AC100 Chapter 1: High Country High Life

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

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

...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...

One Bad Mamma Jamma: C2M 2011

March 18-20, 2011. Happy birthday to me.


You don’t by chance have your ski goggles in the trunk, do you?

Are you serious?

Yes. Yes I am.

And with that, I give you my tale of two moons, or in my case, half of one…

Moon One:  Thacher Field

The things that initially drew me to Coyote Two Moon were the following:

1.  I didn’t get into Miwok.

2.  It fit in my schedule

3.  It was on my birthday

4.  The amount of climbing was absurd (19k for the 100k; 27k for the 100mi) and therefore would be perfect prep for AC

And most importantly:

5.  It was an ultra that removed the pressure of a “race” environment, and left you with the pure, raw fun of taking on an insanely hard challenge.

(Also notable, there was beer and whisky at the aid stations).

Facts stated, the thought of running with a bunch of people who were only out there to simply make the most of the time spent between and under moons excited and motivated me greatly.  And as I rolled into Ventura Thursday night for the bowling tournament, I could see that I would not soon be disappointed.  There were beers. There were costumes. There was laughter that echoed down the lanes.  And there was no talk of who set what record on what course or what the competition looked like for the weekend’s proceedings.  I, myself, enjoyed a delicious Sierra Nevada as team Keyhole Moonshine dominated alley three.  And by “dominated” I mean… well… let’s just say, I hope our running skills would prove far superior to those in any way related to the sport of bowling.

I used to play softball. (pic by H'ard)

Team Keyhole Moonshine salutes an epic display of bowling excellence. (pic unapologetically stolen from Andy K)

The fun continued the next morning, as friends Catra, Andy (and Rocky) took me for a birthday coffee before the briefing/lunch in Ojai.  I hadn’t told anyone it was my anniversary of being born, mainly because I didn’t really think it was important, but as Catra reminded me:  “Every birthday is a big one. It’s another day you’re alive.”  Yet another reason why I love these races – there’s not any other place with any other people I’d rather be on my 28th big one. 

At the briefing, I enjoyed a delicious spread of food from Boccali’s and some high-quality entertainment from the Buffoon, RD Chris Scott, and the musically inclined Pata-poochies.  It was a terribly beautiful day, which made it entirely impossible for my mind to comprehend the severe weather warnings that were in effect for the rest of the weekend.  And so I chose not to comprehend and continue believing that all the gear I had packed as a result of said warnings was going to be total overkill.  Even still, I grabbed one more layer when I drove back to LA to pick up Dom.  One bout of hypothermia might not teach you a lesson, but a second that results in a DNF certainly will.  As a result, I don’t F around when there are snowflakes on my iPhone.

We got back to Thacher just as the 9pm group was leaving to begin their adventure and got to work setting up our tent.  Here’s one of the other awesome things about Coyote Two Moon:  they stagger the start based on your relative ability to complete the course, making it so that everyone finishes around the same time Sunday morning, and in essence, everyone has to fight the cutoffs.  Plus, given the design of the course, no one would really ever be out there “alone,” so to speak.  The course climbs up to “the ridge” (of the Nordhoff variety) and the remainder of the adventure  is spent navigating out-and-backs on the trails that spider off the spine.  This keeps you crossing paths with other runners for the duration of your experience, which is particularly great, considering that high-fives, smiles and coyote calls are my favorite.  As we climbed into the tent, I was beginning to get very excited for the next day’s proceedings, but knew that I needed to get an excellent night’s rest if I were to fight the sleepies through the second moon.  In an act of impeccable timing, the rain began to fall just as we snuggled in.

Our beautiful weekend getaway, pre-flooding.

I slept like a rock on the grassy field, and was awoken only by the start of the other groups about every 3 hours.  The rain had stopped and though overcast, the day was nice.  We hit up the grocery store and then enjoyed a relaxing morning of cheering for the other groups, playing a one-on-one game of soccer and then even taking a little nap.  Before getting to work, we headed back to town to hit up a little Vegan Café for lunch, as my tummy can’t process any sort of complex food items before a big run.  As such, I enjoyed the most delicious brown rice I have ever had, which I mixed with some avocado and a little hummus.  As soon as I sunk my teeth in, the rain began to fall once again.  I was really hoping not to have to start in the rain, but oh well, so it would be.

