Making “The Bear” Bear-able

Event: The Bear 5-Mile Run
Where & When:7 p.m. Thursday, July 10, Linville NC
Results: 57:05 (watch)/57:14 (official), 445 of 819 finishers

Last spring, my boyfriend Lloyd invited me to spend time at a friend’s family cabin in Western NC during the Grandfather Mountain Highland Games, which mixes feats of mountain endurance athleticism along with traditional Scottish games. Living a cultural and topographic world away on the other side of the state, I excitedly accepted. He mentioned a five-mile race called The Bear. “You’re doing it,” he said. A 5-miler? No sweat. Cool. In the middle of training for the Boston Marathon, I gave a measly five miles little thought.

A few months later, I had time to realize and think about the exact location of those five little miles:

Grandfather Mountain, Elevation 5,964 feet

By now Boston and its rigorous Newton Hills were behind me, and this life-long flatlander started to realize what I was up against. Five miles straight of Heartbreak Hill, but steeper and at higher elevation. Normally I look forward to races. After all, I voluntarily sign up, pay money, and train to do them. But now I began to profoundly, earnestly, dread The Bear. I had no doubt that I could complete the run, but also harbored no delusions about the pain and suffering involved in reaching the finish.

We arrived in beautiful Boone the day before the race. Friends offered to drive us to Grandfather Mountain. “No thanks, I’d rather not see it,” I said. When I did catch a glimpse of its peak, which resembles the profile of a bearded old man, it seemed unfathomable that any human could actually run up it. Yet the race’s winners do in 30 minutes and change.

As Thursday dawned, I grew more apprehensive and nervous. “I’d rather do a 100 mile run than The Bear,” I moaned. “I feel like I’m headed off to the guillotine.”I jokingly warned Lloyd that I would be looking for him at the finish, with a few choice words. OK, occasionally my dramatic streak comes out.

We loaded up and headed to the Start, arriving with plenty of time to contemplate our sorry fates, er, warm up. Lloyd dashed off to do just that. Rather than loosen my legs, I jogged to a nearby convenience store with Lloyd’s equally nervous running buddy Denine. We proceeded to interrogate our restroom line-mates who were Bear veterans, getting a good preview and a little reassurance in the process.

The weather was cooperative, at least. It had rained all day, but precipitation ceased and the sun shone brightly upon the crowd of 800+ fools, er, runners poised at base camp. The starting gun fired. It missed me, so I had no choice but to amble forward.

My entire “race” plan was to minimize misery. Normally I do not race with a heart-rate monitor, but I wore one this evening so I could try to keep my heart rate below red line. My other cue to watch was breathing. I wanted to feel like I could breathe the whole time. Almost immediately after starting, my heart rate climbed into Tempo pace (8:00-8:15 min/miles) zone as my feet trudged at slower than recovery pace. The first mile was a controlled 11:20. It is actually difficult for me to run at this pace, but it allowed me to breathe and feel as relaxed as possible.

“Pant, pant, pant,” all the otherwise silent runners huffed and puffed their way up. There was no usual joking or chatter. At one point someone exclaimed, “How the hell would anyone actually prepare for this?!,” but otherwise we saved our precious breath.

Miles 2 and 3 nearly matched my first in pace, although my heart rate now equaled my mile repeat heart-rate zone (7:30-7:40 min/mile) of about 170 BPM. Since I was controlling my effort somewhat, I was able to appreciate the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountain vistas that met our eyes when we exited a wooded dirt road in the second mile. We were definitely climbing a mountain! Every so often, road signs ordered “No Walking.” “I’ll try not to,” I said to myself.

Mid-way, the course all too briefly flattens out as runners pass through the decked-out Highland Games campsite and competition field. We were greeted by tartan-clad clapping spectators, Scottish family crest flags, and bagpipe music as we were pampered with half a lap on the track. I took advantage of the fleeting flatness and picked up my pace to actual 5-mile race pace for the 200 yards, passing about 10 runners. Maybe that wasn’t too sportsmanlike, but it was a welcome break from trudging.

Immediately after the track, a steep grassy hill continues the course. I walked for the first time, but back on the road continued slowly running even as the course grew steeper and more winding. Now I was bargaining with myself. Just run to the turn and then decide if you want to walk. OK, now run to the next turn, then you can walk if you want.

Like an evil, venomous serpent, the road uncoiled upward. When my run became an involuntary march, I turned on my speed walking muscles and walked for intervals. I found I was actually faster and could easily pass people while walking. I wasn’t running The Bear competitively, but made it a game to try to “catch” the person in front of me whenever I walked. To my surprise, it worked very well. Like everyone else around me, I alternated walking and running through the fourth mile (12:30).

“No Walking,” the sign said again. “‘F— you!” I thought now.

After several minutes of begging, I approached the Mile 4 sign. From here, the switchbacks grow tighter and course steepens even more to the summit. I looked at runners still zig-zagging high above and thought “that is just F—ing sick!”

At this point I spotted Lloyd standing on a rock mid-way up the switchbacks. He had finished the race and was now cheering runners on and taking photos. From below, I pointed at him and shook my fist, pretending to be furious. Really I was happy to see him, especially since he willingly re-traced the final ascent for a second time when he began running by my side.

We climbed together and I finally pushed beyond the red line as I ran harder and breathed harder, encouraged by the spectators now lining the course. It was an unforgettable sight to look up and see people yelling and clapping along the final steep incline to the summit. Funny how a clicking camera, crowd, and company work. My last mile to the finish was run in 9:49, the fastest by far.

Immediately after finishing, discomfort turned to relief. The dreaded Bear was done, with no higher ground to cover. I had survived and met my goal of avoiding self-induced misery. Clouds rolled back in, so there was a strange sensation of being in the sky. We lingered at the top, crossing an unstable feeling swinging bridge, comparing Bear tales, and exploring a bit before catching a shuttle back to base camp.

The mile-high swinging bridge on the mountain's peak is the closest I've been to skywalking.

Running Backward in Mad City

Event: Madison Half Marathon
Where & When: 7:25 a.m. Sunday May 25, Madison, WI
Results: 2:10:11 (9:57 min/mile)

The Madison Marathon has been on my list of to-do races for a couple years. During grade school I lived in this fun, progressive college town and have fond memories of the city. My parents met here as students and grandparents lived here, so it’s a significant setting in that way.

This year I had plenty of incentive to register. The race was scheduled at a good point after the Boston Marathon to be something to look forward to. A group from the Kickrunners  online community were coming in for the race, so it would be a fun Memorial Day weekend of running and meeting some Internet acquaintences in person. I signed up for the half marathon to see what kind of performance I could achieve in the 13.1 mile distance five weeks after a marathon.

After an 8 1/2 hour road trip and what seemed like dozens of tolls, Lloyd and I arrived in Madison from Ohio on Friday. We settled in and headed to the University of Wisconsin for a short run. In 45 minutes we got an out-and-back foot tour of State Street, the Memorial Union terrace, the dirt path along Lake Mendota, and popular recreation area Picnic Point. Probably from excitement, my pace was faster than usual for easy pace, but it didn’t feel like any effort. Post-run, we enjoyed a pitcher of Bell’s Two-Hearted Ale and meeting a small group of early arriving Kickrunners in the student union.

Saturday was perfect late-spring weather that brings everyone out to stroll, run, or cycle
along Madison’s lakes. Lloyd, who would be leading the 3:50 marathon pace group on Sunday, worked at the race expo in the morning. I spent time at the expo and neighboring World’s Largest Brat Fest, a celebration of sausage organized by the same promoter that puts on the marathon! I people-watched and soaked up the atmospheres at the two very contrasting events before Lloyd finished his shift and we joined his friend Mindi for a take-out lunch in front of the state capitol building.

An especially nice part of Saturday was the pre-race dinner hosted by Kristine, a fellow pacer and Madison resident. Before the dinner I noticed my stomach felt slightly upset, but attributed the discomfort to traveling and being away from a usual routine and diet. At the dinner I had little appetite, but made myself eat enough pasta, bread, and salad to be fueled for the next morning. The meal tasted delicious, but didn’t settle well. I counted on a good night’s sleep to take care of that.

Race morning was early as usual, especially so since Lloyd needed to meet his pace team near the Capitol Square start area by 6:30 a.m. We downed breakfast, parked at the finish area, swiftly shuttled to the start, and camped out in a nearby hotel lobby. With three indoor restrooms and relatively few runners, it was like having pre-race VIP status. I was extra appreciative of the comfortable bathrooms, as I discovered my gut had a “runs” plan of its own and apparently wanted a head start on my legs. I chalked it up to pre-race nerves and was grateful my innards’ workout was over in time for the main event.

