Breaking and Excellent Points

Starting the Year off Either Incredibly Right or Terribly Wrong

2012-01-26T22:08:00.000-08:00

Special thanks go out to MLK for having a dream and giving me
a Monday off work to pursue mine.

I sit here writing as I impose a day fully off from running. My poor knee has been swollen for days. This morning was supposed to be my final PT session, yet now I have additional appointments scheduled for ultrasounding, deep tissue digging and other such torturous activities.* And I did it all to myself.
*NOTE: I started this blog last Wednesday; after one day off, I'm back to pounding it.

I started the year with an expressly stated goal of working my way up to handling 60 miles per week with 10,000 feet of climbing (and 10k down) in January. I thought it would be great to be able to run a full 20 miles by the end of the month. Only then, I ran 26 on the 2nd and have been averaging 75 miles and 17,000 feet for the first two weeks. I'm pretty sure that's awesome, but I'm also pretty sure that's why my knee is swelling again. Grrrrr.

You may say, "Well Katie, that is downright silly," and I wouldn't necessarily disagree with you. But what I will offer is that I simply couldn't help it. My body feels best when I'm running lots of miles and my world seems altogether right. Plus I have major FOMO. So when friends ask me to run the last 26 of the AC course, I say absolutely. When I realize it may be my last chance to frolick in the San Gorgonio Wilderness before winter sets in, I convince Unicorn to drive to San Bernadino with me, citing that it will be excellent Hardrock training. And by golly, when I see a 3 day weekend with non-existent snow levels in Tahoe, I get my ass on the States course to train. That would be the real point of this post, so let's move on to that, shall we?

Last Friday, Dom and I headed up to Auburn after work to enjoy it the way Mr. King Jr. would have liked. Chasing a dream. Only chasing said dream first involved a 7 hour drive in a loud, bumpy Jeep getting us to the inn at roughly 3:30 in the morning. Hey folks, running 100 miles ain't exactly glamorous - and neither is the lifestyle. It's all part of the training. :) After sleeping for maybe 2 hours, maybe, we got back in the panda-mobile and headed into Foresthill to meet our guru for the day, the lovely Mrs. Suzanna Bon. The plan was to run all day, heading backwards on the course as far as we felt like and then turn around - keeping an easy pace and focusing on purely enjoying the beautiful day. We'd be rocking the canyons section of the course, which is largely considered the hardest part, and doing it twice. That seemed like a perfect introduction to me.

Michigan Bluff in January - La Niña = La Awésome.

Next thing I knew, we were at Michigan Bluff and I realized it was going to be one of those days where the miles just melt away and you become thoroughly convinced that yours is truly the best life ever. This must be what heroin is like. At any rate, we ran into some friends before heading down to El Dorado Creek and as I've grown accustomed to, I received many a congrats for getting into THE race. I'm now up to at least three times as many "likes" for getting into a lottery than finishing any race in my life. Apparently, Western States is a big deal.

Zombies.

Having Suzanna along was awesome, not just because she is an altogether super person - but also because she had great stories and knowledge of the course. Along the way, she pointed out the legendary Ann Trason's house, the Deadwood Cemetery (where I paid my respects, less have bad juju on race day), old Gold mining equipment and all sorts of other cool shit. Accordingly, I've been spending an inordinate amount of time on Google since I've been back, as I love to know the history of the places I'm running. Then every race is like time traveling, which of course, is awesome.

Our journey took us all the way back to Last Chance, and as such, we realized we needed to get a move on to get back to Foresthill before dark. All the way, I was marveling at the fact I was running in the Tahoe National Forest in January in a t-shirt. The day was seriously magical. And I was excited to go back through these dreaded canyons and see what was truly up.

Chasing Suzanna down the canyons is the
opposite of easy.

Well, what was up was that it was seriously not that bad. I know... I know.... race day in 100+ degree weather is an entirely different story, but my point is that I expected these things to be way steeper and longer, given the tales of WSER lore I have been told. Plus, my reference point for "godforsaken canyon" is of the Cooper variety on the AC course - which is truly a nightmare every time I visit. Long, hot, windy, super steep in places and a total mindfuck. So naturally, I expected three Coopers when I heard about "the canyons."

Down to Swinging Bridge we went, and there before me was the grandaddy of them all: Devil's Thumb. Based on what I've heard, here's what I expected from this section:

After a blistering, quad-busting decent, I'd stare down the steepest, most awful climb imaginable. It would be something like climbing the Luna Trail*, but for like 5 miles at least. It would start at least at 7,000 feet and climb to over 10 - but it would feel like climbing 11 to 14, because fuck, this is Western States. It would be exceptionally rocky and overgrown, not to mention completely exposed for the duration of the climb. I would have to use my hands at points. I would have to hike every step. I would have to physically stop and catch my breath at points. There would probably even be bear traps to avoid and eagles would swoop down and try to peck out my eyes. If I even made it to the top, it would be a goddamn miracle.

Saying hi to the Thumb for Kev, after successfully
locating 3 shades of his face he left there last year.

*A local trail/drainage ditch that takes you straight out of a canyon at basically 1 million ft/mile. Also rocky, crumbly, overgrown and there is suggested use of a placed rope at one point.

Needless to say, the Devil's Thumb I had imagined was not quite the Devil's Thumb of reality. (Although I do realize that during the race I may become quite convinced that my first perception was actually spot on.) The reality was that Devil's Thumb starts at around 2,700 and climbs about 1,350 in like 2 miles. I did it in about 45 minutes, hiking most, running a little and stopping twice to take pictures and once to pee. It was steep and it will be a bitch with 45 miles on my legs and the sun blazing down on me, but it is possible. Furthermore, if I continue with my training on the AC course with the likes of Upper Winter Creek, Baden Powell and Acorn and power slogs up the steep slopes of Mt. Baldy - I should be pretty much good to go on the canyons. Thank you Angeles National Forest.

What the day made me realize, however, is that much of the terrain on the States course is very runnable and the climbs aren't long. Accordingly, I really need to work on sustained running more than hiking and some major turnover. Perhaps I will no longer look at the whimpy Santa Monicas outside of my window as a sorry excuse for weekday training when I can't get over to the big girl mountains in Pasadena and beyond. The runnable, 30-45 min climbs are perfect to work on efficiently switching from up to down mode and this will be an integral part of my training.

The other thing it made me realize is that my knee has seriously got to get its act together if I want to run this thing well. It's absolutely imperative to run the downhills in control, but strong - and right now I'm kind of doing this crumbly, timid dance thing that isn't working for anybody. Halfway down the El Dorado decent, my knee totally and royally crapped out on me and every step, fast or slow, became wildly painful. It just ain't up to speed yet, and while that is ok for January, I'm really going to have some work to do on improving my downhill ability once the weaksauce joint is able to handle it.

All in all though, I got over 35 miles and somewhere between 10 and 11,000 feet on the day - so I was pretty happy with the effort. I haven't ran that far since AC last July and it felt good. Really good. All day adventures are my lifeblood and I've been downright cantankerous without them. My fear, however, was that I had possibly ruined the rest of the weekend by pushing the distance on the first day. Luckily, a big ass sammich from Worton's, some Udo's Oil, Ice and sleep cured my ailments and I woke up on Sunday hungry for more of the course.

Accordingly, we hopped in the Jeep and set out for Robinson Flat to see what we could see. The local yokels at Worton's, as well as everyone else on FB who was apparently "in the know," told us there would be no snow at all until Red Star. Sounds bueno. Imagine our surprise when 3 miles from the campground we encountered such nasty ice on the road, that even my Jeep in 4WD seemed like a bad idea. Not to be rerouted, we simply parked and ran up the road to Robinson where we found a land of ice and snow and circled around a few times, consulted a compass and finally found our trail. Setting off for Duncan Canyon, I was definitely tired, but totally ready for whatever the day held. I knew it would likely be another 5-6 hour day and that seemed pretty great to me. The decent into the canyon was absolutely gorgeous; the trail enveloped in huge, dense green forest that swallowed me whole. And at the first point we popped out of the trees, my breath was completely taken away by the sweeping expanse of pristine wilderness. No photo could ever do justice to the beauty of the Tahoe National Forest. And parking off the road at an aid station ain't gonna do it either. You've got to be in it. You've got to feel it.

Star Fire remnants in Duncan Canyon

Then, just as soon as I lost myself in the lush forest, I was suddenly enclosed in complete destruction. Charred, broken trees stood in stark contrast to the dense greenery of the surrounding hillsides as I wound down to the creek. I've since read that the Star Fire of 2001 had completely destroyed 16,171 acres of the TNF causing a reroute of the Duncan Canyon section of the course for the next 5 years. Though clearly damaged, much greenery and new, small trees sprouted up along the trail. It was hauntingly beautiful and clearly told the story of the natural cycle of things - something we must all accept. It also gave me great hope for our own Angeles Forest, where the Station Fire of 2009 turned the majority of the middle 30 miles of the AC100 course into a creepy, barren land of the lost. It's cool to think that in 5-10 years, I could feasibly see some green (and hopefully less purple) heading from Chilao to Shortcut.

Like Rockefeller Center, y'all.

Eventually, I got down to the bottom of Duncan Canyon, where to my surprise, I found an ice skating rink. Well… maybe. I saw where the ice had broken to a rushing force below and admittedly, stood there for a few moments wondering what to do. It was way colder than the previous day and the thought of crashing through and spending the rest of the run soaked was not something I wanted to deal with. Nevertheless, I couldn't help but wander out onto the frozen section and pull some Oksana Baiuls before using my better judgement and scampering over to some rocks for safer crossing. Once on the other side, I enjoyed the rest of my run up to Duncan, but was greatly slowed by all of the downed trees and layers of debris covering the trail. Western States is known for its well manicured trails (just ask Hal Winton), but I wondered if they usually have time to make it out to these higher sections of the course. Cleared, this section would be super fast as the climb really isn't all that significant (though it's listed as the other major "canyon.") In present state, it would definitely slow me down unless I quickly developed some serious log leaping, stick cracking and rock hopping skills. But hell, a few storms between now and then could change the course anyway - so we'll see what fate brings us.*

*Which I'm not so secretly hoping is the original course + river crossing at mile 80 sans boats.

Standing at the future home of the Duncan Canyon aid station, I again marveled at how my perceptions have changed with my perspectives over the years. In 2009, I had stood in this very place waiting for my friend Jimmy to come in. I'd just entered into the world of ultrarunning and the thought of actually running 100 miles myself still seemed superhuman and something I likely would be unable to tackle for a few years, at least. Maybe someday far, far in the future, I'd run Western States too - but I couldn't fathom it. As I watched the runners leave the aid station, I marveled at how they navigated the steep rocky decent and wondered how in the hell they could do that all the way down into the canyon. This course seemed ridiculous and the toughest thing I could ever imagine.

Taking a break with the dude @ DC

Of course, on present day in 2012, I realized that the insanely steep downward pitch only lasted about 100 feet and then dumped you out onto a gradual, winding path. I guess that just goes to show you that once you take the time to truly understand a thing, immersing yourself in it totally, you'll realize that the intimidation was just born of fear of the unknown. When you get friendly with a challenge, shit seems a great deal more reasonable. This 100 yard section out of the Duncan Aid Station was a metaphor for what my life with regards to mountain running has become. I've trained on the steepest, gnarliest stuff I can find. I've run as high as I can get. I've layered miles upon miles every weekend. And I've run through a great deal of pain on multiple occasions. It's all possible. And now it's all relative. Western States isn't going to be a race of survival for me.

Thank-you.

It was getting late as I headed back on the course to Robinson, and the cold of winter was finally setting in. It had to be at least 30-40 degrees colder than the previous day, but my wardrobe hadn't gotten the memo. Accordingly, I pushed as hard as I could with my swollen knee and admittedly wrecked legs from the day before - finally hitting the campground as the sun was beginning to set. Again, I wandered around trying to find how to get out and where the course went next - but to this day, I have no idea. I guess I'll find out either in May or on race day - whatever Mother Nature decides. Running the last three miles on the road was as cold as I've been in a long time, but it was physically impossible to be miserable with the golden light reflecting off the road and the pink and purple mountains going to rest. It filled me with faith and excitement for what was to come in my training leading up to June 23rd. It wasn't going to be easy, but at the end of the day, running into the sunset on a wholly and completely spent body is what I enjoy most. Onward.

Another amazing day now in the books, Dom and I headed back down to Auburn for some hot showers and delicious food. I was immediately glad we had not decided to camp, as the thought of spending the rest of the evening trapped in a sleeping bag for warmth seemed awful. I needed to stretch, ice and somehow pull one more day of hard training out of my tired body before heading home. Also, I needed a freaking beer.

The scene at Dusty Corners, circa 2k9

Fortunately, I got all of the above and rose Monday morning with the plan of driving to either Dusty Corners or Last Chance to at least connect that section and likely explore backwards towards Miller's Defeat. That was a longer drive than I remembered, made even longer by ice on the road, but we eventually made it to Dusty - which was a great deal less like its moniker than when visited in June. Also, there were no cows - which was disappointing.

Tracking our 110 prints from 2 days prior.
That snow wasn't there back then.

Now, on this section from Dusty to LC, I would like to note that my trail instincts were spot on with where to turn onto the singletrack - despite the old WS Trail markers remaining on the road and me never reading anything about a singletrack. It was like the race was already in my blood or something. Unfortunately, we did not take that turn and ran all the way back to Last Chance only to discover we'd only run about 4 miles rather than 5 and we clearly must have done something wrong. The good news was that we got some really nice, quicker running in - which felt good compared to the technical dance we'd done the day before. Also, we'd definitely have time to head back toward's Miller's Defeat since these first 8 miles had gone by so quickly. Getting back to the Aid Station site, we ran across some older gentlemen out doing trail work already and seemingly having a grand old time in the forest. They confirmed that they'd actually just cleared the singletrack that we were supposed to have run on - which sure enough, was the turn I'd originally sensed. Oh well, something new and fun for me to experience in May. After parting ways, we headed up the steep grade pouring into DC for a little over a mile, just to check it out and see how long and hard that decent would be coming in. We laughed and posed for a few photos depicting the great "Where's Jimmy?" debacle of 2009, where we were quite certain that every single runner coming down to the aid station was the aforementioned man. It actually got quite ridiculous. At one point, Dom was waiting outside of the porta-potty for Jimmy to come out and talking to him. Only it wasn't Jimmy. Also, we royally fucked up there because we didn't bring him cold Coke and they only had Pepsi. Ahhhh…. memories….

"Hey! Is that Jimmy?"

Back to the present - my stomach suddenly decided to wreck itself and it became apparent that we'd soon need to call it a day. This also reminded me of the Jimmy days, as I had no idea how he was stomaching double strength Perpetuum milkshakes in the 110+ degree heat. To this day, it is one of the only things in the world that truly baffles Dom. I learned at AC that I cannot handle any solids whatsoever in the heat, and as such I've wondered myself if I should begin experimenting with something such as CarboPro to supplement the gels. 57 GUs were fun and all, but I'm thinking I need another solution for getting more calories in, lest it go south on me. Right now, I've got kind of a one track, fool-proof plan; but this is ultrarunning for chrissakes. At some point - likely the worst possible time ever - my unbreakable plan will break. It's not a matter of if; it's a matter of when.

At any rate, we finished up the run and headed back into town to refuel and try to fix my stomach with salad. That kind of worked, but then I bombed it again with Monster, Candy and an Americano in my attempts to stay awake at the wheel on the way back to LA. That night, I lie in bed with twitchy, overworked legs and a brain buzzing with caffeine; but let me tell you what, I was satisfied. The Western States trail is some seriously beautiful shit, and I am so pumped to take on Gordy's dream in 2012.

AFTERWORD: I feel like I have to start including these, since it takes me a freaking week and a half to write a post.
I'm happy to say that I took a little step back in the week after the WS weekend and only ran around 60 miles with 15k of vert, which seemed to do me good. This week, I'm back at it climbing 2-3k per day and will hit 80-90 miles. Also, I was released from PT on Wednesday, which is awesome because that is one more morning hour I can spend training. Therapist chick said the muscle around my left knee is finally back to the size of the right before it wussed out from surgery and atrophied, so that is bueno. And most importantly, I'm finally starting to feel strong and powerful again. Getting back in shape is hard, but it's working...

Finally, I'm going to attempt to post a January re-cap blog here of totals and exciting news, but don't hold your breath.

2011: The Important Stuff

2011-12-29T17:06:00.001-08:00

Well, I did this last year and found it to be a particularly therapeutic exercise. So I figured, why the hell not? Let's dive into what I really learned from the major races, training runs, trips and pacing experiences that standout in my mind from 2011. No waxing poetic. No conundrums. Just a concise summary statement of what it really meant.

Given that I tend to associate the various parts of my year not only with the big events, but two of my other loves as well - I've decided to document the jams and the beers I was into at the time. I know, I know - an ultrarunner who likes indie music and beer? Real original. But whatever, man. Running, music and beer is how I order my life.

So, without further adieu, here's what stuck:

MY FIRST DAY OFF

I put my head down in January and didn't let up for a single day. I don't know that I've ever run that many days in a row ever, so I must be SERIOUS. I prove I'm not obsessive by picking a random Monday in April to take completely off.

Typical pre-season training day. Including the look of bitter exhaustion.
(photo: Dom)

Blue Moon Winter Abbey Ale (formerly Full Moon) - I stocked up on this over the winter and rationed into the spring. Like candy.

Bandida - Audra Mae "I'll veil myself in black and steel, and battle at your side." i.e. I'm gonna do it too!

COYOTE 2 MOONS 100K

Legit gear and a positive attitude can get you through a rainy, icy, slippery, flooding, muddy, whiteout, blizzard, freezing mess of a run. However, when the aid stations are blowing off the ridge, volunteers are trapped in Rose Valley, people are missing and our pets' heads are falling off, they're uh.. gonna call off the little "race."

Game called due to inclement weather.
(photo: Dom)

St. Bernardus ABT 12 - Around this time, I got really into trappist ales and tripels. This one was the clear winner.

Hard to Please - The Weepies The miles are getting harder, but this jam soothes my soul.

BOSTON MARATHON

Surprising myself with a PR (wicked puking/pants peeing and all), despite having trained right through for a mountain 100, I decide that if it were ever my goal to actually train specifically for a road marathon, I could actually do quite well. This will probably never happen.

El Pukador.
(photo: shamelessly stolen)

Post-race IPA at the finish line, courtesy of New Balance. They really do know
how to make excellent happen.
(photo: Andy Kumeda)

Harpoon IPA (pictured above) - How did I not say Sam Adams? I'll tell you how - the only SA I really like is their Winter Lager & that wasn't available on the tour. Which of course, was a real pissah.

Bizness - tUnE-yArDs It is fun to scream weird sounds in the middle of the forest. Yay tUnE-yArDs.

BISHOP 50 MILE

Following Dom around all this time has actually been worth it! The snow, the elevation and the loooong climb are no match for my mountain legs built by Baldy. (Unfortunately I followed his "stomach habits" as well, and commenced in the puking.)

Two blondes and a simply splendid day in the Sierras.
(photo: guy who used my iPhone)

The one, the only, Pabst Blue Ribbon - yep.

