Easy Like Sunday Morning

I only know one other man with a mustache that sweet.

Waking up sore and exhausted is tough. Waking up sore and exhausted with another long run in the big girl mountains* looming ahead is a bit daunting. Add some pouring rain and driving wind in there and you’ve got yourself a whole mess of “not gonna lie, I really don’t want to do this right now.”

*San Gabriels

Such was Sunday morning, as I awoke to all things comfortable: a warm, snuggly bed, cinnamon oatmeal, love, laughter and the freedom not to have to do anything. I had slept in until 7:45-ish after a night of hard sleep that could only be induced by the cumulative effects of hard training, and only disturbed by restless, twitching legs. But now I was awake, aware, and faced with that dilemma that ever so often creeps into the mind of a committed ultra endurance athlete – Technically, I don’t have to, but….

I looked out the window. I looked in the mirror. I could see the torment in my own eyes. I stalled with breakfast. I stalled with conversation. I stalled with every nonessential activity I could thing of. But there was an unspoken agreement. There was a common understanding.

Oh, we would be running today.

And so it would be, as we hit the highway in the Jeep and headed for the hills. It was an odd and somewhat ominous drive, as our typical loud singing, car dancing and blaring excitement for the day ahead was replaced with silence. I focused on the road and tried to convince myself that once I got going I’d feel better. And that another 4k or so of climbing wouldn’t really be that bad. And that I wanted to get out of the car and get started.

And so it was. We began climbing up Echo Mountain in the drizzling rain with the goal of getting some time in on rocky Sam Merrill, which represented miles 89-91 on the AC course. My body was tired and my legs were tight as I picked my way up the winding switchbacks, waiting for that a-ha moment where I warmed up and a little fire would light under my feet. However, as I reached the top of Echo 2.7 miles in, I was only more exhausted than when I had started. I began picking my way up Sam Merrill, but I could feel my form deteriorating and the full weight of my body with every step. Dom had doubled back to catch me, and I told him I was unsure how much farther I could go today. It wasn’t necessarily the number of miles, it was those which were vertical, and out here – vertical miles were inescapable. (Which is why we love it so.) I committed to running to the end of Sam, and then maybe I’d head back down if I couldn’t get it together. At this point, I had fallen UPHILL twice and I could just feel that I was running altogether ugly. 10-11 hard fought miles wouldn’t be a wash for the day and so I committed myself to knocking out these next two of climbing the best I could.

Sample of conditions on Echo Mountain Trail, as captured by Louis Kwan (who we ran into doing REPEATS up the thing - crazy man!)

Accordingly, I downed some calories and a Saltstick and focused on the task at hand. Get up this hill. One. Step. At. A. Time. As the trail wound upward, out of the exposed fire ravaged ridge and back under the cover of the forest, the grade became a great deal gentler and my feet began digging into the softened earth. I felt power in my stride and running became natural again. Mileage thoughts began to creep in – technically it doesn’t matter if I only run 11, but if I just go a mile and a half farther up, I can hit 14 to stick to the plan of 70 on the week. When I popped out at the intersection with Lowe Rd and Idlehour, I was all teeth... which were officially sunk into a day of training.

I decided that I would probably go another 15-20 min up on the fire road and then head back to the car. As we wound around the ridge it got colder and colder, so I ran harder and harder to keep warm. The fog, combined with the blackened hillside created some serious Tim Burton shit and I laughed at how happy I was in this completely uncomfortable and inhospitable environment. I was just so gosh darned excited that my run had turned around – that is what made me comfortable.

So, what I realized was happening now is that I didn’t want to turn around. I couldn’t remember exactly how much farther it was to the summit and I couldn’t see anything to make guesstimates, so I just kept at it. Keeping at it took me right to the top of the fire road, and even still, I didn’t want to go back. So I briefly explored a little single track before reasoning that I should go back down to the main road so as not to lose myself and add the aspects of worry and confusion to our already foreboding day. Before starting the decent, I decided to leave a little note in the mud, both for reassurance and smile purposes. Just as I was properly punctuating my greeting, I heard a voice behind me:

Hey, come up here. It’s snowing!

Sure enough, the rain was turning to snow right before our eyes. It was one of those moments where you couldn’t really do anything but just stand there, close your eyes and tilt your head to the sky, and smile. Magic.

