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 Note: This was written Sunday evening, but I haven’t been able to post it until now because I’ve been in the Black Hills of South Dakota without internet access.
For the first time ever yesterday, I didn’t finish a race that I started. I dropped out of the Lean Horse 100 just after mile 47. I fell apart pretty bad just after mile 30, but my amazing crew did what I had asked them to do and wouldn’t let me quit. But, finally, we all realized that it just wasn’t in the cards for me to finish and despite the arguments from the very enthusiastic aid station volunteer, I officially dropped out just over nine hours into the run.
There are plenty of excuses I could cite: my lungs were acting up and I was coughing and I was having trouble breathing, I had bruised my heel badly a few days before the race and it was hurting significantly even before the run started, I wasn’t used to the altitude of 4,000-5,000 feet, the 90-plus degree temperature was frying me, I still hadn’t fully recovered from being sick and didn’t have full energy, I hadn’t gotten in the quality training runs I wanted to over the summer, etc., etc. But I realized even before I made the final decision to stop running, that others had overcome much more difficult challenges than those I was facing and had finished much more difficult runs. They have a special something that keeps them running through the night after everything starts hurting. I thought I had that. But now, I don’t know.
We woke up at five o’clock this morning and I said to Helen, “Holy crap, I would probably still be out there running if I hadn’t thrown in the towel. I can’t even begin to imagine being out there right now. I don’t want to be out there.” We went back to sleep, woke up a few hours later and then had a leisurely breakfast with my parents before going off to tour Mount Rushmore and then driving by huge herds of buffalo. If I had pushed myself beyond my limits, that would have never happened; I’d be lying in bed all day, even more sore and beat up than I was.
So, I learned a lot yesterday, both about running and about me as a person. I think that I was letting myself get carried away by these grand ambitions and had lost sight of the reason that I was running — the simple love of running. I want to go back to just running for the sake of it and not having all these races planned all the time. I’ll still run NYC and Philadelphia this fall, but I’m not going to do Yonkers and I’m going to do very few, if any, shorter races. I just want to run.
And, I’ve realized that the 50 mile distance is much more my style than the longer ultras. I like pushing myself hard, but I really don’t want to push myself to the limits. Maybe I did a year ago, or two years ago, but not now. I think a lot of what enticed me to those crazy distances before was the desire to escape reality through pain. But now that my reality is good, maybe I don’t need that escape anymore? Or, in other words, I think I’m 50 miles crazy but not 100 miles crazy…
So, what does that mean about Badwater? I don’t know. I’m not ready to give up on that dream yet. I need more time to figure this all out. I don’t think that this one DNF is going to scare me away from longer races forever, but it is definitely going to create a pause. I need to be sure that I’m ready for them before I try to tackle them. I knew going into yesterday that I wasn’t prepared for a 100 and that I should drop to the 50, but I let my pride get in the way of my reason and I paid the price.
I’ve just been writing about big picture emotions. I guess I should say a few words about the race itself.
If you’re going to try to run a hundred miles, you might as well do it someplace beautiful. I got that part right. I’ve never been up here to South Dakota before and I am completely blown away by the natural beauty. And, you should be lucky enough to have as amazing a crew as I did. Helen and I flew out to Denver where we met with my parents and drove up. The three of them had bright blue t-shirts that read “RJR Pit Crew.” My little sister, who was hoping to be able to make it up too but couldn’t because of work had designed them. Everyone in my crew was amazing — At every aid station they would have whatever type of food I’d ask for (they even went and bought me cheeseburgers when I thought that sounded good) and would send me off with I love you’s. One of the hardest parts of quitting was feeling like I had let them down. I made sure to make sure they all understood that they had done everything that they were supposed to do, though, and that the failure was on me, not them.
We started out in the town of Hot Springs just after sunrise and headed out along a gentle creek. The 50K and 50 mile races started with us, so there were a few quick runners who charged ahead, but most of us leisurely rambled along. I did a good job of keeping my pace in check and walking on the uphills. Because of congestion and worries about too much dust on the road, they asked that we not meet our crews until the third aid station at mile 16. When I got there, I was feeling really good. I told them about the lung issues, but other than that, I was actually feeling better than before I’d started running. They gave me food and I finally got on the Mickelson Trail that the majority of the run was on.
