way. Anyway, it wasn’t super fast and I decided that was a drawback of the hydration pack over a bottle. I was grazing at the aid station when I heard someone say, “Anyone want an Otter Pop?”

“What?” My head popped up from the plate of watermelon I had been demolishing. My brain was saying “You need something substantial!” but my mouth was screaming “Otter Pop!” I shoved down a few potatoes with salt and went for the cooler full of otter pops. Artificial cherry flavored sugar ice. It was heaven! I walked away from the aid station, popsicle in hand, and crossed interstate 80.

“Did they have popsicles at that aid station?” I heard a voice call from behind. It turned out to be Chet, a runner from Reno, who, sadly, had missed the popsicles. We began an I-don’t-know-how-many-miles climb up toward the next summit. Chet had run this course several times before and shared some stories of previous years as well as tips on other local trails for running. The dirt road was winding, and not too steep. It was punctuated with several “shortcuts” that were, however, quite steep. The shortcuts basically cut major switchbacks, and were essentially cross country. I had to keep a sharp eye out for ribbons in order to figure out what direction to go.

It was right about this time when I heard that distressing sucking sound out of my hydration tube. This was the sound that meant I was out of water. I felt like a fool, since I had declined to fill up at the previous aid station. Another disadvantage of the hydration pack: You can’t tell how full it is without looking! I knew I couldn’t be too far from the next aid station, so I just tried not to think about it.

Straight up hill on the first shortcut

Eventually I realized that I was running alone and that I didn’t see any ribbons. Uh oh! Stan had definitely said that if you can’t see a ribbon in front of you or behind you, that you are probably off course. I stopped, unsure of what to do. I rounded the next corner, and to my relief, saw runners ahead. Unfortunately when I got up to them, I realized they were coming off a shortcut trail that I had obviously missed. Well, too late to worry about it now! I decided I probably hadn’t extended the run by too much, and this was confirmed when I arrived at the aid station to see a lot of familiar faces. (Although they had all been behind me before the missed shortcut.)

This time I simply handed my backpack to an aid station volunteer while I filled up on food. That seemed to work much better. I was still busy stuffing my face when he handed my pack back filled with GU2O. What wonderful people! I was impressed.

At this point we were headed across and over the top of the mountain. We were now in the woods, and there was essentially no trail at all. I have absolutely no idea how they figured out where to make the course go, it just seemed to wind haphazardly through the forest. I had a vision in my head of the people marking the course out there with about 20 rolls of flagging and a malfunctioning GPS. I tried to run a little since the terrain was flat, but all the pine needles, dirt, pine cones, rocks, branches and logs made it difficult. It was simply a matter of following the pink ribbons, and there were many! In fact, at numerous times there were so many ribbons I had trouble figuring out which way to go. I know that sounds ridiculous, let me explain. I would see a ribbon or two in front of me, but I would also see ribbons off to my right. “Huh?” Then I would realize the ones to my right were farther in the distance. Should I head towards nearby ribbons first, or just bee line it off to my right? Since there was no real trail it didn’t seem to matter.

Finally I was at the Hunter Lake aid station. With water paranoia now, I topped off my pack again. It was getting warm out, although it wasn’t unbearable. It was probably in the low 80’s. The volunteers told me there was 7 miles to go, and with no one in sight, I headed off on tired legs, happy in the knowledge that it was all downhill. It wasn’t long before I was not happy at all.

Up until this point it had been a wonderful day, and I felt I was executing my “take it easy” strategy well while still getting in a good workout. I had met a lot of nice folks and enjoyed the scenery and the weather. It was about noon when I left the aid station, and knowing it was downhill, I thought maybe I could finish by 1:15 or so. This 7 mile stretch absolutely kicked my butt.

I know you are not supposed to “brake” with your legs on the downhill. I know you are supposed to use gravity to your advantage and go with it, or whatever. I couldn’t see (and still can’t) how I could possibly do that on this particular “trail” without killing myself. This dirt road was rocky, loose, rutted, slanted, and just all around sketchy. A shuffling jog was the best I could do, and much of the time I was relegated to a walk. My knees and quads were on fire, and all I could think about was soaking them in an ice bath when I got home. In spite of the beautiful day I’d had up until this point, I quickly became demoralized. I realized that finishing by 1:15 was never going to happen, and I decided to not even think about my time anymore, just finish. The one uplifting part was that only about 5 runners passed me between Hunter Lake and the finish. At the speed I was moving, I would have expected the entire race to pass me, so maybe I wasn’t the only one struggling with this section.

I could tell that I was nearing civilization, when a runner named Pavan came up behind me. He was in such good spirits that I had to smile. We complained about the quality of the trail together, and laughed a lot. I felt much better not running alone. When we entered the paved roads Pavan was a bit ahead of me. Although the turns were well marked, he would put up his hand and wave at me any time the trail turned a corner. That gesture of kindness was very much appreciated, not to mention that in my delirium, I could have easily missed a turn. Thanks for helping to pull me though that final stretch Pavan!
I stumbled into the park, and crossed the line in 7:48:58. It was more than an hour slower than my slowest 50K, but not as bad as I had feared. A few seconds later Jasper Halekas came blazing across the line to win the 50 mile race. I was at least relieved that he hadn’t finished before me!

People were in good spirits at the finish line, and food and drinks were abundant. I think cold watermelon (theirs was on ice!) is my favorite finish line food. I saw Chet, who had finished 20-30 minutes ahead of me. He looked completely fresh! That’s good because I overheard him tell someone that he was going to run Ohlone 50K the following day. Ouch! I took an informal visual poll and about 3 out of 5 finishers were sporting bloody wounds of some kind, mostly on the knees. I found myself wondering if maybe getting a few scrapes and bruises would have been better that killing my quads by “braking” down the last downhill. I’m still undecided.

Recovery is going surprisingly well. I was really sore on Sunday, but my runs on Monday and Tuesday felt good. I now know why everyone says this is such a good training run for Western States. It’s all that downhill! If I ever get into States, I will definitely be coming back to Silver State. Either way, I’m already thinking about how I will redeem myself on this course next year.

A race report final summary:

Gear thoughts: I’m still undecided on the hydration pack for TRT, but I’m thinking ‘no’ at this point. Also, I need new gaiters!

Best moment of the day: Otter Pops at Boomtown!

Worst moment of the day: The downhill from Hunter Lake to the finish. (Can that be considered one moment??)

Lessons learned: Always top off the water pack! Watch for course markings at all times!

Next time: Run more of the uphills. (I don’t think walking them really saved me on the downhills)

Photography skills: I did okay, but when I got tired and bummed out I totally stopped taking pictures. Note that there are no pictures of the part of the trail I had the most complaints about.

Bragging rights: I beat Jasper! (Ignoring the fact that he ran 12+ miles farther.)

Favorite section of course: The downhill single track just after the 50K split.

Favorite part about the race: Super friendly runners! Also, the sweet Patagonia silk weight shirts in women’s style and sizes. (Thank you for not giving unisex style shirts that I will never wear!! I love my shirt!!)

My First TRT Training Run of 2007

After the Prison Hill race, I decided I needed a long run on the Tahoe Rim Trail to welcome the advent of summer in the Sierra. Unfortunately winter breathed one last gasp in the week prior to this planned run, and blanketed the mountains with another 6 inches of snow. By the time Saturday rolled around the weather hadn’t warmed up much, and I still wasn’t sure if the trail would be runable. I remained undecided until about 9:00 am, when I realized I just couldn’t let go of my plan. I’d been looking forward to this run all week! I decided that if it turned out to be just a hike in the snow, that would be okay too.

It was fairly warm at my house, enough to feel comfortable in shorts, a short sleeved shirt and a long sleeved shirt. I threw a windbreaker and pair of tights into my running pack just in case, along with 2 PBJ sandwiches, several packets of GU, a 70 oz bladder filled with raspberry GU2O, warm gloves, headband, and requisite other items such as Advil and TP. One big advantage of the running backpack: you can be prepared for everything! I packed another bag with post-run sandals, water and food that I would leave in the car, and I was off.