I warmed up by running the first half mile of the course just before the marathon race started. Coming back I got to see the entire marathon field begin its journey, including Lloyd leading his 3:50 runners. Conditions felt slightly warm in the high 60s with sun, but considering Madison had evaded a soggy forecast, I was grateful for a lovely morning, excited for the race, and several times thought about how I felt ready to “knock this one out of the park” and have a run I’d be really pleased about.

A 5K I’d raced a week earlier predicted I could do a 1:48-1:50 Half and I fully planned to aim for that. I felt fit enough and extra motivated by personal connections to the course. Before race day, I had studied the route carefully. With a little help from my dad I was able to recall quite a few significant landmarks along the 13.1 mile route, and was excited to run through half a dozen nostalgic spots.

Fifteen minutes later, it was the half marathoners’ turn to line up. My plan was to start with the 1:50 pace group to begin comfortably before hitting my own pace and going for whatever it could get me.

In a sense, that’s exactly what I did.

Mile 1 took us downhill from the Capitol, getting the group out 15 seconds ahead of pace. It felt easy, just like mile 2 which we came to 16:52 into the race. This portion brought us to the first landmark, a lagoon that freezes to an ice rink I had loved to skate on as a kid. In the second mile I noticed my stomach still had jitters, and was surprised my nerves hadn’t calmed after the gun went off like they usually do. But the pace was very comfortable, so I urged myself to relax with it.

We came to the first aid station. Because it was warm, I grabbed a cup of water and almost spit out the first sip. It was like gulping a mouthful of chemical fluid. I tried to ignore the foul chemical flavor. Near the third mile of the course, we rolled over some hills on Gorham Street. Maintaining focus on running helped me forget the taste in my mouth. Mile 3 was just a little slow and I planned to make up time knowing the course would flatten along Lake Mendota.

Another aid station, another mouthful of what I can only describe as spoiled chlorine. My hydration plan instantly changed to drinking only Gatorade for the remaining 10 miles. I tried to ignore thoughts of how far away that distance sounded. That is not the mindset for a good day!

What I couldn’t ignore was no longer having Pacer Tim, our 1:50 group leader, in my sight. By Miles 3 and 4, my pace had already dropped from about 8:20. I was now officially queasy and had the feeling that I was barely staggering forward in slow motion. When I pushed the pace, my stomach threatened to push up its contents. I was amazed I was still maintaining a faster than 9 minute/mile average, hitting 5 miles in 44 minutes and change. Coming to the same lakefront path Lloyd and I had run two days earlier, I marveled at the difference less than 48 hours could make as I lost count of all the runners who seemed to be flying past. Taking motivation from my friend Meredith who completed a 100 mile endurance run while battling food poisoning, I revised my plan to what would turn out to be a very optimistic goal of now coming in under two hours. Again I shook off thoughts of how long and agonizing it would seem to keep moving forward for eight more miles. I wished I could just stop and lie down, but no way would I DNF a race I’d wanted to do for years, or a “mere” half marathon for that matter.

I shuffled on. More runners passed. The 2:00 pace group leader passed. We turned from the lakefront to travel past the Badgers’ Camp Randall Stadium. How could it be that the gentle incline leading along the arena felt more brutal and slowed me down more than Boston’s Newton Hills had?

I kept staggering forwad, feeling semi-comatose, turning onto Monroe Street. “Go Andrea!” I heard and came out of a partial stupor to look for a familiar face. I briefly made eye contact with the woman who had been kind enough to cheer for me, wondering how she knew my name? I was so out of it, I forgot race organziers had printed each runner’s name on their bib.

I had been looking forward to this section in Mile 7 that passes my old ballet school, now a futon store. What I didn’t recall was the endless uphill grind heading west. At least I wasn’t the only miserable soul — “What kind of run is this?!” the zillionth runner to pass me asked. Along Monroe Street, I spotted a generous man handing out bottles of water to anyone who wanted a drink. Grateful for non-putrid tasting liquid, I sipped from the sport bottle as I trudged up.

Turning off Monroe, we met a sheer drop-off that hurtled us down to the Vilas Zoo. Normally I love downhill running, but this time I clunked down, feeling the impact reverberate through my entire body with each clumsy thud.

Oh God, there were still five miles left. How could this marathoner be feeling more fatigue and agony in Mile 8 of a half marathon than at the end of the past two marathons I’ve completed? Why didn’t I sign up for the 6.5 mile quarter marathon? Or join a relay team? I consoled myself that I hadn’t registered for the full marathon, something I’d briefly considered, and reminded myself that no one was making me complete 13.1 miles today except for myself.

I did my best to stay distracted by playing tourist to endure the remaining distance. We passed Randall Avenue a block from where my best friend Rachel had lived. We ran along Drake Street, where my parents rented a house as newlyweds; St. Mary’s Hosptial, where my mom was born; and Lake Wingra, a man-made water body my Great Uncle Al had helped construct.

Noticing Wisconsin-isms in my fellow racers also amused me, even as the nausea I’d had since Mile 3 became an official stomach ache. One woman who passed me (of course) sported a dairy-cow printed tank top reading “Milk Does a Body Good.” Another runner wore a singlet displaying the Pabst Blue Ribbon logo and name of the tavern that sponsored him. Somewhere in my own private hell I was able to chuckle, and wonder if the next person who passed me (of course) would be chomping on a bratwurst.

Shuffle, stagger, struggle. I had avoided reading my mile splits, but at Mile 11 I found my pace matching the mile. 11 minute miles in a half marathon! That’s slower than recovery run pace! This really was a run back in time, taking me not only on a tour of a childhood home, but reuniting me with the pace of my very first half marathon five years earlier. What was the point of even running? I wanted to walk, but knew that would just prolongue the misery. I told myself if I could finish without walking, that would be the day’s victory. Ah, the mind games we can play in a race.

Just after Mile 12, I spotted the angled roof of the Alliant Energy Center marking the finish. At least it would all be over soon. Trudge, slog, trudge, slog. Oh look, there goes 2:10 pace group leader, last night’s gracious hostess Kristine. I made it to the cheering spectators lining the chute. Normally this would be my cue to kick it in with everything left. What was the point? A few fans hollered my name, and I replied with a half-hearted attempt to pick it up and at least look like a runner. Kristine stood at the finish yelling encouragement. Between watching her excitement at her groups’ success and realizing I was finally done with the death march, I couldn’t help but smile as I felt the chip-timing mat under my weary feet.

Dizzy, I slowly walked to Lloyd’s car, where I reclined for 20 minutes before taking my time to return to the finish area to watch him lead his marathon group in right on time.  He needed me to retrieve business cards to hand out from his car, and I was able to run back and forth for that. Funny how when duty calls, it’s easier to transcend discomfort.

My best guess is I had a slight bug that wouldn’t have bothered me had I not attempted to run on Sunday. I didn’t feel 100 percent, but revived enough to enjoy post-race festivities at the Great Dane, Monday breakfast and time on a Kickrunner pal’s farm, a final visit to State Street and the Union Terrace with Lloyd, and quick neighborhood tour and dinner in Chicago. By Tuesday night’s group run in Ohio, I was back to my normal training pace and felt great.

If you race enough, at some point you’ll encounter and learn from anything and everything. The Madison Half Marathon was my opportunity to realize how to run with tummy distress. Hopefully I won’t need to draw from the lesson for a long while, but now know I’m prepared to lurch through the miles with a lurching stomach.

 

 

Spring Sprint 5K: Room for Improvement

Event: Spring Sprint 5K run and 3K walk

When & Where: 9 a.m. Saturday, May 17; Elizabeth City N.C. Riverside Ave. neighborhood

Results: 23:36 (7:36 min/mile), 4th female overall, 3rd female 18-40 age group, 8th runner overall

I take every opportunity I can to enter the less-than-handful of local races. This morning’s Spring Sprint 5K allowed me the luxury of sleeping in my own bed the night before and, I hoped, would provide an opportunity to truly give a race effort so I could see where my current fitness is. I have never done this particular race before and had heard questionable reports about the organization, but ended up satisfied with the overall experience.

My back was stiff and sore when I got up, the result of a hard pilates practice yesterday after taking a short break from core training. Again I was reminded that it’s easier to maintain all kinds of fitness rather than re-build. I did extra stretching for my back, and didn’t feel like the lingering muscle soreness would affect me on the run.

My neighbor and running buddy Amy and I carpooled, arriving with an hour until the start. We immediately met up with our other partner Noel, got our packets, found a bathroom, and went for an easy warm-up along with Jennifer, another woman we know from the Y. About half a mile in, Noel screamed “Snake! Snake!” and we all sped up after we caught a glimpse of the large, coiled up dark green reptile she had almost stepped on. By the end of the warm-up I had worked through the morning’s slight chill and felt very comfortable in the breezy 60s temperatures. It was an absolutely beautiful morning with the ”Carolina Blue” sky reflected in the harbor water.