The details of the descent were somewhat inconsequential, save my notations of how hard Sam would be after already having run 90 miles... of hellacious climbing... now in the dark. I opened my stride and pushed the pace in a few sections and relaxed into others, focusing more on form. I was running naturally. Comfortably.

As I wound down Echo mountain, I dipped out of the gray and became sandwiched between two cloud layers. The effect was pretty dazzling, as the sun stretched to highlight the trail and the weather swirled all about the mountain, above and below. As I ran the last few miles down to Pasadena, all I could think about was how completely and amazingly this day had turned around for me. Things didn’t just get better. They got awesome. I love surprises.

Down in the city, we capped off the run with some Mexican replenishment replete with a couple Negro Modelos and celebrated our bad day gone good. Looking back, it’s funny how our linner conversation echoed that same sentiment, on a much grander level. I’m talking about life, people. As we ate our delicious $15 meals in a warm restaurant, with gas in the car, rent paid, and nice gear on our backs, we discussed our gratitude for being able to finally live our lives more comfortably. Ahhhh, there’s that word again.

Less than a year ago, my life was much different. I was working tirelessly for a start-up that sucked the life out of me. I ate off $10 a week, never turned on my heat and sometimes had to literally run my errands because I couldn’t afford gas. I had to say no to social activities and scrape together enough cash to drive out to train, packing cheap food and sweating every quarter shelled out. I camped at races and shared meals when out with friends – always chosen by the largest number of calories per dollar and never by what looked good. It wasn’t terrible. But it was hard.

And now here I was, beginning to get a taste of the comfortable life America could afford you if you had the means to buy in. I could train the way I wanted. I could go to movies and concerts and dinners and drinks with my friends. I could buy presents for my loved ones and go on out-of-town visits. I could get nicer gear to keep me safe, warm and dry. I could eat. I could drink. I could be merry. And I was so very, very grateful.

Even still, how comfortable would I allow myself to be? Everything in my life – my apartment, my vehicle, my wardrobe – is built for function. And until now, that was always for necessity. Now, perhaps I could afford to begin acquiring nicer, more comfortable things – yet I have no desire. I think I’m afraid to lose that part of me that doesn’t need any excess, yet I am struggling with the pressure to create a more accommodating environment for the people in my life who perhaps do view these things as important. And not wrongfully so. I don’t blame anyone who would rather stretch out in a quiet Acura rather than bounce around in a Jeep with wet, muddy clothes permeating from the back. I myself occasionally enjoy curling up on a plush couch after dinner and surfing the channels, over spreading out on the floor and only being able to watch one of twelve DVDs on the TV I got for my tenth birthday. And I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t like to put on a pretty outfit, do my hair and makeup and hit the town.

Similarly, I wouldn’t blame anyone who would rather stay inside on a nasty day and be perfectly content with the fact they had already run 22.5 miles and climbed 4,000 feet the day before. But that’s where my path diverges.

Because when you don’t go out, you can miss the magic of rain turning to snow before your very eyes. You can miss the beauty of your body understanding the training and coming alive. You can miss the sheer joy of a few fleeting minutes flying down a single track that make the other four hours of grueling torture 100% worth it. You miss another opportunity to make yourself better. For me, the only way I can get to the things that make me truly unabashedly happy is by doing things that are hard. Things that “not gonna lie, I really don’t want to do right now."

Because the truth is, the only thing that makes me really, truly uncomfortable is getting too comfortable.

Saturday's training run on the Leona Divide Course, thanks to RD Keira Henninger. I swear there were other girls there too!

This song has been rocking my life as of late, and applies perfectly to my thoughts. Enjoy your socks for a few more seconds... because you're about to lose them.

"I Want Something to Live For" - The Rocket Summer

Dear Winter: In Some Ways You are Awesome and in Others I am Done With You.

I’m going to be honest here.

I’m sick of running in the dark.

I’m sick of running in the cold.

I’m sick of wet feet and sloppy trails I can’t charge.

Freezing Rain Boney Mountain 3,000 gain mud breakfast (photo: Howard Cohen)

That’s not to say I don’t get my ass out there every day. And that’s not to say I don’t enjoy it. Much to the contrary, the very thing that gets me out the door is knowing that no matter how much I “don’t feel like it,” a mile or two in, I always end up warming up, finding a groove and being all together content in my run. Every. Single. Time.