I arrived at Spooner Summit about 40 minutes later, and as soon as I opened the car door I knew I would need my tights. It was about 45 and windy. Brr! My planned route had me starting out with what is actually the last 1 ½ miles of the TRT race. I would pass through the start/finish area to head another 4 ½ up to Marlette Lake. (This stretch is the very beginning of the race.) At Marlette Lake I planned to diverge from the actual race route. I figured both Marlette Peak and Snow Valley Peak would have too much snow still. Instead, I planned to skirt along the west side of Marlette Lake and run the Flume Trail. I would then turn around and run the same route back to my car.

The Flume and Rim trails. I essentially followed the red line up and back.

I headed out at about 11:00 with my warm gear on, including the gloves. It was a brilliantly beautiful day, and although I still had no idea what I would encounter at higher elevations, I already knew I had made the right decision in coming here. I cruised along Spooner Lake and through the meadow, enjoying the easy pace of an all day run. As I headed up the dirt road toward Marlette Lake, I suddenly realized that I had forgotten my camera. Damn! I was really disappointed, as the scenery was already beautiful, and I knew it would only get better. After reading Scott Dunlap’s write up of the Big Sur Marathon, and enjoying Addy’s picture-taking-addiction, I had promised myself that I would remember to bring (and use!) my camera on more of my runs and races. Photos add so much to people’s race descriptions, I often feel like I was there myself. I guess “camera” just hasn’t made it to my mental pre-run checklist yet. Well, it’s something to which I can aspire in the future.

As I gained elevation, still at mile 4 or 5 of my run, I began to encounter snow. It was clearly all from the most recent storm, as it was only 2-4 inches deep, and didn’t pose much of a barrier. The landscape was stark and clearly still in the midst of winter at this elevation. There was no grass, no wildflowers, and the white snowy ground seemed to blend right into the granite of the mountains. Everywhere the aspens were tall, leafless white sticks, still waiting for spring.

I also realized at this time that there were no footprints in the snow. I turned to look back at my own prints behind me, and ahead again at the untracked trail stretched out before me. This is typically a heavily used trail, and I relished the knowledge that I was alone in this wilderness.

Continuing my upward climb, I watched as Marlette Peak began to show itself through the trees. I played tourist, reading some of the trailside signs, and stopping at an old cabin that was once used by the shepard of a ranch which used to be in the area. It had been restored to make a nice picnic shelter.

Soon I was heading downhill, the last stretch to the lake. The snow was a bit deeper now. Suddenly a pair of footprints popped out of the woods onto the trail in front of me. I was taken aback. Who were these people, and where did they come from? Why had they been tromping through the woods instead of on a trail? Admittedly I was a bit disappointed to lose my feeling of solitude, even though I hadn’t seen any actual people. As I cruised down the hill, adding my own footprints to theirs, I wondered if they were runners too. Maybe they were hikers who had gotten lost. Maybe they were locals headed to the lake for some early season fishing. Then, just as suddenly, their footprints disappeared again back into the woods. Just like that, I was alone again.

The lake was breathtaking, and still half frozen. The gusting wind made the blue water choppy, while a white frozen sheet pressed up against the southwestern shore. Here the TRT course turns right, heading up Marlette peak, which was still encased in a frozen world. I took a left turn in order to connect with the Flume trail, which would keep me at about my current elevation. I knew this side of the lake, shaded from the sun by a steep ridge, would likely have a lot of snow. I was tromping through it when I met the footprint owners: just a couple out for a hike, albeit a long one. When I left them behind, heading in the opposite direction, I again found myself on untracked ground.

I had been correct about the deeper snow on this section of trail. About every third or fourth step I was post-holing through to just below my knees. I found that a lighter step kept me from breaking through the top layer, and changed my stride to more of a run/walk in order to stay on top.

The one hazard that I knew might force me to turn around was the outlet to Marlette Lake. The trail basically goes across the tip of the lake, just before the water pours down a ravine. In the summer I could ride my mountain bike right through this section, but I knew the water level would be higher this time of year. Fortunately it looked like I could climb across some rocks on the left side of the trail and avoid the water. Unfortunately the rocks were covered with snow. I weighed my options: #1- Climb slippery snow covered rocks and risk falling into the water. #2- Take off my shoes and socks, hike up my tights and wade through the icy water. I decided to take my chances and went with option #1. I made it!

Soon I crossed over to the other side of the ridge to get on the Flume Trail itself. This side of the ridge faced west, and suddenly I went from trudging through fairly deep snow, to absolutely no snow at all. Hooray! I was drenched in sun and gazing at the glory of Lake Tahoe far below me. This is quite possibly my favorite trail in all of Tahoe. Although it is only 4 ½ miles long, it’s worth all the effort it takes to get there. The Flume Trail follows what was once a logging flume used to send the logs down to town, the train, the mill, etc. The flat single track trail traverses a ridge above Lake Tahoe, treating you to fast running (or biking) and stunning views. Now I was really feeling bad about my forgotten camera.

Photo courtesy of www.theflumetrail.com

I nonetheless ran this stretch with a huge grin on my face. I stopped to take my long sleeved shirt off so I could feel the warmth of the sun on my arms. That didn’t last long, since the icy wind blew the warmth right off! I passed Sand Harbor, and turned around just short of the Tunnel Creek Road which heads down to Lake Tahoe. I was aiming to get in 22 miles, but looking at the map it may have even been 23.

When I finally returned to the north canyon trail, in the last 5 miles of the run, I remembered that I had my cell phone with me. It has a camera! I smacked my forehead in a mixture of frustration and excitement. I had missed all the incredible shots of the Flume Trail and Marlette Lake, but at least I would get a few pictures.

Back at the car I smiled as I changed into my flip flops. Although it had been somewhat more of an adventure rather than a pure run (I figured I spent about 7 miles on snow) it had been a wonderful day. I went about 22 miles in 5 hours. I also noticed that the amount of snow on the trail on my way back had been considerably less. It's melting quick! I would imagine that by this time, the trail is in perfect condition for running. Everyone, let the altitude training commence.

Prison Hill "Training Race"

There are times when living in a state of unbalance can be a good thing, or at least a sign of good things. For example, I am currently in a frenzy because I have taken two days off in a row. I need to run! This is a good sign, because not all that long ago I was simply too tired, both physically and emotionally, to care if I missed a workout or three or four.

Saturday I ran the Escape from Prison Hill half marathon in Carson City. It’s a beautiful course on hilly, desert terrain; in short, a great training run. (I wrote a detailed report from last year’s race here.) I realized I really had the “training run” mentality when I arrived at the starting line with only 10 minutes until the start, and without my watch. Oops! I darted to packet pick-up and the bathroom, while “Folsom Prison Blues” pumped out of the starting line speakers. Ultimately it was perfect timing, as I was ready and waiting about two minutes before the gun went off.

Temperature at the starting line was about 45 degrees, but felt pleasant. The race director warned us that it would get hot, but it was still only 70 by the time I finished. (In fact, once I stopped I had to put on long sleeves because the breeze was making me chilly!) I employed a slightly different strategy than usual at the start because I was familiar with this course. My usual strategy is not to be too close to the starting line when lining up for a race, in order to keep myself from starting out too fast. It also means that I spend some time weaving through the crowd passing slower runners. This course becomes an uphill single track pretty quickly, after about a half mile, and last year I spent much of the first two miles trying to pass people who were walking. This year my plan was to be amongst the people who would run the up hill by the time we hit the single track. It worked perfectly, and I really felt I was going my own pace the whole time.

Since their finish line clock was broken, I had no watch on, and I didn’t feel like hanging around for the awards ceremony when they would post the results, I still don’t know what my finishing time was. Last year I finished in 2:14, and I would say I was a little slower this year. It felt great though, and I was able to go home and run with the dogs for another 3.5 miles. (They needed exercise, and I needed to tack on just a few more miles for the week!)