Swimming - Florence and the Machine Flo and co. were great company for 10 hours in the Sierras. I listened to this particular jam on repeat as I reeled in the woman in front of me... before everything went to shit:)

MEMORIAL TRAINING WEEKEND

Training hard works. Period. Enter beast mode.

At one with the high country.
(photo: Dom)

Simpler Times - they were, weren't they? $2.99 a 6, bitches.

Shape Shifter - Local Natives "Why does the soul hallucinate? I've got control. I shift my shape." Around this time, I was all Local Natives, all the time. So freaking excellent.

THE GREAT STABBING

To this day, I still can't believe that what took me out was not an overuse injury but a freak accident, with the emphasis on freak. I guess sometimes even when you're doing ~~everything~~ most things right, shit still goes down and that's just the way it is. Freaking yuccas, man.

My parents' way of commemorating the big event of 2012.
Hilarious. Really.
(photo: the pain in my heart)

During this period, I was so sad that I no longer even enjoyed the taste of beer.

Caffeinated Consciousness - TV on the Radio When I first listened to 9 Types of Light, I was like, whatever. And then I was like, why is my mouse mysteriously tapping to the beat? And THEN I was like, why am I screaming things such as 'Now Drop Yourself!' to random passerby? Mmmm yes... good album.

WESTERN STATES 100 - PACING JUNE

I vividly remember breaking the news to June as we made our way down Cal Street: if we don't pick up the pace right now, we're not going to make it. Watching her nod, put her head down and gut out a performance that had her back 40 minutes ahead of the cutoff at the river was infinitely inspiring, and I knew I'd call on that pride in her when starting my own mountain 100 with an injury a few weeks later.

Coyote Crew commencing in the sexy.
(photo: dude who wiped the fuck out down Escarpment. I saw you, bro.)

Rucky Chucky crossing - heading into mile 80 with June the Destroyer.
Hard to believe after three years of crewing and pacing - Ill be the one with the
white bib this year.
(photo: someone's pacer)

Andersen Valley Boont Amber Ale - one of my all time faves and fortunately sold at that grocery store where everyone get sandwiches before heading to Michigan Bluff. (Dad, take note.)

Got it All (This Can't be Living Now) - Portugal. The Man It was extremely hard for me to choose which one of their songs I'd throw up here. I went with this one, as it serves as a great reminder to "shake, shake, shake the night away." Always time well spent.

HARDROCK VACATION

The people, the mountains, the challenge, the spirit, the beer, the sheer joy, the danger, the beauty in it all. Yes folks, this is a life worth living. Impossibly stoked to be heading back to Silverton in 2012 to help Dom take on the race.

Scrambling up the scree on Grant Swamp pass - soon to be repeated
in the race by the gentleman ahead of me, unbeknownst at the time.
(photo: Justin Lutick)

There is simply no other caption for this other than, "WHEEEEEEE!!!!"
(photo: Justin Lutick)

Silverton Brewing Co. Ice Pick Ale (IPA) - does it taste better because we're over 10,000 feet? Why yes. Yes it does.

New Orleans - Trampled by Turtles "She followed the man she loves, all the way to Altadena" Creative licensing there with the lyrics:)

AC100

Ouch.

I'd follow this guy anywhere - even to Altadena.
(photo: Monica Morant)

No seriously, I guess what I'm left with is a more acute understanding of just how much the body is able to accomplish when the mind and heart want something bad enough. No race has ever meant more to me, and I simply did what had to be done. Also, I'll never be able truly complain of pain after mile 80 again - which is nothing but a huge advantage.

Sierra Nevada Torpedo IPA - I was rocking the shit out of this all summer. $6.99 a 6 at Fresh&Easy for the win.

Houdini - Foster the People As pumped on Williamson.

RIO DEL LAGO 50K

I basically threw myself into this race at the last minute as a desperate attempt to prove I hadn't lost "it" in the aftermath of completing AC on a jacked up knee. Success, first win and a fun day crewing the monster that is Lukas Temer enroute to finishing his first 100 (in first place). Also, my nutrition and hydration was freaking impeccable in the heat - yay for that.

The lesson to be learned here is that you cannot lose when properly
equipped with the Olson/Tarneja combo.
(photo: Tyler Olson)

Michelob AmberBock - free hotel beer that is actually delicious. I heart Embassy Suites.

Summertearz - Little Dragon Became obsessed with Little Dragon for all parts of life - at work, in the car, on the trail, and solo dance parties in my living room.

CACTUS TO CLOUDS SHIT

So, there is this dude who loves me a lot, puts up with all my little idiosyncrasies and challenges me daily to do some really hard and incredible shit. I am so very grateful for you, Dominic. Bring it on!

Romantic weekend getaway in Palm Springs
(self-portrait: Dom)

Start at 600 feet & you can climb up to 10,842 in one shot. Yum.
(photo: Dom)

Shafly Pumpkin Ale - it's just about fall beer season. I spent this period of time trying various Octoberfests and pumpkin ales and finished every single one wishing it was a Shafly.

O, Evelyn - Owen i.e. O, Panda Bear (seeing him live next week!!)

THE SURGERY

I've said this before, but patience isn't my thing. However, there's some definite weight in the whole "do what you can, when you can" thing and as a result of following that mantra, I'm proving to myself just how much my running and my goals mean to me. Also, did you hear? THEY PULLED YUCCA SPIKES OUT OF MY KNEE!

Crewing at Javelina, 2 days post-op
(photo: stolen from Jessica Fugulsby)

Maker's and Ginger Ale - I switched to the hard stuff. Obviously.

Don't Move - Phantogram Have been loving them for months - but this new jam really takes the cake.

NORTH FACE 50 - CREWING DOM & JORGE

Holy shit. There are a lot of really fast and really talented people out there and accordingly, I better get to work. Did you SEE Anna & Ellie out there? These guys did when they passed them…. yep. That happened.

Local heartthrobs

Newcastle Winter IPA - We found this at Ralph's for only $10.99 a 12. I have no idea how it was so cheap, because it's freaking delicious.

Walking on a Dream - Empire of the Sun Step 1: listen. Step 2: Try to get it out of your head. Go ahead, try.

FROSTBITE SERIES 10 MILE (St. Louis) - WITH DAD

I honestly never thought I'd see the day when I was out running in the double digits with my dad. I am so proud of him for how dedicated he's become to his daily runs and excited as hell that he's decided to run the LA Marathon next March. Chatting away as we looped around Forest Park was really special and I can't wait to run 26.2 with him in 2012.

Home.

O'Fallon 5 Day IPA - little microbrew back home never disappoints. Dad's suggestion this year was freaking on point.

Dance Yrself Clean - LCD Soundsystem The tympanic explosion circa 3:10 has been responsible for what many a coworker and passerby have likely deemed as tourettes.

Looking back with a pragmatic eye, it would be easy to say that 2011 was largely a wash. I worked really hard and then was badly injured before I ever had a chance to prove myself and what I'd created. But if you ask me if I feel that I achieved my goals for 2011, I'd have to say yes. You see, I looked at them (you can look too!) and no matter how much I want to say that I failed, quite simply - I didn't. Here's why: I've realized that my goals are always subjective. I rarely set benchmarks related to time or placement, yet most of the time I get extremely caught up in all that business. In short, I lose sight of my goals. But if my true goal was to train harder than I ever have before and give my honest best effort at a beast of a race, well then, I'd say goal achieved. Yucca and all.

That said, I think the thing I'll take away most from 2011 is how happy I am that my family has become more of a part of my running. Make no mistake, my parents have always been very supportive of everything* just about everything that I've ever done - but this whole ultrarunning thing was just a bit difficult to grasp. I remember speaking to my dad after my first 50 miler (Headlands, 2009) and hearing the shock in his voice that, 1) I was calling him so soon after starting; and b) I was perfectly fine. And as I prepared for my first 100, they were a bit mystified by the concept of this actually being possible and not detrimental.

*Joan still brings up the time I dyed my hair dark brown.

After my dad came out to crew me at Ozark Trail 100 last year, he said that he then understood why I do these things. He saw first hand that it is less about suffering and more about ambition and persistence. But to his and any outsider's credit, how could you imagine it as anything but horrifically painful until you are part of it? I'm happy to say that since then, my dad has run a few half marathons and now even some trail races and we talk often about our respective training and adventures. My mom now even takes a less scornful eye when going through my pictures and reading about my weekend journeys… that is, as long as I call her each Monday to let her know I'm alive. They both made the trip out to California last summer for Angeles Crest and were joined by my brother, sister-in-law and niece for a full family experience. It meant the world to me for them to be there and experience the forest that I'd grown to love over the past few years. And to see how involved and interested they became in the race and the people was just plain awesome. There was a reason why the world of ultrarunning had become my greatest passion, and it was of the utmost importance to me that they not only understood, but had a desire to share it with me.

Clutch crew at AC100
(photo: Natalie Kintz)

However, even greater than having my family's support is hearing that they've set like-minded goals for themselves in 2012. Like I said, my dad is going to run his first marathon - this from a man who when I ran my first preached that the human body wasn't made to go over 20 miles. I went to some great extremes to prove him wrong and I'm glad he's wisened up. My brother, Sgt. Eric DeSplinter, is currently serving his second duty in Afghanistan and plans to run the Marine Corps Marathon (also his first) next fall - never to be shown up by both his sister AND his old man. His five-year-old daughter, the incomparable Chyler Star, is taking note of all of it and is turning into quite the little runner chick herself. Accordingly, I've equipped her with a pair of New Balance trail kicks and taught her the ways of the run bun. And probably most special of all is a goal my mom shared with me over Christmas. She's had quite the rough go of it over the past year, and the beginning of 2012 isn't going to be any easier. You see, she's having her second knee replaced and that shit is about one million times more serious than a yucca stabbing. However, she's making it her big goal to be able to run the Run With Santa 5k by the end of the year. I'm really proud of her for not just setting the goal of getting better from the surgery - but setting the goal to get better than she was before. 'Cause that's what it's all about. Go, Mom.

Chyler Star - properly equipped for the trails. On Christmas,
she told me she had run 2,066 miles; which seems like a good start.

Similarly, I'm setting a similar goal for myself in 2012. I don't just want to get back to where I was in my training before the stabbing. I want to go beyond. I want to build upon yet another year of experience and hard work and become stronger, faster and generally more awesome. Specifically, I want to go sub-11 at Miwok and sub-24 at Western States - to set a finite, non-subjective goal to it. Also a legitimate goal is to not get stabbed. Weekdays in the Santa Monicas and weekends in the San Gabriels should do the trick, and right now I'm just focusing on building back up to high mileage gradually. Well... kind of gradually...

"Holy shit. That's my name!" - me upon finding out I had gotten in
to Western States. (photo: Dom)

On the second day of the year, I finally just said, "fuck it." I was sick of my knee holding me back and I wanted to do something hard and long. There are way too many innuendoes there for me to even comment. Anyway, I threw all caution to the wind and headed out to run the last 26 miles of the AC course - the same miles that tried to kill me back in July - and prove to myself that I can work through the pain. I honestly thought I would have to bail and hike down to the city earlier, but I'm happy to say that I made it. The rest of the group was surprised at this due to the fact that I did it on 32 oz of water and 330 calories (and it was hot), but I was mainly shocked that my knee held up and I was running down all the hills. Even down Wilson Toll Road - although I have a feeling that was largely due to the fact that Elissa saw a big ass mountain lion there the day before and as such, I didn't want to be the slow one. The other awesome thing was that I proved that even after a month and a half of what could best be described as a "reintroduction to running" rather than actual "training," I'm proud to report that I'm not back where I was on Jan 1 of 2011. You see, on Jan 1, 2011 I could still not run all the way up Upper Winter Creek out of Chantry without having to hike at some point. On Jan 2, 2012 - I could. That is saying something.

Of course, I'm still admittedly out of shape and have a lot of work to do - but hey, that's the fun part. I've got an ice pack and a pocket full of dreams, so nothing can stop me. Bring it on 2012.

Seriously.

BRING IT.

DeSplintered.

2011-12-05T20:25:00.001-08:00

Well, it's been a month since the surgery, so I figured it high time for an update. The long and short of it is that I'm healing quicker than the doc's already quicker than average healing prognosis, which is good. But I'm not back to perfect and it's making me certifiably nutso, which is bad. If that suffices, you may want to skim ahead for some gory photos, if you're into that sort of thing, otherwise I'll give you the play-by-play. It went down like this:

WED 11/9: I have surgery.

Surgery is not like I remember it. Back in the day, I remember surgery as being kind of a big deal. Today I go run, go to work for half a day and my co-worker drops me off at the hospital. Next thing I know, I'm waking up behind a sheet and the worst thing that's going on is I'm remarkably thirsty. Dom's stuck in traffic and Gabi's lost without an American number, so I just kind of chill for a bit. Gabi eventually picks me up and gives me Swiss chocolate, which I devour in less than 30 seconds. Surgery is not a big deal.

The best part is that the doc, who has long since left the hospital, makes a call to talk to me about what he found. It wasn't just scar tissue. It was straight up yucca tips and even he was in shock over the whole thing. Boom. I'm an episode of HOUSE. Check it out:

1/3 of an inch yucca splinter hiding in my knee joint for 6 months.
Apparently the scar tissue (the stuff that looks like cherries here) was
growing around it and obscured it from detection via MRI.

There were not one, but two of these assholes.

And just in case you were confused as to what you were looking at there...

Yeppers. Two of those suckers hitched a ride along the AC100 in my knee joint.

So anyway, the worst part of the whole ordeal is coming down off the anesthesia. Holy shit. Back home to my apartment, I am restless, my legs are spasming and my life is possibly ending in a blaze of anxiety. I'm quite certain that is the closest I will ever be to understanding what it's like to OD on Meth.

FRI 11/11: This is what my knee looks like:

The top left is where the camera went in; the far right is where they pulled out
the scar tissue and the spawn of yucca; the two bottom are drainage holes

MON 11/14: I abandon the use of crutches, mainly because they are annoying.

JJ100, 3 days post-op: Most pathetic crew chief ever.

THURS 11/17: My knee looks remarkably better, though quite swollen. However, I am shocked at the loss of muscle mass in only 7 days and how weak my left leg now is. Like, as weak as Hootie and the Blowfish's sophomore album. Seriously weak. It hurts like a bitch to bend my knee, but I force it via PT's "knee slides," i.e. the worst thing ever. I begin doing wall sits during all meetings at work and have become quite the overachiever with all my exercises. However, my resolve is strong that if freaking Darius Rucker can make a comeback, so can I. Accordingly, I've started listening to a lot more country.

Looking good... but doc says 3 weeks to hike and a month to run is likely.

SAT 11/19 - 9 DAYS POST-OP:

Top 'o Temescal

Oh, that's weird because I went for a hike today. 4 miles and 1,000 feet on a perfectly beautiful day. And I was passing people the whole way up.

TUES 11/22: I return to hot ballet class.

I plié. I lengthen. I can't quite make it into child's pose, but I give it a good effort. I'm happy I didn't put my membership on hold for a month like they told me to. "If you're having surgery, you won't be back for at least a month. AT LEAST."

WED 11/23 - EXACTLY 2 WEEKS POST-OP: I run.

It's not much, and it's not pretty. But I do it. Run a mile to CVS. Walk a half mile. Run another half mile. Walk another half mile home. Throw a heel click in for good measure. I begin to believe I am invincible.

THURS 11/24 - THANKSGIVING: Turkey Trot
I go to Torrance to watch Dom and Vinny run the Turkey Trot. I decide I will run the first mile with them and then walk back. Next thing I know, I am crossing the finish line. The case for invincibility becomes infinitely stronger.

FRI 11/25: Return to the trails.
Now that my recovery phase is already over, I decide to head to Sullivan with Dom and run/hike up the ridge. There is no hiking involved. I run the singletrack back, and by the end, my knee is sufficiently tired and my opposite hip is definitely aching. I am tired and sore the rest of the day, but I attribute this to being out of shape. I am definitely invincible.

SAT 11/26: More.
I run up Will Rogers and run/hike back down. There is no stopping me now. Someone should make a movie about how awesome I am.

SUN 11/27: Hmmmm....
OK, maybe they shouldn't make that movie just yet, 'cause I am kind of hurting a lot. But I can't resist the urge to run and hike Mt. Wilson. In my defense, I just got the new iphone and am really excited to test out the camera.

MON 11/28: I enter the hurt locker.
Today, I realize that I went from not running at all to running four days in a row on a surgically repaired knee. Today, I realize I am actually the opposite of invincible, and this really pisses me off.

Reality check over. The real healing process now ensues....

In the days since I realized I'm actually a human, I've been building up a little more gradually. I've run up to 7 miles on the trails, but to be honest, it hurts pretty badly. I'm good on the way up, but the down is quite painful. That said, I've checked with the doc and apparently that is to be expected. I've just got to get my mobility back, so for now, I just have to be in pain for a little longer. Whatever. I can handle it.

Hiking with Maruoka: returning to the trails 2 weeks early
from FAI/Labral tear hip surgery

Favorite activity when I can't run an ultra: Crewing an ultra!
Dom, me, Mari & Jorge @ TNF50

While I'm mostly positive about this whole thing and focused on being thankful for finally having an answer, there is one thing that kind of sucks. Getting back into the kind of training I was rocking before AC is going to be really hard. The problem being, I don't want to just get back to what I was doing. I want to do more. But I feel so out of shape in the mountains right now and I can't imagine being able to give an honest effort to a 100 (likely AC again) this summer. Dammit, I'm going to try, but will my knee be able to handle the volume of training I'd like to throw down? Last year was 80 mile weeks with an occasional 100+ in there. This year, my goal by spring is to be doing 100 mile weeks regularly, with upwards of 120-30s when I'm seriously rocking it. It's what I feel I need to do to get where I want to be, and the only thing holding me back is this goshdurn freak accident.

But I digress. A month ago, I had knee surgery where they pulled freaking imbedded spikes out of my tendons. And I'm already running again.

That is pretty cool.

Boomshakeday.

Prize Money and Ultras: The Epic Debate

2011-12-01T19:41:00.001-08:00

Here’s why I don’t think adding prize money to Ultras willevery be a problem:

Running 100 miles is too fucking hard.

In other words, you could make the same amount of money workingyour ass off to do something way less difficult. I believe there are only 2 ways people who are not motivatedby the intrinsic nature of trail running could actually be motivated to dosomething so challenging. And Idon’t mean just the race – I mean the training that goes into making yourselfcapable of actually winning one of these races.

I’ve trained to win once. I spent all my free time (i.e. not working in corporateAmerica,) running – morning, night, even lunch breaks. And if there were any leftover seconds,I was cross-training. I spentevery weekend camping in the mountains, running at altitude with 0 contact tothe world below. I lived themajority of my life out of my comfort zone. And the only, the ONLY reason I didn’t give up is because atthe end of the day, if you asked me to pick my favorite activity in the whole world,I would pick running in the mountains. And let’s be clear, I really enjoy the beach, snowboarding, drinkingbeer, ballet, writing and snuggling – but on my list, running in the mountainsis at the top. Yes folks, evenover that three letter word. The “drive to win” wasnever enough to push me out of the car on a cold Sunday morning with 90+ milesalready on my legs. It was the confidence that at some point, if only for afleeting moment, there would be absolutely NOTHING that I’d rather be doing.

