My summer race, the Buckeye Trail 50K, is “FINISH“ed. What a day and incredible experience. I am sure I learned much more through the training and race day than I even realize at this moment, and look forward to sharing a full report here very soon.

July 14-20

Monday - 5 easy (road)

Tuesday - 6 easy (road/path)

Wednesday - 13 miles cycling

Thursday - 5 miles (trail)

Friday - 1 hour yoga class

Saturday - 32 miles (Buckeye Trail)

Sunday - 10 miles recovery cycling (very easy pace and low resistance)

Totals: 48 miles running, 23 miles cycling, 1 yoga session

Good stuff: Accomplishing a goal and feeling good almost the whole 50K, the inspiration, learning, and company of much more experienced ultrarunners along the way.

Stuff to keep an eye on: Like last week and probably to continue next week, manage stress in a healthy way while moving and setting up in a new state.

Goals for the week: Squeeze shorter daily runs in for continued recovery and stress relief.

This Saturday is the 15th running of the Buckeye Trail 50K, a rugged trail endurance run out and back on approximately 16 of the 1,444 miles of Ohio’s Buckeye Trail. Painted blue blazes mark the way, and have become a welcome sight on training runs I’ve done there over the past month.

The race began as an informal, low-key type run and has evolved into a popular event now organized by Vertical Runner. This year’s installment sold out early at 175 entrants. 

Group training runs on segments of the course have been beneficial and, I believe, will allow for a more relaxed race day. As I explore trail running and ultra-running, I know I have so much more to learn, but thanks to practice and great instruction from more experienced runners am starting to get the hang of the differences in running technique, pacing, and fueling. There are a lot of times when I feel awkward and wobbly, but also increasing sections where I find a groove and feel like I’m (slowly) dancing over the dirt and roots. Either way, I love the sights, sounds, smells, and peaceful feeling of trail running, and know I will keep seeking trail time well after tomorrow.

It looks like race day will offer a relatively fast, dry trail, but the added challenge of a hot day. I’m as ready as I can be save for the threat of a cold, and looking forward to putting all the new skills I’ve been practicing to the test.

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.

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.

Forty minutes into the woods, well before the planned turn-around point, I abruptly stopped in front of this. Four days earlier, it was soft creek bed with a shallow puddle here and there. Easily passable.

To my neophyte trail-running self, I was now poised in front of the raging, rushing River Styx.

My first impulse was, “OK, adjust plans. Go back 40 minutes to the start and either do a shorter out and back from there repeating this section, or continue for a bit on the next section of the 50K course.”

Immediately, I questioned that. I don’t know much about traversing trails, but I do know that my default is to be overly cautious on them and that I am not naturally nimble. Just a few years ago I busted open both knees when I tripped on the pancake-flat, smooth, easily navigable C & O Towpath. My rear end still has a faint bruise from a spill I took on a much less challenging trail in January.

I wondered what my more experienced ultrarunning friends and mentors like Lloyd and Meredith would do. It occurred to me that I could ask. I pulled out my phone, snapped a photo, and beamed it over to Lloyd.

“Am I supposed to cross this?!?”

“Yes! Don’t wash away.”

“Uhh … here goes nothing.”

I talk to myself a lot on the trail, and launched into a motivational monologue. “OK … you’re just going to do this. Pretend you’re at the beach wading through the surf. This is part of trail running. You might have to do this in the race. What is the worst that could happen? You slip and ruin your cell phone. Hmm, that would be really inconvenient. I hope that doesn’t happen. I won’t let that happen!”

With the new mission to preserve my phone, I plunged a leg into the calf-high creek. It wasn’t deep, but the water was moving and I couldn’t see what I was putting my feet into. Tentatively and slowly, I wobbled across, letting my feet explore the rocks and holes as if they had eyes. I pictured a great photo taken of Lloyd mid-creek during his successful 100-mile run attempt. He strides confidently, leaning forward, his skilled posture announcing, “I am parting these waters!”