On my drive home over Spooner Summit, I noticed a conspicuous lack of snow. I know it must be hiding in the trees there somewhere, but I was encouraged. I am now planning my Saturday run on part of the course for the Tahoe Rim Trail races. That’s my next big race, and I really want to focus on it and do well. It will only be my second 50 miler, and it is a much harder course than the AR50, which I ran last year. Part of my training plan is to do a lot of running on the actual course. I’ll write up a report on trail conditions next week for those of you coming to Tahoe for this beautiful race.

One last sad note is that my team dropped out of The Relay. We were a 12 woman team, and if you aren’t familiar with The Relay, it is a 199 mile race through the San Francisco Bay area to raise money for organ donation. It’s the same race of Dean Karnazes fame, you know the story, where he ran the relay solo and had the pizza delivered to him on the road. Anyway, I was so excited to be part of a team, and pretty bummed that it’s not going to happen. The bright side is that it’s really better for my training because now I can run long on Saturday.

My frenzied state should come to an end with my afternoon run today. Sunday I had planned a bike ride, but was so tired from Saturday’s run(s) plus a lot of social activity, that I just couldn’t make it. I needed a day off. Yesterday I was ready to get back in it, but unfortunately had to work 11 hours. I’m just not good at getting up early enough to run before work (about 5:00). Triathlon training starts soon, so I better start figuring it out!

Spring Fever

In truth, what I really have is summer fever. Out of the last two weeks, including my spring break, it snowed a total of 28 inches. All I wanted was to be down at the lake in my bikini in the warm sun. On the Brightside, snow was much more conducive to getting my taxes done, and I already have my refund!

My first wave.Don't laugh, I know it's microscopic, I don't care!

Things in the running world have not gone quite as planned, although perhaps predictably. Two days after my PR at the Way Too Cool I woke up with a sore throat and a fever. Not so horrendous, except that the illness lingered for more than two weeks and devastated my training schedule.
I pondered my goals for AR50. I quickly revised them. No chance of a PR here, I would just have to consider it a training run. A few days later my head cleared a little more, and I realized no matter how ‘easy’ I ran, that it was still 50 miles. With the exception of the Cool race, I had run approximately 15 miles in 4 weeks, with only 2 1/2 weeks until the race. Not a good training plan for 50 miles. With a few wistful thoughts about the undoubtedly sweet finisher’s jacket that I would not get, I made the decision to drop the race from my schedule. I was sad on race day, and my disappointment was furthered when I recalled that this was one of my events for the Ultra Grand Prix. However, I have a long season planned, no sense getting injured in the first third.

I spent another light running week in Hawaii with Andrew. This may have been the true fuel for my spring fever. It was incredible! My good friend Dayle's wedding was the motivation for the trip, and it developed into a reunion of my dearest friends, affectionatly known as "The Slackers." It was much needed time with girlfriends. I went surfing for the first time in my life and stood up on my third wave! I don’t know how it’s possible that a girl who grew up in SoCal has never surfed before, but I guess if Newport Beach had warm water and small waves like Waikiki that might have been different. The trip was also a great romantic getaway. We stayed in this beautiful place in Kailua, bought local food at the farmer’s market and walked along the beach in the mornings drinking Kona coffee. I am now looking in to what it would cost to move to Kailua. (Ha ha)

Sunrise on Kailua Beach

The Slackers!

Some of our lower elevation trails are starting to appear here in Tahoe, and this is the time of year when I really start to appreciate them. I’m tired of driving an hour each way to find snow-free trails, and with gas at 3.75 a gallon I can’t afford it anyway. The emigrant trail is one of my favorite lower elevation trails, and I managed to catch 14 miles on it last Saturday before it was blanketed in 8 inches of snow on Sunday. I am slowly working my way back into shape!

I have also been contemplating some more revisions in my race schedule. I know the Bishop High Sierra 50 can not be a 50 miler for me. My question has been whether to travel to Bishop to run the 50K course, which I have already run, or to stay closer to home and run the Silver State 50K, a course that I have not run before. When considering the options, I didn’t really feel up for the travel unless it was going to be a new or special event, but the Silver State course looked considerably more difficult and I wasn’t sure how I would fare. When I realized that SS was an event in the Ultra Grand Prix, I let that be the deciding factor and signed up for it. It won’t really make up for missing AR50 because it’s a shorter distance, but it helps. I’m not really competitive in the Grand Prix anyway, but it’s fun to score points!

I was able to run in shorts and a t-shirt today, and my daffodils which were crushed by Sunday’s snow, seem to be coming back. It was 63 today and is forecasted to be 70 by Friday. It’s time to discover what other Tahoe trails are snow free, and rake up the pine needles in the garden!

Andrew and I catch the same wave

Way Too Cool 50K

Saturday March 10th was the running of the Way too Cool 50K. Some people say that the hardest part of this event is just getting in. I would definitely argue that point.Yes, the race filled online in about 8 minutes. But hey, there were no qualifying requirements, no lottery system. It ain’t Boston, and the run up the hill from Maine Bar is certainly harder than any online entry process.

Runners get ready with 8:24 left until the start

I did discover that there is a reason the race is so popular. It’s a beautiful course, not too slow, and the weather turned out to be perfect. I was initially a bit concerned about the heat. Normally temps in the low 70’s wouldn’t be thought of as heat, but it was considerably warmer than the temps in the 20’s and 30’s that I had been training in. The longest distance between aid stations was just over 8 miles, causing me some hesitation on gear decisions. How much water would I need? Figuring I would drink a little extra water leaving the aid stations, I decided to go light, and carried just one 20 oz bottle.

I wasn’t really sure what my goals for the race were. Due to a combination of work obligations and big snow storms, it turned out that I didn’t run for almost two weeks prior to race day. Even prior to that, my mileage hadn’t been extremely high (in the low 40’s per week.) What would this mean for my run? I wasn’t really sure, and decided to just see how it went.

Living in the snowy Tahoe area, I spend many Saturdays doing my long runs “down the hill” in the Auburn area. This gave me the advantage of being pretty familiar with most of the course. The first 6 mile loop from the Cool fire station was the only section of trail I hadn’t run before. Race morning began with chilly temps, but by the time the starting line clock had counted all the way down to zero, it was warm enough for my chosen shorts and tank. This simplified things, as I wouldn’t have to discard any clothing along the way.

The race seemed crowded during that first 6 mile loop. There are about 400 runners, and many of them are fast. Fortunately we were still on roads (some paved, mostly dirt) but I still felt an anxiety that led me to try to work my way through the crowd before we hit single track. The trail was pleasantly rolling and shady. I came to the first aid station entirely too fast, about 8:40 pace, but didn’t let that worry me too much. I felt like I had been holding back, and I also knew that the roads would be faster than the upcoming single track anyway. This was where we hit the 8+ mile stretch to the next aid station. My bottle was only half empty, but I filled it up with raspberry GU2O and downed a cup of liquid at the station as planned. I also grabbed a GU and a couple squares of PB&J. Turns out I should have been more focused on getting food than water.

I had forgotten how shady and cool the canyon trails along the American River are. Heat was never a problem, and I had plenty of water to last to the second aid station. I fell in with a large group of runners who seemed to be going the perfect pace. There were maybe 15 of us cruising along, no one feeling the need to pass anyone. People exchanged a few jokes, and comments about the course. There was a request for songs, but none of us were brave enough to try our singing voices. This is one of my favorite things about ultra races. Although we are all certainly working hard, there is more a feeling of camaraderie than competitiveness.

Although the water issue was fine, I realized that I was starving with a couple miles to go until the next aid station. My two mainstays for food are PB&J sandwiches and GU. Fortunately these were all in good supply at Cool, but I seemed simply to have eaten too few. I was focused on moving through the aid stations quickly and must have skimped on the calories.