And it’s a good thing, too. As many people know, I was seriously injured with a littleless than 2 months to go to my big race, and let’s just say things didn’t go asplanned. The mental warfare thiswaged not only during the race but in the many months in the aftermath has beenseriously hard to deal with. Somuch so that at times I considered quitting this shit forever. (I’ve tried to do this once before.) I’m sorry, but there’s no amount ofmoney that could capture my disappointment in this situation. My disappointment was entirely infeeling that all the training and intensely hard work had been for not inrunning the race to my best potential.

Tangent now averted, I believe that the only ways you’re getting the“non-pure” runners over to the competitive ultrarunning scene are these:

1. The amountof money is seriously high. LikeNBA salary high. If you can makethe same amount of cash getting your master’s degree and working a high-profilejob, that’s going to be a whole lot easier than puking your guts out at mile19, suffering through a 40 degree weather change in the period of about anhour, experiencing a degree of muscle fatigue you never knew was possibleand/or fighting the depressive demons in your head that consider death a morefavorable option than running the last 4 miles. Jesus, you can actually make quite a substantial bit ofmoney becoming really good at video games. Video games. The highest prize I know of is coming up thisweekend at the big showdown in Marin (a la The North Face 50) and that’s only$10k. I say only, because in thisday and age, that’s enough to pay your bills and support your training only ifyou’re single, living out of your car and growing your own food. And you better hope nothing breaks.

Sure, you could argue that winning a few of these prizescould help you out, but aha! There’s another hole in the master plan to great riches. You see, ultrarunning is demanding –both on the body and the mind. Repeatedly running at the level it takes to win these things is prettymuch impossible. Sure, there havebeen some pretty incredible examples of some impressive back-to-backperformances as of late. Examplebeing Nick Clark’s legit 3rd place at States, followed by another 3rd at Hardrock 2 weeks later. Buteven Nick will tell you that’s not sustainable. He recently bowed out of TNF50, citing that his body andmind are tired from over-racing. Not to mention I said THIRD place at these events, not winning. (Ofcourse, I only say this to make a point and never to discredit Nick’s amazingperformances. I, for one, am superinspired by his tenacity and talent.) In this case, the prize purses would have to be pretty goshdurn deep toallow anyone to make a living, and even then I’m not so sure.

Let’s bust out the sabermetrics here. If Nick’s performance is anyindication, your best bet would be to consistently run in the third to fifthplace spot (assuming the purses are that deep,) allowing you to run just hardenough to make a nominal amount, but not so hard that you destroy yourself forfuture races. Butguess what? Even that will behard, given the increased competition resulting from this supposed greed forthe money. Just it shall likely unfold on Saturday, these guys will be running the race of their lives just to get fifth.

Sure, there are people who do seemingly run a 100 milerevery week, and by all means, that is incredible in it’s own respect. But time has shown that this crowd isnot WINNING. And guess what? They could care less, because DING!DING! DING!, that’s not why they do it. In short, the money hungry would run themselves retarded chasing thoseprizes and destroy themselves in the process.

That’s why the money in each race has to be very, verylarge. And to get that cash, RDshave got to find that money to give. One option is to get the money from registration, but there are hugeproblems there too. They’re calledTrail Permits, and I highly doubt any Forest Service is ever going to allow themagnitude of the Chicago Marathon to trample on their trails. No way could you jack up registrationprices high enough on 200-600 people fields to both create a big cash prize andactually keep people entering. Theother option is money from sponsors, and here’s where you enter a giantconundrum. To sink huge money intoevents and athletes, that shit has got to be mega popular and profitable. Well, how’s it going to be waypopular until you’ve got big household names endorsing your product, media outthe wazoo and all the other spoils of a Super Bowl-esque event? Hell, thesecompanies we all know and love are just dying for that opportunity to sell moreof whatever they sell, but very few are going to take the risk to sink alltheir dollars into a gamble. Granted, it only takes one, but it’s got to be a big one, and those guysare kind of all set. You couldargue that Salomon is starting to do this. But Salomon ain’t Nike.

People, I work in advertising, so understanding consumertrends and selling shit is basically my job. I know for a fact Nike makes way more money on people whobuy shoes that look awesome than for their technical prowess incompetition. Fortunately, they’vebuilt an empire big enough to allow them to do both, but guess what? They’restill going to sink their marketing budgets into events that attract millionsof competitors and spectators (i.e. road marathons), not a small, niche event. After all, if you think they’re in thebusiness of making shoes, you’re dead wrong. They’re in the business of making money and before you goall bleeding heart on me, you should realize that every business is. If they’renot, they no longer exist. Hell –that’s the whole thing we’re talking about here. The sponsors want just as badly to make money as the“un-pure” runners would. It’scalled greed, people and it’s not going anywhere. So until either trail races become huge (see above paragraphfor why they won’t) or companies like Hammer, Montrail and DirtyGirl Gaiters* find a way to sell salt pills, trail shoes, coats and well, gaiters to thegeneral public in the masses, where is this BIG money to sink into the sportgoing to come from? Chicken or the egg, bitches?

*SIDENOTE: Again, Salomon is an anomaly here, as they are sinking big bucks intosupporting their athletes across the globe and recently put an ad featuring TheKilian in Times Square. However,my dad has no clue who Kilian is and my dad will probably never purchase a pairof Salomon shoes. See relatedargument in item #2. The North Face is also an anomaly, as back in 1998 theyfigured out how to sell mad jackets to frat guys across the country. Maybe that’s what’s funding thisweekend’s prize purse?

Unless…

2. Ultrarunnersbecome famous. I’m not talkingDean Karnazas. I’m talkingMichael Fucking Jordan.

The only other reason a “non-pure” runner would putthemselves through the rigors of training and competing in ultramarathons is ifit put them on the front of a Wheaties Box. Of course, this brings up the point that they’d eventuallyget rich off the sponsors even if there wasn’t much prize money to be won, butmy point is another area of human nature: we all want to be universally loved and admired. We can’t help it.

Of course, the problem is that running just isn’ttraditionally a “sexy” sport. Imean, look at us. The way we formour bodies isn’t exactly the mainstream Hollywood ideal. Our hero dudes are spindly, bearded andshow way too much thigh. Ourleading ladies are older, built like boys and have aged skin from too much timein the glorious sun. And we allhave way too many scars. Plus weall spend an inordinate amount of time to ourselves, so we’re fucking weird.

Think about it. Do you know the names of all the fastest marathoners or world classsprinters? Well I do, because I’ma running nerd. But guesswhat? My dad loves running. My dad got me into running. My dad has flown out for my races. And my dad has no freaking clue who anyof these people are. On thecontrary, my dad has absolutely zero interest in ever playing basketball, yetyou better be damn sure he knows who Kobe is.

So here’s the only solution I can see so far: we get sexier. Moeben is really working to trail blazethe path for this, and personally I think my boyfriend is pretty damn goodlooking – so I guess we’re on the right track. Didn’t Jenn Shelton run some race in a bikini orsomething? I believe that wentover quite well. I, for one, amdefinitely considering a boob job, spray tan and keratin treatment before mynext 100. I’m sure New Balancewould be behind me 100% on this.

Standing in line for the release of “Unbreakable” this holiday season?
Unless Geoff and co. stop working so freaking hard, I doubt it.

Now, before I wrap this thing up (finally) and open thefloodgates to the backlash, I’ve got one more theory here on why you’re nevergoing to see a poster of Kami Semick taking over the walls of 13-year-oldsaround the country. And this onemay catch me some flack. You see,I think people like Kami make “normal” people generally uncomfortable. We want so badly to believe that theTony K’s of the world were handed a supernatural talent by God himself, andthat is why they are able to do such an incredibly hard an amazing thing. But the simple fact is that it’s notthat simple. And these guys andgals make no effort to conceal the insane amount of work and training they doto prepare themselves and the hardships they go through. What’s more, most claim that anyonecould do it if they really sunk their teeth into what it takes. If you don’t want to believe, sit atthe finish line of any ultramarathon and watch what comes through. Or look up the name Amy Palmiero-Winters. For some, it’s incrediblyinspiring. For the masses, theyproclaim “freak of nature.” Justas greed is often instinctual, so is the nature to shun things that make ustruly and wholly uncomfortable.

So, in conclusion: do I think the money at TNF50 isresponsible for the incredible and unmatched depth of field at the race? Absolutely. And do I think any less of any of these runners for goingafter it? Hell no. In fact, I’m going up to crew andsupport two of my favorite SoCal runners: Dominic “Unicorn” Grossman (surprise, surprise) and Jorge “El ChivoLoco” Pacheco. (Agitar y hornaerboys!) If they and their fellow competitorshave the chance to make a little cash doing something they love, I’m happy forthem and say go for it. Remember, the whole point of this post was that I don't see a threat from PRIZE MONEY ALONE to cause the apocalypse of ultra running as we know it. The wealth of other factors that could cause the scene to blow up (not to mention eventually effect the prize money in a way I previously stated was not likely) is numerous - and it all relates to the issue of accessibility. Bryon is really paving the way with irunfar.com, as well as all the technology we are now afforded as ways to communicate to the masses. But alas, I will save this for a later conversation because it is time to pack for San Fran.

In the future, if there are more races that start addingcash prizes, great. It’ll spreadthe money around. But I’ll beshocked at the day when career ultrarunners are millionaires.

END NOTE: I’mlikely wrong about everything and I fully realize there are huge what-ifs inbasically every single point I’ve made. A lot of things in this world have happened on what-ifs and unexpectedrisks and that’s what makes life so gosh darn interesting. This article merely represents mythoughts and opinions on “the great debate.” I hope you’ll have fun continuing the argument.

I am Finally Proud of my AC100 Finish

2011-11-08T10:55:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a lot about my experience at Angeles Crest this year. And man, if you thought the race was a battle - welcome to the war raging in my head. I've replayed the events in my mind thousands of times, and return trips to the course have actually been quite difficult at times. A few weeks ago, I literally had to run sections of the high country in reverse so as not to ruin my run with overanalytics.

So maybe you're thinking I'm completely crazy and that I should just get over it. And to a large extent, I agree. But it's not so simple when it's something that you devoted your life to for such a long period of time. I don't know if I quite delved into the amount of time I spent training for this race, but let me assure you, it was more time than I've spent doing anything ever. My favorite week of training was when the running time totals equaled over 24 hours. In essence I had spent 1 out of 7 of my days running in the mountains. That seemed wildly prudent.

Life was so beautifully simple then. Time outside of work existed solely for training and Dom and I camped pretty much every weekend in the San Gabriels - running the various sections over and over and over. Taking splits… stringing them together… finding ways to make things harder. I dove headfirst into training for my first mountain 100 and I did not let up. I followed Dom and Jorge, veterans of the course and champions of hard work, into the forest and never questioned whether or not I was ready for the types of workouts and the amount of mileage they had planned. I never accepted running a shorter distance or cutting out one of the climbs. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right - and this was what it took.

In retrospect, the fact that I never sustained an overuse injury during these months and months of hard training is kind of amazing. I would go long stretches without a single day off - in fact my first day of real rest in 2011 was in April. This wasn't to say I wasn't tired sometimes and had periods where it was extremely hard to get the work done. I remember sitting in the car at Eaton Canyon one morning, literally crying because I didn't want to get out and start a 4,600' climb. As motivated as I was to achieve my goal in July, it wasn't always easy, but I got it done. By May, it was undeniable how much I had improved.

My thoughts around the race have been largely jumbled and easily influenced over the past few months. I've learned that people will always have their opinions and alternate realities that they create for comfort. But if you're truly interested in the reality of what happened and why I didn't finish in or close to the time that I was honestly capable of (sub-24 hours), then you can go ahead and read on. I've deeply explored what happened and what has resulted is sheer amazement in myself. Does that sound cocky? Well, I don't care. What I did out there on July 23rd was fucking amazing.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about if it was possible that I just wasn't tough enough. If it hadn't been my knee, something else would have hurt. It's 100 miles, for chrissakes. So did I just give into the pain? Did I whimp out when it got really hard to bear? Could I have pushed through it harder?

The answers to all those questions is a resounding, "I don't know." But what I am 100% sure of is that I did not give up or weenie out on account of pain. Looking back, I couldn't even bend my knee before the start of the race. That's right. I COULDN'T BEND MY KNEE. And yet, I saddled up to run 100 miles up and over some treacherous mountains anyway. What happened was this: I was in mild pain from the get go, but ran remarkably well through the high country. I stayed in control and let the lead women go - feeling very sure that if I ran within myself, I could catch them later. I was running below 24-hour pace and I felt like a million bucks. Hitting the gradual downhill into Three Points - probably the easiest part of the course - was when my knee really started to crap out. I knew it was a problem that anytime I hit a little uphill, I was golden, but when the grade turned down, I was in an incredible amount of pain. I felt good otherwise.

I've said it over and over, but my recollection of the turning point was Chilao, mile 52. My knee was officially wrecked and the pain was outstanding. I gave up all time goals and turned to survival mode, even though I was still on a decent pace. While you deal with altitude in the first part of AC, the terrain gets gnarlier and nastier as you progress. So in essence, I was heading into the roughest parts of the course on a knee that was completely shot. So shot, in fact, that I'm having freaking surgery. This part of the course breaks completely healthy and super talented runners every year, and I was heading into it already broken. It was a ridiculous endeavor, yet I was courageously committed to pressing on. For that, I am proud.

My knee stopped working at Chilao. Here is visual proof.

In fact, I'm really proud of the whole thing. The work I put in, my bravery to endure and finishing what I started. Ego checked. Running for love. FEARLESS. I can't wait to see what's in store once my knee is back to good. It's pretty much impossible for 2012 to be anything but awesome.

I wanted to do something REALLY epic for my last pre-surgery adventure,
so we ran to the moon.

I thought about all of the above a lot this past weekend, as I headed out for one more round of hard training in the San Gabriels with Dom, Jorge and Mari. It was just what I needed, as it was just how it always was before the yucca incident. And to a greater extent, it reminded me just how it would be when I'm all healed and officially back. This was how it all started back in January… miles and miles of trudging through the snow in the high country on Saturdays, getting stronger, followed by quicker miles down out of Chantry and Eaton on sore legs. And then followed by Chipotle. I'll follow the same plan this year and work harder to avoid plants. It's a fool-proof plan.

I leave you with a few images of my last epic weekend for awhile. And oh, what a weekend it was! The first big snowfall in the San Gabriels provided for some amazing (and tough) running and now I can go into surgery a happy woman. (Although, I can still get 2 more runs in before tomorrow. And I will.)

Heading up via Sierra Club/Baldy Bowl

View of Baldy Bowl from Devil's Backbone

The source.

Alpsadena, CA

Mind you, it was only 2 weeks ago that it was over 100 degrees.

Third summit this year. Next time I'm bringing my board.

Looking East: Gorgonio over yonder.

Treacherously beautiful. And excellent "fancy feet" training.

El Chivo Loco on the approach to Mt. Harwood

The freaking smoke monster showed up.

In case you were wondering what heaven looks like

Lucky for us - decent conditions on Devil's Backbone

Just do it, man.

Saddle dancing

I found a distinct unicorn sized footprint on the top of Wilson.
We love our NB MT/WT 101s!

My awesome company for my last long run for awhile (a Wilson Loop).
Thank you Mari!

Planned? Probably.

Excellent day with excellent friends

Now that is one happy panda.

Decisions and Incisions: Let's Party

2011-11-04T11:15:00.000-07:00

Making decisions is probably one of my least favorite activities ever. I think this has something to do with the fact that I generally tend not to enjoy things I'm not very good at, and logical deductive reasoning happens to be one of those things. Somehow I always seem to derail somewhere.... which usually results from the creation of some alternate reality where everything works out perfectly. Because I'm really good at that.

A few weeks ago, I decided to jump into the Los Pinos 50k. Given that I am in no shape to give an honest effort at another 100 right now and my knee likely couldn't handle it anyway, I wanted to get at least one more race in this year. I thought maybe I'd feel fulfilled. Maybe I wouldn't feel so bad about myself if I could run really fast. Maybe I could prove that the pain in my knee isn't that bad. Maybe I just need to get over it. And so I registered on Wednesday morning.

On the Los Pinos trail (aka "Beast") the week before.

By Wednesday night, I felt altogether off and threw up when I tried to run. Thursday, I had a fever and it felt like someone was stabbing me in the ear. Friday, I missed work and spent the day in bed drinking water, telling myself I'd be good in the morning. Saturday morning, I woke up and knew instantly I should not run.

I ran anyway.

I felt winded in the first easy mile. By mile 2, I was soaked through with sweat and shaky all over. Around mile 4 I tried to take a hit off my gel flask and immediately threw up. For the next 2 miles I was dizzy, had a migraine and was now absolutely positive there was a small creature repeatedly shanking my ear canal. As such, I was forced to end my day at the first water-only aid station, where Steve Harvey told me to sit down. Now. I waited for the rest of the runners to go through, cheering my friends on and trying to gather my senses, and we hiked the 3 or so miles out and back to the start/finish area. Later that night I noticed that my ear was actually bleeding. Turns out by running hard in the mountains with a nasty ear infection can actually rupture your eardrum.

This is an example of a poor decision.

Portrait by Dom

Now, lucky for me, oftentimes a bad decision can influence other decisions in a decidedly positive way. This was the case as I sat and talked to RD Keira Henninger about my experience at Angeles Crest and the frustrations of the yucca setback. Keira recently had arthroscopic surgery on her hip and for the first time in a great long while is running without pain. Like me, she was extremely hesitant to have any sort of surgery and hoped that she could heal it via other methods. But at the end of the day, she's finally making real progress now that she's had the procedure.

Physical therapy has done absolutely nothing for me at all. In fact, it was more annoying than anything given that the woman was dead set on proving that I had a biomechanical issue and had created this injury myself. It was almost as if she just could not accept the fact that I was literally stabbed in the knee by a plant. Instead she was first disappointed to discover that I don't pronate. Then she told me I should be striking on my heels. No jokes, people. For her third and final trick, she wanted to know what sort of running shoes I wear. That exchange went a little something like this:

So Katherine, what type of running shoes do you wear - do you happen to know the model?
No.
OK, well do you know the brand?
Nope, I have no idea.

Hmmm, well I sincerely hope that it's something with good cushioning and proper support.

This is exactly why we are not having this conversation.
What?
Nothing.

Taking matters into my own hands, I employed Dom for a session of digging his thumb into the lump of nerve infested devil tissue in an attempt to end it's reign of tyranny. This resulted in absolute hysteria and near passing out, even after a shot of Maker's. Also, it didn't really make a difference. On the brink of hopelessness, I had to consider the recommended option presented to me.