But let’s be honest: only running in darkness before and after work five days a week is hard. Not only for motivational reasons, but also running at night on the trails is different. While often magical, it slows you down. In short, I miss running fast, wild and unrestricted, and right now, I don’t get the opportunity to do that much. Weekends are reserved for loooooong adventures in the San Gabriels on the AC course, and that means a ‘sustainable pace’. Flying down a hill at 5:30, is not exactly sustainable. For Katie, that is.

All that being said, guess what people? The days are getting longer. If I go run Work Hill directly from the office, I can get one summit in at sunset. And let me tell you, it’s freaking glorious. And now on morning runs, I only run UP in the dark (which is actually kind of great, because I can’t see the grade as well). Then I get to the top and see some amazing sunrises (Southern California is really giving it to us right now) and tear back down, running free. I bet you thought this post was dedicated to complaining, but you were wrong.

Example of my LA sunrises - taken 1/13 Westridge Coyote Run, as seen by K. Chan's camera

In short, I’m excited and I’m impossibly optimistic right now. And I can help but see the expanding days as a metaphor for my expanding potential. With each sunrise, I’m shedding a little more light on my abilities from places once hidden in dark corners of my mind. And with each sunset, I remember to let go of the negatives as I plunge forward in my training, inspired.

1/9: Eaton Canyon to Heaven. It's only 4,600 feet up!

June and I on the toll road up to Mt. Wilson in a true Winter Wonderland.

Look what was outside my window on my last Southwest flight...

Speaking of my training, right now I’m focused on just getting back into the groove of running every day and the absurd amount of climbing that my AC Project requires. I’m confining myself to no more than 70-80 miles a week right now and holding off on twice a days until my body is super comfortable with these numbers and workouts. Too much too soon is a big downfall of mine, and I’m committed to remaining uninjured as a result of overtraining this year. That said, I’ve definitely kicked the year off right with some downright epic long runs out on the AC grounds. And I’ve got the burning quads, cuts and bruises, ripped gear, insatiable hunger and wet, muddy clothes littered about the house to prove it. Also, my legs are already covered in poison oak (despite the use of Tecnu, calf sleeves and the shower) and last Saturday I got bit by a vampire somewhere out of Chantry. It’s tooth is still in my shin, and now I can no longer eat anything ‘lyme’ flavored without hilarious jokes abounding.

But for the biggest breakthrough thus far, I give you the day Katie ate a whole Chipotle burrito.

Reflections and Resolutions

My attempt at being highly appropriate.

Wow. It certainly has been a crazy year. Looking back and trying to process it all is damn near impossible – but the good news is that I’m not even sure that’s entirely necessary. Because now when I remember, I smile. Hours of dissecting words turn to one poignant moment and I am inspired.

These are those moments. Formerly described by wordy, two-beer posts – now limited to 1-2 grammatically correct sentences.

ROCKY RACCOON 100

I know that simply finishing is more important than winning could ever be, and I vow to never lose that focus.

MIWOK 100K

Sometimes, no matter how prepared and strong you are, it is simply not your day and there don’t have to be any reasons. And on these days I enjoy the suffering.

GRAND CANYON R2R2R

Pushing up the Bright Angel switchbacks up to Indian Garden, I discovered a new gear and officially decided I would never say “I suck at climbing again.” Because I don’t.

WESTERN STATES

Running alongside Gabi as she pushed through her darkest moments allowed me to view myself in one insanely beautiful out of body experience. Her strength was an inspiration.

BADWATER

The amount of love in my heart is terrifying. Also, I got next…

ADVENTURES IN COLORADO

There are things in life I simply cannot control, nor do I want to. But I can always control my ability to pick up and go on insanely beautiful, awesome, challenging, amazing adventures, and for that I am eternally grateful.

COMPLETING THE FULL BACKBONE TRAIL

It’s not about the races, the competition, the controlled environments. This day and these flashes of solitude, gratitude and utter peace is why I run.

FIRETRAILS 50

When you are emotionally void and broken, you would be a fool not to expect that to carry over into other activities. Even running. And guess what? That’s life.

OZARK TRAIL 100

I pushed my body harder than I ever have and red-lined on the limits until it broke. For that, there is nothing to be ashamed.

RIDGECREST 50K

This was the day and the moment that I finally let go. I’ll never forget it.