At 3 pm, I lined up on the field with 11 other Olympic hopefuls and began the serious process of warming up.  i.e. standing around talking and laughing.  Chris eventually sent us on our way, and we began by kicking a soccer ball around the field before hitting the trail.  I was liking this already.

The look on my face is what they call, "foreshadowing."

The 3pm start group makes a mad dash off the starting line - vying for placement up Horn Canyon

Now, I had looked at the elevation of this course and despite the resounding spirit of general revelry, was fully prepared to have it hurt.  The climbs seemed similar in nature to the work I had been doing out in the San Gabriels, and so I figured I would be able to run pretty well at the beginning – and then things might get a little hairy around 40 miles or so.  Due both to the time of night and the fact that I’d never climbed 19,000 feet in one set.  However, this was not the case.  Within an hour, I was heavy and hurting and reduced to a hike.  I shuffled where I could, but it was a struggle, and I became very, very scared that today was going to be a hell of a lot more than I bargained for.  Oh well.  

And such, that became the theme of the run.

I put my head down and powered through the 4 mile, 3,000 foot climb, and before I knew it I had reached the ridge. I was greeted by my first round of amazing volunteers at Ridge Junction, where I refilled, ate some chips and was instructed to draw a card.  Some really f'd up game of poker?  I can get behind that.  Wondering what I would be contending with for the next 7 miles and only understanding that I had climbed to the top of something, I casually struck up a conversation with one of the volunteers, who all seem to know the course because they’ve run it themselves:

I’ve got 7 until the next aid – it’s pretty much all downhill right?

Well yeah – it’s pretty flat. You just climb about 1,000 feet – you know, just rollers though. And then you drop like 2,000 in 2.

These people know how to party.

I continued climbing up the ridge, catching up to a few other dudes from my start group and enjoying a little chat before moving on. Though we rolled along, the climbs were much less steep and my body had finally relaxed into the task at hand.  Mind you, it was freaking freezing and sleeting up there, but I was really happy to be running smoothly, so I accepted the cold.  Of course, not without noting that it was only 4 something in the afternoon and that business was going to get a great deal messier when the sun went down.  Oh well. I’d deal with that then.

Cruising right along.  Still resolved that this was all going to blow over.

Yeah. It's cold. But how can you complain?!

The descent into Rose Valley was steep, but insanely beautiful. I dropped out of the clouds and was treated to an absolutely amazing vista that certainly kept me enjoying the late afternoon rather than foolishly hammering a downhill at mile 10.  The lower I dropped, the warmer and less windy it became, which was also extremely nice. Before long, I rolled into the campsite and set about refilling my pockets with the help of Dom and Peter's friend that I stole, Henry.  I also grabbed a Buff so the air wouldn’t continue the shivving of my bronchi on the ridge. Henry told me the climb should take me about an hour and to get ready for a hike.

Somewhere around Rose Valley

The incentive for running fast today was not to win. It was to get the hell off the ridge.

On the road again...

I did, but a funny thing happened: it only took me 40 minutes. My legs had somehow understood that what we would be doing today was climbing mountains. And my legs really hate to walk. Accordingly, I surprised myself by running most of the 1,000 ft per mile climb (albeit, at a rate I was still passed by a power hiking Jeff Browning) and then began the process of turning  into a popsicle on the ridge once again. Fortunately, the turnoff to Howard Creek came quickly and I began diving down to lower elevations and more fun.  As I descended, the sleet turned into snow, which only seemed to get heavier as the minutes clicked by.  I ran strong and made my last attempts at keeping my feet dry through the deep mud puddles forming on the single track. Given the state of things, I have no idea why I was actually attempting to do this, but I guess I had to try.  I waited until the last possible minute and clicked on my headlamp about a mile out of the aid station.  