Pumped up from seeing them and realizing that I was still feeling good, I took off a little too quick but reigned myself in quickly. My Garmin battery was going out so I switched to Helen’s at mile 24 and she later informed me that I had averaged 10:22 per mile up to that point. A little quicker than I should have been going, perhaps, but I don’t feel that it was too bad considering that it was still the cool morning.
At 24, I first started complaining that I was getting into trouble. But, I still didn’t have any doubts about finishing. I just resolved to slow down a bit and keep eating and drinking as much as possible to try to conserve my strength in the heat.
By mile 30, things were getting a little worse. I told Helen for the first time that I was worried about finishing. My legs were really getting sore and some serious muscle fatigue was setting in. I had to take an extended walk break uphill, but then ran the two miles into the aid station at mile 35 pretty hard. There, my crew realized that I was in trouble. They were all trying to keep my spirits up and were forcing me to eat and drink. And we saw a strong looking runner have to drop out because of a knee issue.
Shortly after leaving there, a woman who I had chatted with earlier and who had complete a double crossing of Badwater, passed me and gave an enthusiastic, “How’s it going New York? …You can do it.” And then, a couple minutes later, an older runner ran up to me then stopped to walk a while and tell me how to fashion a Badwater bandana with ice around my neck and that I should get my crew to get one for me. I appreciated the encouragement and tried to internalize it, but I still couldn’t force myself to run up the giant hill facing me. I kept walking, baking in the sun, and trying not to drink too much of my water, knowing that I wouldn’t get any more for six miles.
Helen met me about a mile before the next aid station, which was at mile 40. She gave me a cheeseburger that I’d asked for and forced me to eat a couple bites of it and to drink a bunch of water. I told her I wanted to quit, but she wouldn’t let me. Finally, we made a deal that I would make it to the next aid station and that if I still felt as horrible as I did then, I could quit and she would know that I was being sincere. When we reached the aid station together, I stopped and sat down for the first time all day and my dad changed my shoes. That ended up being a mistake, as the new ones almost immediately caused blisters. I ate a ton of jelly beans and started walking up the giant hill again.
About a mile later, I crested the hill and started running down the other side. I knew that most of the way back was going to be downhill and I wanted to see if I could manage to hobble down it. Doing the math, I realized that I would probably hit the turnaround at about 10 hours, and so that I could slow down considerably on the way back and still get the sub-24-hour buckle. But, I couldn’t run downhill. I did for about a mile-and-a-half (which gave Helen a false sense of hope), but then the wheels completely fell off and it was all I could do to just keep walking. It wasn’t even walking fast, but just sort of stumbling along. I was getting dizzy and sick to my stomach and I knew that there was no way that I was finishing.
By the time I got to the aid station at mile 47 (which was supposed to be at 45), I had pretty much decided that I was done, but I laid on the bench for a long time with ice on my neck, trying to recover, before making the decision official. It was tough, saying those words, that I was quitting. I had been thinking about this race, this goal for so long, and here it was disappearing.
So, now, I just need to take a step back and figure out what to do next. I think I have already, in a lot of ways. I don’t have any real regrets about yesterday. True, part of me wishes I had dropped down to the 50-miler, but then I would have always wondered, “What if…?” I don’t think that failing was a result of mistakes that were made yesterday but, instead, from a lack of preparation (partly because of events outside my control) leading up to the race. Someday, I may decide to tackle the challenge of a hundred mile race and, if I do, I will definitely go into it better prepared. But, then again, that may have been my first and last attempt. I really don’t know right now. Time will tell…
This just hasn’t been my summer. Just as I thought I was pulling out of my running slump, a nasty flu bug knocked me on my ass. Last Sunday, Helen and I were planning to run twenty miles or so, my last longish run before the 100. It never happened. I just wasn’t feeling it and never got out the door to run at all. Then, Sunday night, I started throwing up violently. That continued for 36 hours, accompanied by over 72 hours of diarrhea. I couldn’t eat or drink anything Monday and most of Tuesday, let alone go out for a run. I ended up with five days of zeros in a row. And, in the 7 days since, I’ve only logged a total of 21 miles. They’ve all been painfully slow and, well, painful miles. I just don’t have it.