Yes, this year was riddled with setbacks, injury, heartache and struggle. But this is all overshined by experiences and moments that I will never forget. Finally crossing the finish line with every one of my friends at RR100 after a truly epic battle. Almost sliding to my death off Baldy and being rewarded for living with probably the best sunrise I can remember (and I’ve seen quite a few). Driving, singing, talking, laughing. Running the last mile of Badwater with Dom and being utterly consumed by emotion as he crossed the finish line. Running and sliding down a glacier. Rebuilding the fire ravaged Angeles Crest course. Living. Loving. Beers on the North Rim. Swimming under waterfalls. Dancing. Climbing higher than I’ve ever climbed. Running harder than I’ve ever run. Discovering a deep-rooted unshakable strength that in one moment threatens to destroy me, and in another makes possible a world of experiences with the purest of mind and heart. Watching Gordy complete his hard earned lap at Placer High with tears streaming down my face. Hugging my brother when he returned to American soil. Falling in love all over again. The field of wildflowers in Death Valley. Kissing Ann Trason’s 1994 cougar. My dad carrying me back to the 68 mile aid station with tears in his eyes. Blissful moments of weightlessness. Photos. Videos. Concerts. Hugs. Finally quitting my job. Friends. Each sunrise. Every sunset. New trails. Old trails. Life.

In short: the hard stuff was worth it. Another year has gone by and I’m stronger still. I know myself better. And I like myself more.

Oh, where you've carried me...

And now for the good stuff. Looking forward. I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited heading into a year of racing ever. I believe that is largely due to my plans. Have I set lofty goals? Yes. Do I plan to run myself into the ground trying to achieve them? Absolutely. Is this smart? Who the hell knows. What I can say is this…

I finally am in a position where I can work a normal 8-5 job and that’s it. No extra gigs and the free time is mine. I can afford to eat well and race. While life isn’t perfect, I am very happy. So the time to “go there” is now…

My goal race for 2011 will be Angeles Crest 100 in July. Beginning January 1^st, I have vowed to dedicate myself wholly and fully to training in pursuit of beginning to actualize my potential at mountain running. Weekdays will be filled with training before and after work. I will do core work at least 2 days a week and ballet/stretch at the very minimum one night for an hour and a half. Weekends will involve camping in the San Gabriels and running morning noon and night on every inch of the course. I will climb mountains every day.

Leading up to AC, I’m looking forward to running Coyote 2 Moons 100k on my birthday weekend, posting a decent time at the Boston Marathon and hopefully tackling this awesome 40 mile Wrightwood-Baldy run dreamed up at the SMM 50k with Sarah from PCTR. Other than that, I’ll be helping Dom at Miwok and that’s it. No more races – just consistent training. The only time I’ll semi-taper is for Boston, maybe 5 days. The goal is AC and I aim to find out what I’m really made of.

A Happy New Year it shall be…

I Choose the Sun: Ridgecrest 50k

Understand.

On Thursday I decided that I’d head out to the high desert for one more race this year. Mainly because it was much better than just sitting at home. You see, everyone else was up at the North Face Endurance Challenge, but for personal reasons I had elected to stay back. I felt like everyone else was at the biggest party of the year and I was freaking grounded. Only then I realized I wasn’t grounded and there was another more low key house party going on and that I should probably go. Besides, acoustic guitars and cans of PBR are way more my style than champagne and tuxes.

Then, on Friday I decided I wasn’t mentally capable of racing and tried to back out. But Gabi fed me beers and talked me back into it. Sneaky Gabi. So when I finally woke up on Saturday, I realized I needed to pack a bag and get the hell out of town. Unfortunately my morning was spent fielding phone calls and texts from racers, crews, spectators and mothers (everyone always seems to think I have answers), monitoring the action at NF via tracking, twitter, facebook (I had like 50 windows open) and watching the Western States lottery feed, praying that I wouldn’t get in and I would get $370 back on my debit card to use on Angeles Crest instead. I was like information central. It was all quite ridiculous.

FINALLY, I closed down shop, showered, threw my Saucony stuff in a bag and headed down to meet Gabi and drive out to Ridgecrest. I guess I was really going at this point. I’d done this drive many times this year heading out to Death Valley, and I’ve got to say – it felt nice heading out there to run myself. I was immediately glad I decided to go.

The day and night were totally relaxed and I woke up on Sunday totally excited. Not to race… but just to run. I could not wait to get out there and run 31 miles. I couldn’t think of anything that sounded more fun. That was a good sign.