The Spring Sprint is a very low-budget, small 5K that benefits Elizabeth City’s Junior Woman’s Club. This means no frills and scant publicity, but the upside of that was watching a small team of unpaid organizers, all women, put on a still well-managed event. Registration was up by more than 20 participants in the race’s third year.

The race was scheduled to start at 9, and my anticipation of a late start proved correct. Shortly after the hour, race director Danielle pointed out the Start/Finish line “that concrete patch on the bridge,” and reviewed course directions. We lined up behind the police car assigned to lead the field and on Danielle’s “Ready-Set-Go” we started with a short uphill over the Charles Creek bridge.

The flat, partly waterfront course is a modification of the local fall Waterway 5K. I run on it often and know it very well. I had no plan other than staying as close as I could with Noel, who has more natural speed than me, and truly giving a race effort. Not too long into the race, I was glad I didn’t have a specific goal pace, because there were no mile markers! I don’t run with a GPS device, so would have to go by feel rather than any measurable feedback.

My hope was that Noel, Amy, and I could finish close together and all have satisfying days. I purposely started just behind both of them to try to avoid going out too fast. For about half of the course, the three of us were leading the women’s field and I thought how fun it would be if we captured the top three spots. In what might have been the second mile, a high-school runner moved up and a little later another woman came past all of us, despite running with shoes that had come untied! Amy and I stayed next to each other behind Noel into what I assume was the final mile, when I pulled ahead slightly.

With no course timing other than my watch’s overall time, I gauged my pace on breathing and effort. As we made the final turn with a little more than half a mile left, I felt the way I wanted to — borderline struggling. I knew exactly where the finish was and it was much too far. My lungs were begging for air, my stomach threatened to become all-out queasy, and my brain was questioning why I would ever enter such a painful distance race. My legs felt absolutely no fatigue, so I focused on keeping them turning over down the still-too-long road, back up and over the little bridge, and across the makeshift finish line to a time of 23:36.

I wasn’t out to compete with anyone other than myself, and while I didn’t PR today, this little race did mark my first Top 10 overall finish. Although I was third in the 18-40 age group, the awards were miscalculated, giving me the second-place award and overlooking Noel, who rightly earned it. I believe it’s because her name could be mistaken for a man’s name, and plan to pass my medal to her. Amy should keep the bronze medal she was given since her kids will get a kick out of it and she scored a new PR today!

I would have loved to have PR’d today, but am pleased that I got a good snapshot of current fitness. Realistically, I haven’t approached my 5K PR of 23:01from 18 months ago in the last year.  My last three 5Ks have all been right around 23:30. I scored my personal best (so far) at about 5 lbs. lighter than I currently weigh, and soon after I’d started training with my coach. I was a little leaner and reaping the new benefits of improved training back then.

If I want to break 23 mintues, now I’ll need to push through the fitness plateau with more speedwork — not to mention push back from the table just a little sooner and bring my weekly mileage back up to burn a few more calories. As I’m healthy and motivated, I look forward to the challenge and continued progress. That’s a big part of what makes running a rewarding, lifelong sport.

 

 

Running For Pork Skins: A Pacer’s (Pig) Tales of a First 5K

Event: Nags Head Woods 5K

Where & When: Nags Head Woods Ecological Preserve, Kill Devil Hills NC, 8 a.m. Saturday, May 10

Results: 39:11 (12:38 minute/mile) 

At the start of the year, my good friend Mert bought her first pair of running shoes and embarked on a beginning running program. She logged run/walk workouts two to three times a week, gradually increasing her running to 30 minutes without a walk break. It was time to get a taste of racing.

The Nags Head Woods 5K, an annual run and perhaps more popular post-race party on the North Carolina Outer Banks, was coming up. Mert signed up, along with our friend Priscilla. As promised, I planned to pace Mert to her first 5K finish and registered as well.

Mert helped cheer me to a marathon PR in December 2007 with her very motivational phrase “Run, Bitch! Malt Balls!,” using my favorite candy as a dangling carrot. Now it was my turn to support her with some company and encouragement.

Priscilla’s family has a beach cottage in nearby Southern Shores, so we were able to avoid hotel costs and a pre-dawn hour’s drive from Elizabeth City on race morning. We spent a sunny Friday afternoon relaxing with some shopping, soaking up the sun, picking up race packets, dog-walking, and seafood dining before an early bedtime. I can’t remember the last time I went to bed at 9 p.m., and I must admit I loved the extra rest.

On Saturday we woke at 5:30 a.m. Four of us (Priscilla’s husband and Official Race Sherpa, Mike, had arrived Friday night) took turns getting ready in the small cottage bathroom and ate a quick breakfast. We drove to the shuttle pick-up site and had an uneventful ride to the start area, arriving at 7 a.m. The hour passed quickly with plenty of chatting, Port-a-John visits, applying bug spray needed for a run in a maritime forest, and a quick walk/jog warm up. The weather was perfect: 50 degrees, sunny, and low humidity thanks to a cool front arriving the previous evening.

It was time to line up on the dirt road where most of the 5K takes place. Mert chose a spot near the back of the pack so she could avoid going out too fast. Soon there was movement and we crossed the starting line at a relaxed pace.

Mile 1

We settled in to running. Mert did an excellent job of sticking to her intended pace, instead of getting swept along too fast like many new (and, er, not naming names but, uh, at least one more experienced) 5K runners do. She completely stayed in her own head. The course is slightly rolling with the longest uphill at mile 2.75, which we already planned to walk. Mert decided she would play every uphill by ear, walking if she felt like it. As a pacer I did my best to keep her going but not pull her along too fast, and keep her mind happy with encouragement. I carried a water bottle so she could drink whenver she wanted, and my camera to record the event for posterity:

Mile 2

Shortly after our first mile, we caught up to another runner, Steven. He told us it was his first 5K and asked if he could stay with us. We became a trio for the rest of the race, and I did my best to distract both of them with stories of mishaps and adventures I’d encountered in previous races.  I pulled ahead again and snapped a photo of them.

By this time the leaders were approaching on their way back to the finish. “Use their energy to keep you going,” I told my runners. We cheered for the first woman and all the people we knew as they passed, making the time go quickly. We got to the half-way point in the course, where runners turn and run the circumference of an open field. The ground was spongey and muddy from Friday morning’s rain, more challenging for new runners to deal with. We walked a little more here and took off running again when we were back on the more solid-feeling dirt road.

Now it was time to dangle Mert’s favorite snack as the proverbial carrot. “Run Bitch! Pork Skins!”

One Mile to Go

At the one mile left point, the race clock read approximately 26 minutes. “Only if you feel like trying a time goal today, you can break 40 minutes by keeping this same pace to the end,” I told Mert. Both she and Steven were feeling a little fatigued, but showed no lag in energy or pace. I continued chatting as we headed to the finish, trying to be extra encouraging without going into all-out annoying cheerleader mode. “Every step is one step closer,” I told them, reminding them how satisfying it would feel to finish and how strong they would find out they were. It wasn’t long until we reached the 1/2 mile to go point and then confronted the “walker” hill before the final push to the finish. Steven was struggling a little, but not giving up. Mert, on the other hand, reached the top of the hill and shot forward. “You’re a sandbagger!” I said as I ran hard to catch her. “Keep going, we can see the finish now!” I said before running ahead one last time to get her photo finish. Priscilla was heading back to find us, and I yelled for her to run in with Mert.

The Finish

I felt silly being cheered for crossing the line at 39:11, when I all I was interested in was seeing my runner finish. I got in position and camera ready. There she was! She did it in 39:23, easily beating her impromptu time goal!

As I went to hug Mert, she looked a bit shaky. “I’m going to throw up,” she announced. Pulling off to the side of the finish area, she promptly bent forward and made a not-so-pleasant reacquaintance with the contents of her stomach.

“You’re a real runner now,” I told her proudly. “If you ran a race so hard that at the end you throw up, you know you gave it your all.”

Before long Mert recovered, and was ready to celebrate her accomplishment with her favorite snack.

 

I haven’t done that much pacing, but was reminded yesterday of what a sweet gig it is. The pacer is rewarded with considerable pride and more fun, along with the good feeling of helping — all for covering a distance at a very comfortable, non-puke inducing pace.

 

 

The 112th Boston Marathon

 Event: Boston Marathon

When & Where: 10:30 a.m. Monday, April 21, Hopkinton to Boston, Mass.

Results: 4:00:05 (9:10 pace). 14,568 of 21,963 finishers, 5,008 of 8,935 female finishers, 3,167 of 4,908 of female finishers ages 18-39. 

After a night of sound sleep interrupted only by a couple of pre-marathon hydration–induced bathroom trips, I woke to two alarms at 6 a.m. and got busy with race morning rituals: making oatmeal in the hotel coffee maker, getting coffee, guzzling Gatorade, dressing, and packing gear bags.