As such, I will be having arthroscopic surgery on November 9th. They will go in, remove the damage caused by the yucca (and possibly running 100 miles on said injury), stitch me up, and I should be good to go by the first of the year. It's minimally invasive - the doc makes small incisions and goes in with a little camera rather than slice through a bunch of shit I need. He said a week of no activity, then probably a month before I can get back to my training. Sure, I'm going to have to start back quite a few blocks with regards to my physical training. And to be honest, that is frustrating as hell. But it definitely won't be at the beginning with regards to the mental side of things, because I now know what I'm capable of. At the end of the day, I'm damn proud of the work I put in this year. I turned myself into a pretty descent climber, handled some consistently high mileage weeks, got faster, stronger and ran through some really hard challenges. Though I don't have a specific race to prove it to all of you, I know this and really that's all that matters with regards to having the confidence to build myself up again. It will be hard to regain speed. It will be difficult to climb mountains with ease. It will hurt to run at altitude. But now I know that if I can just endure a little more than seems reasonable, I will achieve great new heights.

IN the Vegas: Lights, Smoke, Sin and Zombies

ABOVE the Vegas: ...

Last weekend, Dom and I went to celebrate some of my college friends' 30th birthdays in Las Vegas. (They had flown out from St. Louis and Chicago.) After dancing all night in smoky casinos, our bodies literally craved the fresh air that only the high altitude of the mountains can bring. So we drove up to 7,500 and set out to climb up over 11 in the Mt. Charleston wilderness. Encountering snow already at the trailhead and unsure of what we might find, we grabbed some jackets, water and gels and headed out into the Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest, about an hour or so outside of the Vegas. Immediately, we were consumed by the thick scent of rich pine and humbled by the sheer faces of rock that rose intimidatingly up from the canyon where we started. (Kyle Canyon, to be exact.) It was freaking beautiful, and after the last few weeks of being sick and fearing the impending non-running future, it was exactly what I needed. As we climbed, we were both amazed at the great footing of the well-maintained trail. Just about every step of it was runnable, and it was a nice change from some of our recent adventures in California - such as the insanely steep grades on Gorgonio and the boulder hopping up Jacinto, via Cactus to Clouds. Apparently Nevada knows what's up.

We were also both amazed that there were hardly any people on the trail on a seriously PERFECT day. I'm not kidding… the weather, the trail, the scenery was absolutely amazing in every regard. This might have had something to do with the fact that it was really hard to find any info or maps on the area. I'm guessing most people who live in or frequent the Vegas are probably not interested in roughing it in the wilderness, but my only response to that is 'wow, what a shame.' This forest was seriously one of the more beautiful places I've ever seen, and I am so grateful that our random weekend lead us there. In many ways it was a difficult run, because I felt like I had begun a countdown of the amount of steps I get before next Wednesday. But in others, it was incredible, because I didn't take one of those steps for granted.

Vegas. Always a party.

Dom getting ready for TNF50 showdown

So, that's that. I go into surgery in less than a week and I've basically been running myself retarded over the past week. My knee hurts worse than ever. But before I go away for a little bit, I've got one more last minute, objectively bad decision to make. As such, after work today I'm leaving to do one of the following: hop a train and do R2R2R at the Grand Canyon, head to Wrightwood and lose myself in the high country or I'm throwing around the idea of driving to the King's Canyon/Sequoia area... or maybe something else. This all depends on schedules, transportation and most notably, weather. A big storm is on the way and we're supposed to get snow down to 4,000 feet! Whatever ends up happening, I'm pretty sure my knee will be nice and ready for surgery.

Listen, you can say whatever you want about my decision making process, but my life is awesome. I leave you with additional proof:

Dom in the classic NB 574's. Me in the Dolce Vita 5"-ers.

Goal for the Day: Griffith Peak at 11,000 in the background.

On the ascent out of Kyle Canyon

Sneaky kisses for my best friend

Ninja skills are always appropriate

And a triple salchow from Brian Boitano

Oh yeah.... the Cards won the world series. BIRDS!!!!

AC100 Chapter 3: No pain. No descent.

2011-10-09T20:02:00.000-07:00

Go Back to Chapter 2

I headed into Chantry and into a giant paradox:

There was no way I was ending my race here. Yet there was no way I felt physically able to handle 25 more miles of gnarly, challenging terrain.

Things had gotten really, really bad on that last descent and my knee was now looking like it was going to give birth to a mini knee growing on the lateral side. Every step was jarring and very, very painful. Nevertheless, I was ushered into a chair, and soup and coffee were placed in my hands. Of course, first thing was first - I looked up to the giant screen to see where Dom was. He had passed through Millard, the final aid station, but had not yet finished. Yes! I had still somehow met my goal of getting to Chantry before he finished. And then I got a little sad. Dom was about to achieve his dream of winning the Angeles Crest 100, and though I'd been there for most all of the finish lines leading up to this day, I would not be there this time. And I was not going to see him for a very, very long time.

My crew surrounded me with options and focused on getting me back on the course and working towards the finish. Mari came over to offer words of comfort, knowing firsthand how hard I had worked for this day and obviously seeing that my goals and dream had largely slipped away. "It's my knee," I said. "It just stopped working. I was doing so well…."

I trailed off and started to well with tears. I was overwhelmed. And then, before I could feel sorry for myself, I leaned my head back and just laughed. And laughed. And laughed. And when I brought my head up, lo and behold, everyone else was laughing too. "I have never hurt this bad. Ever," I told my crew. My dad later told me that it was this very moment that he knew I would finish. He had absolutely no doubt.

Drying the tears, I took a few minutes to get some calories down, switch into some dry shoes and socks and tie a long sleeved around my waist. Even though I was sweating, I was not taking any chances with possibly getting cold (like every other 100 I've done). Knowing it would take me quite some time to get up Upper Winter Creek, I slipped on my Nathan Pack, with empty bottles rigged on the back. What we can gather here is that I have actually learned from previous experiences. Sometimes it is good to take an extra couple minutes to make sure you are adequately prepared - especially when it is the last time you will see your crew, and you've got quite a long way to go. I wasn't doing this pretty, but I was still going to do it right.

As I rose from my chair, I took a good look around. Some runners were coming in. Some were leaving. Some had retired to a chair, unable to leave this aid station for whatever reason. I saw Jorge, having arrived hours and hours before, still wrapped up in a blanket and watching it all unfold. Over the long summer of training, I became fully convinced that this man was one of the strongest and most dedicated people I had ever met. And on the starting line the previous morning, he certainly stood there with every capability to do something remarkable. For him, it just hadn't all come together perfectly on this day. This didn't make me respect him any less; on the contrary, I had more feelings related to "wow, he's going to destroy the next one, then." And I suddenly realized that I was in a similar situation. No one would think any less of me for finishing in 30 hours rather than 24. And I shouldn't either.

Confidence and purpose restored - partially related to the aforementioned realization, but largely due to the man in tights who would be accompanying me the last 25 miles - I began to hike up the road and out of the aid station. It was time to get this show on the road. And fortunately, said show was about to become a great deal more entertaining. Peter Williams is one of my best friends in the whole world, and I was so excited to have him along for this last part of my journey. Actually, I don't know who was more excited - even given the current state of things - and that certainly made it easier to accept the challenge of climbing the next 5 1/2 miles, most of which was at a nice, 20% grade. We immediately began ruminating about the day, the journey and how crazy it was that we were finally here. In many ways, leaving Chantry Flats in the Angeles Crest 100 was an adventure we began years before - back when Peter was training for his first 100 and I did not yet believe I was capable of such a distance. Peter was set to run the 2009 race, and after becoming instant friends that year, multiple trips to Chantry for long runs were an instant staple. Here was one of my favorite days. (Please note the old school Nano arm band.) And here's one of my all time favorite pictures ever:

You probably can't concentrate on anything but the
gray tights, but this is the top of Upper Winter Creek -
mi. 80 of the course.

Unfortunately, in September of 2009, the Station Fire ravaged the Angeles Forest, burning over 160,000 acres. Officially the worst fire in LA County history, it wiped out over a quarter of the forest, including much of the middle section of the course. Obviously, the race was called off - and even when it would resume, it would never again be the same. Peter and I both ran the Javelina 100 that year, along with many of our friends, but there was unfinished business with AC. Little did I know that when we'd have our chance again, the roles would be reversed…. but alas, here we were. Climbing out of Chantry, just as we'd done so many times before.

Perhaps two years before is a long time, because Peter seemed to have forgotten just how long UWC can be. Unfortunately, I had not - as I knew every twist, turn, tree and pitch; even in the dark. There was no fooling me that we were "almost there," because I knew we weren't. That said, I felt stronger on this section than I'd felt in hours and hours - the 10 min break at Chantry and the excellent company were doing me good. And I could hear that we were catching up to the voices a few switchbacks up. This motivated me greatly, but my body was tired - now hitting those 'scary hours' of the morning where I knew that literally falling asleep on my feet was a possibility. The good news was that I was in too much pain for that to happen, but my body was still very fatigued and this climb was really taking it out of me. I took solace in the fact that I'd rather be climbing than descending, and concentrated on the stories Peter was telling me to keep my mind off the deep, deep burning and extreme desire to sit down. I made a deal with myself that if I could just get to the bench, I could sit for 2-3 minutes and rub out my legs. But that was harder than it seemed, especially given that my stomach was now finally rejecting the mass amount of GU I had been feeding it.

Eventually, we did reach the bench and I did have my little reward of a quick seat. (See above photo for 'bench' reference.) We clicked off our headlamps for a few moments and took in the beautiful, silent night. I was thankful for this day and this experience and everything to come. I now had less than 20 miles to run, and for the first time, I could see the city below. I could see where I was going. After forcing some food down, we got on our way - for the last bit of climbing up to Mt. Wilson Toll Road.

Peter and I running down the toll road in January

Now, you think I would be thankful getting that nasty climb out of the way, but you are wrong. As we approached the clearing and stared down the long fire road that would take us down to Idlehour, I knew I was in for a world of hurt. This few miles of hard packed trail was painful at the end of a 20-30 mile day. It was going to be miserable on a 100 mile day with a bum-ass knee. And oh, how it was!

Apparently I had developed the following pattern:

1. Shuffle and shriek

2. Run for as long as I can

3. After a few good minutes, pain becomes incredibly intense, and I begin breathing heavier and heavier, with the apparent goal of hyperventilating

4. Panicked breaths turn to sobs as I stop and lean against a rock

Peter had grown accustomed to said pattern, and thus when he would hear my breathing begin to pick up, he knew we were about to have a breakdown. He'd immediately slow me down and tell me to focus on getting my breath back under control, reminding me that even if we had to stop for a minute, we were still far ahead of the cut off. It was all very Lamaze. And so we continued on this way, Peter encouraging me every single step. Even when we hit the rockslide and I had to climb over boulders (which by the way, was kind of surreal), he filled my head with thoughts of how well I was doing to replace those focused on how pathetic I'd become. Hell, even if he was lying - the positive focus and energy was definitely what I needed.

Again, I was very intimate with this section of trail, and as we wound and wound our way down - alternating running and walking - I became increasingly frustrated with the aid station that would just never come. I tried to focus on saying 'thank you' rather than 'no' or 'why,' but in all honesty, I was grasping for things to be happy about. Luckily, the boost I needed was right around the bend. As I began the final switchbacks down to Idlehour, I realized that I was gaining on someone. Even with as slow as I felt like I was moving, I was doing more than just walking, and that was enough to catch another runner. Once upon them, I realized it was Diana and her pacer and immediately felt for her. When I'd seen her last at Chantry, she looked so good and fresh - but alas, things can quickly change in a 100 mile race. I certainly knew that firsthand. I figured she'd come back alive when the sun came up and told her I'd see her then as I moved on at a decidedly quicker pace. I wouldn't necessarily call it a spring in my step, mainly because that would be physically impossible at this point, but you get the idea. Nothing like a little compassion to motivate you to 'get over it.' In a 100 mile race there are always people out there suffering just as much, if not MORE than you, so who are you to complain?

When I reached the Idlehour aid station (mile 83.75), I was in for another surprise. Just in were Tiffany and her pacer, and just like that, I was back in the same position I was before, when I was doing well. Tiffany had shared a similar goal with me going into the race, and as such, I was very sad to see that neither of our days had panned out. However, we were both still moving and razor focused on the finish line. As an added bonus, friend Jeff Biddle was manning this refuge - though I could only seem to recall his name as "Teva Guy" at the time. He hooked me up with some hot soup and Coke as Peter stowed my Nathan pack and loaded up my bottles with water and yes… more GU. I hurriedly choked the calories down and took off out of the aid station, telling Peter to catch up when he was ready. Though AC had taken just about everything out of me, it had not yet taken my competitive fire. I knew that I could be easily caught when the course took a downhill turn for the final 10 miles, so I was going to put as much time on everyone as I could on this next section through Idlehour. And so I did.

It was awhile before Peter caught back up, and though under thick tree cover, I enjoyed the rising of the second sun alone. Hey, at least I wasn't going to have to run Idlehour in the dark.

Let me be straight: Idlehour Canyon is a total mindfuck, even in the daytime. You climb and climb and climb, yet you never seem to be getting anywhere. A thousand feet up you start crossing the same stream that you crossed in the bottom, only from a different direction. Where am I? Who am I? And where in the hell am I going? Yes, welcome to Idlehour. You're going to stay awhile, whether you like it or not.

At any rate, I ran the entire section down to the depths of the canyon and the first stream crossing, in pain, but resolved to get to the finish as fast as I could. I knew going into the race that the climb out of Chantry would be extremely hard, but the subsequent climb, which I had now reached, would likely be harder. Steep, rocky and back into the purple poodle, it was just one more example of how this course would simply not relent. Head down, I power hiked and even ran a little, up to the first false summit - spirit strong and hopes high. After awhile, it was time to eat GU again, and now over 50 packets deep, I was beginning to resent the stuff quite strongly. Choking it down was hard, and as a result, I could feel my energy and patience waning with the lack of calories. There are so many battles to be fought past mile 80 - you literally must overcome each and every body part wanting to quit on you. I'd fought the battle with my knee. I'd fought the battle with my head. And now I was fighting the battle with my stomach. On one hand, eating sucked and hurt. On the other hand, eating ruled and was entirely necessary to finishing this race. Down the hatch.

I also knew that eating would keep me from becoming irritable and unpleasant, and if nothing else, I owed it to my pacer not to become a raging bitch. He was already getting more than he bargained for with regards to the amount of time we would be out on the course - how dare I make it any more shitty with a bad attitude. I will admit, I waned a few times in this endeavor - but for the most part, I caught myself and did my best to remain appreciative and as un-annoying as possible. Besides, it was this second part of the climb that was getting seriously annoying, and we both emphatically expressed our feelings with grunts, yells and inquisitions of when this section might decide to grace us with its untimely demise. It was here that I learned that Peter was under the impression that once we reached the top, we only had 5 miles to go. I knew this based on the following exchange, which was repeated a good 3-4 times:

We've just got to get up to Millerd, and then it's only 5 miles to home! That's nothing!

No Peter, we are approaching Sam Merrill - and then it's 6 and a half miles of hell down to "Millerd" and then 5 more miles to home. Also, it is pronounced Millard.

Are you sure?

Yeah man, I'm sure. …….fuck.

Top of Sam Merrill. Poodles and yuccas a plenty.

Even in the wee hours of the morning, it was beginning to heat back up as we neared the saddle. As I wondered how Peter was faring in those tights, he expressed an immediate need for Vaseline. I had my answer. I expressed my own need for some liquid calories and ice, but as we finally hit Sam Merrill (mile 89.25) we discovered my only options to be warm water and buggy watermelon. Whatever, it wasn't GU, and that was good enough for me. As I sat and choked it down, I cursed myself for not packing a drop bag for this aid station. I really wanted to drop my headlamp and unused longsleeve, but didn't want to risk losing any of it in a random pile. And then I got smart.

Can I put some stuff in #6's drop bag? He's my boyfriend, and he won the race!

Well, at least I thought he did. I realized that I never had absolute confirmation of this fact and as such, the radio operators checked it out for me. It was official. DOM WAS THE 2011 AC100 CHAMPION, and I was so filled with pride that I had no more room for the apprehensive thoughts towards the last 10 miles. So we dropped our extra stuff, Peter raided the champ's bag for gels and we got on our way. I was about to hit the single digit miles to the glorious finish line, and there was absolutely no way I wasn't going to see it through. Even if that thought, which was admittedly in my head, had crossed my lips; Peter would never have let me give up. He believed in me utterly and as such, committed to finishing this thing with me, no matter how long it took.

This next section down to Millard (not Millerd) was hands down the hardest part of the race. Steep, rocky, overgrown, windy and never ending - it was a perfect storm of everything that my knee could not tolerate. I handled the first section down to Echo Mountain alright, actually trying to enjoy the beautiful morning, but after that it was a shit show. I had lost the will to eat and had to be seriously persuaded to get anything down. As such, my mind really started to go. I fault that for the overwhelming sadness that began to take over my being. The extreme elation I felt for Dom's outcome had an extreme counterbalance as well. That would be the disappointment of my own race. How great would it have been if the intense amount of work we'd put in all year had paid off for both of us? That should have been the story. And that could have been the story if it wasn't for this stupid knee thing. Or was it really my knee? Was it really that bad? Did I just give up at some point? Did I not try hard enough? And worst of all: would Dom be disappointed in me? I had to confer with Peter.

Peter conferred that I was out of my ever living mind.

I WAS putting that training to good use. Otherwise I'd never be able to keep going. Sometimes certain days don't work out, and while that sucks, there will always be another one. My knee was certainly a problem, and one look at the swollen mass could confirm that fact. But I was still moving. And given these facts, it was absolutely certain that Dominic would be very, very proud of me. Actually, Peter was 100% confident that my favorite boy would be waiting at the finish line to give me the biggest hug ever. Wow, that sounded good. I freaking love hugs.

As such, a great and many of our remaining conversations went kind of like this:

Katie, it's been another half hour. Do you want to eat another GU now?

No. All I want is Dom. I miss him.

I was so insanely proud of that boy, and I couldn't wait to tell him so. His were the arms that I've collapsed into after some of the hardest things I've ever done - both in running and in life - and I knew that Peter was right. Just as always, he would be there waiting for me. But to get to that comfort, I had to endure.

Admittedly, I walked a great amount of this descent to the campground. A fact which I am not proud of, but could do little about at the time. I was passed by a good 4 or 5 guys on this section, one of whom was quite certain that all I needed was a Tums. You know, for my knee.... because that makes sense. I guess after running for over 29 hours, anything seems reasonable. So with miracle antacid now in hand, Peter and I continued to push down to the final aid station, one hard earned step after another. When I finally heard campers, I knew that we had made it and holy moly, was I ready to sit down. Funny, this very last stop (mile 95.83) was actually one of my longest in-aid splits - second only to the regroup at Chantry (which is pretty typical and necessary). Those last six and a half miles had officially rocked my world, or whatever bizarro world I was now living in, and I needed to get my senses back. Lucky for me, some of the most awesome guys ever were manning this aid station and really worked wonders on my somewhat broken soul. They fed me cold watermelon and iced Mountain Dew and told me I was going to make it. I was going to finish the Angeles Crest 100 mile run and that was a truly badass accomplishment. When I tried to protest that my race had actually fallen apart and broken me, they told me I was nuts. I wasn't broken; I was smiling and running. The broken ones didn't make it out of Chantry; the really broken ones didn't even make it out of the high country. The drop rate was, and I quote, "high as hell" this year and I wasn't part of that statistic. In their opinion, if you've made it out of Chantry, you've really done something special - whether you're leading the race or DFL. I noticed many of them were wearing the ram buckle themselves, so I believed them. What I didn't believe, however, was that I had plenty of time to get to Loma Alta park and was at no risk for missing the cutoff. I really, truly believed that it could take me over four hours to go the last 4.67 miles.