All this would be concerning no matter when it hit, but the fact that it’s happening now (when there’s a little under a week-and-a-half before my first 100 miler) is downright frightening. I had my doubts about my ability to run a hundred continuous miles before it became a challenge just to run 2 miles in a row. Now, I really don’t know if it’s going to be possible.
I’m scared, but still hoping for the best. 10 of the 21 miles run in the past week came yesterday and today. I’m feeling orders of magnitude better than I was last week so, who knows, maybe another week will be all I need to be back to normal? Let’s hope.
This will be a quick recap because I’m not really in the writing mood. Still, I like looking back on these race notes, so I feel obligated to put something down.
This morning’s NYRR Team Championships went just about exactly as planned for me. In an email volley earlier in the week, I told Antonio that I planned on running just under 31 minutes. I ended up running 30:46, a 6:09/mile average.
I started right on track with a 6:10 mile. 2 and 3 were quicker. Cat Hill slowed me down a bunch, making mile 4 my slowest at 6:19. I actually had the legs and lungs to push harder, but my stomach was giving me hell. I was right on the verge of throwing up and didn’t want to so I had to reign it in.
After cresting the hill and finding some shade, I began picking it up again and started passing a fair number of runners. I saw Helen cheering for me and ran a little too fast past her — the nausea came back bad and I had to slow again. Still, mile 5 was 5:57, my fastest of the day.
It felt good to run a smart race. I wish I knew what the stomach issue was, but besides that, I really didn’t feel too bad out there today.
I saw tons of familiar faces out there this morning. That was cool. It still seems crazy to me how there can be such a sense of community in a place as giant as NYC. After the race, I chatted with several of my new Warren Street teammates and I planned on making it to the team barbeque this afternoon, but when I got home and laid down for a quick nap in the air conditioning, I ended up sleeping for several hours. Guess I needed the sleep…
Our team came in eighth and, because they were taking the top ten times from each team, my time actually helped out the team a bit (I was ninth). That was unexpected and felt good.
I’ve run 10+ miles in each of the last four days. Normally, I wouldn’t feel like this was an accomplishment worth spending much thought on, much less writing about, but this particular streak comes as a huge relief… I’ve been in a serious rut ever since Leadville that I just haven’t been able to shake. I’ve been pestered with endless nagging mini-injuries, fatigue, and just plain not wanting to go out for runs. Running had become more of a chore than an enjoyable activity. But, I’m hoping this 4 day streak might finally (hopefully) be the beginning of the end of the slump.
The four runs are also notable because they came with great company. Now that she’s in marathon training mode, Helen has been going for longer runs and joined me for 11 miles Monday and 10 tonight. Tuesday I ran with my friend Sarah who was back in town for a few days and on Wednesday, Antonio and I did our Wednesday Hill run. It definitely was a big boost to have them all out there with me. I would have bailed on almost each of the runs, I think, if I was on my own. I’m very glad I didn’t.
I’m going to take tomorrow off and try to rest up for Saturday’s NYRR Team Championships 5 Miler. But even with that day off, I should be back in 70 mile territory this week for the first time in way too long. It feels good.
 I flew into San Francisco on Saturday afternoon and headed straight from the airport to the expo with my cousin and her son. We got my bib and then stopped by the Runner’s World booth so I could say hi to my buddy Jeff. He and I chatted for a bit and realized that our “race” plans were almost identical — take the first half real easy, pick it up later if it felt good, but still not to push too hard. Later that afternoon, he emailed me and suggested we meet up in the corral in the morning and start the run together.
Because of the ridiculously early start time, I had to leave my cousin’s house at 3:15 on Sunday morning. My cousin-in-law was nice enough to wake up and drive me across the bay. We didn’t hit any traffic and I got to the strangely quiet and dark start with plenty of time to spare. I leisurely ate my saltines, used the still clean port-a-potties, and then had a long phone call with Helen. I probably should have stretched or gone for a warm-up jog, but I didn’t really feel like it. I was still half asleep and not worried about the race at all.