Every marathon, I experience considerable worry about pre-race potty issues, and so far it has always been unfounded, so I was, er, relieved. It was time for my companion Lloyd and I to get on the shuttle to Hopkinton. The ride out was the only not entirely pleasant experience of the day. We were told the shuttle would cut down the 1 hour race-sponsored bus trip from Boston to the start, so we estimated arriving at the pre-race staging area by 8:30 a.m. with plenty of time to loosen up for Lloyd’s 10 a.m. first wave start. Unfortunately, it still took more than an hour due to backed-up traffic, but we passed dozens of official race buses even at that. We made the best of the long ride by listening to Lloyd’s iPod and talking over plans for our respective races. I felt some waves of nervousness on the shuttle, and consciously relaxed myself when they hit. 

When we finally got to the shuttle drop-off in Hopkinton, we still had to walk almost a mile to the pre-race waiting area. We would have maybe 30 minutes for Lloyd to do final preparations before he would walk another ¾ mile to his Start. To save time, we begged a Hopkinton greenhouse business for use of a port-a-john I spied on the property, then continued on. The quaint town was almost silent and sleepy, except for runners making their way to the race. I thought that it would be the last calm atmosphere I would experience for hours, and enjoyed the soothing and peaceful feeling before a day of excitement.

At the Athlete’s Village area, Lloyd got busy stretching and putting on his shoes. While he was getting ready, we both noticed a runner nearby chain smoking as part of his warm up. It turns out he had qualified for Boston in the same race where Lloyd ran his qualifying time, and was maybe 24 years old. We remarked that only a fit kid could jog and puff before running a fast marathon.

Lloyd left to get in the starting corrall, and I got in the shortest looking port-a-john line I could find. The wait was still 30 minutes, making me extra glad I had spotted the “secret” potty earlier. While I waited, I had some time to think about my race plan, and at 10 a.m. sent out thoughts for Lloyd to have a good day. Even though I had been nervous about Boston’s difficult course during training, I had no nervousness anymore, only happy anticipation of what I was about to experience. I felt more like I was going to see a performance I’d been wanting tickets to forever than run a race. Only I’d get to be part of the show.

Despite my lack of jitters, I had a few race goals. The best case goal was to keep an 8:45 min/mile average pace which would get me to the Finish in about 3:50, a time I’d be thrilled with on such a hard course. My “B” goal was sub-4 hours. My “no matter what” goal was to run how I felt, smile, take everything in, and enjoy the 26.2 mile trip in to Boston. My training had been consistent and included the most 50 mile weeks I’ve ever done before a marathon, but slightly less speed work than my previous race. I didn’t feel quite fresh enough to set a new personal record, but knew my body was loaded up with stamina to run strong and finish well.

It was shaping up to be a gorgeous day for a road trip. The early cloud cover cleared to a bright blue sky. Temperatures were in the 50s and projected to reach about 60. I was happy I’d put on sunscreen and a hat, and that I’d already done some runs in 70-80 degrees. It would be a warm day for Northern dwellers.

After getting my turn in the port-a-john I did my own final preparations, sent Lloyd a congratulations text message he would get while I was still running, checked my bag, and started slowly walking to the corrall area for the 10:30 second wave start. Along the way I noticed two women, one with “Monticello, Wisconsin” written on her shirt. My mom’s side of the family is from this tiny town, so I spent a couple minutes chatting with them about that while we strolled.

I got to the start area with just two minutes until the gun and an unmoving crowd between myself and my corrall, which was all the way up a hill. I spied an “alternate route” around the corrall and started my run early to get lined up in the right spot. I made it in with less than a minute to spare, only to get in the way of a runner loudly arguing with a race official to let him in to the corrall, which was a faster seeded starting place than his race number dictated. I was just glad I didn’t get caught in the middle and shoved to the ground before starting the marathon!

The gun sounded and I did my best to be present and take in the excitement of starting. Boston’s corralls and seeding system work very well. There was no agonizing 15 minutes of standing around. Before long we were walking, waving our hands in the air with excitement, and starting to run as we approached the timing mats. We were off!

Looking at the course elevation profile and hearing stories, I expected a downhill skiing type steep slope for the first several, downhill miles. Instead, they all felt runnable, very fun, and not one bit hard on my legs. I focused on “flowing” downhill with upright posture and good leg turnover, rather than “hammering” (running hard) or using my heels to brake all the way down. With next to no downhill training, I was surprised how in control and good I felt. I was right on a pace I wanted to be.

Mile 1 (8:54) What a sendoff! The roads were thick with cheering spectators. I felt like a rock star and high five’d and smiled at every kid I could, especially the girls, telling a couple “You can do this someday!”

Mile 2 (8:47) I saw Jen, a Kickrunners.com friend, here. Her volunteer job was to make sure nothing happened to the Mile 2 race clock. 

Mile 3 (8:49) Lloyd’s tip to carry a water bottle the first several miles and avoid water stops was so helpful. The stations were chaotic and clogged with runners suddenly veering in and out. I tried not to slip on discarded paper cups as I skated through the aid areas, coming out of each one with sticky shoes from spilled Gatorade. I wondered to myself if that would affect my finish time.

Around Miles 4 (8:35) and 5 (8:49) the course flattens out through the town of Ashland. I pick my pace up slightly because I know I can run harder on flats without trashing my quads. I came to Mile 5 just a few seconds behind pace for a 3:50 finish and feeling great.

I like to repeat mantras to myself in races. The chant in my head on this day included a lot of “Oh My God! I am running the Boston Marathon!! Oh My God! I am running the Boston Marathon!!” I didn’t need extra motivation at any point, but also encouraged myself on with reminders that I had helped raise over $1,000 for two good causes, was healthy and happy and blessed, and was sharing the day with several of the most special people in my life. What could be better?

Mile 6 - 11 continue along Rt. 135, looking for a few landmarks I’d read about in the book “26.2 Miles To Boston.” I spied the train station in Framingham, clear blue Lake Cochituate, and town common in Natick. All were lined with cheering spectators hollering, holding signs, ringing cowbells, and clapping. Massachusetts’ good Red Sox fans put out makeshift scoreboards so runners could keep up with the ball game, and there was even a pudgy crooner singing a Neal Diamond song on a small stage near Mile 8. Occasionally I got so engrossed in the surroundings I momentarily forgot I was racing. I felt like I was running through a carnival, and it was impossible to not feel pumped up! My splits for these fairly flat miles were 8:39, 8:48, 8:47, 8:55, 8:51 and 9:06.

At Mile 12 (8:58), I arrived at a famous area of the course, Wellesley College. This women’s school is known for its throngs of screaming co-eds, many of whom offer kisses to the men who run past. Again I felt myself distracted and wanting to slow down a tiny bit to really absorb the atmosphere. It was as loud as I’d been forwarned, and made every hair on my body stand on end.

After the estrogen-fest, I was looking forward to seeing my family as I entered the town of Wellesley. My cousin Ann lives here, and she and my parents would be waiting for me in front of the City Hall building. I was so excited to see them and began scanning the crowd before Mile 13 (9:05).  I thought about how when I first started running as a hobby, my parents seemed to think it was a little silly, but how now they loved to brag about their daughter running Boston.  It felt great to make my family proud and do something through running that would allow us all to have a memorable day. Mostly I was grateful for parents who came all the way from Minnesota to be part of one of the most special days of my life so far.

I spied my Dad right after the Half point (1:56:03) before he saw me. Stopping at the side of the course, I took about a minute to give some sweaty hugs and get a few pictures taken with my Mom and Dad, Ann, and her baby daughter Marley. “Sorry we’re wrecking your time,” my Dad said, and I replied that they were doing nothing of the sort. The huge boost to see them was well worth any time added to the clock, and I felt full of energy as I continued through Miles 14 (9:40 including stop) and 15 (9:13).

I would need every ounce of mojo as I approached the hills of Newton. I was coming into the most challenging segment of the course by far, five miles of long, steep inclines and declines culminating with the famous Heartbreak Hill in the 20th mile. Lloyd had helped me prepare by telling me where exactly the hills occur and suggesting I write those miles on my race Bib. I kept looking down to check my bib and anticipate the first ascent. Soon I would have a very good idea of how much or little doing repeats on local highway overpasses helps as Boston-specific training.