Regardless of what I maintained in my head, I was going to try. So after a bathroom break, loading my Buff with ice and the knowledge that I would only have to consume one to two more gels on this day, we left "Millerd" to the cheers of yet another group of people who believed in me. I was ready to complete this journey, but I was wrecked, and as we hit the open patch of fireroad - the last real climb, that I had once envisioned running - my weakness was exposed. My second favorite boy took my hand and held it tight as we hiked up the road. We didn't say much, as I was greatly lost for words by this point, but my friend was by my side and he was not going to let me falter. I wanted to cry, but I felt more compelled to smile. The steps had turned to miles. The miles had turned to a destination. And a dream was about to become a reality.

I tried to run as much as I could through the Arroyo, but sharp, rocky drops would often bring me to a hyperventilating halt. Make no mistake, though the one thing I wanted more than anything in the world was to see Dom - there was also not one other person I wanted in my company at those moments than Peter Williams. He was the absolute perfect blend of business and compassion - exactly what an injured runner needed to see out her goal. Plus, the dude is funny as hell and that only becomes intensified by lack of sleep. We continued on, clicking off mile after slow mile, until we had reached the end of the trail, where the road came in. I was soaked through with the cold sweat of pain, despite the now intense heat, but I really was almost there.

Last hill. The finish is nigh.

Best sight ever. See it live here.
(Photos: Louis Kwan)

Vincent Chase has nothing on me.
(photo: Tyler Olson)

Before long, June, Erin, Natalie and Louis appeared in front of me and I nearly broke down in tears when I saw them. It was at this point that I began smiling the biggest smile ever and did not stop until long after I had crossed the finish line. We hiked and jogged to the final hill that would take me up to the city; fueled by the excitement of my friends and the love from my amazing crew. Now I know how June felt at Robie point. As the final crest de angeles appeared in my view, so did the most glorious sight I have ever seen. My dad, my brother, my Kate, my Bev, Kevin and Pedro…. and Crispin doing an irish jig and making some sort of weird robot-chicken-esque noise. I was in Altadena, bitches. And it was time to go home.

Now with a full on entourage, (and even paparazzi in the form of Tyler Olson), I took to the streets and held my head high. Though it wasn't how I planned or wanted, and there were many demons battled speaking contrary thoughts - I was about to achieve the most important goal in any race, or any endeavor for that matter. FINISHING WHAT YOU STARTED.

Hey folks, just ran here from Wrightwood.
(photo: Tyler Olson)

I had started this journey months ago, and I was one final turn away from the end. Still retaining my pride, I picked it up to a run and soon the park came into my view. My crew and friends cut up to the finish area and my final pacer came out to greet me. Miss Chyler had been there practicing for this role for many hours and now she was going to lead me down the homestretch and across the finish line. (Apparently she had been telling everyone that I was going to pick her up and piggy back her on the way in - but luckily, she didn't seem to mind running it herself). My friends, old and new, lined the last stretch, cheering like crazy. My family stood proud, pulling me in. Other runners who had crossed before me, or for whatever reason had been unable to cross at all, rose to their feet. My crew embraced, their work finally complete. And for the first time, I looked up to the finish line, and there he was. The AC100 champion and (gag.) champion of my heart. I lost it.

My last pacer: Chyler DeSplinter
(photo: Kelly DeSplinter)

Best moment ever.
(photo: Monica Morant)

The true finish line was not the banner; it was one step further. And I ran towards it not with my arms held high above my head in victory, but outstretched in total, absolute love. I'd run 100 miles, climbed over 21,000 feet, descended 27,000, battled heat, nausea, fatigue, mental warfare and some of the most intense pain imaginable - all for a hug.

And let me assure you, it was the best hug ever.

4 legs. 200 miles. We did it.
(photo: Monica Morant)

A little overwhelmed.
(photo: Monica Morant)

Attacking June full force.
(photo: Monica Morant)

rother and the "special sister."
(photo: Monica Morant)

Larry Gassan makes it official.
(photo: Larry Gassan)

Getting my buckle from RD Hal Winton. Haven't slept in over 36 hours and looking sexy.
(photo: Tyler Olson)

Hard earned hardwear.

(photo: Peter Williams)

I asked my crew to bring the sexy. They delivered.
I FREAKING LOVE YOU GUYS!
(photo: Tyler Olson)

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO CAME OUT AND SUPPORTED THIS RACE. IT WAS AN AMAZING EXPERIENCE THAT I WILL NEVER FORGET, AND I AM SO GRATEFUL THAT YOU WERE A PART OF IT. MY CREW, MY FAMILY AND MY FRIENDS ARE SOME PRETTY INCREDIBLE PEOPLE AND I AM DEFINITELY A LUCKY, LUCKY GIRL TO HAVE YOU ALL IN MY LIFE. THANK YOU FOR BEING AWESOME.

Two Cool Things

2011-09-21T13:57:00.000-07:00

I know I've not yet completed my AC race report… which was 2 months ago. Yikes. But, considering that that story has turned into an epic work of non-fiction, I've decided to take a quick break to post some more relevant, timely and exciting news.

1. I'm now running for New Balance!

This is super exciting to me for a variety of reasons. The main being that over the past few years, their minimal line has helped to completely transform my running. The R&D they are putting into their trail (namely minimal trail) shoes is like no other company out there and I am excited and honored to start being a part of it.

If you've followed this blog for some time, you may note that I did run for another shoe company for a number of years. During this time, I would still experiment with other shoes on the market for comparison purposes in everyone's search to find/create the perfect shoe. When New Balance created the WT100, the gravitational pull could not be ignored. In short, my feet fell in love.

Elissa and I flying down from the high country in our
WT101's.
(photo: Dominic Grossman)

While I definitely consider myself a more minimal runner, it has become important to me to build an arsenal of shoes to train and race in. Just as I need to vary my workouts to see the max benefit - so do I with what is on my feet. Most days call for the WT101, others work in the Minimus. Road runs and trail runs involving a lot of steep downhill firewood are done in the RC1400. Soft sand runs and grass striders are done barefoot. A flat, slow recovery day even works in the 890s, which is about as much of a heel as I'll ever go. I can feel what my feet and body are calling for, and fortunately, New Balance has got an answer for me at every stage of my building up and breaking down.

The two recent additions to the New Balance Outdoor
Ambassador team @ Mt. Baldy Race to the Top
(cancelled mid-race due to weather)
photo: Andy Noise

On a more emotional level, representing New Balance is special to me as an old pair of 760-somethings in a narrow width were my first "real" running shoes back when I started running cross-country in high school. The very first pair were a set of mismatched size Reeboks from an outlet store in the Ozarks… which is why I say "real" pair with the NBs. I've had about 16 pairs of the things over the last 13 years, and they've seen me through all sorts of running excitement and accomplishments. I always try to emulate that first year of running - where I knew no boundaries and truly believed I could do anything. Sometimes that's hard with all the ups and downs I've experienced, but slipping into a pair of kicks with a nice crisp N on the side is a good reminder of where I started and that unquenchable thirst for greatness.

So basically, I can sum this all up by saying I don't believe in simply slapping a logo across your chest and getting free product if the product itself does not work for you. In short, New Balance works for me. It works really well. And I'm stoked that they believe in me and my commitment to the sport enough to help support my efforts in making excellent happen. And I'm getting on that as we speak….

This brings me to exciting thing #2:

I won a race!

I haven't won a race since high-school cross-country, so this is pretty cool. It wasn't just my first ultra win; it was my first win in a very, very long time. And the best part is, it was a last minute entry into a situation that was designed simply to kick-start my confidence into taking on higher mileage training again. More on that:

Since finishing Angeles Crest with a nice, large swollen mass on my left knee; I've been purposefully timid in my reintroduction to ultrarunning. I've sworn to myself that I would not race again until I was back to 100%, but also that I would continue to do as much as I could since I believe in active recovery for just about everything. That has resulted in me spending every meeting at work digging my thumb into the large ball of scar tissue in my knee to work on dissipating it, and lots of running, stretching and strengthening. I'm proud to report that it IS getting better. But I have been dissuaded over the past few months by anything really long and with long downhills. The pain comes back and I freak out that my body is not yet ready to handle the effort to train for and race the 100 mile distance. And after a largely botched attempt, that is really what I want to do right now.

I was looking forward to crewing and pacing my amazing friend, Erin Maruoka, in running her first 100 miler at Rio del Lago. She'd accompanied me during some very dark (both physically and metaphorically) miles during AC and I couldn't wait to return the favor. Unfortunately, the Marocket came down with a nasty injury and on Tuesday made the responsible call to wait to run 100 miles when her body was ready. The following few days went like this: On Wednesday, I contacted our friend Lukas, the Pride of Slovakia, who was also running his first 100 to see if he'd like an extra crew member - since I was already going to be riding up with him on Friday and had the day off. He thought it was a good idea to add, as he said, "a woman's touch" to the mix of very fast and very competitive boys, so that was done. Then on Thursday, I got a wild idea: maybe I should run the race? No, no… running 100 miles would be an entirely foolish idea. But wait. There's a 50k….

After less than an hour of contemplation, I was registered. A low-pressure 50k seemed to be just what I needed to get my confidence back and test where my body was. Plus, while the course was hilly, it was all rollers - so there would be no long, hard-packed fire roads to destroy my knee. After the Baldy Race to the Top was called off 2 mi from the summit (due to lightning and possible hypothermia) a few days prior, I was hungry for a race.

Dom, Lukas and I drove up Friday morning - after only a few hours of sleep, thanks to seeing these guys down in Orange County. We immediately noticed how incredibly hot and muggy it was outside, and I was immediately thankful I wasn't the one running 100 miles the next day. I was still running 31 miles…. but I kept forgetting that. I was too wrapped up in the excitement of preparing Lukas for his first 100 mile adventure. And laughing at the antics occurring in an Olive Garden, thanks to a four beer deep Tyler Olson and an encouraging Dominic Grossman.

Team Lukas: Tyler, Ankur, me, Mighty Mouse and Dom
Personally, I like the variant display of shoes - Newtons,
Toms, WT101s, Hokas and MT101s.
photo: Tyler Olson

The next morning we rose early to make the 5am 100 mile start. We saw them off and 2 miles in, and then the boys took off for a long and fun day of chasing Lukas around the lake. I hung out for an hour, followed by an anticlimactic "go," signaling that I must start running. A few guys took off immediately, as guys often do, and I settled into a solid and effortless 7:30 pace along the bike path. It was still dark, but I was already sweating. This was going to be fun.

After about a mile, a ponytail went blowing past me to take the lead. Mind you, I was still clipping along at that sub-8 pace for a 50k. I knew there was absolutely no reason to give chase, so I let her go and enjoyed the easy, gradual downhill on the bike path to the turnaround. Even still, I was already looking forward to being done with the concrete, so I was delighted when that turnaround point came. As I doubled back, I couldn't help but size up my competition - even though I had vowed that this was only a race with myself and to test my current fitness level. I couldn't help it. And actually, it was a good sign that I still had a little fire in me.

When we hit the first hill on the way back, the girl from mile 1 slowed to a walk and I cruised past never to see her again. I later found out she was only 15 years old! Running an ultra! AND it wasn't her first. Crazy, seeing as though I didn't even know this shit existed when I was 15. Mad, MAD props to Ms. Sarah Neal for being awesome.

I crossed the levee to the other side of the lake feeling pretty good and took stock of the beach that I would be visiting in a few hours for a heavenly post race swim. The air was sticky and I was already looking forward to that. As I rolled along the trail next to the lake, I was treated to an absolutely stunning sunrise over the hills…. a flash of fiery red cutting through the morning clouds and reflecting off the water. I was immediately glad I decided to do this. Epic sunrises signal amazing adventures ahead, and that was exactly what I needed.

I quickly jammed through the first aid station, Twin Rocks, and begun my first go with the 'meat grinder' - a delicious 6 mile section which Lukas and Jimmy would get to traverse 4 times. Now, my first experience with this section was, "Really? This is not bad at all. Some rolling up and down. A few technical sections. Kinda rocky. A few big uneven steps. Eh." Actually, I was kind of savoring in the whole "not as bad as I thought mantra" for the whole thing. I thought I might hurt the whole time. I thought I'd be running slower. I thought the heat would be worse. But none of these things were the case, and I was running pretty strong. Even pushing it a bit.

As I got to the next aid station, Horseshoe Bar, the heat was definitely starting to rise and I looked forward to getting some ice in my bottles. I also got a little unplanned 2 1/2 minute break here, as I think the two volunteers here were used to the more relaxed visits from the 100 milers and 100k-ers. Oh well, they were super nice and it was nice to have a little conversation, as I'd been running alone all day. Once filled, I took off for Rattlesnake - which would be mile 17.5 and my turnaround point. I couldn't believe I was already almost halfway done and I was still running at a really great pace both up and down the hills. Freaking sweet. With the heat, the hills and my current state of rehabilitation, I reasoned that a sub 5 hour finish would be an A goal for the day - but as long as I was done by noon, I'd be happy. The way things were looking, I was going to far surpass that goal and if I really wanted to explore where my red line was, I may even be able to crack a PR at the distance.

I had begun passing some 100kers by this point and again, it was nice to see some other folks, bust out some high fives and altogether keep the energy rolling. The heat was now in full swing and as I hit the exposed, dusty sections of the trail, I could feel it bearing down. I only hoped that my stomach would not go south if I continued to push. I had broken a few cardinal rules in the racing/nutrition department: 1. never try anything new; and 2. especially don't try any new food. So I already had that going for me. BUT, I have to say, my little experiment was pretty much the best idea ever, because this is what I came up with:

Hydropak Softflask

Genius setup for speed

I call it the Moo Cow System. Double the spouts for double the fun! The system consists of a Hydropak gel softflask and my trusty Amphipod handhelds. Normally, I can only fit 4 gels max in each zippered pouch and getting them in and out when stuffed to the gills is a challenge. Especially when there are rocks to stumble on and trees to run into when you're not paying attention. BUT, with the soft flask, I reasoned that I could load in 5 gels and rig it up so that I'd never have to fumble with wrappers. This brought me to experiment number 2: I normally use GU, simply because it never fails me. Partially because the consistency is thinner than GU and would more easily flow through the valve, and partially because I had not consumed a GU since AC, where I ate roughly 57 of them, I decided to try Powergel instead. Dom uses it and it hasn't killed him yet, so I reasoned that this would be an OK thing to do. Let me just tell you, the results were astounding. I took two pulls from the flask every 20 minutes, never fumbling with a wrapper and never breaking stride. My only regret was only having purchased one softflask, so that eventually I had to duck into my traditional supply of GU packets. Needless to say, I will be rigging up both my bottles like this for all future races. Now if I could only find a solution for more easily popping my Saltstick. I do have an idea on that, but it has yet to be engineered. Stay tuned.

Same Rattlesnake Bar - post-race crewing Lukas, now
in the lead of the 100mi, never to be caught
(photo: Dominic Grossman)

OK, miracle invention aside, back to the race. The heat was up, my stomach was fine, my legs felt great and I was approaching the turnaround at Rattlesnake. This was exciting, given that soon I'd see where the four guys up ahead of me were and see if I could work on picking any of them off. Because that would be fun. I soon discovered that the lead guy was way out front and uncatchable, the next two were maybe a possibility if I really started burning it and fourth was only a few minutes ahead. I thought with any luck I might be able to catch at least one of them, but I wasn't going to burn myself out trying. There wasn't really much point to that, considering that I wanted this race to begin a really solid block of training to build me back up to 100 mile weeks. At the turnaround I decided to skip the refill, given that I was carrying two bottles and really only needed one and set into chase. There were another couple guys in the 5-10 min range behind me, but the next women were spaced out 20-30 minutes back. I realized here that unless I totally blew up, I was probably going to win this race. Cool. Now let's see how fast I can do it.

By the time I got to Horseshoe again, I was starting to cook a bit and realized my legs were starting to feel the hills a bit. My pace had slowed a little and I realized the PR situation was now officially out of range, but sub-5 was still alive and I wanted to make it hurt just enough to deem the day a descent effort, but not enough to require recovery days. Recalling the previous impromptu rest here, which seemed nice at this point but would not really be helpful in the above goal, I decided to forego the ice and simply fill one of my bottles myself with tepid water. In and out and onward.

I reasoned that the next 6 mile section should take me an hour tops and that I'd be fine sans ice. The volunteers had told me I was on the 'down' side of the course, whatever that meant, because I was pretty sure it was all just up and down - but that gave me a little confidence that maybe I could do it even quicker. Enter the fear of the meat grinder. I now understand. This section actually took me closer to 70 minutes, meaning that my pace had slowed to above 10 minute miles, even though I was sure I was averaging 9. The sun was scorching and the little patches shining through the trees and off the rocks created a dizzying effect, resulting in more than a few missteps. I was eating, I was drinking and I was running - but I was really starting to hurt. In short, my meat was ground.

By the time I reached the final aid station at Twin Rocks, I was ready to get this race over with. Mind you, I was still running well and experiencing no real lulls of energy or cramping - but I was definitely getting tired. I figured the runners up ahead were long gone and it was actually possible that someone might catch me, though I hadn't seen anyone on my tail. I decided to stop here and load one bottle up with ice after what I'd just been through, and to my surprise, the girl at the aid station had a message for me. "Hey, the guy ahead says your about to catch him and you should go ahead and get on with it." This actually seemed like fun as I would have loved even a mile of company, so I decided to go on and push it in for the last five miles.

I knew soon that the trail would widen and the footing would be a great deal easier, meaning that I could really run hard to the finish. The sub-5 time was going to be close, but if I worked hard, I could do it. Sure enough, I soon hit the rolling section along the lake and really sunk my teeth into the steep ups and downs. I was crunching the numbers in my head and I still had a shot. I hit one particularly steep hill and focused on powering through, feeling a deep burn in my legs. I reached the top and saw a yellow building that I didn't remember from the way out and there were no markers telling me which way to go next. I actually didn't think this was all that weird, as there were a few places where intersections weren't quite clear and I just had to figure it out. I knew there shouldn't be any more single track at this point, so I turned right past the structure and began heading down. After a few minutes, I knew I should not be heading down for that long and realized that I was officially lost. So I climbed back up and experimented with the other way. Definitely also wrong. The only place to go was backwards until I found something that seemed likely or another person. As such I ran back down the hill, shouting all the way - trying to hear if there was anyone else that could point me back onto the course. A woman came out of her yard and told me she had seen ribbons back down by the road and maybe to check there. Eventually I spilled out to a place where the trail had forked left, and upon studying the footprints in the dirt, concluded that this was the way to go. Seeing that I'd already lost around 20 minutes on the ordeal, and that it was certain I'd been passed by at least one or two people - I decided to run back to the road where there were ribbons a plenty and grab one to mark the turn. I'd heard that Rio del Lago is famous for having markers taken down by possessive homeowners along the lake that don't want us out there on "their trails," so I wasn't surprised by the lack of marking in a crucial place and don't fault the race management one bit. I hoped that by putting a new ribbon up, others could avoid the same mistake and frustration… at least until some other self-entitled prick decided to rip that one down too. Ugh. Don't even get me started on that.