Then I tried to picture how I looked at that moment. Unsure, unbalanced, with arms and fingers splayed out Karate Kid-style for balance, as if I could grab the air to steady myself. Had I not been concentrating so hard on avoiding a spontaneous swim, I would have laughed out loud at the image.

A few hesitant steps later, my feet reappeared before me on the wet, muddy bank.

My phone had survived the crossing bone dry, so I pried it out of my shorts pocket to let Lloyd know of my safe passage. I tried to sound nonchalant.

“Not so bad.”

Having got my feet wet with water crossings, there was nothing else to do but continue forward.

This was peak training week for the Buckeye Trail 50K, a new skill and distance challenge I decided on for a summer race. In terms of mileage, 50K training doesn’t vary much from the marathon training I’ve done for my last three marathons. The differences are bunching more mileage up for back to back longer weekend runs, more time on trails, and little speedwork if any. I have loosely followed this plan, formulated by the handy training spreadsheet tool on the Santa Clarita Runners website.

June 30-July 4

Monday –  Rest

Tuesday — 7 fartlek (track), 1.5 mile easy hike

Wednesday —  Traveled to NE Ohio, 8.4 (trail)

Thursday —  9.25 (trail)

Friday – Easy 7 miles cycling, upper body weights, pilates

Saturday — 7 easy (road)

Sunday — 23 long (trail)

Totals:  ~  54 miles running (40 trail/14 road or track), 1.5 miles hiking, 7 miles cycling, 1 each weights, pilates sessions

Good stuff: With about 9 hours of running it during this peak training week, I started feeling much more comfortable on the Buckeye Trail. Thanks to midweek shorter runs on the course, drier conditions, and much better fueling, I completed this week’s long run 75 seconds faster per mile. If I could do that again on race day, it would be a dream day for me. Most of all I had a lot of fun as a trail newbie, rather than frustration or discouragement.

Stuff to keep an eye on: I know I ran through poison oak on Sunday, so I keep checking my legs for an emerging reaction.

Goals for the week: Survive, er, summit The Bear, a 5-mile uphill run up Grandfather Mountain in western North Carolina. 

Tuesday marked the mid-point of 2008 and the six-month anniversary of this nook of the Internet I like to call my cyberspot. Riding a high of accomplishing a two-year running goal and a reunion of sorts with myself, I intended to infuse extra positive momentum and great expectations into 2008. From its beginning, In The Distance was a little part of that plan. It’s been even more satisfying and fun than I imagined to record the days here, and I appreciate that a few people have taken time to read and comment.

Looking back to the start of the year, I feel like I have been reborn into an emerging new world of deepening friendship, travel to unfamiliar locations, my first Boston Marathon and ultramarathon distance completed, and fund-raising and professional goals met.

Running-wise, since Boston I’ve barely had a run I was happy with performance- and pace-wise, and races have been mediocre at best in terms of finish time. I won’t pretend I wear such deeply-shaded rose-colored glasses that I’m ignorantly blissful of this, but I believe frustration and self-criticism only compound a slump. After two years of almost singular goal-work and improvement a lull is natural, and I am practicing patience and consistent mileage as I look forward to another growth period. Moving forward at a slightly slower pace is still infinitely preferable to not being able to participate.

I dream of a satisfying effort in a difficult trail 50K in *gulp* two weeks, and switching gears to cover distances faster again this fall. Occasionally I let myself fantasize about moving forward for many more miles, both in one single run and for decades. I will focus on the combination of self-care and a little luck to be so fortunate.

At work, I’ll begin a new position in a few short weeks. Between relocating and teaching three new courses fall semester at a new-to-me college, I anticipate being almost as busy as when I started in the classroom full-time four years earlier. Thankfully, I have those years under my belt to help. Experience has taught me that you can’t begin to know a place without living there, but I am optimistic that I am heading in the right direction both geographically and culturally.