A record number of entrants gathered in a big parking lot, the RD shouted instructions into a little plastic megaphone and finally shouted “Go!” And so we went. I felt no nerves. I felt no need to race. Today, I was just going running.

I felt as if I was floating along at about 8:30-9min pace, which seemed right, so I just locked in and allowed myself to pass and be passed without any regard for who they were or where I was. I quickly reached the 5.5 mile mark, key word being quickly, as I realized I was actually running under 8 minute miles. This seemed like a remarkably bad idea, seeing as though I wanted to enjoy this day and my knee was laden with tendonitis, so I tried to slow down a bit. Apparently that didn’t happen because at the 11 mile mark I was still running sub-8s. And I felt awesome. But I freaked out. I didn’t think I was capable of maintaining this pace, especially now that my legs were beginning to feel the climbs a bit. So I did finally slow down a little.

Now here comes the crazy part.

When I run 100 miles, or even sometimes a long, hard 50 – I expect to go through quite the range of emotions. Highs and lows, ebbs and flows. I look forward to this greatly. However, for the past six months I have been remarkably numb and felt nothing. During a 50k, I expect just to focus on the race… it will start to hurt a little… and then before I know it, it will be over. There are no tears in 50ks.

What happened next was entirely unexpected. The flame went out. I felt dead inside. I didn't care about anything at all. Nothing mattered. Whoa.

Accordingly, I was momentarily left with a feeling of complete and utter sadness and I feared that my day would end here on account of the burden. But surprisingly, something completely different occurred. Instead, I felt weightless. I felt the extreme happiness that I hadn’t touched for so long and I took flight down the trail.

The sun was shining through the clouds illuminating the desert floor and bouncing off of the large boulders scattered throughout my view. I felt the warmth on my face. I felt the wind in my hair. I felt alive. It was, as I like to say, the jam.

Running along, at mile something.

At about the halfway point, I began to feel the climbs a bit and backed off the pace, resolved to finish strong. I drank, I ate, I salted, I ran. That’s all there was. As I reached the marathon point, I laughed a bit at the realization that just a very few years ago I dreamed of the day I would break 4 hours and maybe even qualify for the Boston Marathon. Now here I was handily running under 4 for a split in a longer race, and I felt like I had been totally dogging it for the past 10 or so miles. Wow. You know, I spend so much time hating myself for what I haven’t yet accomplished that sometimes I fail to see progress. Today, that was not the case.

I saw.

Next, I did the only logical thing I could think of – run the last five miles as hard as I could until I felt like I would throw up. This proved to be great fun. And very confusing for the 10 or so runners that I passed. I crossed the line at 4:41:21, setting a PR by well over an hour. This is the second December in a row that I’ve gone to a race I wasn’t really stoked about running, with tendonitis in my right knee and not that great of an attitude – yet totally killed it.* My theory is that end of the year races are the one place that I really, truly have no expectations – so I’m finally free from the burden of my arguably destructive mind. Man, I need to work on that.

*I say this in terms relative to me. Not by industry standard. Yet.

My awesome desert art bobcat trophy/free apartment decoration.

And work on it I shall. 2011 is bringing me the Boston Marathon (what?! Yes.) and Angeles Crest 100 as goal races. Hopefully the lottery gods will allow me back into Miwok 100k to redeem myself as well. Until then, I have day after day of double workouts and long weekends climbing big mountains ahead of me.

Giddy-up.

Winners! At life!

"Mama you can choose the rain, but I choose the sun." ~Nikka Costa

Connection, Competition and the Concept of Potential

My niece took me trail running this Thanksgiving. (Camp Pendleton Marine Corps Base)

On Saturday, I went for a 10ish mile run to decide if I am capable of racing a 50k this weekend. Now, ask me if determining ‘where you’re at’ based on one workout is a good idea.

No. No it’s not.

Anyway, point is: I’m really glad I went for that run for a variety of reasons that have nothing to do with whether or not I am physically capable of running a race next weekend. But everything to do with being mentally capable. The fact of the matter is, I’ve been running by myself for the majority of the last 3 or 4 months, and most of the time I just zone out and go back and forth between thinking about the workout and life. However, on this particular day, I was being what you might call, observant.