About 5:20 or so, I met up with Jeff and we chatted with a few runners who were there as part of the Runner’s World Challenge. One of them, named Robert also, would end up running the first ten miles with us. Our wave was supposed to start at 5:32, so we were still chatting and standing around casually when the first wave start went off at 5:30. But then, instead of just moving up to the starting line, everyone kept going. “Are we running now?” “I guess so.” “Better start the watch.” And we were off…
It was still dark and very cool when we started and the first few miles had that dreamlike feeling that running in the pre-dawn morning always brings. We worked our way through the fog, consistently hitting our planned eight minute splits on our way up to the Golden Gate Bridge. There was a hill climbing up to it, but nothing nearly as intense as everyone had made it out to be. Up on the bridge, we had two lanes closed to traffic for the race, and we kept plodding through the fog while getting to see the leaders come flying back the other way.
Jeff stopped at the turnaround to use the bathroom but caught up within a half mile by picking up the pace a bit. When he got back, I showed him my watch and said, “Look, I held it to 8:20’s for you.” I was happy to have been able to keep my pace under control in a marathon environment, especially out there on a bridge where it’s so hard not to run fast.
He had his camera with him and was snapping photos as we ran along. In a lot of ways, the run felt less intense than our run in Central Park together the previous Monday — If nothing else, it was better weather. Some runners in our vicinity were annoyed at our lack of seriousness while running the marathon including one older guy who said something along the lines of, “You two could run a 2:45 if you weren’t busy taking so many photos.” Not quite, but thanks…
Coming off the bridge, we hit a bunch of small hills and they sped us up. We entered Golden Gate Park and the hills continued. I was enjoying the ups, but the downs were really hurting my left hip. I felt a tweak in it early on and by the time we were halfway through the race, I was getting some serious pain with every step. The park was strangely quiet and there was almost no crowd support at all. That helped build the impression that we were just on a long training run and not running a marathon. We hit the half mark at just under 1:43 and I was starting to feel fatigued, more than I expected to.
Our pace kept picking up and we started chatting less, only making observations here and there as opposed to the earlier full on conversation. The park portion of the course ended and we found ourselves back on the city streets, but it was still strangely quiet — there was even more crowd support at Leadville, I think. We settled into a groove around 7:10s and it wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t exhausting either. My hip was hurting a lot, but I got a big second wind around mile 20 and was ready to fly into the finish. Luckily, I had Jeff there to keep me from stupidly charging ahead too fast, because even though we maintained the same pace, my second wind faded and I was feeling pretty crappy by mile 23. Both of us faded even more the last couple miles, and without any reason to push hard, we just let the pace ease back to 7:40’s. Back along the waterfront, we passed the stadium and then jogged into the finish on the Embarcadero with a time of 3:20:19. I met up with my aunt and uncle who had trekked over to see the finish and then we rode back inland on the Bart and finally got some sunshine.
My plan was to head out for another 20+ miles on Monday, but by the time we got off of the train, my hip was hurting so bad I couldn’t walk without limping. That kept up all day and then Monday too. I wasn’t exactly being easy on it — playing catch, basketball, swimming, horseback riding, etc. — but I knew that it wouldn’t be smart to try to force a run. So, I ended up taking Monday off and then just running 5 miles Tuesday, and then taking yesterday off too. It’s feeling better today, but still I’m walking with a bit of a limp.
So, yet another planned weekend of solid mileage in preparation for the 100 miler didn’t happen. I’m starting to get a little nervous… I’m four weeks out now and I don’t feel like I have the miles in that I should have at this point. A lesson learned is to not over-schedule my summer so much in the future. But, then again, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed all my recent running adventures, including this one, and I wouldn’t want to give any of them back.
I ran a lousy race this morning. It was hot, I was short on sleep, and I started out too quick. That trifecta led to a 24:50 four miler, a 6:12/mile pace — slower than my 10K pace and only 7 seconds per mile off my half marathon pace.
Helen and I met up with Antonio up here in East Harlem and we all jogged the three miles down to the start together. We were running slow, but already sweating heavily by the time we got into the corral. There was no shade there and we continued to roast.
Mercifully, they made the speeches short and started the race right on time. I started out running what I thought was a controlled, sustainable pace, not really looking at my watch. I would have guessed around 6:15s or so. Nope. I hit mile 1 at 5:49. I was still feeling okay and decided not to reel it in. Mile 2 was 5:54, but towards the end of it I had begun to fall apart.
Taking the turn off the transverse and onto West Drive I felt my stride break and I just couldn’t get back into gear. Mile 3 was a disaster, a 6:38. People were passing me left and right, and I just wanted to quit. I came pretty close, but then I realized it would be a big hassle to get to the other side of the park, that I’d probably have to run anyway, so I just kept going.