At any rate, I was a little annoyed after the detour - especially since I now only had about 10 minutes to go over 3 miles. Obviously that wasn't happening. However, I decided to turn that aggression into speed and made myself run hard all the way home. That was the true goal - to push myself beyond my comfort zone and get back into racing mode… so that's what I would do. I couldn't help the unfortunate detour - if anything, I got at least an extra mile or so in there and these trails around the lake were quite enjoyable. More bang for my buck. I will admit that my knee was starting to flare up a bit in these last 5 miles, but nothing stabbing and nothing I wasn't able to push through. Still, it makes me a little concerned as to whether or not I am going to be able to handle another 100 in November.

As I finally opened up onto the levee, I could see another figure off in the distance - presumably one of the guys who had passed me. I doubted another woman had caught up, but who knew at this point. I ran hard, enjoying the last mile of the run and looking very forward to both a swim in the lake and meeting up with Team Lukas to see how the Pride of Slovakia was doing. As I crossed the finish line, I heard the shout of "first woman!" and realized I had actually won. I looked back across the levee and couldn't see any other figures approaching, so despite my detour, I guess it hadn't even been close. I thanked the race organizer for a great day and then ran down the beach for a heavenly swim/salt removal. But not before running into Ben, the guy I was trying to catch, who had apparently been the figure on the levee finishing right in front of me. "How didn't you catch me? I was dying out there, and I got lost for a bit!" Ha, unsurprisingly we'd both had the same trouble - only he realized the mistake immediately, whereas I tried desperately to prove that I hadn't gone the wrong way. At any rate, we were both shocked that no one had passed us.

Trick or Treat, bitches. I'm the champ!
(photo: Tyler Olson)

For my next trick, I proceeded to swim around the lake for an hour or so, which felt absolutely heavenly. When I finally got a hold of Dom, he told me the fantastic news that Lukas was closing in on the leader and running ridiculously strong. Soon after, he and Ankur picked me up on the side of Auburn-Folsom road and we were off to crew a victory.

Yep, that's right, Lukas won his first 100 miler, in his first attempt at the distance! Mind you, he's no stranger to endurance events - with multiple Ironman and Kona finishes; as well as 50 miles and 100k. But still, there's nothing quite like running 100 miles and he took that challenge like a champ. Quite literally. It was very inspiring to see how dialed in he remained all day and how he took care of himself in the heat. He obviously knew what to do to get the most out of his body in the steamy conditions and I learned a lot. Oh, also we had a ton of fun since unlike many mountain 100s, we got to see our runner every 3-6 miles! Plus, Jimmy was right behind Lukas - so each aid station was like a little party with all of our friends. Such a great weekend.

In the end, Lukas finished first in 18:41, followed by Jimmy in a personal RDL PR of 19:29. Then we all went to In 'n Out and I attempted to fall asleep back at the hotel in the same shorts I'd slipped on almost 24 hours prior. Race number still attached.

Dom promptly kicked me out and into the shower.

Late night fun.

AC100 Chapter 2: Heart of a Champion. Knee of a Flamingo.

2011-09-15T20:55:00.000-07:00

Our house.... is a very, very, very fine house.

Go Back to Chapter 1

Cloudburst also held a lot of memories for me, as this was another one of Dom and I’s go-to camping spots. In fact, we’d just had a wonderful evening there two days prior, and I smiled at the love and gratitude I felt in my heart. I came around the first turn, where we’d legitimately showered on the trail (thanks to this) and I realized that there was no possible way I could love my life and our lifestyle any more right now. The race was simply a celebration of all the fun disguised as training we’d had this year, and I was utterly happy.

Dom demonstrates proper safety while off-roading.
(photo: Jorge Pacheco)

Unfortunately, my legs were not utterly happy as well, and this “easy” section felt less easy than all the tough climbs I’d already completed. I reasoned that this must be normal, given the nature of the course, and that I just needed to stay strong and carry on. I turned on some tunes and got into a good rhythm of running and singing, which brought back my smile. But even still, I was on the brink of something terribly wrong.

I’m not sure exactly when it started, and I know there wasn’t one thing that did it – but eventually I came to the realization that my knee was hurting. And this largely downhill section was not helping one bit. Again, I was forced to slow my pace to slower than I liked or knew I was capable of. This was absolutely maddening. Here I was, on a section I’d looked forward to all day, and I couldn’t do shit. Still, I hoped that things would turn around and that I just needed a change of terrain – but with each step, the pain was growing and my hope was diminishing.

Last run of an 85 mile weekend out of Glenwood - not
wanting to be left out. (photo: Mari Lemus)

I ran through Glenwood and was filled with conflicting emotion. On one hand, I’d made it through the heat of the day and the elevation of the high country. I was hurting, but I was still moving. And memories swirled of the weekend spent running from Glenwood, when I proved to myself how strong I was. Yet, on the other hand, I was not moving at a pace that was going to catch me up from the time I’d lost in Cooper, and I felt my sub-24 finish slipping away. I had to remind myself that finishing was the true goal and as such, I pressed on, despite the increasing disagreement of my knee.

Eventually, my friend George caught up and ran with me for a bit. He said he’d had some trouble through the day, but that he felt great – and he looked it too. We were still making great time by his calculations and his hope was inspiring, but I think that deep down I knew that this was only the beginning of larger troubles to come. Normally, I’m super optimistic about low points because I know that it will always get better (as George was now demonstrating), but this was different. This was a problem that I started with and I knew that the reality was that it would only get worse. Even still, I deeply believed I was 100% capable of dealing with the pain I felt now and that I could still turn in a decent time if I just kept doing everything I could. So I twisted and turned and winded down towards Three Points, legitimately looking forward to climbing Hilyer.

I finally popped up to the aid station (mile 42.72 - still not even halfway) just as George was leaving and plopped down on the bench next to an ailing Sean O’Brien. He seemed to be in a similar world of hurt. My dad had cut up some cantaloupe for me (my favorite!) which was a nice surprise and tasted magnificent with a little ice cold Coke. I took a few moments to regroup, hit the bathroom and level with my crew. At this point, all I told them was that my knee was starting to bother me a bit, but that I was still okay and would continue to do my best. And so I carried on…

The situation post-Station Fire, on an equally ominous
day earlier this year

I wound my way down the next section of trail, resolved to keep my form strong and my body moving forward at the best pace I could. But there were signs, my friends. There were ominous signs. Purple poodle dog bush began choking the trail as I entered the fire ravaged areas of the Angeles Forest. The trail was open and exposed and flanked with blackened trees, in stark contrast to the lush pine of the high country. And to really drive the point home, I might add that I almost stepped on the severed leg of what I best guess was a coyote. Basically, it was just way too early for things to be getting this weird. The road signifying the next segment of my journey just never seemed to come, and I was alone in my endeavor.

Eventually, I did reach the road and eventually I did reach the top of Mt. Hilyer, which also signified the halfway-ish point of the race (mile 49). I ran a great majority of the climb, which I was proud of in my given state and which proved that I had not given up. I did a time check and reasoned that my 24 hour finish was officially a wash, but 26-28 hours was still within reason and reach. That was actually 100% okay with me, and I reached the aid station in pretty good spirits, all things considering. I was happy for some ice cold water to soak my Buff and some more ice for my bandana and I downed a few cups of Gatorade, having been disheartened by an exceptionally dark pee situation. Hal (the RD) told me I was doing really well, and even better, that Dom was enroute to a miraculous comeback up front. They were around Shortcut and Dom was gaining on Jorge. This definitely pumped me up and I left Horse Flats, where the Hilyer aid station was set up on another one of our rogue campsites, determined to make a comeback myself and beat this knee thing. Mind over matter.

Ah yes, but the matter was just not improving. Somewhere along the steep rocky descent into Chilao, the nagging turned to stabbing. And the stabbing eventually brought me to a halt on more than one occasion. No. No. NO. This was not happening. I remembered how just a few months prior I had run so hard down this section that when I clipped a rock and went tumbling, Mari was sure I had broken something. And now I’m pretty sure that I wouldn't even scratch myself if I fell - I'd just sort of crumple into a melodramatic heap, reminiscent of the Wicked Witch of the West. I went on this way for awhile, and then suddenly there it was.

The choice.

"The choice" was a two stage process, and the result would be whether or not I continued this race. Out there, alone and in an increasing amount of pain, things got very real, and I knew that to finish the remaining 50 miles would require me to ask way more of my body that it was in any shape to give. So the first thing I had to decide was if I was really, truly willing and prepared to suffer. To welcome in more pain than I have ever known or even considered, just for the sake of finishing what I started. This decision was actually relatively simple. Knowing that I was likely not doing any permanent damage and promising myself that I would take the time to fully heal once the race was over, the choice was clear: fucking bring it.

Now, the second part… the second part was a bit more sticky. As I thought about it - I mean really, seriously explored the decisions, the motivations, the implications and the possible outcomes - I realized that this was one of life's defining moments. My choice would speak volumes about the kind of person and runner I was - not just to others; most wouldn't judge either way - but to myself. Loud and clear, I was about to learn something really important about who I was. I just needed to decide if my ego could handle going from the front of the pack to the back. Because over the next 50 miles, that would most assuredly happen. It already was. And I was honest to God doing the very best I could with every step I took.

Dreaming of the race at Guffy
(photo: Dominic Grossman)

No one would blame me for dropping. Hell, a lot of people couldn't even believe I started not being able to bend my knee and all taped up at the check-in. (In retrospect, now that the blind ambition has cleared, I can't even believe I did it.) They'd see the growing, swelling mass that had replaced the joint in the middle of my left leg and tell me I was smart not to continue and that I was a hero for making it this far. Ultimately, they'd still be proud of me. But would I be proud of me? Like I said, I can't reiterate enough that I knew I was not doing any permanent damage. If that were the case, I would've dropped immediately. I'm not an idiot. And besides, the pain in my heart was much greater right now. I had trained for this race all year. I'd watched my body change as my legs grew stronger, my lungs more powerful and my mind more resolute. I'd morphed into a runner who truly believed in herself and who many believed could even win the whole thing. I was truly capable of doing great work today, and I was doing it too! That was, until this knee thing crept up. Now, I was just doing OK things and for a large part of me, that was honestly not enough.

The truth is, I've never really had a great race. One where I've really run to the full potential that I've demonstrated in my training. There's always a stupid mistake, or crazy weather situation or some other unplanned, unanticipated thing that keeps me from the time and place I know I'm capable of. And deep down, I really believed that it was all to better prepare me to have the race of my life thanks to all that I'd learned. Well, long ago, back in the fledgling months of the year, I had decided that the 2011 Angeles Crest 100 was going to be that race for me. It just had to be. And yet, somehow, it totally wasn't. I needed to decide if I was OK with that, and it was hurting my head.

I continued stumbling down the rocky, bouldery, dropp-off-y trail down through the burn area and towards my crew. God, it hurt. My mind swirled right along with the scenery as I contemplated whether or not just finishing would be enough for me. I now doubted even my worst-case scenario of 28 hours was possible and actually knew chasing cutoffs could likely become a reality. I wasn't going to live up to the runner everyone, including myself, thought I could be. I was now in a battle of survival.

I thought about my crew gathered at Chilao - selflessly following me around all weekend, taking care of my every need. For them, just finishing would be enough. I thought about all my other friends, either running, crewing or just out to cheer - part of the hundreds of people who had been screaming my name and encouraging me along my selfish journey - just 'cause they're awesome like that. They wouldn't care if I finished DFL - they'd still support me. I thought about my family, all of whom had traveled here to be there for this day in my life - not knowing or understanding anything in particular about the endeavor other than it was important me. You're damn right they'd still be proud of me, even if I walked the rest of the whole thing. I thought about my brother, who probably understood the concept of survival better than anyone there. Though he'd never agree, I kind of owed it to him to see the race through before he left to go fight a much more important battle. Anything less would be cowardly by comparison. I thought of Dom - the one person who could possibly know the mental warfare that was currently waging in my mind and how much this day meant to me. He was also the one person who would truly understand what I went through to finish and he would respect me for it.

Finally, I thought of myself. I thought about who I was, what I stood for and what was truly important to me. I thought about why I was there, what was driving me and how far I'd come. I thought about who I wanted to be.

There was a time in my life, not too long ago, where I physically could not run. There was a time when it didn't look too likely that I'd be able to even start this race, much less finish it. Now, though it wasn't how I imagined, I was on my way to physically finishing this race. All I had to do was leave Chilao.

Believe it or not, all the excessive soul searching occurred over only what was roughly 2.8 miles. It also consumed my entire being, and as such, I was greatly confused when I heard an unmistakable, "It's Katie!" from whom I later determined to be Carol Bowman. I turned the corner and was upon the buzzing aid station and ushered onto the scales.

"You need to have a seat and start drinking."

I was seven pounds down, which I could only attribute to the loss of all my pride and dignity somewhere on the decent off of Hilyer. I had paid great attention to my fluids and nutrition all day, so I had no clue how this could otherwise happen. Nevertheless, I agreed with the medics that I could be approaching a not so great situation. I guess these mountains were really taking it out of me. Literally.

Ye brother of gnar points South.
(photo: Jessica Fugulsby)

Chilao, mile 52.8, was hopping with crews and spectators and lots of SoCal Coyotes who'd come out to cheer us on. I wanted to soak up more of the amazing energy there, but alas, I had to focus on soaking up the calories and fluids instead. I explained the reality of the situation to my crew, but they already understood. Things were going to be different this evening, but there was no talk, nor would there ever be, of dropping. Instead we talked about the highly plausible case that a baby yucca was actually growing inside of my knee, given the ridiculous knot protruding from my left leg. We laughed and I left. That was it.

The best part about the rest of my painful journey was that I would no longer be going it alone. I had my first of three pacers along with me, and little did I know, I'd planned the timing of their arrival absolutely perfectly. There was no one better to remind me of the importance of earning the finish line, regardless of time, than June Caseria. A month prior I had forced my knee to cooperate so that I could pace June to her first 100 mile finish at Western States. June had struggled on and off with a foot injury, and it unsurprisingly had flared up by the time I picked her up at Bath Road, mile 60. Gingerly picking our way down Cal Street, we were only 10 minutes ahead of the cutoff and it became glaringly apparent that we weren't going to make it. I leveled with June on what was going down and what we had to do, and after fixing what we could with 'apparel adjustments' and duct tape, she put her head down and got to work. What was most impressive to me was that she did not complain or cry out or become negative; rather she pushed beyond her limits and did what she needed to do. By Green Gate, we were almost 40 minutes ahead of the cutoff. June continued to earn every single step of the rest of the course and crossed the finish line at Placer High in 29:50-something. It was inspiring. And for me, I would remain resolute and draw upon her strength, now in my own world of pain.

June Caseria, checking charts and
breaking hearts since 1984.

June did an amazing job of encouraging my progress and keeping me from walking too long on the flats/downhills when the pain flared up. I was very much enjoying the conversation as a nice distraction to what was going on internally. It was also nice to hear how everyone else was doing and how my friends and family's day had gone, since I'd never had enough time in the aid stations to check in on that stuff. Amazingly, I even passed a couple runners here who were much worse for the wear than I - physically and mentally out of it. I was most assuredly still in this, on all accounts.

The sun was beginning to set as I popped up at Shortcut Saddle, mile 59.3, and the colors hitting the huge expanse of Station Fire burn was very Tim Burton-esque. i.e. beautiful in a totally creepy, but hauntingly mesmerizing way. I should have been through here hours ago and was glad I'd packed an extra headlamp for my now worse than worst-case scenario. That said, the plan was to get in and out of here with a smile - just as it had been all along. I sat for a few minutes to switch out my bottles and get some calories down, and then did just that. No one on my crew or in my family questioned my ability to carry on or my sanity. They simply echoed my facial expression.

Shortcut Saddle, mile 59.3

Before leaving, I got some of the best news I had received all day. Dom had just arrived into Chantry. First. It sounds really cheesy, but this truly renewed my spirit and I left seriously pumped up. That's love, kids.

The 5 mile, hard-packed fire road descent which lied immediately ahead was going to be tough on a good day. It was going to be tougher on a hard day. It was going to be damn near impossible on a day where going downhill was the one thing that had been crippling me for over a month. Nevertheless, pacer extraordinnaire #2, in the form of Erin Maruoka, and I got to it and I vowed to myself that I would not walk this shit. Little breaks were fine, but I was going to run to the river if it killed me. Obviously, it wasn't going to actually cause death, so I requested that Erin ignore my little shrieks of pain and just tell me stories about anything and everything. I couldn't participate much, as my heart rate had now officially achieved out of control status in response to the pain, but her voice provided a welcome distraction. The sun had gone down, but I was soaked with a cold sweat and I really had to focus to try and control my erratic breathing. In short, I was a hot mess. To make matters awesome, the river just never seemed to come and at this point, I wanted the river more than I have ever wanted anything in my whole life. I wish I was kidding.

Finally, FINALLY we heard the roar of the West Fork of the San Gabriel River and dumped out at the crossing. The water was freezing and caused my legs to cramp a bit, but I didn't care because the godforsaken downhill was over. Furthermore, it reminded me that I was about to close another chapter of my journey - the creepy, burned section - and start working on the final pages. In a few miles, the terrain would shift again - this time to densely packed woods, filled with flowing streams and steep, rocky single track and though challenging, I was looking forward to the change. But for now, I just had to get up to Newcomb's.

I had done this climb in the heat, with loads of miles on my legs, and I'd run the whole thing. Though now in an entirely different and much more compromising situation, I vowed that I would run as much as possible. As an added encouragement, my friend Diana was catching up to me, and though I was in no position to win - I was also in no position to be passed. I still had a bit of fire left. On a related note, I also remembered my goal to reach Chantry before Dom finished, and if nothing else, that dream was still very much alive. And so Erin and I pushed up to Newcomb's Saddle, head down and mind resolved.

Perhaps I got a little behind on calories, or perhaps I was just losing my ever loving mind - but when I hit the aid station at mile 68, I felt depleted - physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted. I saw my family and friends on the big screen, happy to see me and sending nothing but love and support from a mere 7 1/2 miles away. But I knew what that 7 1/2 miles would entail, and I was beginning to panic. So I made a quick joke about them making the mistake of giving my mom a microphone and walked away from the camera. I could feel tears stinging the back of my eyes, and I didn't want them to see me like this. Apparently, I didn't move far enough away and they could see that I was shoving a stick of Body Glide in the general vicinity of my girl things. With this, they marveled at how I must still be so mentally "in it" that I had the fortitude to move away from the camera where I would have treated all of Chantry Flats to a quite graphic show. So in reality, I had done the exact opposite of what I feared. Point: Me.