Midway through Mile 15, I was on my way up. Immediately, I realized that I would have needed a steeper, 5-6 times longer overpass to simulate the Newton Hills. No matter. I calmly set my mind to steadily climbing each hill and again flowing down. I was definitely erring on the side of caution in my approach because my legs already felt more sore and heavy than they had at the end of the last (flat) marathon I ran. I’d also heard so many stories of runners expending all their energy on the hills and having nothing left over for the remaining five miles after Heartbreak, and didn’t want to finish that way. My conservative approach showed in my Mile 16-18 splits: (8:58 ) (9:38 ) (10:05). In the 18th mile I again briefly stopped to gulp three Advils, attmempting to mask the increasing aching in my quads. I was definitely disheartened to see a “10:” anything since that is considerably slower than my easy training pace, but was wary of pushing the speed too much with already fatigued legs.

I had one more peak to scale, Heartbreak Hill from much of Mile 20 (10:07) to 21(10:19). At its base, I looked up … and up … and wondered where the top was. It was thrilling to be on such a famous marathoning landmark, and oddly I felt my energy rebound as I ran the sponge-littered street toward the top. “This has to be Heartbreak Hill!” I heard someone near me exclaim. Maybe because it is the final one, I didn’t think Heartbreak was the hardest of the Newton hills. At the top, I remembered advice to save my quads and not charge all-out down the backside. Again I rolled down, knowing the course was downhill to the Finish and feeling relieved that I was “leaving Heartbreak behind.”

In the 21st mile, runners find themself the VIP guests of a huge bash at Boston College. Cheering students crowd the course five deep, hang out of dorm windows, and shout encouragement from rooftops. The frat party atmosphere was infectious and I finally felt my speed come back and legs stop hurting. It wouldn’t be a day for a 3:50, but I felt good enough to  push hard for a Sub-4:00 finish.  Will, momentum, and Advil took over, my turnover increased, and I felt like my body was a machine that could work through the fatigue. I started weaving through the wave of runners in Miles 22 (9:35) and 23 (9:30).

At Mile 24 (8:55), I passed my hotel. Now I knew how close I was to the Finish, because Lloyd and I had run there two days earlier. I could visualize the rest of the way and that immensely boosted my confidence. I was feeling absolutely great and high and pushed even more, helped by cheering spectators. The course was still crowded with runners, and it was difficult to get by everyone I wanted to pass. I wanted to go even harder, and finally let myself, knowing I was finishing very strong and being thrilled about how great it felt. Before long I was through Mile 25 (9:06) and came to the “1 Mile To Go” sign with just over 8 minutes to break sub-4:00. With so little distance left, I decided to give a 3:59 my all and sped up more. What a contrast it was from the fatigue I’d left five miles back. I felt so good that part of me wished the race was a longer distance!

Alas, I was running out of course. From Beacon Street, I hit the turn to Hereford and knew I would soon turn left on Boylston Street and see the blue Finish banner half a mile ahead. Unlike Saturday evening’s quiet closed street, Boylston now resembled a ticker tape parade with screaming spectators ringing cowbells and applauding the finishers. I was conflicted. I wanted to speed up, but I wanted to ease off and prolongue the immeasurable feeling of exhilaration, fulfillment, completion, and realization of a dream. My time goal won out and I surged forward, hearing a few spectators yell for me as I sped past the others. It was going to be devastatingly close on either side of 4 hours. I pushed on, not breaking rhythm to check my watch. I would be in suspense, too. My split from Mile 25 to Mile 26.2 was 10:14.

The Finish! I smiled big for the camera and shouted “Yes!” I was only mildly disappointed with a time of 4:00:05. I had finished my first Boston Marathon, raised more than $1,000 for two good causes, was healthy and uninjured, and sharing the day with some of the most special people in my life. Stopping to spend a moment with two of them, my parents, had added time on the race clock, but I was satisfied knowing that my running time on the course was less than four hours even though the official results were six seconds over 3:59:59.

Quickly I learned that the Boston course doesn’t exactly end at the finish. Now runners straggled through a drink station, space blanket station, food station, and finally had beautiful medals hung around their necks after volunteers removed timing chips from their shoes. The next task was to search out the right bus to recollect my gear bag. I felt a little lonely here and was anxious to connect with friends to compare our journeys. Before long Lloyd and I got in touch, found each other again in the crowd, and started sharing our respective experiences as we switched gears from racing to recovery and celebration.

I am still processing the truly awesome experience of running Boston, with much more I want to relive about the entire, incredible weekend. My early conclusions are that I am thrilled and grateful for having a great time during the race and finishing strong and healthy. Yet I can start to pinpoint areas where I can improve my performance physically and mentally if I want to make another attempt. I believe I could be even more pleased with my running result if I was awarded another good day on the course. As I qualified for 2008 and 2009, I am excited by that challenge. But first and foremost on my agenda is to smartly recover, take a breather, and always appreciate and smile about one of the most significant days of my life so far.

 

 

 

 

Boston by the Numbers

I’m still working on the words — there are so many! — to tell about the incredible experience of the Boston Marathon and entire weekend. For now, here are a few numbers: My race splits.

8:54 Mile 1
8:47 Mile 2
8:49 Mile 3
8:35 Mile 4
8:49 Mile 5
8:39 Mile 6
8:48 Mile 7
8:47 Mile 8
8:55 Mile 9
8:51 Mile 10
9:06 Mile 11
8:58 Mile 12
9:05 Mile 13
9:40 Mile 14 stopped to see family
9:13 Mile 15
8:58 Mile 16
9:38 Mile 17
10:05 Mile 18 stopped to take Advil
9:31 Mile 19
10:07 Mile 20
10:19 Mile 21
9:35 Mile 22
9:30 Mile 23
8:55 Mile 24
9:06 Mile 25
10:14 Mile 26.2

Watch time 4:00:07 Official time 4:00:05 
(1st half split 1:56:05/2nd half split 2:04:02)

26 time intervals can’t tell an entire story, but no doubt I’ll analyze and learn from them in the future.

Speaking of numbers, we have a Finish Time Prediction Contest Winner!  Apparently in race result guessing, Father (and Mom) Knows Best. My parents’ 4:04:04 guess was closest and earns them the prize. Congratulations, Mom and Dad, and way to keep it in the family! Thanks again to everyone who played and donated.

I wasn’t unhappy overall with how I ran, but it’s funny I came closest to the time I “least” wanted of all the guesses. You’ll have to wait for the story to see how, when, and why.

Neither Fightin’ nor Irish

Event: Shamrock Half Marathon

When & Where: 7 a.m. Sunday, March 16 in Virginia Beach, Va.

Results: 1:52:14 (8:35 pace). 41/492 females age 35-39 and 280/3,162 of all females.

As I started planning a spring race calendar, I earmarked the Shamrock Half Marathon as a goal race. The course is fast and its St. Patty’s Day party atmosphere is energizing and fun. Most of my local running friends would be participating in the 8K, half marathon, or marathon. Shamrock and I have some emotional history too: I had a breakthrough half marathon here in 2006 that started the quest to qualify for Boston, which included an injury and DNF in 2007’s marathon.

But then race week 2008 came. 

My body felt like a sluggish sack of potatoes most of the week. A few minor aches and pains I’d had after runs calmed down with lots of ice and a few easy days, but shook my confidence. Race-day weather wasn’t great, but nowhere near as wild as forecasted. It could have been a PR day conditions-wise.

I got wishy-washy on my plans to shoot for a new personal record. I am a planner who performs best with a strategy to follow, but Saturday night at dinner was saying things like “Eh, I’ll see how I feel in the morning … at the start … at mile 3 … halfway through … at mile 10.”

So, how did I feel?

In the morning:With a great night’s rest in the comfortable hotel bed, I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to greet the day at 5 a.m. Some good coffee, conversation with roommie Amy, and encouraging text messages did the trick.

At the start:The all-night rain stopped, winds subsided, and an 8:20 pace felt easy. Not a bad way to get going. Hmm, I kind of miss my music, though. It is too quiet as we count the street numbers heading north on Pacific Avenue.

At mile 3:We head into 3 miles of road surrounded by pretty coastal forest. Here organizers attempt to entertain us with non-sensical signs like “Man running behind car gets exhausted.” Ba-dum-bum. I wish I had music. It is too quiet.

Half-way through: It is St. Patrick’s Day, not Halloween! Why do I feel like a zombie with these achy heavy legs? I spot my friend Noel ahead and dig in to pass her, which helps for a couple miles. She catches me at mile 9 and we give each other a boost and pick up our paces together.

At mile 10:My knee feels a bit tight, so I reluctantly let Noel go. I am excited for her though, as I’m pretty sure she is on pace for a new personal best. It is still too quiet as I count the street numbers heading south on Pacific Avenue. Finally, music! I run by a bunch of Team in Training volunteers who are cranking 11th grade cruising tunes ”Nothing But a Good Time” and “Talk Dirty To Me” by Poison. Thank you, Bret Michaels! Between the hair band and tail wind I manage to feel more like my usual pumped-up racing self until paying respects to the huge King Neptune statue that reigns over the Finish line.