Although it always feels great to get on the mat, my physical yoga practice is probably the least frequent and weakest it has been in half a decade. I am beyond excited to be moving somewhere with several good yoga studios within walking distance instead of an hour’s drive away. On the other hand, I’ve been blessed to experience the mental benefits of regular meditation practice. They are immeasurably helpful during situations that previously would have tested my empathy and admittedly limited patience.

Even with the gifts of yoga and good fortune, I’m far from perfect. That’s not the point. But in case this entry is taking on the tone of a holiday brag letter, suffice to say there are several areas where I currently lack needed discipline and continue to look for answers.

Most importantly of all, I aspire to end 2008 feeling I’ve contributed my best each day, and closer to cherished ones in every sense of the word. My best intentions remain fixed on that.

I will not typically write up a mid-week training run, as I figure they are interesting to no one but me. Tonight’s personal running adventure, though, was full of coincidence and even a close encounter.  Since I continually look to find and facilitate connections, I’m sharing it in the hope that it might help another runner notice an opportunity to be momentarily surprised by chance.

It was still warm when I started along my favorite path, and I had just finished demonstrating a lack of common sense by teaching a pilates class that focused on lower body right before running. After three miles, my legs still hadn’t forgiven me. If you can imagine running through drying cement with a super-size rubber band binding your legs, that’s about the way it felt. I intended to do some speedwork during this run, but after that warm-up was doubting whether I could eke any more pace out of my groggy legs. My rule of training is “Unless I am ill or hurt, I will always try,” so heading into mile 4 I looked for a pace that felt between “comfortably hard” and “all out 5K race pace misery.” The worst that would happen is I wouldn’t be able to finish the “fast” mile, and my confidence would be a bit bruised.

I made it fine, in a time I was satisfied with. To try for another, I retraced my steps and headed back in the direction of the trailhead.

Around a bend I encountered something that made me freeze for a moment. A doe was standing in the middle of the path facing me. Staring at me. Staring me down. Not turning tail and gracefully sailing off in the usual way that gives me deer envy.

Was she going to charge me? I had recently heard a few runners’ tales of aggressive behavior from Mama Deer, so I startled. Finally I asked Ms. Doe to move and she nonchalantly walked off the path. Despite the pause, I hit the .75 point of that mile way too fast and jogged in to come in faster the second mile. This wasn’t race day and I wasn’t out to deplete my legs.

During the rest period before the next interval, I walked to a water fountain at the rest area next to the trailhead. On the way I passed by two women holding the tiniest, most adorably snuggly puppies. The babies were the size of kittens, so they could cradle one in each arm. I’m not the type of person who squeals and gushes over Blatantly Cute Things, but at that moment it was all I could do to not walk over, gently take a puppy, and sprint off with it. I love dogs, so seeing those little ones made me smile as I headed off for the last mile repeat.

After running, I needed a few things from the store. Fifteen miles down the highway back to town there’s Wal-Mart, which is normally 12 miles out of my way. I don’t prefer to shop there, but tonight it was too convenient to pass up. My usual M.O. in a store is get around and grab what I need as efficiently as I can. I was doing that in the produce section when I passed a familiar face: one of the puppy women! We had that weird “I recognize you” moment, and she asked if I was the one who had been running. She wanted to know how far I had run and if I did that every day, and complimented me. I answered her questions as modestly as I could, feeling a bit self-conscious since I’m not out on the path looking for praise. I asked her about the puppies, and said how much I’d enjoyed seeing them and how cute they were. For the second time that night I headed away from the puppy woman too shy to follow her out of the store and ask to hold a dog.

It took a moment, but I realized this total stranger had given me a little lift twice in one evening without having any awareness of what she contributed. So, thanks, puppy woman!

My evening of minor and probably insignificant coincidences was completed by the fortune cookie that completed tonight’s Chinese take-out.

I am gingerly, often clumsily, spending more time on trails these days to add variety and fun to my running and prepare for a trail 50K next month. How is it that an assembly line worker (or, more likely, machine) knew of those ambitions when inserting the fortune I read:

(”Be careful! Straight trees often have crooked roots.”)

That might be one to slip in my race bag.