I could tell I was a bit out of it here, and knew I probably wasn't taking in enough calories for what my body was going through. I couldn't really do solids, so I double fisted some broth and Coke which obviously tasted delicious together. Then Erin and I went along our merry little way. Minus the "merry" part.

It was here that things really, officially unraveled. As I navigated the fireroad down to the turnoff at Newcomb's pass, the pain began to mimic the very feeling I had when the stabbing originally occurred down in Vincent Gulch. I grasped to focus and harden my mind, but eventually one stride over the rocky terrain brought me to the ground. I fell to the side of the trail in the weeds, and honestly began struggling to breathe it hurt so bad. Erin came to my side and worked on calming me down, telling me we could stay there as long as we needed, but that I would get back up and finish this race. At this point, Diana and her pacer caught up and after stopping to see if I was okay, moved ahead. I began to wonder how many more millions of people would pass me before I got to Altadena... you know, since there were obviously millions of people in this race. The key thing to note here, though, is that I still was not doubting my ability to physically get myself to the finish line. And as such, I got up and we started walking.

First, I was horrified that I'd broken down so severely. I highly regard Erin as one of the toughest women I know - both physically and mentally - and as such, I was embarrassed for her to see me in that state. I had told myself I would not allow any tears during this race, but they had come and I couldn't stop them. That said, I realized I actually felt a little better just releasing it all - admitting that I was in a world of hurt, rather than trying to fake a more ideal situation; but that I would continue. And so, at this point, I decided to confide in Erin my dark thoughts and release those to be heard no more as well. What I told her was that I was fully accepting of the way things had played out, the fact that I was going to finish much slower than anticipated and that I was suffering so greatly. But a part of me was angry as hell. I'd trained my ass off for this day and was in wicked shape to do something amazing. I'd felt light as a feather during a flawless first half of the race. I was after that silver buckle, and I'd worked harder than I'd ever worked in my life. And yet some stupid freak accident had completely wrecked my big plans. Not an overtraining injury, not a careless mistake, not a result of prioritizing something else over my running. Nope. I had been cock blocked by a plant. And it wasn't fair.

Fitting that my parents were here, because my whole life they have loved to remind me that life isn't fair. And I totally agree, which is why I wasn't going to just give up, go home and pout on the account of not having the day I "deserved." I knew this next section was going to be hard. Actually, it was going to completely blow to be honest, but I was going to have to just take it one step at a time and be at peace with the fact that at least I was moving forward.

Erin was amazing at encouraging me down the steep, rocky descent into Big Santa Anita Canyon and I am so thankful for her patience. She assured me that what I was doing was meaningful and necessary... even inspiring, but even still, I couldn't completely shake the feelings of embarrassment at what I'd become. It was hard to be taking this section so slow when I'd practiced it so many times, flying down and around and off the walls.

Nevertheless, we pushed our way down to the stream as I pushed the negative voices out of my mind. Not repressed and hid. But really let them go. I remained resolute, focused and committed to still reaching my goal as fast as I possibly could. In short, it was still a race. I began thinking of next year, when I'd arrive at this point much earlier and call upon this very moment and how bad I felt, and know that I could handle the pain it would take to chase down the leader refuse to relent until I reached the city. I now fully believed Erin - this was important and I was definitely going to finish.

If I remember correctly, once in the canyon, I began running for longer stretches at a time with less shriek-filled ouch fests that required halts in the RFM. I do distinctly recall Erin being quite impressed with my ability to rock/log hop across all the water crossings with ease, especially after we saw a dude totally eat it and get dunked. Style points.

After a great, longer than ever while, we reached the bridge that signified the half mile climb on the road up to Chantry Flats. It would be the last time I could see my crew, and I knew that once I left, there was no turning back. The absolutely absurd thing about Angeles Crest is that when you are 3/4 done with the race, you are actually only 2/3 done with the climbing. While many races, most in fact, give you a bit of a break in the last quarter... with maybe some nice downhill or at least diminishing the climbs only to rollers, AC hits you with a long, 1,000 ft/mile trek up Mt. Wilson followed by another 2k or so climb out of the subsequent canyon. Then you get some downhill, but it's the rockiest, most overgrown, steepest, nastiest shit you've seen all day and you get to do it with 90+ miles on your legs. You see why I signed up for this.

That lying ahead, I put my head down and ran/power hiked up the steep hill, hearing the roar of the aid station above. After a few minutes, Erin ran ahead to alert my crew and get things ready, and I took the few moments alone to really absorb the experience. I switched off my headlamp under the clear, dark sky and took deep, fulfilling breaths of the clean, pine scented air. This was where I wanted to be. This was who I wanted to be. I turned the final corner and approached the large, stone steps, the lights glaring in my eyes. I had reached mile 75 of the hardest thing I've ever done and there was no stopping me now.

Continue reading the Final Chapter

AC100 Chapter 1: High Country High Life

2011-08-25T20:48:00.000-07:00

30:53:21.

Looking at that you may be confused for a variety of reasons. If you don't know me well but heard that I'm into running, you may be wondering if that was my time at the last local 5k. God I hope not, as that would mean that I took thirty hours, fifty-three minutes and twenty-one seconds to go 3.1 miles. Though a 10 hour/mile pace feels about spot on for my rocky decent from Sam Merrill (mile 90) to Millard (mile 95), I guess that wasn't the case as I did complete the full 100.53 miles of the Angeles Crest 100 Mile Endurance Run.

Now, if you do know me, you may ask "wow, what the hell happened? Gosh, you must be so disappointed... that's your worst race ever!" OK, well I'm going to go ahead and stop you right there and blow your mind a little bit. 'Cause guess what? In almost all respects, this was actually my best race ever.

That said, let's go ahead and get the bullshit out of the way up front, so I don't have to recount it over and over. Plus, if you're only into what physically happened and not what epically transpired, then you should know that the long and short of it was that my injured knee simply did not hold up. The yucca stabbing was apparently a very violent crime and to be highly specific, my lateral retinaculum is kind of fucked. So there you go.

However...

What transpired through the brilliant hours in the high country Saturday morning and the painful, broken stride in the wee hours of the following night was by no means a failure. It's funny, you always build that 'coming of age' race up as some glory filled battle that ends with a big trophy or a record deal or something like that. Mine ended with a fourth place finish, nowhere close to the leader, and a big hug. But it was definitely a turning point race for me, and here's the story of why...

Dom and I headed up to the high country after work on Thursday and it was immediately apparent that I was more nervous/stressed than normal. I freaked out about forgetting my camera that I wasn't going to use anyway, cried over cold pasta and spent a great deal of time trying to justify how bad my knee still hurt running the downhills. I guess it was a little rough going into the race in the best shape of my life, with all this potential - but knowing that there was a very likely possibility that my "injury" would not allow me to truly perform at my best. The realm of possibility spun from a sub-24 finish that could very well win the thing to being physically unable to complete it. This was absolutely maddening and really, I just wanted to get on with it.

There is no chance I am adopted.
(photo: Natalie Kintz)

Friday morning, we packed up camp and headed down to Wrightwood to check in and begin to absorb the energy surrounding the race. It was like everyone we know and love was coming to our weekend vacation spot, including one surprise visitor.... my dad! Now my whole family would be there: mom, dad, brother, sister-in-law and niece - which was pretty cool, and no doubt instrumental in my will to carry on when things got "difficult." Paired with my all star crew, who we met at the hotel in Hesperia, there was no way I wasn't finishing this race - so let's go ahead and adjust that realm of possibility to everything from a winning time to DFL. As I drifted off to a restless sleep that evening, I knew that I would be running 100 miles this weekend. The only question was how bad and how long was I going to suffer?

Not to be all dramatic - but the whole year has kinda lead to this day.
(photo: Natalie Kintz)

In high school, I once gave my whole cross-country team bright lime green ribbons for their hair before our big State Meet. Subsequently, we won. I decided to carry on the tradition at the new 'big race,' and gave my teammate some sick laces for our NB 101's.
(photo: Monica Morant)

As I stood on the starting line, counting down the minutes to the start, I wanted to hit fast forward to an hour into the race. An hour in is when I finally relax and get into a groove. Until then, I'm kind of like a manic, ADHD child with a lot of sugar and no parental guidance. Interestingly enough, five minutes later I already found myself breathing normally and enjoying the dark, cool hours of the quiet morning. Totally, completely relaxed. And totally in the moment.

It is, as they say, go time.
(photo: Monica Morant)

I began alternating running and walking up the 3,000 foot gain Acorn Trail as planned, ensuring my heart rate stayed low and I felt entirely comfortable, yet not too comfortable if that makes any sense at all. I spent most of the climb with eventual women's winner, Paulette Zilmer, from Scottsdale. I told her a bit about the course and we openly shared our respective challenges for the day - I with my knee, and her trying to end a streak of not finishing a 100 since 2008. I was really glad to hear that things definitely worked out for her that day. And then some.

A typical evening at Guffy
(photo: Jorge Pacheco)

I hit the top of Acorn in :57 which seemed about right and began rolling along through the campgrounds and limber pines of the high country. Memories began flooding in as I passed each place I trained, slept, talked and burned into my mind. Each place where I grew into the person that had stepped across the starting line an hour earlier with a confidence and peace I'd never known. I flew through Guffy, smiling as I imagined the joy of glissading down Mt. Baldy with Dom and Jorge - who were now likely battling for the lead. I glanced down into Vincent Gulch and first thought to curse it, but then remembered the amazing things I saw the day of the yucca and how Maggie, who I'd just met, stuck with me and helped keep me warm. She was cruising up ahead as well. I remembered all the sunsets at Blue Ridge followed by nights around the campfire, talking about life, the race and other hopes and dreams which were unrelated - yet could never be entirely separated. All these people. All these moments. And now we were finally out here doing it.

As I came down into Little Blue Ridge, a familiar shout from behind the trees broke me out of my little reverie. (Seriously. I was creating a truly stellar YouTube montage in my head.) Moments later, I crested a bump to see my half-asleep little but not so little brother running out of the woods, cheering me all the way. Apparently he’d overslept a bit and woke up to voices in the trees. So he runs out of the tent in a panic that he’s missed the race and won’t be able to find my crew, and here I come bobbing down the trail. Talk about impeccable timing. I was really glad to have my brother there to be part of the race, as he’s leaving soon for his second tour in Afghanistan with the USMC. I knew he would love the mountains as much as I do and I really wanted to share this part of my life with him before he had to leave. Needless to say, I was really happy to see him.

The remainder of the stretch down to Inspiration Point was mostly downhill, and I focused on remaining relaxed and not charging too much. My knee was admittedly quite tight, and I knew any excited mistakes here could be my downfall. As such, I continued on at a comfortable pace, intermittingly enjoying the company of a new friend/fellow SoCal Coyote, Tiffany Guerra and the Acorn Comedy Hour duo of George “White Lightning” Gleason and the Broman, Adam Bowman.

Rolling into Inspiration Point, legitimately
quite inspired.
(photo: Joe Gandara)

As I came around the bend approaching IP (mile 9.3), I could hear the roar of the crowd gathered, with at least 50 people screaming my name. It was like the Wellesley of the Angeles Forest, and it was all quite magical. As I cruised in, it was so deafening and packed that I panicked with the inability to find my crew, despite my highly superior skills at Where’s Waldo. As I began pulling off my long sleeve while walking through, Erin grabbed my arm, shoved a fresh bottle in my hand and I was off in less than 30 seconds. It was all kind of like a dream and I’m still not 100% clear on if it actually happened or not.

Erin had told me that the lead women were only about three minutes ahead, which I found to be pretty weird. I thought I’d been extremely conservative during this first section, but hey, maybe everyone was running a smart race today! This was going to be fun. But for now, my mind was completely focused on this next section and what I planned to do with it, regardless of what the competition put into action. It’s funny, I had multiple conversations leading up to the race and even during the climb up Acorn from people who maintained that not knowing the whole course was better because it was less overwhelming. But ultimately, I believe my knowledge of every twist, turn and downed tree of the day’s challenge is what kept the whole thing in a manageable perspective for me. AC read like a book, and I just had to take it chapter by chapter. So for now, I knew I just needed to take it easy on the way down to Vincent Gap, stay on top of my calories and drain my 16 oz. bottle of water. That’s exactly what I did, and I rolled into VG (mi 13.85) feeling remarkably stellar and ready to climb. RAWR!

Note adorable niece in background with
panda and panda pants. Through
Facebook, she has discerned that I am a
legitimate Panda bear.
(photo: Natalie Kintz)

I flew in and immediately spotted my niece, Chyler, holding up her stuffed panda and cheering louder than you would think is possible for a five-year-old. I was all business in switching out for my pack and moving through, but not before a high-five from Baby Sass. I’ve also got to break here for a second to call out my incredible crew here for not only being attentive and very sexy (as specified), but also having ESP, which was an unknown feature.* I had scolded myself for failing to write down (on my expertly created spreadsheet using colored markers in favor of Excel) that I wanted my gels in the boob pockets** of my Nathan pack rather than the back. However, this mind-blowing trio of magicians knew that the back pocket was for the birds and I’d obviously want my shit up front. Obviously. Good lord, they rock.

*Trust me, there will be excess crew loving in this post, but it won’t get really awkward until around mile 60.

**Technical term.

I was having pretty much the best time ever.
(photo: Jayme Burtis)

Out of the aid station, I put my head down and got straight to it. I normally hate running with a pack, but immediately recognized the unanticipated advantage here (besides carrying enough water, as opposed to not enough). I could use my hands on my thighs to do "the Killian" and power my way up the beast that is Baden-Powell. I felt remarkably fresh, was breathing easy, and as such, began making my way up the switchbacks. I noticed Keira, last year's champ, only one up from me and again was surprised, but vowed not to do anything stupid here and blow myself out. Instead, I stuck to the plan of power hiking and running where I knew I could. I pulled over to pee and was caught with my pants around my ankles by the next dude, which was awesome. I offered up a heartfelt "howdy," as he rattled by, but I think he was sincerely conflicted about the whole thing. Over the next few miles, another group of dudes caught up to me, and I was seriously disturbed to see that one of them was none other than Mr. Sean O'Brien. Sean is the resident king of the climb, and I was seeing no reason as to why I should be ahead of him climbing Baden-Powell of all things. But I also knew he was very smart in these things and he eventually passed me towards the top, which made me happy.

Cresting the high point on the course -
Mt. Baden-Powell @ 9,399
(photo: Gareth Mackey)

Now, one would think I'd be extremely happy to reach the top of a 3,000 foot climb taking me up to 9,399 feet in a fun series of 41 switchbacks. And I was, but here's the thing: now I had to go mostly down for 8 miles and that was definitely not my strong point with a tight knee. The good news is that it was my absolute favorite part of the course, with sweeping vistas, yards of limber pine and a spectacular section of single track cut into and around the ridge. So, I took a deep breath, leaned forward and just floated right along. I remembered the day I'd run up Baden-Powell after two weeks of nothing in the aftermath of the yucca incident. I was so happy at being able to run again, I'd nearly cried. I was still in pain that day, but when you've barely been able to walk for weeks and you can feel your goal race slipping away, a mountain can do that to you. And now here I was, running incredibly strong, feeling amazing and loving every second of the race I'd planned for and trained for since the beginning of the year. It was all going so remarkably well, and I felt absolutely no pressure to do anything other than what I could in each passing moment. Very early on, I adopted the mantra, "run within yourself," which was in stark contrast to my typical credo of 'relentless,' which is actually tatooed across my right rib cage. There would be a time and place for that, but that was miles and chapters ahead. For now, I needed to remain in the moment and focused on my race and my race alone. And so it was me and the mountain, just as it always was.

As I began navigating the switchbacks down to Islip Saddle (mile 25.91), the roar of the crowd once again became deafening. Still, I picked out my dad's less loud than everyone else's scream and the unmistakable whistle of my mom. I had to laugh, knowing that they had absolutely no idea that there were actually quite a few switchbacks to get down to the road and they had started cheering very early. Now they were going to have to keep it up for another 3-4 solid minutes, which they did. The excitement of my friends and family at the little blue dot (and big puff of hair) bounding down the mountain pulled me right in and down to the scales.

Numbers. Cool. Can I go now?
(Photo: Katelyn Benton)

Erin and June were on it, grabbing my pack and preparing my bottle as I weighed in. I was about 4 lbs. down already, which seemed weird considering that I’d been eating regularly and just downed my entire 50 oz. of water – but then again I’d weighed in a little heavy the day before, so I wasn’t too concerned. I grabbed my bottle and a Lara Bar and headed up Mt. Williamson with some troublesome news from Peter."This is a marathon, right? I only have 0.2 miles to go!" He said no. But also that he was really proud of me, and I believed him, because truth be told, I was proud of me too. I was completely nailing this first chapter – the high country section – and I felt fantastic.

That was, until I tried to eat the Lara Bar. It was immediately apparent that my stomach was not going to be tolerating solid foods any time soon, so I suffered down half of it and shoved it in my back pocket.* I continued power hiking up the climb, focused on how relatively short this section actually was. I desperately wanted to run more of it than I was or had planned for, but the heat was rolling in and combined with the Lara Bar situation, that wasn’t really happening. Even still, I began to see carnage, now on the third major climb of the day, at elevation and now with the added element of heat. Passing a few dudes, I got a great boost of confidence and continued hiking like a champ. I got to the top in one of my best splits ever and took my first brief pause to really breathe in the beauty of the day. Again, I cringed at the technical downhill that lie ahead of me,** but got right to it nonetheless. I thought about Memorial Day, when over 70 miles into the weekend, I’d caught up to Dom and Jorge at the highway crossing between Williamson and Cloudburst, running an out and back from Glenwood. They told me their plans as I felt the weight of the mileage in my legs and knew that turning around now, I’d have quite the time getting out of Cooper Canyon and all the way back. But I smiled and said, “Fuck it. I’m going over Williamson.” And so I did, laying down my fastest split ever and then powering through the remaining 18 miles of my run, finishing wholly exhausted. This was only 5 days after I’d run the Bishop High Sierra 50 miler. It was the most solid block of training I’d ever put in and the result did wonders for my mental toughness. I was no longer afraid of AC.

*Sidebar: I just found the other half in the bottom of a bag earlier this week… nearly a month later. Yummo!

**So sad. Normally I love this shit.

As I approached the highway crossing off Williamson, I could hear the excited shouts of friends Kevin and Crispin and let them pull me across the 2 and right up the last bump before Eagle’s Roost. I drained most of my water on the way up and before I knew it, I was already upon the million little switchbacks that would take me down to the road. Soon I’d be at Eagle’s Roost, where we used to camp back when the 2 was still closed and the peaks were still covered in snow. We’d run as high as we could and pray all week that maybe next weekend we’d be able to getover Williamson and eventually Baden-Powell. We’d huddle in our tent, trying to keep warm and entertaining thoughts of summer days and perfect nights. And mostly, we’d talk about the race. It was always like that on these weekends in the San Gabriels. There was nothing else. Just me, Dom, the mountains and the race. And that’s all I ever wanted.