So … I don’t really know what was up with that.

It might have helped if my head had completely been in Virginia Beach, rather than jumping forward to Boston. In the past I’ve struggled with letting self-talk affect my running, but have gotten much stronger about that and wasn’t battling negative thoughts at all. Mentally, I haven’t felt tired of training at all. But I have learned that I need to be personally motivated to race well, and right now am more excited by of course Boston, and also the idea of trail running and ultras.

Simply, it wasn’t my day to show the half marathon who’s boss. Instead, I got a decent marathon-pace workout.

The best thing to do is leave a so-so race effort behind, focus on the considerable fun had during the weekend, and keep moving forward.

13.1 Miles of the Historic Triangle

Event:Anheuser Busch Colonial Half Marathon

When & Where:1 p.m. Feb. 24, Williamsburg, Va.

Results: 1:51:53 (watch time)/1:52:32 (gun time)/14th out of 50 in 35-39 age group and 413 of 857 overall.

Colonial Williamsburg, about 80 miles northwest of where I’m currently living, draws thousands of tourists and history buffs each year with its live-action resurrection of pre-Revolutionary War life in the soon-to-be United States. Today, more than 800 runners flocked to one of the oldest areas in America to experience the revolution of their feet over 13.1 miles of challenging, rolling hills.

I ran this race in 2006 as a two-hour easy training run and looked forward to traveling the pretty course again. Today practicing marathon-pace running on hills was the goal.

I left North Carolina at 9:30 a.m., plenty of time for the out of the ordinary 1 p.m. race start time. Runners sign in and wait in William and Mary Hall, the athletic fieldhouse for the College of William & Mary.  W & M is a strong running school, so the race is a fitting fund-raiser for the school’s athletic programs.

Going to races alone can be lonely, so it was nice to see familiar faces when I arrived. A local running friend and occasional partner, Bill, was ready for the Half. His son Brett pinned a number on for his second-ever 5K, and Bill’s wife Kathy was there to cheer for her guys. Another Cathie, who trains with the same coach as I do, came west from her home in Virginia Beach for the Half. Cathie and I, who paired up for many coached track workouts last fall, decided to start together and see how long we wanted to run in tandem today.

How do you eat for an early afternoon race? My solution was my normal long run breakfast at 7 a.m., followed by a Clif Bar and Gatorade at 11. I didn’t feel any hunger or stomach discomfort before the start, and pinned a Gu to my shorts for a mid-race boost.

This being one-third of Virginia’s Historic Triangle, a fife and drum corps marched from the field house to lead the runners to the start. We jogged down and around to warm up, then got in the Port-a-John line with what I hoped was enough time until the start. But as soon as my turn came, I heard the gun go off. Oops! I ran out as quickly as I could and kept going to catch up with the field. Somehow I remembered to start my watch at the line, and the race was on!

My first mile was a combination of surging to catch up to Cathie, wasting energy maneuvering around others, and trying to adjust hastily pulled up shorts with built-in briefs. I caught Cathie and got comfortable, so it was time to settle in to pace. At Mile 1 my watch showed 8:27.  Each mile varied from 8:15 - 8:39 except Mile 11 where my right hamstring threatened to cramp if I asked it to power up one more hill, so I eased off to a 9:18 mile.

The course starts on campus and travels through a small section of hillyWilliamsburg before heading out on a hilly private paved drive through the woods for four hilly miles.  Then there’s a short loop bordering a hilly golf course and cutting through Busch corporate grounds before retracing the hilly woods and, by then, mercilessly climbing back up through hillyWilliamsburg to finish inside William & Mary Hall. It is as fun and full of sights as it is difficult! 

Williamsburg’s hills aren’t steep, but constantly rolling. The race includes scant flat segments, so it’s great practice for Boston. I laughed as one male runner in front of me opted to skip down the hills and run the other segments. Another pair, ultrarunners perhaps, walked the uphills and easily caught me past the summits.  In the last mile I enviously told them, “You two have the right idea!”

The race has one of those torturing, teasing ends where you arrive at the Finish area but have to circumnavigate it, Mecca like, before entering. I was ready to be done and charged into the fieldhouse feeling strong. Cathie was done less than a minute later. Waiting at the finish was Barbara, a race volunteer who I know from an online running community. It was a treat to come in and see her smiling face, then get acquainted in person for a little while.

I transitioned into the 21st century for a few hours with stops to eat at Quizno’s and shop at Trader Joe’s, Borders Books, and Target in Newport News before driving back across the state line into the also historic, but definitely not hilly, Dismal Swamp.

As I rolled the last couple miles to my house, the ’80s new wave hit ”I Ran” by A Flock of Seagulls played on the radio.

50K of Learning As I Go

Nonevent: Team Slug International Fattest Butt 50K (approximately 32 miles)

When & Where: 8:20 a.m. Jan. 5, Killens Pond State Park, Felton, Del.

Results: 6:05 (1st female)

While focusing on marathon training for the past several years I’ve been inspired by ultrarunners, those runners who get to 26.2 miles and then just keep on going. On Saturday I joined their lower ranks as I took my first strides beyond the marathon distance. Those not quite nimble steps were at times challenging and humbling, mostly fun, and always in good company.

Encouraged by friends Mandy and Derek who I met last spring while supporting my friend Meredith Murphy in her quest for a 100 mile run finish, I decided last fall to put any remaining fitness from Kiawah Island Marathon toward a 50K. The ultrarunning group Derek and Mandy are part of, Team Slug International, organizes an informal one each January outside of Dover, Del. The Fattest Butt 50K ”nonevent” is TSI’s variation on a “Fat Ass” run:  A friendly, no-frills semi-race that is a winter tradition in the ultrarunning community meant to encourage participants to get their behinds in gear after the holiday season of excesses.

As it turned out the Fattest Butt would dramatically change the appearance of my own derriere and, in the process, become the week’s second and true Wardrobe Malfunction run.

Festivities started Friday night when Mandy met Staci, Lloyd (two other running friends) and I and took us to a local Dover Italian eatery for pre-run carbs. Between bites of bread and pasta, first-timers Staci and I had many questions for Mandy and Lloyd, who have both completed ultra-distance events. After dinner we walked to a grocery store a few doors down for some last-minute provisions. Temperatures in the 20s felt positively frigid to my Southern-acclimated body, and I hoped the rumored warmer forecast for Saturday would prove accurate. Staci, Lloyd, and I shared some stories over beers back at the hotel where we were all staying. Then it was time to do the usual race preparation routine of getting my gear and clothing ready to go for the morning before bed.

The next morning I woke up a few minutes before my alarm and did not want to get out of the very cozy, warm, and enticing pillow-top bed. I could have stayed under the covers all day. After a few minutes of coaxing, I forced myself from the comfort zone and quickly dressed to converge upon the well-stocked hotel breakfast for coffee and my usual pre-long run meal: oatmeal with peanut butter. Mandy came back to lead our caravan, and Staci, Lloyd, and I followed her to the park. Race Director Derek ushered us in, and the 28 runners began casually setting up water and fueling items of choice on a cluster of picnic tables. There was also a community table in the middle where we donated more substantial eats so people could help themselves during or after the run. Everyone was exchanging introductions and appearing very relaxed. The pre-run routine and atmosphere drastically contrasted marathons, where I get up three hours early to digest breakfast and arrive at a starting area swarming with striding runners and buzzing with nervous energy.

After a short briefing and prayer the run started. Again there was no typical road marathon start of jostling and swerving. Heck, there wasn’t a Start line! Mandy led us out on the 3.2-mile packed dirt trail circling Killens Pond. We would retrace the route 10 times to reach the 50K distance, passing through the picnic area each time for provisions. The sun brightened a partly-cloudy sky and made the 30-degree air feel comfortable.

I spent the first two loops running and chatting with Meredith and Staci, and trying to memorize the trail. Derek’s directions had been a simple “keep the pond to your left,” and after the first two loops I felt oriented and ready to spend a little quiet me time in the woods. Gradually I pulled away and hoped I would meet up with Staci and Meredith in the late loops when I anticipated needing encouragement. I had not done any training specific to a 50K other than run a marathon four weeks earlier, recover for a very easy week, then return to regular easy running with one 16 mile long run thrown in on Dec. 22. Total winging it. Everyone had assured me that was more than enough as long as I took the 50K at an easy pace, but I was still questioning my sanity and a little bit doubting if I could complete the distance. It seemed like such a long way, so I decided to simply think of it as 10 loops instead of a specific amount of mileage.

During Loop 3, I briefly ran and talked with two gentlemen. Larry had come from Texas to add Delaware to his list on his 7th cycle of completing a marathon or longer run in all 50 states. Gilles, a resident of Vancouver B.C., was visiting family nearby and took the opportunity to do a much flatter course. It was impressive to realize how far dedicated ultrarunners will travel for a low-profile run in a relatively low-profile sport.