All of the aid stations at this were great in my opinion. Volunteers lined the trail as runners approached. Instead of holding cups of water they had large pitchers in both hands filled with GU2O and water. I simply opened my bottle and they quickly filled me up. They practically ran along side me while pouring so I barely had to stop. After the hungry spell I did a better job of eating at aid stations. I always ate a potato with salt and left the stations with 3 GUs and 3 squares of PB&J. I occasionally downed a coke before leaving too. I must have been pretty efficient because I always seemed to leave the stations ahead of most of the people I had come in with.

pre-taped feet (It worked-no blisters!!)

Soon I was on a loop from the Auburn Lake Trails aid station which would come around back to the same station. This was the one section where I ran out of water. It was just over 6 miles, but the temperature was rising, and it included the killer climb up from Maine Bar. I have run that hill probably 5 or 6 times in the last two years, but I still found myself wondering when it would end. Not only is this hill steep, but the footing is rough. At several points I put out a hand to brace myself. A fast paced hike had me moving past 7 or 8 runners over the length of the hill. Finally we were back at the ALT aid station.

At this point in the race I started playing mental games with myself. I felt like I was almost there because I had made the turnaround and was headed back toward the fire station. In reality I still had 12 miles to go. That could hardly be called “almost done.” I kept trying to remind myself of that. But this section is also my favorite stretch of trail in the area. It feels like endless miles of flat and slightly downhill trail. The trail is shady, footing is great and it feels fast. Things had thinned out and I wasn’t seeing a whole lot of people anymore, but every now and then I would pass another runner. I ran briefly with two women from Santa Barbara who were running their first ultra. I was impressed, as I felt like I could barely hang on to their pace. Unfortunately one of them twisted an ankle and they had to slow to a walk.

By the time I reached the Goat Hill aid station, I knew I was not going to crash and burn. I had passed a number of people on the hill, in my opinion the easier of the two big climbs, and was feeling good. From there to the last aid station the trail is still moderate, with a lot of flats and easy down hills. The grass in areas was a brilliant green, and a few wild flowers were beginning to pop out along the trail. I was enjoying my last few miles.

When I reached the last aid station with 1.7 miles to go, my time was 5:10. I had no idea what kind of pace I was running, but I figured if it wasn’t all uphill and I didn’t totally die, I could finish in under 5:30. That would be huge for me, so I flew through the aid station with my hopes high. Almost immediately I found myself on a solid uphill climb. But this was a hill that I had run many times before and I knew it wasn’t long. Soon I was running the flat open trail towards the finish. My final time, 5:26, was a huge PR for me. My two previous 50Ks were 6:46 at TRT and 6:40 at Bishop High Sierra. Certainly this is a faster course than those and at lower altitude, but I was still psyched on cutting about 1:15 off my best time for the distance. There were still several climbs on this course that forced a walk, and several descents that were steep enough to do the same.

It’s clear why Cool is such a popular race: the beautiful trails, the great aid stations, the friendly runners. I have my calendar marked for the online entry next year! (December 9th 2007, 8:00 am sharp)

The Great Ski Race


Last weekend I participated in a favorite winter event here in Tahoe, The Great Ski Race. A fundraiser for the Tahoe Nordic Search and Rescue Team, it draws one of the largest crowds of skiers west of the Mississippi. This year was no exception, with over 800 participants crossing the finish line. It’s a 30K race from Tahoe City (on the north shore of Lake Tahoe) to Truckee, and it’s absolutely beautiful!

Skiers gather in the starting area

I had waited to the last minute to sign up, as there was a good chance the race was going to be cancelled. With one of the driest Januarys on record, and February not doing much better, there was essentially no snow on the course one week before the race. Things looked grim. But then we got one of those big storms that this area is famous for, and suddenly there was 9 feet of new snow blanketing nearby Donner Summit. The race was on!
I am not exactly an experienced Nordic racer, and I had only been on my skate skis once this season. My technique is shoddy, to say the least, but I knew I at least had endurance on my side. I was joined in the race by two co-workers, Mike and Ambrose, along with Ambrose’s parents. Mike and Ambrose were definitely experienced Nordic racers, and this was reflected in their seeded starts, Ambrose in wave #1 and Mike in wave #3. I myself was back in wave #5. The starting line announcer referred to us as “the cruisers, just out there to have fun.” I sort of resented this summation, as I considered myself to be more “working my butt off, but just slow.” Maybe the cruisers were in wave #6?

Ambrose takes off with the first wave (photo by Michael Roberts)

As I watched the first wave take off from my position back in wave #5, it was clear these guys were fast and competitive. Their technique was smooth and graceful, even while they were jockeying for position. They looked like figure skaters with long sticks on their feet. I couldn’t pick out Ambrose in the crowd, but I wished him luck as we all cheered them on. As the waves ahead moved up to the line, I spotted two girls in spangled pants with bunny ears and cotton tails. A man wearing nothing but a speedo skied up to join their wave. Even some of the faster people were still out there to have fun, (if you call skiing naked fun!)

costumed skiers are not an unusual sight (photo by Michael Roberts)

With three minutes in between each wave start, I set off 12 minutes after the first wave. Skiers are not allowed to skate for the first 50 yards or so in an effort to avoid crashing right off the starting line. This makes sense from a logistical standpoint, but I have to say that double poling really sucks. Those skis were meant for skating.
The first 5K or so is spent winding through the Tahoe Cross Country Ski Area, and trying desperately to stay out of the way of fellow racers. This can be tricky, because as with the start of a running race, you are trying to pass slower racers, while others are trying to pass you. The big difference is that we are all on skis and take up a lot more space. I think the key is to remember that it is a long race, and not to get too concerned about passing people. There will be plenty of time for that. That being said, I did manage to trip over someone’s pole and go down about 5 minutes into the race. Whoops! Fortunately I got up quickly and didn’t cause a domino affect of crashes behind me.
Soon after leaving the cross country center, skiers find themselves on the long climb up to Starrett Pass. It’s not an incredibly steep hill, but it seems never ending. Not being very graceful on the down hills, I also knew that this was likely to be my strongest part of the race. I dug in, and began slowly but steadily passing other skiers. I knew once we reached the top of the pass, the hard part was pretty much over. At the top, we were rewarded with stunning mountain views and a soup station (a.k.a., the aid station.) I was skiing with a very lightly filled camelback, so I just skied by and grabbed a Twix bar off a plate; a perfect sugar boost to munch on the downhill.
There are many comparisons to be made between ski races and running races, but I have to say, the down hill is not one of them. Going downhill is unquestionably easier on skis, and it’s faster. It’s like stopping to rest, meanwhile covering ground twice as fast as you were before. And it doesn’t hurt your knees! Truly, it’s like a miracle when compared to running downhill. The trail from the 10K marker to the 20K marker is a beautiful, not too steep, downhill that goes by so fast you have to remind yourself to enjoy it before you start huffing and puffing again.
The last 10K is rolling with a little bit of everything. Personally I enjoyed the small hills because it broke things up, but I think I was the only one. The biggest challenge of the course comes at the very end. Just when your legs have turned completely to jelly, you have to negotiate a steep downhill punctuated with a series of sharp turns; a section of the course termed “the luge” by some skiers. The steepest hill of course, is right across the finish line. I don’t know what sick mind thought this would be a good way to finish a 30K ski race, but it does draw a crowd of spectators at the finish area, who are guaranteed to see some carnage. I used my jelly legs to their fullest to stay in a controlled snow plow, not caring in the least that other skiers were passing me like mad. I was just starting to get up a little more speed than I was comfortable with when I came to the steepest part of the hill. “Oh great,” I muttered aloud upon seeing the last 100 yards to the finish line.
“You can do it!” said a laughing spectator. I could tell he was just waiting for me to eat it. Why else would anyone be standing at that icy corner? Sicko! I figured he would get his due when some out of control skier came careening around the corner straight into him. It wasn’t going to be me though.
Miraculously I made it in unscathed. My time, 2:09, sounded fast to me, but since I’m not much of a racer I don’t really know what it means. I finished 361 out of 812. Not bad I guess. Ambrose crossed the line in 1:28 for 33rd place, and Mike finished in 1:33. Now that’s fast! All in all, it was a beautiful day and a fun cross training event.We got some food and beer and listened to the band while we watched the rest of the skiers cross the line, hoping to see a few good crashes.