By the time I reached Howard Creek, the snow went from a little flurry to a legit situation.  Big flakes were dropping and sticking, and I had already made up my mind to put on a few more layers.  I changed into windstopper gloves, piled on Moeben UV 50 fleece tights, and at Dom’s suggestion, threw on my brand new official C2M Patagonia PrimaLoft liner* under my NorthFace Goretex Circadian Paclite shell.  Word was coming in from the ridge that it was getting seriously nasty up there, and Dom was convinced that he was not going to see me get hypothermia for a third time.  Accordingly, I agreed to fill my pockets with more solid food as well, all the while enjoying a nice disco dance party hosted by the exceedingly groovy volunteers. Suited up and armed for battle, I headed out into the night.

*Thank-you George! I love!

Yep.

Here is where things got interesting.  At first, I thought I was getting sleepy and downed a caffeinated gel.  Now this was exceedingly troublesome considering it was only 8:30 pm and I was running pretty hard.  Why in the hell was I getting tired already?  Probably because I wasn’t tired.  I was dizzy.  The combination of a dark night and a narrow column of light eminating from my head, only illuminating the fuzzy madness of a blinding snowstorm was basically hypnotizing me.  Like for real.  My only resolve was to stop about every 10 minutes, switch off my headlamp and do that thing you do when you’re either drunk or think you might have a concussion, where you follow your fingers from your temples until they meet together in front of you.  In retrospect, I’m kind of disturbed by how much fun I was still having.

I quickly rolled into Gridley Top where I found a bunch of barnyard animals who convinced me to sit and eat some warm soup before heading down to Cozy Dell, aka Cozy Hell… whatever that means.  Needing to break out of my legitimate hypnotic trance, Gretchen treated me to some Peep Coffee which basically turned my life around.  I went from being like, “wow. This is kind of weird.” To “F YOU BLIZZARD! I’M GOING TO OWN YOU AND THE WHITE HORSE YOU CAME IN ON!  AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”  And with that, I bolted out of my chair and back into the serious situation waiting for me outside of the tent.  But not without trying to miss the turn back onto the ridge.  The last thing I heard was the Buffoon say:

This isn’t going to be good.

The next few miles are what I consider the worst possible conditions I have ever run in or hope to ever run in again.  The half snow/half ice was stinging the hell out of my face, thanks to 40mph gusts and I couldn’t even really open my eyes.  I was resorted to run hugging the left side of the trail so as not to miss the Pratt Trail connector – which I had no idea where it was located.  I ran up, I ran down, the snow was accumulating by the minute.  And I was euphoric.  For the next two hours I sang the only song stuck in my head as I danced along the frozen trail – which was interesting since I only knew about ¼ of the words.  Peep Coffee = Catchy pop music.  Now recognizing the irony of singing about being a Hollywood diva who is “cooler than you,” all the while soaked through with rain and mud and running through a blizzard, only makes me wish I had brought a video camera.

Eventually, I spotted the Pratt connector and began the long decent down to Cozy Dell.  Those I passed on their way back up looked entirely wrecked and many asked me if Chris was letting people continue.  I thought that was weird, and my only response was, “yeah, it’s pretty nasty up there, but it’s not that bad.” After a few miles, I hit a couple slippery, muddy patches and thought to myself, “oh, that must be the mud they were talking about.  It’s not that bad either.”  

Hahaha.  Hahahahahaha.  HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAA.  HAHA. Hahahahahahaaa. Haha. Ha. Ha.

What happened next was full on ridiculous.  For the last two miles, the mud was so slick and so nasty that I basically just slid and prayed.  And that was my legitimate plan for not ending up with a broken ankle or broken face.  I put my handhelds on my wrists like bracelets and grabbed trees and grass and rocks where I could to steady myself.  It was still snowing like the dickens and I couldn’t run very much in the given situation, but I wasn’t concerned at all. In fact, I was pretty darned pleased with the fact that I was not cold at all and my legs felt amazing.  Downright spritely, in fact.  At some point however, I began to realize that while I was doing an excellent job of getting myself safely down the mudslides, going back up was going to be an entirely different affair.  And I had to go back up.  Oh well, I thought.  I’d signed up for a challenge – and challenge after challenge was exactly what I was getting.  About a half mile from the aid station, the two Patagonia guys who had passed me on the way down gave warning that Dom was really mad at me because I was taking too long to get down Pratt.  Though I knew they were joking, I did start to feel bad, as history precedes me and Dom had every right to worry about me out there running through a blizzard all alone.  I pressed on and rolled into Cozy Dell, now fully understood as Cozy Hell, and was greeted by a mustached man who was very glad to see me.  Smiling nonetheless.