This was largely due to the fact that I elected to stay in town and run the grass down San Vicente to the pier and back. Even with the holiday and the 40 degree weather (this is LA, people), the herds were out in full force. LA Marathon training groups, families, kids, dogs, strollers, cyclists… it’s funny, I used to get annoyed by all the action and only craved the solitude of the mountains. To be honest, I viewed these people as “in my way”.* But I guess because I haven’t run this particular route in probably 5 or 6 months, I actually marveled at how many people were out being active. And how many people were running. More proof that humans were made to run, and I’m just happy everyone is figuring it out. I smiled with the feeling that regardless of pace, ability, distance, physique or any other defining quality – we were all out there enjoying a run together.

*Yes I am aware how asshole-ish that sounds, but I’m proving a point. Read on…

Just as quickly as my feelings of connection came, so did the air of difference. As I turned off San Vicente into Palisades Park along the cliffs, I noticed a small pack of fast looking men with bibs, and a pace vehicle. My excellent skills in deductive reasoning quickly lead me to the conclusion that “hey, there’s some sort of race going on!” Not too long after, the thrones of entrants running the Santa Monica Turkey Trot filled Ocean Avenue. Running against traffic on the dirt path began to create a bit of a dizzying effect, and I was overwhelmed with a feeling of complete and utter separation. I watched the blur of smiling, chatting faces passing by and just felt entirely different from this world I was running in. I was flying against the stream, both literally and metaphorically. In my life, I was never content to be a part of anything normal. I was never happy with what others deemed an “achievement”. I set those terms. And while I’ve spent a lot of time lately considering that perhaps these terms are unreasonable or unseasonably high, and even envying others who were able to just be happy with whatever outcome they were given for their efforts - in this moment I was at ease with my curse… maybe even pleased.

Soon after the race had passed, I noticed a family of runners heading towards me on the dirt path. A legit-looking dad and his two sons. The elder son was blessed with his father’s physique – tall, thin and legs that went on for miles*. He was out front, head held high, blazing ahead. The younger son was much closer to the ground, his stride was shorter, he didn’t appear as naturally able as his brother. He held back with his dad, running about 200 yards behind. I thought, wow, I bet that is driving that little kid nuts that he can’t keep up with his brother. Poor thing – it’s not his fault – he just doesn’t have as much experience and hasn’t grown into his own yet. He’s probably so frustrated.

*no, I was not checking out a 12-year-old.

And then I realized that the kid was smiling. It wasn’t affecting him. It was affecting me. Why? Because deep down, I’m the little guy. I will be the first one to admit that I’m not naturally blessed with a perfect runner's body or any sort of superhuman qualities. That’s not to say I have zero talent (which I used to think) or zero propensity – it’s just not quite as much as that upper echelon of women that I so admire in this sport. What I do have is potential… I just have to work a little harder to get there.

Unfortunately, that takes time. And my whole problem is that while I know, I have not yet accepted that I am the little guy. I just want so badly to be the big brother - faster, better, the best. A few miles later, after I’d turned around and was heading back up the incline, I saw the little brother. Still with his dad; still that same look of complacency, running strong down the hill. At first I thought I’d missed the older of the two – but then I noticed him running about a minute and a half back, form deteriorated and looking altogether defeated.

Did I learn a lesson from a seven-year-old? Yes, I did. What I learned was to be confident in my abilities. What I learned was to stop incessantly comparing. What I learned was patience. In fact, I think less and less that my whole problem is setting unreasonable goals – it’s setting an unrealistic time range. In other words – I believe (as the saying goes) I can have it all, I just can’t have it all right now. You know what? I’m not even just talking running anymore. I think that one of my largest barriers to happiness in life is a lack of patience. “Love is patient…” I think I finally get it, Corinthians.

I am reminded of a past conversation in which I said aloud, something to the tune of this:

"I don’t think I have as much natural ability as some other people; I just work really hard. And I’d rather have it that way than to have lots of talent and no drive."

And the truth is, the only thing that’s missing right now is the work. Have I really gone there? Have I trained like an elite ultrarunner? The short answer is no. And that’s a problem, because the reality is that I have to train even harder than them to get to that level. My feelings are best expressed in MS Paint graphical format, which you can find here:

I can explain this further if it is confusing. But I think my drawing skills have done a pretty good job...

So guess what? I’m going to go there. I’m going to train my ass off and I’m going to get to the end of that bell curve if it kills me. And I WILL do it too. When? Well now that’s what I have to leave to wind…

*Oh, as for racing this Sunday? I have no idea.