The End: the naked guy finishes with style. (photo by Michael Roberts)

Check back next week for my write up of Saturday's Way Too Cool 50K!

The Death Valley Trail Marathon




My decision to run the Death Valley Trail Marathon was based largely on the many reports of the magnificent scenery on the course as it descends through Titus Canyon. I signed up with the knowledge that for the last three years in a row the RD’s had been forced to change the course due to snow, floods and rockslides. I had not heard glowing reports about the alternate course: a flat out-and-back across an area fondly called the Devil’s Golf Course. So when I departed Truckee on my seven hour drive towards the desert, I was excited that everything was still a ‘go’ for the Titus Canyon course.

I arose early Saturday morning in Death Valley National Park. The mandatory runner check-in was at the saloon at the Furnace Creek Ranch at 6:15 am. I couldn’t remember ever starting a race with a visit to a bar, but it was a fitting beginning for what turned out to be a day filled with fun, camaraderie and beautiful scenery. The day didn’t wait until the race began to inspire us with scenery either. As we stood about pinning numbers to our shirts and trying to stay warm, we watched the nearly full moon set over the mountains washed in pink.

Before loading the fleet of school busses that would take us to the start of the point to point course, we gathered to listen to instructions from race director Dave Horning. He reminded us that we could not have personal vehicles following along the course, and that Enviro-Sports has a strict “no headphones” policy. These rules turned out to be quite serious, as runners who broke them were later disqualified. Next he gave us the course description, which went something like this. “There’s no ribbons, no course marking, no mile markers. The course is one way on Titus Canyon Road. If you get lost on this course, well…” He laughed and gave us a look clearly indicating that only a complete idiot could get lost on this course. He reminded us to return our timing chips at the end of the race, and admonished us to “wear your chip on your ankle, not your shoulder.” I spent a moment trying to figure out how exactly I could get the Velcro band of the timing chip around my shoulder, until I noticed a few other people laughing and finally got the joke. “Tough crowd!” Dave said to the lack of laughter. Not so much tough, as just stupid (myself included).

When we arrived at the starting line it was still so chilly that I was loath to remove my warm clothes and put them on the bus to the finish area. I don’t know what the temperature was, but shorts and a long sleeve shirt were definitely not enough to stay comfortable. We all shivered on the starting line, while Dave gave us the starting instructions. “Now, I’ll drive my car about 50 yards up the road,” he began, “and then I’ll tap my breaks. When you see those break lights flash, that’s your signal to start.”

We all laughed this time, but I turned to the runner next to me, “I don’t think he’s kidding,” I said. She nodded her agreement. Sure enough, a minute later came a flash of red from down the road, and the runners up front took off.

The first five or six miles were basically flat, following a dirt road that offered plenty of obstacles in the form of sand and gravel. There were about 300 runners, and the crowd didn’t thin out much in the first five miles. I got to the first aid station and checked my watch. Forty eight minutes. Well, I certainly hadn’t made the mistake of going out too fast! I didn’t bother filling up my water bottle, as it was still ¾ full, and set off for the next aid station at mile ten.

I don’t really consider myself a good downhill runner, so I figured the next 7 miles or so of uphill were bound to be my best part of the race. With this in mind, I began to increase my effort on the very mild, but steadily increasing incline.

I also realized at this point that I needed to pee. We were still in open desert, with essentially nothing to hide behind. I relaxed with the knowledge that there were port-a-potties at the start of the 30K, which should be somewhere around the 8 mile mark. The race began to spread out at this point as well, allowing me the freedom to pick my course down the road. This was not insignificant, as one side of the road might offer solid, hard-packed footing, while the other was covered with deep sand. Eventually I started checking my watch, wondering where the 8 mile mark was. Surely I should have been there by now! When I finally saw the busses that had carried the 30K runners to their start, and the blessed port-a-potties, I saw that there was also an aid station there. Could this really be the ten mile aid station? That would agree with my watch, which indicated that I had kept the same pace that I’d held for the first 5 miles. But if that was true, had the 30K runners really started here as well? That would make their 30K only 16 miles. Well, math was never my strong suit, especially not while running. I stopped trying to add it up, and charged off up the hill.

We finally reached the mountains, and the scenery started to change. Colorful walls of rock appeared, as we made the first climb towards White Pass. The road we were running on had also become rockier. I started wondering if we were in Titus Canyon yet. It seemed rather canyon-like, but then we came out into the open again and I thought, “That can’t be it! Too short!” Then again, I really didn’t know how long the canyon section would be.

Soon we began a welcome descent, between the two passes. My hips had begun to tighten up from the uphill, so it was a relief to stretch out my stride and get some speed on the downhill. As we descended, we could look across the small valley to see runners headed up the switchbacks on the other side, small dots of color making their way in a never ending zigzag up the red rocky face.

“All this downhill can only mean one thing,” I commented to another runner as he passed by. We commiserated as we watched our impending fate begin to unfold. Dave had used some fairly harsh language when describing this hill at the runner check-in, and I can say it was an accurate description. I used a run/walk strategy of running two minutes and walking one. This worked well for me. I didn’t feel like I was pushing things too hard, but I did seem to be slowly passing other runners.

I took in the view from the top, and began the 14 mile descent to the finish. The first couple of miles were steeper than I had hoped, but I did my best to use gravity to my advantage while staying in control. I found myself with my eyes glued to the trail in an attempt to avoid slipping and careening off the side of the mountain. After a few quad-pounding miles, the hill leveled out a bit and we truly arrived in Titus Canyon. This time there was no doubt.

I finally understood why, after three years in a row of being thwarted, Enviro-Sports still tried to hold a race here. It was also abundantly clear why the route could be closed due to flooding and rock slides. The sides of the canyon seemed to come straight out of the ground, rising in high vertical walls on both sides. The canyon walls were striped with multi-colored bands of rock, and at some points the floor narrowed to about 10 yards between both sides. It was not someplace I would want to be caught in a thunderstorm! I could clearly picture the rushing river that had carved this wonder; it was visible in the sharp turns and undercut walls. Some sections of the canyon were quite chilly, and it seemed apparent that the sun could only briefly squeeze down into that crevasse.

I came through the 15 mile aid station feeling great. I sucked down my second GU, which I brought with me since the aid stations didn’t have any, and headed off towards the next aid station at mile 20. I think being on a course that looks flat, but is really downhill, gives you a mental boost. You feel like you’re going faster with less energy. It’s like magic! Okay, and it didn’t hurt that I had run the first 5-10 miles at a reasonable pace.

The last aid station was at mile 23, right at the exit of the canyon. There is a dramatic change from being in the tight, closed in space of the canyon, to the wide open desert, and it happens immediately. I grabbed a piece of banana to keep the late marathon bonk at bay, and headed off towards the finish line, which I could already see, 3 miles away.

Mercifully, the downhill continued, and the last 3 miles weren’t too painful. I was finishing with the tail end of the 30K runners, and there were plenty of runners, and even a decent number of spectators. I had shed my long sleeves by mile 4, but even at the finish the temperature was not too warm. It was perfect, in fact!

I was a little disappointed in my time, 4:10, but then I had to remind myself that it was just supposed to be a training run. I was glad I hadn’t forgotten that during the race! I still managed to finish 7th for women.

I had a great weekend, on a spectacular course! I would almost certainly do it again, if it were not for the long drive; that, and the risk of having to run on the Devil’s Golf Course! Thanks so much to everyone at ES and all the volunteers, it was a great day.

I’ll leave you all with another classic quote from Dave. “Those Rock ‘N Roll Marathons, they think they have such a great thing because they have a rock band at every mile. But we have one continuous band of rock!”