I was ushered under the collapsing and leaking tent and the volunteers set about getting me some hot soup and coffee.  The first thing Dom asked me was if I was okay.  The second thing was if I really wanted to go back out there.  The conditions were really, really bad and worsening by the minute and at this point it was a call on my safety rather than my will.  He told me that many had dropped here and that what I had already gone through was impressive enough.  My response was to ask him to find his ski goggles in the trunk.  I was going to need them to find my way on that ridge once I got back up there.

I was overwhelmed with the response I was given there.  Sada and Kathy made sure I had enough calories, Dom checked my gear and another girl out there crewing her boyfriend offered me her rain shell in the event mine had soaked through.  She assured me it would be there at Gridley Bottom for me, as Dom had offered the same to her boyfriend.  What I was about to do was a little crazy, yet I had the full support of the volunteers and crew who were out there suffering right along with me.  And for what?  TO HELP ME ACHIEVE MY GOALS. I would have thought them crazy, would I not have done the very same thing.  And enjoyed the hell out of it.

As I prepared to step back out into the storm, a dark figure approached the tent.  His words were stern:

No one is going back up that mountain.

And with that, the ordeal was over.  There was no arguing.  There was no negotiating.  I had gone a bit over 30 miles and that would be all.  Considering that my legitimate plan for getting back out of Cozy Dell was two sticks, my hands and knees and a pair of ski goggles, I think it may have been a good call.

NAF:  Not Allowed to Finish

Only the “ordeal” was not over at all.

Dom and I quickly gathered our things and headed back to Thacher to check if our tent was still holding up.  Amazingly, the inside was dry and so we piled in, stripped off the layers of wetness and mowed through some chips and hummus. Our plan was to get a little rest, waiting out the storm before driving back to LA and before long, I was sound asleep.  But somewhere around 4:30 am I realized that I was wet again. That was probably because the field was flooding and we were now sleeping in a puddle. Apparently, Dom had already been dealing with this for an hour, as he was blocking the wind for me and also pad-less, as he’d given his to me.  Since it was still quite dark and we didn’t want to lose any of our gear, we decided to try and wait it out until 6:30/7ish when there was enough light in the sky to get the hell out of there.  It was impossible to sleep at this point, so we did the only thing we could: sat there and laughed.  Oh well.

At the first spark of light, we began the mad dash of packing up and running to the car.  It was still pouring and everything we owned was entirely soaked through, not to mention the start/finish area tent was completely collapsed.  To make matters awesome, I was running around half naked.  As we finally hit the road and began thawing out, I was a little sad that we’d had to leave on these terms and that over competitive bitch Mother Nature had won.  But I guess that by sheer statistics related to the amount of time I spend racing her, it was bound to happen.  And I had actually had a lot of fun and learned a lot of valuable lessons in my attempt to give her a run for her money.

Before hitting the showers, we decided to put our soaked through jackets back on and run out to San Vicente to cheer on our friends running the LA marathon in the downpour.  Even though I’d had to come home earlier than I wanted, at least I got to be a part of so many PRs on another epic day.  At the end of the weekend, I ended up with the general feeling not of achievement but of connectedness – and for that I believe the 2011 running of the Coyote Two Moon was a huge and raving success.

Enjoying the beautiful LA weather

END NOTES:

• I got to run 30ish miles and climb about 8k', so that was cool.
• This was the most fun I've ever had in the worst conditions I've ever run.
• Thank-you to the volunteers who had it even worse than the runners out there, some having to abandon the stations and hike down. I can't wait to help every one of you at a race someday as well.
• Thank-you to Dom for spending my birthday weekend taking care of me, and making what should have been a miserable situation one of the most fun adventures ever.