Even for a coastal dweller like me, the course’s few small inclines barely intensified my breathing.  To give my legs a break, I adopted a method many ultrarunners use of walking the “ups” and otherwise running the “flats” and “downs.” Without nearby trails to run regularly where I live I was overjoyed to have a good part of the day ahead to be on the path, and was deep in appreciation of the surroundings when Lloyd surprised me from behind.  He is a faster runner, but I hadn’t expected to see him that early in the day. Even though his intention wasn’t to run all out that day, he said he’d fallen in with two runners who were out for a race and pushed their pace for a few loops before letting them go. We compared our days so far before he pulled ahead of me.

Before coming in to the aid station for Loop 5, I noticed that my hands were starting to swell. This common side effect can indicate low blood sodium but I usually don’t experience it so early in a long run, especially when drinking Gatorade as I had been. I spent a little extra time at the picnic area and took an electrolyte tablet along with a portion of peanut butter and honey sandwich for some extra energy. Lloyd showed up in the picnic area and I was surprised again to see him before I quickly headed out. I had a surge of energy and motivation all of a sudden and was ready to make some good progress.

My pace picked up to what felt like marathon pace and I had the sensation of flying along the trail. It was a serious runner’s high enhanced even more by the natural setting, always my favorite for reflective running. Last night at dinner we had talked about a different event, the Self-Transendence Marathon in New York, but I felt on the verge of my own enlightening endurance episode in the middle of Delaware. Lloyd had caught up to me by now, and I was enthusiastically evangelizing about what a great trip I was having.

“I feel amazing! This is so much fun!”

“It’s such a beautiful day!”

“I just have to watch my footing a little more on this trail! Especially the downhills! I feel a little off-balance going down!”

“But, this is THE BEST!”

Wheeee … I took flight and time slowed as I floated peacefully for what seemed like 10 seconds before coming down hard on my right side. THUD! I was shocked to find myself face down in the dirt. Not wanting to break the great rhythm I’d had, I moved to get right back up – but was stuck to something. My running tights were clinging to a small stump that left a 3″ hole in the seat of my tights as I stood. Lloyd walked with me for a minute and I remarked “Damn, this is the second time this week I am running with my ass hanging out!” He instructed me to put on his extra pants when I got back to the picnic area, then ran ahead so I could focus on staying upright rather than on talking to another runner. I took two Tylenols to prevent any aching and felt truly lucky to be uninjured and pain-free after that fall. I quickly resumed running, but at a more conservative pace and with my eyes firmly fixed on the trail.

Back in the picnic area there was a little show & tell with my boo-tay boo-boo. Derek and Assistant Race Director Debbie immediately began showing their genuine concern by taking close-up photos of my bloody butt, but Derek did graciously help me put on the other pants. They fit perfectly and after a cautioning to take it easier and be safe by race volunteer John I was ready for the second five loops.

Maybe it was the fall or the break in momentum with a longer stop, but Loops 6 and 7 were groggy. I wasn’t running slower yet, but I felt less coordinated and alert. I kept thinking how a nap would be perfect and daydreaming about that pillow-top bed I’d get to crawl into later. Everyone told me I would have a low period, so I figured I was experiencing the ultra lull. It still wasn’t anywhere near the struggles I’ve worked thorough in marathons, so I just thought positively, kept up my electrolyte-peanut butter sandwich combo at the aid station, and waited for the fatigue to pass. I got a small boost when I came up on Mandy, who is the cutest ultrarunner ever with her assortment of running skirts and always positive attitude. By Loop 8 I felt revived and like a lifelong native of the trail. By now I could anticipate its landmarks: There’s the first bridge. There’s the place where I fell. There’s the cabin area. There’s the good view of the pond that’s just starting to freeze. There’s the tree where dozens of lovers carved their initials.

Before leaving the picnic spot for Loop 9, I knew finishing would be easy and said to Derek “After the next loop I’ll be an ultramarathoner, and one more after that one, I’ll be a Slug!” My legs were heavier now and I was slowing, but still only felt like walking the “ups.” I discovered what Meredith had told me was true, that starting to run again after a walk break is very difficult on tired legs. So I just kept running.

To make sure I learned whatever I am supposed to learn, on Loop 9 just as I noticed I was coming up on the spot where I’d fallen, sure enough I was bowing before the trail gods on hands and knees again in the exact same place. This time I had been shuffling instead of charging, so I got up, shook it off, and kept moving forward. In the aid station I briefly chatted with Derek before setting out on my last and final jog around Killens Pond.

During what I told myself was “the victory lap,” I took a little time to try to come to some personal conclusions about the tiny amount of experience I now had in the sport of ultramarathoning. I would finish in around 6 hours, the longest duration I have spent on a single episode of any physical activity. The whole endeavor seemed a bit ludicrous, yet I could honestly say I’d had a good time the whole way. Spending time outside on trails has long been therapeutic to me, and something I dearly missed especially during the last couple years.  This activity combined trail time with my favorite sport of distance running. Coming up on 32 miles with plenty of energy left, I had no problem imagining tackling a longer ultra distance event such as a 50 mile run with proper training. Still, I wasn’t sure I liked the relatively slower running pace, and at times had thought about how a nice day hike would be more fun with possibly less chance of injury. The fall had been startling, and more than once I’d thought about dearly held plans for the first half of 2008 that would be shelved if I’d broken a bone. But I hadn’t broken a bone. I wasn’t seriously hurt, and the pond loop trail was certainly not the last chance for potential injury I’ll encounter between now and April. 

In a few minutes I would come in to the picnic area and see friends’ faces sharing my achievement of a personal distance record on foot. In the marathon four weeks’ prior, I was fortunate to gain a huge sense of accomplishment and reward for hard work. But as I gave the Fattest Butt its final pat, I savored feelings of gratitude, appreciation, and joy that I wish everyone could and would experience by simply putting one foot in front of the other. Running has so many rewards, but I think this is among its most precious gifts.

Running to the picnic area for the last time, I heard a few claps and cheers. “I am a Slug!” I yelled in response. Debbie and Lloyd snapped photos of me coming in and receiving my award, the famous bad-ass black Team Slug T-shirt. Finally I was reunited with Meredith and Staci, who finished four minutes later to all of our applause and excitement.

It was cold if you weren’t running, and Staci and I went off to change into dry clothes so we could stay as warm as possible. The bath house was closed, so we ended up changing with only the back wall for privacy. Now we were ultrarunners, who are reputed to be the “craziest” in running circles, so it seemed like a natural slightly nutty thing to do. We rejoined the growing number of finishers at the picnic tables and savored delicious Cup-o-Noodles and other snacks before walking back on the trail with Meredith to loosen our legs and remove a few course marking ribbons from branches. Meredith’s husband Eddie came in for his first ultramarathon and first-ever race finish as we headed out, so we got to be the first to congratulate him.

Everyone pitched in to clean up the little spot that helped keep us going that day. Runner and volunteer Slugs alike said congratulations, thank you, and good-bye to each other before spreading out in their various directions, leaving the trail but taking the rewards and memories of its 32 miles.

From Kiawah Island to Boston in 26.2 miles

This is a race report originally posted on Kickrunners.com. I want to save it here for myself, as well as provide a little background to the future writing I’ll surely be doing about training for Boston.

Race: Kiawah Island Marathon

When & Where: 8 a.m. Dec. 8, 2007, Kiawah Island, SC.

Result: 3:44:41

As I trained for the Kiawah Island Marathon through summer and fall, it felt like the day would never arrive. My training went off completely issue-free and I enjoyed every mile of marathon preparation like I never have before, with the exception of running through this year’s seemingly endless hot North Carolina summer and warm fall. Little did I know that on race day, all those muggy long runs and swampy speed workouts I logged would reimburse me.

As the race drew closer, I started incorporating visualization and positive thinking as part of my regular meditation practice at the beginning of every day. I was extra careful with my nutrition and re-lost almost 10 pounds to return to the weight I feel best at for running and racing. In addition, I found myself in the happiest, most positive and relaxed place mentally I’ve been in in a couple of years. With all of these things coming together, I had my mind made up to run a great race and that this third attempt at a BQ would be the one that nailed it.

Now there was only that small, HUGE detail of running 26.2 miles in under 3 hours and 46 minutes.

The journey to Kiawah Island, SC, began Thursday afternoon when a group of four runners and two “support crew” rolled out from our corner of North Carolina. Our caravan took us to Fayetteville NC, almost half way, where we stopped for the night. I was traveling with four women I know casually through teaching fitness classes at the YMCA, three of whom were running the half marathon. Our lone brave man, Mike, is the husband of one of the half marathoners. Over dinner and beers, we started to get better acquainted, then called it a night for that all important “night before the night before” quality sleep.