Jesse Takes the Long Way Home

Last week, Jesse Zweig began a planned run to raise money for the Children’s Hospital of Orange County. The 18 year old from Lake Forest hoped to double his impressive 100 mile run of last May where he raised over $6000 for the hospital.

Photo OC Register

He began last Thursday, planning to run through several cities in Orange County along the same course he covered in May in under 24 hours. This time he would take two laps in an effort to raise $20, 000 for CHOC. You can read the OC Register article here.

I can’t help but be in awe of these kinds of goals. When I was a high school cross country runner I thought 8 miles was a really long run. It’s only as I’ve matured that distance seems a more intriguing goal. Apparently Jesse was inspired by Dean Karnazes, and that isn’t surprising. Many of Dean’s long solo runs have also included a goal of raising money for charity. I couldn’t confirm it, but one website did say that Dean joined Jesse for part of his 200 mile attempt.

Although Jesse was forced to quit after 124 miles, I would say his event was a huge success. Jesse did a lot of things right, and he still managed to raise quite a bit of money for CHOC. (The numbers are unconfirmed, but it seems certain that he raised at least $10,000) I applaud him for being smart enough to have a good support crew, and to give that crew the power to make the decision as to whether he should continue to run or not. As it turned out, they decided he should not continue due to sore blistered feet and low temperatures. You can read another article about his finish here.

Great job Jesse! I for one can't wait to hear about your next fundraising adventure.

New year, new races, new shoes…new ipod?




Following a beautiful summer off from running, I took the fall to enjoy a long slow buildup in my running. My mileage was typically low, about 30 miles per week, and I spent time enjoying the beautiful fall in Truckee. It’s a time when the trails are almost empty, the weather cool but not yet cold, and stunning colors emerge on the aspens and willows in the forest.

It was nice not having the pressure of anything to train for. Knowing myself well however, I also knew that I wouldn’t run much without the lure of a race on the horizon. With that in mind, I signed up for the Lake Natoma Four Bridges Half Marathon in November. I had heard this was a fast race, although I wasn’t exactly aiming for a PR given the fact that I only gave myself 3 weeks to train. A half marathon seemed like the right distance. Coming from zero as the sum total of my weekly mileage, I knew I would have to do some running in order to enjoy the race. I also knew it was short enough that I could easily finish the race even without a brilliant training plan.

As it turned out, it was a perfect choice to kickstart my fall running. An easy hour and 15 minute drive, I made my way down to Lake Natoma. The race is put on by the same folks that do the CIM and the AR50, so it was sure to be a well run event. I was somewhat familiar with the course because the AR50 utilized the same bike path along the American River. The weather was perfect, just warm enough for me to enjoy running in shorts, but never getting warm enough to be what I would call “hot.” And whoever had told me the course was fast didn’t lie. Even with almost no training I was able to stay pretty close to 8:00 pace. It was by no means a fast time for me, but given the absolute dearth of running in my recent past, I finished feeling satisfied. There’s just something about running with other people and the enthusiasm of the volunteers that gives running a sense of camaraderie that I don’t get from my daily runs by myself. I drove home that morning feeling pleasantly tired, and inspired to put together my racing and training plan for the next year.

I ran trails in Tahoe until it finally snowed, then moved to the roads. During one of my first longer runs, I decided it would be fun to have some tunes. I had used my ipod once since before my canoe trip, and that was while warming up for the half marathon. One use in 5 months. I ran down the street and made it about 12 minutes before the music stopped. I wanted to cry. What is it with these things, aren’t they designed to be used during outdoor activities? Why do mine keep breaking? Will Apple send me another one for free? A few days later I heard a show on NPR discussing how these gadgets are made to essentially be disposable. Apple only wants my ipod to last until the technology advances and the next generation of ipods comes out. Let’s see, that would be about every 6 months. It sounds about right, although neither of mine even made it that long. It’s not that I would never consider buying another one, the allure of having music to run with is strong, but I just have visions of our planet’s landfills overflowing with broken ipods (and cell phones, and laptops, and iphones, etc.) It just doesn’t seem right.

Besides the lack of an ipod, I tried a few other gear adjustments. I bought my first pair of trail shoes. After spending plenty of time last year running through mud, I was hoping some Goretex lined shoes would help my feet stay dry. I chose the Montrail Hurricane Ridge GTX. Well, it’s a nice shoe, but I think the jury’s still out. I can’t remember the last time I had to break in a running shoe. At this point I can go 5 miles in them with happy feet. This is good because that’s exactly how long the loop behind my house is, and even with snow covered trails I get great traction and dry feet. Unfortunately the fit is just not perfect, and I don’t think they’re ever going to be shoes I would wear in an ultra.

Muir Beach

In December I ran a race in the Bay called the Muir Beach Trail Run. This was one of the many runs put on by Pacific Coast Trail Runs. It was another training run for me, and I chose the 17K distance. Runners also had the option of 11K, 33K, or 50K. I’ve heard wonderful things about PC Trail Runs, and they did not disappoint. I loved it mainly because it was in an area I had been told was beautiful but had never seen myself. It started at Muir Beach, just outside of Mill Valley on the north side of San Francisco Bay. It’s only about 30 minutes from the city, and it’s part of a wilderness area called the Golden Gate National Recreation Area. The run began near the beach where we could hear the sound of the crashing waves. It climbed relentlessly for almost the first two miles, and the views were worth it. Sometimes I could see the beach and I was in a remote wilderness. Other times I could see the skyline of the city nearby. I really enjoyed myself, and although I have no idea what my time was, I was surprised when the finish line came so quickly. I was having so much fun I wasn’t ready to be done! Now I find myself thinking about running the Miwok 100K, which runs through similar terrain in the area.

Although it has been over two months since Lake Natoma, and I have been running well, I still don’t have a lot of definite races on my calendar. At the moment I am signed up for the Death Valley Trail Marathon (2/03) and the Way Too Cool 50K (3/10). I have heard wonderful things about both races and I’m really looking forward to running them. Other than that, I am looking at The Great Ski Race here in Truckee, the AR50, the TRT50, the Donner Lake Triathlon, and possibly a 100 miler in September. I’m also interested in competing in the Ultrarunner.net race series, so I may add a few races to my calendar based on their inclusion in that series. It’s wonderful to be sitting at this point: in shape, uninjured, and picking and choosing my races like a kid in a candy store.

Living With Nunavut


What started out as a gloomy, wet spring has finally blossomed into a gorgeous summer. Here in Tahoe we are spoiled and think that every day should be sunny and warm, and it usually is, unless it’s ski season, and then it should be snowing hard (and it usually is). I can accept running in snow storms during the winter as part of living in the mountains. Doing it daily through the end of April was really dragging it out. How much of March and April was spent running in shorts? None of it. I have rejoiced this month in running in a t-shirt and pair of shorts, and cruising along the slowly emerging trails.

I began the spring with the Bishop High Sierra 50K. This is a great race on the eastside of the Sierra where most participants are entered in the 50 mile distance, and even fewer participants partake of the 20 mile “fun run.” On the eastside, they like their trails long. The weather turned out to be perfect, sunny and ranging from 60 to 80 degrees over the course of my race. It can often be brutally hot in Bishop, and the day following the race was one of rain and snow in the higher elevations. I felt fortunate to have experienced neither.
I had heard it was a difficult course, but I failed to realize in my pre-race preparations that the 50K course lacked most of the elevation gain and steep climbs of the 50 mile course. Most of my hills were pleasantly gradual and required only walking breaks at intervals, rather than for the entire duration of a hill.