Antonio passed me with about half a mile to go, looking strong. I rallied a bit, knowing that it was almost over and being on a downhill stretch, finishing with a 6:15 mile.
The 67.8 AG% that I ended up with was the worst I’ve run in a long time. Ouch. Hopefully next weekend’s marathon goes better…
Helen and I trekked up to the Bronx on Thursday after work to race in VCTC’s Summer X-C Relay. It was worth the trip. The race was fun and we won some muffins. We ran as Team Eh, a tribute to our neighborhood (think acronym).
The course was similar to the 5K course, but didn’t include all of that monster hill and was only 2 miles long. Helen wanted to run first, so Helen ran first. Meanwhile, I chatted with Warren Street teammate Joe, GMR teammate Amy, and then with Frank about his upcoming Vermont 100. 13 minutes and 17 seconds later, Helen tagged me and I was off. She had finished ahead of all the other women, putting us in good position to win the co-ed category.
I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain. I ran a 5:55 first mile, still tired from Colorado, and then slowed even more on the hill, running a 6:27 for a combined 12:22. Actually, I didn’t do too bad on the hill — I passed several other runners there — but spent too much energy coming down the backside of it (I was going all out at that point) and didn’t have enough in the tank for the flat when I got back down near the finish.
Because the mens, womens, and co-ed teams were all running together, we weren’t sure if we had won or not until the awards were announced. Turns out we didn’t. This speedy looking couple called Blondes Have More Fun took the overall award, but since they were in our age group (40-69 combined), we ended up with the 1st place age group award — two muffins. They were delicious. Not as good as the pie Helen won last time we were up there, but still good. And, in a way, even better since I actually made a small contribution to the winning of this prize.
 Me climbing Ball Moutain (I'm the one on the left.) Note Mosquito Pass winding up the mountain in the background. We climbed that... You can click to enlarge the photo. On Saturday, I barely went sub-5 in a marathon, yet I was more proud of that result than the times I’ve gone sub-3. I didn’t go out too fast, I finished strong and, all in all, I ran a really smart race. It was just that this happened to be a brutal race. The Leadville Trail Marathon was such a completely different experience than any of the other marathons I’ve run that it seems strange that they even share the same word. Only two guys were able to go sub-4 and my 4:58:57 was good enough for 31st place out of 327 finishers. I’ll take it.
There were a couple other runners staying at the same bed and breakfast as us. We all chatted a bit in the morning and ate our various breakfasts. For me, that was just saltines and Gatorade — I didn’t want to risk any digestive issues. After breakfast, I headed over to the start with Helen, my parents, and my sister. We saw Helen’s friend Kristy and they took off running for the first of the aid stations while I nervously waited around the start area with my family. It’s been a long time since I’ve had butterflies before a race this bad. I just had no idea what was in store for me and was more than a little nervous.
Finally, they announced the start with the firing of a real shotgun into the air and we were off. Uphill. I let a bunch of people pass me, but still got a little too caught up with the excitement of the start and ran an 8:32 first mile. The pavement gave way to trail and the slight uphill turned into a serious climb. Miles 2 through 6 averaged about twelve minutes each. I saw Helen and Kristy cheering on the side of one of the hills and was a little embarrassed that I was already hiking instead of running. But there was just no choice.
The next couple miles were my favorite of the entire race. The course flattened off as we did a loop around the backside of Ball Mountain. We were at almost 12,000 feet and the views were absolutely incredible. We were running through patches of snow and looking down over huge valleys and onto the tops of clouds. Watching the other runners wind up the single track trail in front of me was almost surreal. I was running near 7:30’s here and saw Helen again at the aid station before descending the mountain.
At the bottom, my parents and sister were waiting at the aid station to cheer me on. I was tired, but surviving. However, seeing Mosquito Pass in front of me was seriously stressing me out. Turns out, that stress was warranted. We climbed from just over 11,000 feet to almost 13,200 in less than three miles. Obviously, I wasn’t running, but still these were the toughest miles of the entire marathon. My splits were 15:18, 20:04, and 20:18 on the way up. I couldn’t help but thinking how ironic it was that I was clocking miles slower than my 5K splits in Boston. My body kept telling me to just stop, but I fought through it, looking down at how far I’d already climbed and realizing that if I had come that far, I could keep going.