I cruised past the road workers and into Eagle’s Roost (mi 30), knowing I needed to get myself aptly prepared to handle the heat a brewin’ down in Cooper Canyon. I sat for the first time to switch out of my 101’s and into a pair of Lunaracers to handle the road section a little better, and P-Dubs made up a nice, pink ice bandana. But before I could get comfortable, I grabbed two fresh bottles and began my little jaunt down the highway, encouraged by everyone in the aid station remarking on how good I looked in comparison to most everyone else. I figured they were just telling everyone that, but as I ran up and then down the 2, I noticed another woman not too far ahead and began slowly gaining. Even still, I kept the pace easy and enjoyed my family, my crew and June’s bare ass rooting me along. As I told some random encouraging me through his window, “I ain’t trying to cook myself out here mang.” My Missourah comes out when I’m in nature. At any rate, the theme from all the traveling cars seemed to be that I was “running really smart,” and that all the women up ahead were looking a bit frazzled. I still felt pretty good, but knew just to stick to my mantra and run within myself. That was the only way I was going to get out of Cooper Canyon alive.

Now, I was in an interesting predicament here. My legs were starting to feel a little weird and nasty, which I attributed to the change in terrain, and possibly the softer shoe as well. As such, I desperately wanted this road section to be over. However, while the majority of the day I’d completed each section of the course hugry to sink my teeth into the next, Cooper was the one chapter I was really dreading. Not only was it difficult and hot, but I really just don’t like it all that much, even on a perfect, fresh day. It was going to be really hard to run well and stay strong. I finally hit the turnoff into Buckhorn and walked a bit over the rolling concrete hills through the campground. For the first time, I was beginning to feel a little fatigue, but that seemed completely reasonable, given that I’d just completed the hardest 50k of my life and it just so happened to be at the beginning of an unrelenting 100 mile race. I stopped to top off my bottles and drench my Buff in the spigot before catching the Burkhart Trail and beginning my descent down into the canyon.

Almost immediately, I noticed that my quads were really screaming on the downhill and began praying I’d reach the creek soon. Nothing stabbing or unbearable – just enough pain to make running well a bit more uncomfortable. I had been religious on my gels and saltstick all morning and water was flowing like wine, so I was at first a bit confused by the soreness I was feeling. In retrospect, it’s easy to see that I’d been using my brakes quite a bit on the descents through the high country to protect my knee and as such, I was beginning to feel the logical effects. If you run mountains, you know that by brakes I mean quads, and now you too can hypothesize as to where some of the troubles began. Nevertheless, I did my best to get down to the bottom and double-checked the turn taking me across the water. You’ll tend to do that when you miss it in training and end up with a helicopter out looking to rescue you and two friends who apparently wanted to go to Palmdale. I couldn’t help but laugh at the though of Peter running up to the campground and grabbing some kid’s beer out of exhaustion, dehydration and relief. And then I shuddered at the memory that it was a Miller Lite.

Once on the other side of the canyon I began slowly picking away at the climb, trying to run as much as possible. This wasn’t working. The heat had my heart pounding in my head and I could feel the GU rising in my chest. Unless I slowed things down, I was going to be puking out my calories, which was only going to make things much, much worse. So I reeled it in a bit and began hiking a little slower, allowing my heart rate to go down and my stomach to settle. Eventually, a few runners began to catch up which didn’t surprise me, but did dampen my spirits a bit. How was I, the girl who loves the heat and had heat trained for months via barre classes in a 115 degree room, having so much trouble and all these other people weren’t? Tiffany and Andy Salinger caught up on one of the steeper climbs, working hard, but looking much fresher than I felt. Andy had paced Dom last year and implored me to keep up – it was my turn this year – but I knew my limits and let them go. I walked an awful lot through the canyon and a lot more of the gradual fireroad than I care to admit. Even still, I recognized that low points were bound to happen and I was simply having one of mine. I just needed to stay focused, do everything I could with everything I had and take notes for next year. * As such, I began ordering myself to run intervals up the climb, remembering that I was usually always capable of a little more than my mind wanted me to believe. Before long, I had reached the last section of Cooper, which involved a series of way too many switchbacks leading up to Cloudburst. I powered through, remembering it wasn’t as bad as it seemed and knowing that there was a bunch of ice waiting for me at the top.

*which is why this blog is ridiculously, ridiculously long

I popped out of the forest at mile 37.54, now back at 7,000 feet, and my crew immediately went ot work on cooling me down. June draped a towel filled with ice water and particles of heaven over my back, and I sat for a moment to get down some Gatorade and Pringles.* Again, everyone at the aid station told me how much better I looked than everyone else coming out of the canyone and that I was running a smart race. I just told them I wasn’t trying to run myself retarded today… which interestingly enough, reminded me to inquire about Dom. The word was that he’d had a rough morning, but was coming back alive. I didn’t know exactly what this meant, but I knew he was out there suffering too. As such, I got up, grabbed my new bottles and jogged right out of the aid station to the cheers of my family and friends. I was looking forward to this next section – which was highly runnable on a little more forgiving terrain.
*Snacks of Champions

My amazing crew of Erin Maruoka, June Caseria and Peter Williams gets me ready for the next chapter of my journey. @Cloudburst - mile 37.54 (photo: Kevin Chan)

On to Chapter Two...

Angeles Crest: Final Thoughts

2011-07-21T16:33:00.000-07:00

F you, yucca.

This is not my usual entry.

First of all, it is actually an entry at all, with words and stuff, which is more than I’ve cared to post in the last few months. But that’s where the similarities to my archive end. See, normally I get lost in the experience of writing; spinning a cohesive story punctuated with a well thought out point. I edit. I add photos. I work to create a little environment for you.

But today, I don’t have a lot of time – yet I sure have a hell of a lot to say. And it’s really important that I get it out before Sunday morning, when I cross the finish line of the 2011 Angeles Crest 100 Mile Endurance Run.

I’ve been wanting to run this race for awhile now, but respect the challenge too much to come into it without having the time, physical capacity and mental clarity to prepare for it properly. Last year was a wash in all of the above respects and so the thought of entering never even crossed my mind. But as my life began to shift and level heading into 2011, for the first time I felt wholly capable of rising to the challenge. And so I set into motion, committing fully to training harder and more focused than ever before.

Basically every single weekend I was not out of town for another race, I spent training in the San Gabriel Mountains. Through the winter months, I ran loops out of Chantry so many times that I’ve lost count. I ran all the way up Upper Winter Creek for the first time ever in February, and then continued to do so every time since. Two years ago, I could barely hike up the thing without completely breaking down. I ran the 4,600 gain from Eaton Canyon to Mt. Wilson through sun, wind, hail and snow and lowered my split to the top each time. I dragged my ass up Baldy, past the snowboarders at the notch and down into the abyss that is Lytle Creek… experiencing microclimate after microclimate and exploring a seldom touched are of wilderness. Then I’d turn around, put my head down and focus on the snowy slog back up; legs and feet becoming stronger and stronger with each step. Sure, it would have been easier to enjoy the California sunshine down in the Santa Monica range – but that wasn’t going to help me come July. That wasn’t the absolute most I could be doing to prepare myself for seven months down the road.

In March, I completed my first race of the year. Well, sort of. I ran half of the Coyote Moon 100k, before being pulled off the course due to the blizzard I’d been running in for the past eight hours. In the aftermath of the experience, I realized I’d been running the climbs and moving stronger than ever before. Something was clicking. In April, I went to Boston to run the most treasured marathon around – admittedly without any traditional speed training or road work, and definitely sans a proper taper. I PR’d, while spending the last few miles alternately puking and peeing my pants. Turns out I had been a little sick.

May brought a return to the high country and with it, what I consider my strongest month. I was climbing 10-15k a week and running 80-100 miles no problem. No injuries. The elevation was a challenge at first, but within a few weeks, I was running strong, even over 8,000 feet. At the last minute, I decided to jump into the Bishop High Sierra 50 miler, which is all run at elevation and contains a great deal of climbing. I ran very comfortably and finished in the top, having managed some truly terrible stomach issues for the entire race. Eating and drinking was a challenge, yet I forced the calories down until they literally would not be accepted. My legs felt fresh the entire day, despite the fact that my kidneys shut down for a good 15 hours. The next weekend, I capped off the month with an 85 mile Memorial Weekend on the AC course. When I finished my final run on Monday, I was no longer afraid of Angeles Crest.

But just as the San Gabriels giveth, the San Gabriels taketh away. The next weekend, I ran with a group from Wrightwood and we decided to go exploring down in Mine Gulch at the base of Baden Powell. I fell into a yucca plant and my leg was immediately in excruciating pain with a knee rendered unbendable. I couldn’t walk for days, and just like that – running was removed from my life.

It was a full two weeks before I could run again, and even then it was slowly. And before I had the chance to be appreciative, I was back in the emergency room. The purple poodle dog bush on the course had been turned up into the air and I woke up one Monday to a swollen face with eyes that wouldn’t open and a throat that was swelling shut. In short, I was fucking miserable without my running and I could feel all of my hard work slipping away. It was not cool.

What happened next was surprising.

I jumped back into training – only experiencing pain on the downhills, but running the climbs faster than ever. My body was rested and refreshed. Since then, I’ve been gradually building back up and managing the knee pain as much as possible, aided by physical therapy. (Yes, I needed specialists and PT for a plant stabbing!) I spent five days in the San Juans sleeping, running and loving the hell out of life at 10-13,000 feet. I felt entirely comfortable. I’ve tapered well.

In the past seven months, I’ve watched my body change and I’ve felt my strength grow. I’ve run the majority of my miles completely alone, tracking splits and trying to shrink the distance between myself and the fearsome duo of Dom and Jorge (stay tuned people, it’s going to be a good race.) I’ve opened my mind to new possibilities and I’ve harnessed my emotions on the trails. I’ve cross trained, I’ve heat trained, I’ve trained at altitude, I’ve trained at high mileage. I’ve run the shit out of some mountains.

So am I ready for the challenge at hand? Am I ready to finally run the Angeles Crest 100? The answer is that I am honestly as ready as I possibly can be. Admittedly, my knee is still not 100%, but I really don’t anticipate it being a problem. I can’t worry about the weeks that it held me back from training, because those weeks have passed. They are over and gone and in retrospect, it was a very short time in the grand scheme of the work I’ve put in.

As such, I will head up the Acorn Trail at 5am on Saturday morning with confidence in myself and the hard work I’ve put in. I’ll feel lighter than ever, with the ten pounds that has come off my frame in the process. I’ll trust my instincts of where to run and where to hike, intrinsically understanding every twist and turn and bump of the course. I’ll eat, I’ll drink, I’ll salt and I’ll remember how much I want to be there, even when the dark places come. I’ll maintain a razor focus on doing everything I can in every moment I can, which will include remembering to smile. I’ll sing at the top of my lungs atop Baden Powell. I’ll high five my niece and relish in the love of my family and crew. I will give my honest and best effort at running the race in under 24 hours and I will have absolutely no regrets.

This is going to be fun.

Track me here: http://www.ac100.com/live/

Bib #92.

What I Learned From Getting Shanked in Prison

2011-06-14T17:00:00.000-07:00

...the prison of my mind.

When I was young, I’d often accompany my dad on trips to the grocery store, mainly because I was completely irascible and literally could not stand being confined to rooms and chairs and things of that nature. Unsurprisingly, my mom would always suggest that I buy some patience while I was there. My over active body fostered an over active imagination, and I had myself thoroughly convinced that this product was conveniently located near the Kraft American Singles in the refrigerated aisle of my local Dierberg’s. I guess that shit can spoil.

Now grown and firmly rooted in Southern California, I’ve found myself in the market for some good patience as of late. Why, you say? Well, because I am injured, and the only cure happens to be time. Unfortunately, I just can’t seem to find any patience. I guess they don’t carry it at Ralph’s.

So first thing’s first: how did I injure myself? Well, it’s pretty typical actually. I was viciously stabbed several times in the left knee. By a yucca. I can’t make these things up. So, this apparently severely damaged the tissue around the puncture, as well as lacerated and bled out a bursa. The result is a knee that cannot bend and me walking around with a cane. I even stumped three doctors. It’s all very House.

Gangster.

Next thing: where in the hell did you do that? The answer would be down in the treacherous depths of Vincent Gulch. If you’ve never heard of that, good. Stay on the AC course and do not follow Sean O’Brien and his maps from 1950. Ah, I’m just kidding, Sean’s runs are always an adventure… but on this particular run, that adventure turned into a 12 hour, 40 mile bushwacking extravaganza that left me hobbling, shivering and climbing in the dark; muttering “I swear I’m still having fun!” under my breath and in between yelps of excrutiating pain.

Finally: why did you jump into a yucca? Those things are sharp! OK, smartass – I know they are. And I didn’t jump into it. I fell while half climbing over a log/half balancing on a rock to avoid a mass of stinging nettle on one side and poison oak on the other. Welcome to Vincent Gulch.

I guess the other thing you may have been wondering is where the world I have been? No blogs for months, lots of changes and multiple races…. yet nothing to say, not even a race report. Well that’s not exactly true – it’s more like I haven’t had a lick of time to write due to taking on some extra freelance work as well as kicking my training into a seriously high gear.* I’ve been putting in some really stellar weeks as of late and have also begun taking hot ballet three days a week for cross-training (cardio ballet in a hot yoga room), which has been wildly successful for my core strength and flexibility. Plus I love it. More on that later though.

* I’m only writing now because I’m injured and having nothing else to do.

I am either working or I am here and have no cell service. Now you know.

So the point is that my training has been going really well. The crux of this, which I would have written about but didn’t have time, was two weekends ago when the Memorial Day holiday afforded me the time both to reflect on my gratitude for our troops and for an extra session of beating myself up in the San Gabriels. The weekend started scarily, with a 24 mile run that reeked of exhaustion from the Bishop High Sierra 50 miler which I had run just 6 days prior. However, the succeeding day, I completed 34 miles with little to no trouble and ended feeling pretty much amazing. For my final performance I went and ran another 27, in the middle of which I threw in a surprisingly fast climb over Williamson that even had Dom saying, “Damn.” Then I suffered through Cooper Canyon and brought it home for an 85 mile weekend that shifted my perspective in a major way. I was no longer afraid of Angeles Crest.

Stellar Crew of accomplices to said training block.

Coming off of Memorial weekend, I continued to push myself hard and reveled in how wonderfully my body was responding. Nothing hurt. Nothing ached. Nothing nagged. And I just kept pushing harder and harder. I knew I could make it through another 3-4 weeks of exhausting days and I’d have truly given my all in this training block.

You see, that’s why this whole yucca shanking was an exercise in really bad timing. Because I haven’t been able to run for 10 days and that isn’t exactly working towards the aforementioned plan. Now, all things considered, it IS getting better. I couldn’t walk without a cane for 4 days, then I still couldn’t walk well for two more. Now I can walk normally, I’ve taken two ballet classes (albeit with some extremely lackluster plies) and as of today, I can walk down stairs! The question is, will it completely heal soon enough and how much fitness have I lost?

Last Thursday, the doc said it could be another week or two, or even more. After that, I broke down and cried and was in an altogether shitty state of things for the last couple days, especially the weekend. I’m talking full on temper tantrum mode, back from the Kraft Singles days. I’ve tried to look at the positives here: hey, there’s no ligament or musculature damage! Hey, I don’t even have to do anything and my amazing body is just going to heal itself! Hey, there’s not likely going to be any lasting effects from the attack! Yes, well I can’t run and it’s completely absurd that a plant has interrupted my training. And so I wrath.

Needless to say, I can't exactly do this right now.

In the midst of this minor setback deemed national tragedy in my head, my incredibly thoughtful and supportive bf/bff has had to put up with an awful lot, yet he has been awfully wonderful to me. Between driving up from the OC for multiple visits (perhaps to make sure I wasn’t breaking shit?) and not leaving me on a curb somewhere as I spent my weekend pouting that everyone else got to run and not me! – he’s been a real ace, let me tell you what. In the midst of this raging, he also sent me a song which I’ve loved for a while but completely forgotten about. I love the dude’s voice and the rolling melody, but what I really latch onto is the lyrics, namely this part:

We can shape, but can’t control these possibilities to grow

Weeds amongst the push and pull, waiting on the wind to take us…

"We Will All Be Changed" ~Seryn

Hmmm… yes. Maybe we all just need to settle down here. And by “we all,” I mean “me and all the crazy voices in my head.” This situation is out of my control and I can’t decide that it’s necessarily going to turn out terribly with regards to AC or even my life in general. I don’t get to make that choice. But still, I never thought of myself as someone who would be lost without my running, and yet that is exactly how I feel. Why am I acting like such a crazy person?

This got me thinking… I’ve had the chance to train with and therefore engage in lengthy conversation with many amazing runners, who also happen to be amazing people. While out on a 30-40 mile run, there is room for many topics, to say the least, but I’ve noticed a common thread that binds us all. We all seem to be in a constant battle of control and trying to accept that we can't control.... whether we want to admit it or not. On one hand, we universally understand that we can't control the weather, the competition or even what happens on any given day. Some days and some races are great for no reason; while others involve puking, bonking, a trip and fall or just altogether not going well.

But through all this, we still have the control to go out and push ourselves each day. Body and mind willing, we can test our endurance for that extra mile, stretch beyond our capabilities and drop the pace for a few minutes, charge one more mountain, all to give ourselves the best chance to be great come race day. To go in with no regrets and confidence in the work we put in. Or at least we think we do...

It's a fine line we run (and sometimes power-hike) between pushing ourselves to new heights or pushing a little too far, winding up injured. When we do this, we know the line we've crossed, and soon we go back to the drawing board to try and see how far we can get next time. While this is frustrating when we're dealing with these issues (tendonitis, IT band stuff, calf strains, pulling a hammy, etc.), we know we did it to ourselves. We took it a little too far, and though we don't want to admit it, we broke. We're still in “control,” though.

What I never considered was that something else could cause me to be unable to run. Falling down the stairs, a car accident, fuck, a meteor or rogue piece of an airplane could fall on my head (that's actually an unrealistic paranoia of mine).... things happen. I should know, as I was once sidelined for a year from a car accident that tore my illiopsoas. It was entirely plausible that something completely ridiculous could happen and take that ability to push myself, to train for my goal, away. And it did.

I've been unable to handle that, because I've been unable to let go of this control I've had over my body and my training and the extreme high I get off of surprising myself with a particularly high mileage weekend or a great split over Williamson. Breakthroughs as a result of hard work. And now theres a breakdown as a result of nothing. It just happened. It just was. Goddamn yucca.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is that I get it.... I am waiting for the wind to take me, because that is all I can do. And in the meantime, I can focus on improving my ability to handle and maintain happiness through setbacks like these. As much as I want to believe it sometimes, running is not all there is, and I still have the responsibility and desire to be the best person I can be with regards to my character and interpersonal relationships. I was a real bear this weekend, and I have no right to bring the energy down just because I am mad at a particularly spiny piece of foliage. Do I wish this on anyone? Well….. there’s this one bi – No, for real. I don’t. Accordingly, I need to stop making it other people’s problem, especially the one who I know would do anything to make it go away if he could. So that is what I will focus on training right now.

Even if I have to sit still, I don't have to be still.

What will emerge post-shanking? Only time will tell...