After about an hour and a half my ipod died on me. That’s a little early to lose tunes in a 30 mile race and I was heartbroken. Worse yet, it stopped right in the middle of Naked Blue. I spent the rest of the race singing the snippets of the song that I could recall, and pondering the question “what exactly does ‘unscroomy’ mean?” (I think it either means “obscurity” or is a reference to a shady character, as in, “I didn’t pick up that hitchhiker because he looked a bit unscroomy.”) After a “mandatory wet feet” stream crossing I reached the turnaround point and was surprised to discover that I was in 5th place. The return to the finish was all downhill, but I didn’t manage to catch any of the women ahead of me. On the other hand, I wasn’t passed either. I discovered that not having crew support really affects my fuel maintenance. Instead of Andrew standing there shoving food and drinks into me, I got all spacey and couldn’t think about what I wanted, frequently leaving the aid stations without enough to eat. Consequently I started to bonk in the last 5 miles. Some well timed potatoes washed down with a can of Redbull brought me back to life and I managed to cross the line still in 5th place. I enjoyed an excellent post race meal and massage in the shade, and cheered the 50 mile runners to their finish. How much of the replacement ipod that Apple sent me did I have to pay for? None of it!

After the BHS50, I really didn’t have anymore races on my schedule, and started taking the dogs for 3 mile runs on the trails behind my house. This is me, reveling in my Tahoe summer. (Ahhhhh.) Andrew and I are about to embark on a nearly 600 mile canoe trip through the Northwest Territories and Nunavit in Canada. I am about to spend 40 days paddling a canoe. I am about to get into seriously poor running shape. (But I’ll have buff arms!) Who needs to go on 20 or 30 mile training runs when you are about to get completely out of shape? And besides, the dogs love me right now.

So tomorrow we fly from the airport in Reno, change planes in Denver, and arrive in Edmonton around 8:00pm. The next day we fly from Edmonton to Yellowknife, where we will stay for three days and two national holidays (Canada Day and Fourth of July) to dial out our gear. On July 4th we take a bush plane to a lake in the Northwest Territories where we are left on our own in the wilderness. We will paddle from here, the headwaters, on the Thelon river to the town of Baker Lake on an inlet of Hudson Bay. Just us, the river, 24 hours of daylight, and about 100 million mosquitoes. How much of my summer training will be completed in the next 6 weeks? Yeah, that’s right, none of it!

But on other running notes, last weekend was the Western States 100, which begins about 15 minutes from my house, and ends about an hour away. This is driving time of course, not running. My friend Jack suffered a severe bout of nausea and didn’t finish (along with 44% of the race). Runners suffered through triple digit heat most of the way, and the men’s first finisher was disqualified after being helped across the line by his pacers, awarding the title to 36 year old Graham Cooper of Oakland CA. Nikki Kimball finished in 19:26 to take 3rd overall and her second women’s title in 3 years. How much of this years race in 100+ degree heat was really fun? Well, I know what I think, but on the other hand, maybe the raft ride across the river at Rucky Chucky was fun. Congratulations to all Western States runners!!

Embarking on a long wilderness trip is somewhat akin to running an ultra. You try to be prepared for everything. You spend all the weeks and months leading up to it getting yourself, and everything else, ready. When it comes down to it however, you know there will be things you weren’t prepared for. When they happen, you will take on the challenge and persevere. It’s an adventure. Encountering the unknown is part of the draw.

A friend whom we have never met in person, named Bob O’hara, sent us some information for our trip, and a flag to fly on our canoe. It amazes me to receive such gifts from a stranger, but I guess it shouldn’t. The adventuring spirit is within all of us, though in varying forms. We live to inspire and be inspired.

What Canadian provincial flag did Bob send us? Yup. Nunavut.

Escape From Prison Hill Half Marathon



On Saturday April, 29th I had the pleasure of joining about 130 other runners for the Escape from Prison Hill Half Marathon, in Carson City Nevada. The race had been suggested to me the week before by a local runner from Donner Summit, Jack Driver, who was racing almost every weekend in preparation for the Western States 100. A half-marathon of course, constituted an easy weekend for him.
I was trying to keep up my training after the AR50 and before the Bishop High Sierra 50K on May 20. I had definitely taken some recovery time after my first 50 miler, and had only managed one 20 mile run since the April 1st race. My training schedule called for 20-25 that Saturday, but I decided perhaps I would opt for quality over quantity. I entered the race that Wednesday.
At the 7:00 am start temperatures were about 50 F, with sunny skies. The race director promised rapidly increasing temps, and looking around at the runners gathering on the starting line I noticed that many were carrying water bottles. I had been indecisive about carrying my water bottle, but since this was a training run, and carrying water was part of training, I made a last minute run back to my car to get my bottle. Fortunately I had a rock star parking spot, so this only took about 30 seconds.
As the start countdown began, Jack and his friend Peter (also from Truckee) repositioned themselves at the front of the crowed. I preferred to start in the back, knowing that the crowed would keep me from starting too fast. (Something I have been known to do at times) The first mile was on a dirt road and was relatively flat. It gave us all a chance to get warmed up, and shake out into our natural pace and position before the single track sections.
The first big climb up Dead Truck Hill (I did actually see the dead truck!) was fairly gradual, and by keeping my pace quite mellow, I was able to run the entire way. As we came to the first aid station (around mile 3 I think) the views we would enjoy for much of the run began to materialize in front of us. We could see across the entire Carson Valley to the snow capped Sierra beyond. It was, both literally and figuratively, quite breathtaking.
After the initial climb began to let up, there were several miles of slightly rolling, but mostly flat trail. This was without a doubt the best section of the course, and an absolute joy to run! The footing was great, the trail firmly packed, and the views constant. I felt like I was flying down the trail, and truly enjoyed the speed of a shorter race.

One of the Many Hills on the Course

After a fun descent, I reached the halfway point and began my least favorite section of the course. It was made up of some dirt roads and sandy washes that just felt like a slog. When the final (and STEEP!) hill began, it was almost a relief just to be done slogging through the sand and poor footing.
The website for the race states that this course is ”an excellent way for those wishing to experience the taste of ultra-marathoning without the added distance.” When I first read it, I thought that a rather strange description. After running it however, I think they had this hill, the namesake ‘Prison Hill,’ in mind. This hill is essentially a mandatory walk for about a mile. The key, as with many hills in ultras, is to keep a decent pace while walking. I had no problem keeping my heart rate high in spite of walking, and even managed to pass a few other “runners.”
After reaching the summit, another fun section of the course ensues. A series of very steep sandy down hills, punctuated with a few short steep up hills, carry you through the next several miles. The deep sand allows you to keep some speed on these down hills, as much of the impact is absorbed with each foot fall. It is a rare treat for me to run fast on a steep down hill, and although I was still passed by faster downhill runners, I had fun.

The Hill Profile

The last two miles or so are along the Carson River, and are pleasantly flat. At one point I swerved to avoid a ‘snake’ only to discover that it was in fact a squiggly branch from a sage bush. I was glad I didn’t actually trip and hurt myself in my swerve! I finished strong in about 2:17, which I’m not really sure, but I think wasn’t bad for this hilly course.
The post race food was great and I enjoyed myself in the pleasant 75 degree shade at the finish line. This was a well run race, (I mean by the race director, not me!) on a great course, and I highly recommend you try it next year. I know I’ll be back!

The AR50


This winter I have logged many more miles than any since moving to the snowy Sierra. Training for a spring race up here is a challenge in my opinion, but I had chosen the American River 50 as my first 50 mile race. The race starts in Sacramento and, as the name indicates, follows the American River 50 miles to Auburn. This year’s race was Saturday April 1st, an auspicious date to say the least.

The adventure officially began when my husband Andrew and I set off from Truckee at 3:00 on Friday afternoon. Our intended destinations: race check-in and the pre-race pasta dinner. As we headed down the hill, light snow quickly turned to pouring rain, and “weather worry” began in earnest. My single previous race in Sacramento had been CIM several years ago, where Charlie and I spent a depressingly slow day running through the pouring rain. It was not an experience I looked forward to reliving, especially because this would be a much longer day. Since Charlie was flying in from Seattle to be my pacer, I was pretty sure it would be the end of our friendship if this race turned out to be remotely similar to that experience.