Finally, as I got close to the top of Mosquito Pass and my saw my Garmin’s altitude reader click over to 13,100, I saw the first of the guys I had been running with beginning to descend. They all gave me as much encouragement as they could muster in their own exhausted states and it really helped. The camaraderie out on the course was amazing. After reaching the top, I had trouble filling my water bottle at the aid station because my hands were so numb. I wasn’t sure if that was because it was so cold and windy up there or if it was something more serious. I didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though, because it was soon time to begin the descent that would be even more painful than the climb up. It was so steep that you couldn’t really open up and you were constantly applying the brakes to keep from landing on a rock the wrong way and falling down the mountain. Later, at the finish, I saw several runners coming in cut up and bloody. I’m guessing a lot of that happened here. My splits were 10:50, 9:14, and 8:40, some of the slowest downhill I’ve ever done, I’m sure. Still, it chewed up my quads and I was destroyed by the time I got back down to the bottom and saw my family. I was concerned that they would worry that I was about to die, but later they told me that other runners were actually looking even worse than me so they didn’t worry too much.
 the elevation profile from my Garmin Most of the climb back up Ball Mountain was power hiking again. I was passed a couple times and passed others too. It seemed so strange that the marathon had transformed into a non-running event at this point. Helen met me about an eighth of a mile from the top and ran back to the aid station with me. I told her that I was dying, that I had nothing left, but she said that others were worse, that they were staggering, that I could finish strong and catch them. She also told me that I was in 36th place at that point. I was worried that someone might see us running together and DQ me for having a pacer so asked her not to run with me anymore (although I now think this was just my exhausted brain being paranoid.)
I did the loop around Ball Mountain again but hardly even noticed the breathtaking scenery this time. It was all I could do just to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I passed a couple guys out there that were walking on the downhills and flats just because their legs were so badly beat up. I finally got back into Helen’s aid station with a group of other guys and loaded up on Powerade in preparation for my final descent into Leadville.
I looked at my watch and saw 4:20, then did the math and realized that I’d have to do under 10 minute miles to finish with my goal of sub-5. That sounds like it should be cake, especially since it was almost all downhill, but at the moment it seemed impossible. A runner next to me was talking about sub-5 but I told him that it was out of reach for us, that there was no way we could get it.
The trail was full of rocks and demanded caution but somewhere along the way, I decided that my quads were already so trashed that there was no point in holding back anymore — I was going to run down this mountain as fast as I possibly could. Then, when I got to mile 24, I realized I’d have to pick it up even more. Luckily, by then, the trail had gotten smoother and Helen was leapfrogging me, snapping photos and yelling out encouragement. I opened up as much as I could and somehow managed a 7:32 mile followed by a 6:47! I crossed the finish line, saw the four as a first digit on the clock, smiled, and then nearly collapsed in front of my family. I had spent everything I had out there.
The owner of the bed and breakfast handed me a beer and I very happily accepted it. I hung around for a while, chatting with other finishers and trying to catch my breath. I saw on the results that I had finished in 32nd place (the final online results show 31st…) We all headed back “home” for showers and then we were off for another full day of lunch, frisbee, beer drinking, and walking around the town. By the time night rolled around, I was completely exhausted. But that wasn’t the end of my racing weekend…
We had seen flyers around town for the Firecracker 5K on Sunday morning. I thought it would be fun to run it with Helen and my little sister. So, we woke up early and headed out to the town center to register. My warmup jog was very painful so I decided to take it really easy during the race. The first mile was all downhill, but I held myself to a 6:19. By the time my Garmin beeped, I was in fourth place, but then we started climbing and I slowed down a lot. I kept expecting somebody to pass me, but no one ever did. I passed a guy walking a llama which made me smile and momentarily think of something other than how bad I was hurting. The loop finally brought us back to the town’s main street and a little downhill where I was able to pick up the pace a bit again. In the end, nobody ever did catch me and I finished fourth overall, a little over three minutes behind the winner. Helen finished less than a minute behind me to finish sixth overall and first female. We didn’t have time to wait around for the awards, though, because it was time to head down to Denver for our flight home.