The Gambler

"You never count your money when you’re sittin’ at the table.

They’ll be time enough for countin’ when the dealin’s done."

Why am I posting a song about booze, cigarettes and a largely illegal activity?

Well kids, I’m a gambling man,* and this morning I think I learned my lesson.

*woman

I woke up at 4:30 (on purpose) with the rain coming down and a sparkle in my eye. I was going runnin’. I slipped on my pretty little shorts and tied back my pretty little hair and practically bounded out the door for the trails. The bounding was only inhibited by a little nagging pain in the top of my foot/ankle, but I figured it just needed to warm up from all the sleep. So I headed out to Mandeville for a visit to the horses and a nice, muddy climb up the ridge. In short, I was stoked.

During the quick drive to my starting point, I blared one of my favorite songs, smiling and snapping and altogether behaving entirely too chipper for someone awake before 5am. Life was good, except for a dull ache that shot up my leg every time I eased or pushed on the gas pedal of the Jeep. Stupid pedal. Probably just needs some WD-40.

I continued on my path to righteousness.

I started my run in the dark along the horse trails, looking forward to the climb up to the ridge. But from the first step, I knew it wasn’t right. I was running quickly, with good form, up on my toes – but my ankle wasn’t having it. I knew what the problem was. Everytime I ran more than two days in a row since Firetrails, it seized up and hurt until I gave it a days rest. Then I’d repeat the same mistake. I’d already run four days in a row and it wanted a break. But no! This was supposed to be my final week of good training for Ozark! My mileage was already low and how could I expect to run well at a 100 miler if I couldn’t even run for a few days in a row?!

And it was here that I began a ridiculous conversation with myself. It went a little something like this:

Katie. Seriously. Listen to yourself.

The Ozark Trail 100 is a little over two weeks away. What can you do now that will make you any harder/faster/better/stronger/kanye for that race? Do you really think a great 10 mile run today is going to make you win the damn race? Do you really believe three more days of hard workouts are going to make you any better prepared?

Now, do you think running on this ankle that is demanding nothing other than rest is a good idea? Do you think running through the pain since it doesn’t hurt that bad could just ensure that you go to the starting line less than 100%? Could it just fix itself? Maybe. Is it worth risking it?

And with that question, at that moment, I did something I rarely, if ever have done. I stopped running.

After all, I wasn’t training. I was running scared. I was scared I hadn’t done enough work. I was scared I had let the rest of my problems get in the way of my goals. I was scared to be seen as ‘not good enough’. I was just really fucking scared.

As I walked back to the Jeep in the rain, I started to cry tears of frustration. At everyone. At everything. But mostly at myself. And then I started to laugh. Jesus Christ Katie, just give it a rest and you’ll be fine tomorrow. Fine. Your training didn’t go exactly as you had planned. Fine. Some other shit has gotten in the way. Fine. Fine. FINE.

Did you do everything you could with what you had? Did you have a few really great workouts? How many 30+ mile runs have you completed in the past 2 months? 6 or 7? How many people have told you how much lighter you look and faster you are? Like everyone? Did you just run a 50 miler in which you barely walked at all and felt no overuse pain? A week ago? Could that be indicative of how much stronger you have become? Have you actually weighed yourself, timed yourself or even just looked at yourself to verify that you are, in fact, fat, slow and untalented? When you have, did you or did you not notice improvements? DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT, KATHERINE ANN? And most importantly, have you even run the race for which you’ve already determined a failed outcome? Alright then, let’s all just settle down here.

Look, I have a pretty good idea what’s wrong with my ankle. I rocked the shit out of my toes before Firetrails and proceeded to run 50 miles with bloody, smashed up stumps until they just went numb. Maybe my gait might have been a little off, and maybe that caused a little residual stress on some tendons and stuff in that foot. I’m pretty much positive that is the case, and fortunately, I also know how to fix it. Stop stressing out and just give it a little more rest than normal. In fact, I should probably do that in life, in general.

So that’s what I learned this morning. You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em and know when to fold ‘em. And today, I finally knew when to walk away from the table.

The cards have been dealt for Ozark Trail 100, and now all I can do is use my smarts and play the game. Every hand is a winner and every hand is a loser. And I’m setting myself up to play mine like a fucking champ.

*Also, as you may have noticed – Kenny be lookin’ SHARP. If you disagree, you are lying.