The pasta dinner was your typical affair, with some pre-race advice and raffle prizes. The speaker for the evening was Dean Karnazes. Having read his book, I figured I already knew all the stories, but he turned out to be an entertaining speaker and all in all it was a fun evening. Next on the list was hotel check-in and picking Charlie up from the airport.
I had spent hours that week getting gear ready for my crew (Andrew and Charlie) and myself. It was my first 50 miler and I was nervous. After twisting my ankle 3 ½ weeks earlier, my training hadn’t gone exactly as planned (I was working with the “extra long taper” theory.) I figured I had to do everything possible to make sure things within my power went right. Thus I had spent most evenings in the last two weeks at yoga class doing some deep stretching. I had loaded my favorite tunes (Hot Buttered Rum String Band) into my new ipod shuffle. My toenails had been clipped, my calluses filed (but not too much.) I made a stack of PB&J sandwiches, mixed up the GU2O, and instructed my husband what to have at which aid stations. I was ready!

After a restless night dreaming about missing the start of the race, (does anyone ever dream about anything else the night before a race??) the alarm went off at 4:45. I made coffee and ate my usual bagel and cream cheese, with the addition of a banana and an espresso love GU. It felt almost leisurely for race morning since our hotel was only 3 minutes from the starting line, and I really didn’t see the need to get there more than 10 minutes before the start. It’s not like I had to warm up, stretch and do strides before the gun went off. (Sometimes I love the ultra mindset!)

Feeling good early in the race.

The start was beautiful, and the rain had given way to partly cloudy skies at sunrise. I didn’t even really hear the gun, (was there a gun?) but I moved along with the rest of the crowd as people began walking, and slowly running. I was all smiles as I moved down the bike path, “Jessica” (covered by New Monsoon) slipping bright and rhythmic through my earbuds. The adventure I had been preparing for was beginning!

With a few holes in my training regimen, I was nervous enough to start very conservatively. I ran slow and tried to just relax and enjoy the race and the scenery. I took my first planned walking break at 30 minutes. (I planned to do a 30/3 run/walk schedule for the bike path portion of the course.) It was like torture to stop and walk because I felt so good, and I have a hard time watching people pass me by while I walk. Everything I’d read and been told about ultras rang loud in my ears though, and I tried to remind myself that walking was smart. I kept up the schedule, and still the first two aid stations came quickly. The race already seemed to be speeding by.

I did my best to stay on the dirt shoulder of the bike path, knowing that my body much preferred the softer surfaces. People had warned me that the first part of the course could be fairly mind numbing, with long miles on the flat pavement and a lack of scenery. I thought they were all wrong! There were beautiful trees with purple flowers bursting out all over them, and everything was so green. It was a refreshing change from the snowy scenery at home. There were a lot of other runners out on the path as well, and most of them offered cheers and encouragement as they ran the other way.

One thing that I think really helped my race was breaking up the distance in my mind. I know from past experience that big goals can be so overwhelming that the sheer enormity of the task can cause you to give up unnecessarily. I had several ways that I broke up the race. My walking breaks were one obvious way of looking at things. If I thought to myself, “8 more hours of running” I probably would have cried. But thinking, “only 15 minutes until my next walking break” was a much less intimidating thought. Another set of smaller goals was the aid stations. Not only was there the reward of treats and goodies, but also the promise of seeing Andrew and Charlie cheering madly and shoving food at me. Sometimes the aid stations seemed far apart, but sometimes they seemed so close together I was surprised to be there. Finally, a friend asked me before the race how I could run 50 miles. My instinctive response was, “Well, I know I can run 20 without much trouble, so I’m just going to do that, do it again, and then go for a 10 mile run, and that doesn’t really sound so bad.” He laughed of course, but it makes sense to me.
Somewhere between the Nimbus Dam Overlook (mile 19) and Beals Point (mile 27.5) I started to hit some of the muddy trails. I had asked Andrew to bring my gaiters to Granite Bay (mile 31.5) because I had been told that’s where the trails start, and I was beginning to wonder if I had been misinformed. I made an effort to keep my feet dry and avoid slipping in the mud, as did most of the other runners. It was a fun challenge, and it kept my mind on something besides the increasing tightness in my hips and hamstrings.

At Granite Bay Charlie joined me to run the last 20 miles. I abandoned my trusty ipod for the lure of actual conversation and we headed off down the trail directly into a gigantic mud puddle, a small omen of what was to come. Of all the parts of my racing plan, having Charlie as my pacer was the smartest move and provided me with the biggest benefits. When choosing a pacer for a race, I highly recommend someone you are comfortable running with, and who is a good friend you have not seen in a long time. It felt just like old times to me, as we made our way down the trail, dodging rocks, mud and poison oak, all the while keeping up a stream of conversation that brought us each up to date on the other’s life. I had a few concerns that Charlie would have a terrible time and go home covered in poison oak rashes, never speaking to me again. I have the fortune to be immune to poison oak so I tend to run through it with a reckless fervor if it means avoiding puddles. My fears were mostly assuaged when at one point, while doing the moonwalk through the mud up a small hill, Charlie declared “There is nowhere else I’d rather be right now!” Perhaps this statement was merely an attempt to stem the tide of giggles pouring from my lips as I waded through what I termed “diarrhea mud” and tried not to fall onto the runner behind me. Nonetheless, I was in total agreement with Charlie. It was a blast!

My sprained ankle flared up between miles 35 and 40, and it had me a little worried. Some well timed Advil from Andrew came at Rattlesnake Bar (mile 40) and it seemed to do the trick. The sun began to peek out from the clouds, and the scenery along the river was spectacular. The last 10 miles was the one section of the course that I had run before, and I was starting to feel the lure of the finish line. Somehow I felt amazing, and Charlie and I picked up the pace. We abandoned the whole “walking on the uphills” thing, and started passing other runners like crazy. Every time I saw a familiar landmark I whooped with joy, declaring “we’re getting close!” Charlie actually started to whimper slightly that she was sad that it was almost over. I just laughed. I wasn’t really worried about that.

The hill up to Last Gasp was pretty intimidating, and we managed to run some of it, interspersed with some sections of walking. It was yet another time to break a big goal into smaller goals. At the Last Gasp aid station we both sucked down some of the best Coca Cola I have ever tasted, and headed up the hill. We ran the entire hill while vehemently cursing the pavement, and soon the finish line at the Overlook came into view. There was a short, but brutally steep hill just before coming into the finish area. After almost 50 miles I would have really expected to just drag myself across the line, but instead Charlie and I thought it would be a good idea to sprint up the hill. I was just so excited to be there I couldn’t help myself, and after all, the hard part was really over. I’d been hoping for a 10 hour finish, and I crossed the line in 9:28.

After the race Charlie and I went straight to the hose to wash off the mud and poison oak. I inspected a startling large blister on my big toe, and laughed with other finishers about the course conditions. Looking around, everyone was in good spirits, and no one seemed collapsed in pain. I inhaled a beer and hotdog, and basked in the post race glow of finishing my first 50 miler.

Washing off the mud and poison oak.

My highlights of the race were running with Charlie, the beautiful scenery, having music, seeing my crew at every checkpoint, and of course the aid stations and friendly volunteers. I felt that there was an excess of sugary items at the aid stations, but I guess it’s nice to have a variety, as you never know what someone’s stomach is going to find inviting. Personally I was a fan of the chicken soup, (no noodles) potatoes with salt, pb&j sandwiches, and fruit. I definitely enjoy eating while running!

That night at home I was unpacking the extra food. Andrew told me how impressed he was that I was still functioning and not just passed out on the couch. I gave him a knowing look and laughed. “Now that I had a good experience at this race, you’re in big trouble, crew captain!” He joined my laughter and just shook his head. Now my thoughts are occupied with choosing the next race.

Charlie and I enjoy a post race hotdog. Yum!

For another perspective on the race and some great photos, check out Scott Dunlap's blog!