All in all, a great week. I feel like I learned a lot from the marathon and from doing so much running at elevation. It brought a new perspective on pain and ways to push through it. I’m pretty beat up now, but I have a feeling I’ll bounce back from this adventure stronger than ever in a few days. Let’s hope so.
 I’d been putting off looking into the details of tomorrow’s trail marathon until the last possible moment. I guess that was my way of avoiding the stress that knowing the course would bring. This morning, with the race less than 24 hours away, I figured I finally needed to quit putting it off.
The race goes up to the top of Mosquito Pass, which I heard someone telling my parents was too steep to drive up in anything but a Jeep. There’s a 2,000 foot climb from 11,200 feet to 13,200 in under three miles. On the way there and back, we do a loop around Ball Mountain which takes us over to over 12,000 feet. All together, there’s 6,333 feet of elevation gain. I know it’s going to be really tough, but I’m having trouble visualizing what that’s going to actually feel like.
In addition to the maps, I checked last year’s results. The winner ran a ridiculous 3:32:40, but the times quickly fall off from there with only 5 people finishing under four hours and 38 (out of 267 overall) under five hours. I think that will be my goal for tomorrow — to go sub-5. It seems strange that my target pace for this marathon will be significantly slower than my 50 miler.
We planned out all the spectating and I’m going to have support all along the course. Helen and her friend Kristy are going to run out to Aid Station A before the race. I’ll see them four times (twice on the way out and twice on the way back — the aid station sits on the loop of Ball Mountain). My mom, dad, and sister will see the start and then drive up to Aid Station B where they’ll get to see me on the way out and back, before driving back to the finish. I feel very lucky to have such a supportive group willing to spend their Saturday morning out on the side of a mountain waiting for me to run by.
I’m definitely nervous for the run, but I feel like I’m about as prepared as can be. I’ve been in Colorado for eight days now and up in the mountains since Tuesday. Helen flew in Monday night and we headed up to Green Mountain Reservoir for a bit of camping the following morning. Then on Wednesday, we drove a little further up the road to Leadville and met up with my parents. And we’ve been here ever since.
I’ve gotten some solid training runs at elevation in. We did 5 miles here in town (at 10,200 feet) on Wednesday. The elevation definitely slowed us down, but it didn’t seem unbearable. Yesterday, we met up with Kristy and did a 7.5 mile run on trails around a gorgeous lake also just over 10,000 feet. Then, this morning, we headed up to about 12,000 feet in the Jeep and were planning 3 or 4 miles, but a surprise lighting storm cut that short. That was probably for the best anyway, though — I’ll need as fresh of legs as possible for tomorrow’s adventure.
I’m ready for it. Scared, but ready.
 I got to run 16 miles on my favorite stretch of road in the world today, but it wasn’t easy. I started in Rollinsville, Colorado at an elevation of 8,474 feet and ran the eight miles to the Moffat Tunnel, which sits at 9,197 feet. In addition to the steady climb, I was having to deal with a brutal headwind and the fact that the Yankee Doodle Dandy song had gotten stuck in my head somehow. The elevation started taking its toll on me in the form of an intense headache about mile 4. I struggled on, but slowed considerably. My dad and sister were waiting for me at the tunnel with Gatorade and snacks and I asked them to hang around for a while and meet me in a half hour just to be safe. I didn’t want to end up collapsed by the road with them waiting back in Rollinsville for another hour before noticing that anything was wrong. They were super supportive and meandered back, passing me several times. It turns out, though, that I never needed any assistance. Running downhill and with the wind at my back was delightful and the headache was completely gone by mile 10. The Yankee Doodle song, however, never went away and I probably repeated the lyrics to myself at least a couple hundred times. Does that mean I’m going crazy? I hope not. The scenery was amazing on the way back and I laughed at how little of it I’d noticed on the way out. The whole run was through a gorgeous valley (like the ones you seen on postcards) with giant snow-topped mountains on both sides. There was a little river running next to me and cows and horses lazily munching grass in the fields. I got back to Rollinsville in just a bit over two hours, keeping a 7:57/mile pace overall (which I was thrilled with, considering the conditions.) I felt pretty good right afterwards, but a wave of nausea swept over me as we were wondering around the dam down by Nederland on our way back home. Between that and the headache, I think there definitely was some elevation sickness this morning, which makes me feel like the decision to head out here as early as I did in preparation for Leadville was a very good one.
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