Friday morning, we continued the excursion. After what seemed like forever and half a dozen stops, we arrived at Kiawah Island Golf Resort, where we were staying and where the race was happening the next day. We got our race packets, settled in to our villas, and had an early pre-race dinner of bread, pasta, and brownies. After dinner I finished getting my race gear ready, took a bath, talked on the phone, stretched, and did a recorded guided relaxation. I felt ready to sleep after that, although it was the typical pre-race sleep of waking up many times and dreaming that I couldn’t get to the Start on time.

4:40 a.m. Saturday. Yay! It’s race day! Everything from the all important bathroom business to a traffic free 5-minute ride to the start area couldn’t have gone better. I was one of the earliest runners to arrive an hour ahead of the 8 a.m. start, so I saw the palmetto tree-bordered area peaceful and serene before thousands of pairs of muscular legs would be stretching, pacing, and lining up. I wrote my name on a piece of tape to identify my gear bag at the honor system bag check, thinking it was a testament to what so far seemed to be a small, friendly, well-organized race that the runners trusted one another to pile their stuff together. I spent the rest of the hour stretching and listening to music (including the now requisite “Fame” and “Flashdance”) in the indoor waiting area, repeatedly going through the Port-a-John line, and placed myself between the 8 and 9 minute pace signs about 5 minutes before the start. I felt confident and excited, yet relaxed at the same time.

It was 50 degrees at the start and sunny, with temperatures expected to be in the low 70s by the end. This is warmer than ideal for me, but I knew the plentiful shade on the course and low humidity would help and decided to just work with being warm and not react to it in an upset way. I had not done weekly track workouts in 90 degrees all summer for nothing! There were many miles of suffering in the heat that I could use to draw strength to keep pushing through a warm final hour.

The gun sounded and I made it across the Start about 1:30 into the race. Kiawah has a small starting area for its 4,000 runners, three-fourths of those half marathoners, and apparently nine-tenths who need to review Race Start 101. The first mile was the slowest start I’ve ever had. Without trying to waste energy, I maneuvered around and passed countless walkers and runners who had lined up far too forward for their paces. Somehow I got to Mile 1 in 8:39, just where I wanted to be for an easy start.

Apparently I took out my frustration on Mile 2, since I hit it in 8:02. Way, way too fast! I could have let this freak me out and tell myself I just blew my race, but instead I calmly let it go. From Mile 2 on, I never looked at another mile split until after the race. Instead I compared my overall watch time with a 3:44 pace band I wore. I knew I would fuss and worry too much over individual splits, when overall time was what counted. Especially after now seeing my splits, I believe this decision was one of the key things that helped me.

The next several miles I settled in to running. For a few miles, my feet and lower legs had the same bad puffy feeling they’d had during my most recent BQ attempt, 2007 Shamrock Marathon. My right foot felt like it wanted to explode out of the shoe. My lower legs felt swollen and stiff. At Shamrock I pretty much mentally freaked out that I wasn’t feeling perfect early in the race, and ended up with a sprained foot, acute PF, and a DNF. Today I told myself my legs were just getting used to the task and that they would feel fine in a couple of miles. And they did.

Now I could enjoy the course. It is gorgeous and fun to run, with Spanish moss dripping trees lending shade most of the way as we cruised by coastal marshland, ponds, golf courses, and mansions. About four miles take runners on wide bike paths, which looked exactly like my favorite training path where I live. Some runners don’t care for double-loop courses, but I do many of my long runs back and forth on a 5K distance path and don’t get bored with that, so had no issues with doing a loop only twice. I loved the natural scenery of the course, and didn’t mind the lack of spectators or entertainment.

Inside my head I had a loop playing too, what I now call the “Mantra Medley.” Over and over with the rhythm of my stride I repeated my phrase “Yes I Can, Yes I Will;” the phrase my coach gave me, “This is what you trained for;” and the slogan I got from my friend Lloyd, “Today is my day!” Many times I pictured the two of them running along on either side of me saying those things. I had also made a poster board collage a few weeks ago with pictures of inspiring people and encouraging images, and I mentally recalled each motivational image over and over.

Mile 13 came in 1:50 as I started loop #2. With the half marathoners heading to their finishes, we marathoners had the place to ourselves. It was our party now, and it felt good. I was having fun! Miles 13-19 were my strongest feeling all day and I was feeling so good that I decided to spread some positive energy around. No one passed me the entire second half, but many runners I came upon who weren’t plugged in to earphones got a little encouragement or greeting. I complimented people, joked with them, shared a mantra, or asked them their goal today. A few talked back and asked me mine, and I would say “I need under 3:46 to get to Boston and I think today’s the day,” and get some encouragement in return. I’ve never had this experience before because I’ve always worn headphones in marathons. I will never wear headphones in a marathon again!

I got to Mile 20 in 2:50, just what I wanted so I’d have 56 minutes to run the last 10K if need be. That would be training run pace. The long way home was starting, and now I had friends to watch for. Mike would bike out to meet me at Mile 21 with Gatorade I’d given him the night before, and a few members of our group planned to walk to Mile 23 after the half marathon finish. My “Bike Sherpa” Mike pedaled into view at the exact time I needed him. I was warm, thirsty, slightly carb-depleted, and almost all alone on the course. All of a sudden, I wasn’t having so much fun. I wasn’t feeling any muscle fatigue or pain anywhere, just low-level exhaustion and fogginess. Thoughts of doubt started to creep in. Thoughts of stopping really started to creep in. Thought of repeating my 2006 Philly BQ attempt and running out of steam too early were haunting me. The “Mantra Medley” volume had been turned down. Knowing I needed fuel, I kept taking swigs from the Gatorade bottle Mike had on his bike, and listening to his quiet encouragement. He said I looked stronger than anyone else around, that I was getting there, that I was almost through this bad spot. I didn’t believe him right then but decided to act like I did. We went past two of our friends who screamed and cheered for me and I could barely acknowledge them, but inside was grateful for their support.

Miraculously, the Gatorade kicked in right before Mile 24 where Mike dropped me off at the second bike path. I had 21 minutes to run 2.2 miles and all of a sudden the confidence that I could and would do it today came back. I charged down the bike path losing count of the runners I passed. The “Mantra Medley” was back up to 11 and now I was seeing myself phoning my parents and friends with happy news in 20 minutes … Yes I Can, Yes I Will … 15 minutes … Get ‘r Done! … 10 minutes…Today IS My Day! I started having visions of the Dairy Queen DQ logo, except with the letters BQ, and laughed to myself because I’d heard only ultrarunners hallucinate.

With about half a mile to go, my legs suddenly felt heavier but I ignored it. Amazingly, I still felt no pain except for a little tightness in my calves. I kept checking my watch to make sure I would still make it in in time. I would! Finally, Mile 26! I had about 3 minutes.

I had imagined this moment for close to two years, and now it was actually going to happen. The feeling was unreal. I had pictured my not-so-emotional self bawling like a baby or doing a cheerleader jump at the Finish, but as it came into view I told myself to use the countless 800 track repeats I did in training to dig in for my strongest finish, and everything else was a blur of semi-shock and exhaustion until I stopped across the line.

My watch said 3:44:43.

Two volunteers helped me get into a chair. Apparently one took my chip and somehow I had a cup of Gatorade in my hand. I don’t normally swear, and all I could say to no one in particular and everyone in earshot was “That was f—ing hard!”

My friends found me, wanting to know if I’d made Boston. Not entirely trusting my watch, I sent two to scout for official results. When they came back with an official time of 3:44:41, I sat there and felt the overwhelming joy and accomplishment and pride and success permeate through me.

I am a runner who does not possess an extraordinary amount of natural athletic talent but, I have learned, was able to make up for that with an infinite drive to do whatever work it took to achieve this dearly held goal. But the best thing about qualifying is not that on April 21, 3 days before my 36th birthday, I will have the great honor of lining up at the Start of the Boston Marathon course. The best thing is all I have learned about the sport of distance running and about myself, how I have grown, and the so much stronger person I am for this journey of 18 months of training.

I was not on that path alone. The advice, support, and encouragement from more experienced runners, my coach, my parents, friends, training buddies, and especially today a Bike Sherpa helped me cross the line in under 3:46. With that kind of inspiration, every step felt like a blessing. Even the agonizing ones from Miles 22-24.

Mile Splits: 

1 8:39
2 8:02
3 8:31
4 8:42
5 8:21
6 & 7 17:09
8 8:29
9 8:40
10 8:36
11 & 12 16:49
13 8:30
14 8:21
15 8:33
16 8:38
17 8:15
18 & 19 17:33
20 8:31
21 8:40
22 8:36
23 & 24 17:58
25 8:37
26 8:25
.2 1:56

Chip time 3:44:41