Analyzing the Leadville 100 trail run - it's more involved than a typical race. There’s quite a bit of data. There are many ways to slice and dice that data. There’s a little bit of luck that is intrinsic in the data, impossible to separate.
The big Mo picture:
Finish in 27:19:16. 142rd overall of 362 finishers, of 647 starters, of 797 entrants.
12th woman overall of 52 finishers, of 96 starters, of 120 entrants.
3rd in my age group of 16 finishers, of 29 starters, of 40 entrants. The 2nd woman in my AG was 2.5 hours ahead of me. The 4th woman was 15 minutes behind me. Clearly there is a big difference in ability and execution between 2nd and 3rd. A very bimodal distribution.
Ok, so even the big picture is complicated. But I was in the top 23% of women finishers, and top 40% overall.
I like comparing 1st half to 2nd half times. Very few people even split this race. Matt Carpenter did, when he set the course record. A handful of people have done it. This graph tells the story:
My first half (start to time leaving Winfield inbound) = 12:04
My second half (Winfield to finish) = 15:15
My ratio, then, is 1.27, right on the leading edge of the peak. 440 of the historical finishing runners had more even splits, 960 had less even. What does this mean? In the context of my condition during the race (good to excellent) and my condition afterwards (felt like I could have kept going) perhaps it means that (yet again) I was too conservative. Perhaps it means that I balanced my effort just right on the first half. Maybe it means nothing more than that my training prepared me well to resist exhaustion, and that my endurance was up to the task of moving forward for 27 hours.
The garmin data for the first half says:
Total time: 12:04
Moving time: 11:23
This story is not so rosy. 41 minutes of sitting still? In the first half? Um. That’s excessive. And this is before I started dawdling through the aid stations (twin lakes, fish hatchery, and may queen) on the way back. Which I DID. A LOT. Plus, I know that outbound at May queen the time was 30 seconds or less. Fish Hatchery more like 5 minutes. Pipeline and halfmoon – nothing. And I was quick through the Hopeless pass station, let’s say 2 minutes. Then let’s be generous, and give a minute for every bathroom break and the blister care = 7. So the bulk of that time, at least 27 minutes of it, has to be split between Twin Lakes and Winfield. I don’t think I was in Twin lakes more than 10 minutes. Apparently Winfield was just a wee bit distracting for me.
I would estimate that on the return trip, I spent at least 60 to 80 minutes in the aid stations. 15 for sure at Twin lakes, fish hatchery and may queen. Yowza.I'm glad I had the time to give away, or that amount of dawdling could have cost me the finish.
Anyway you look at that, it is a lot of time to give away. My middle name shall now be dawdle. (I have no regrets – this is just analysis.)
The devil and the details:
Let’s look at this by section.
I wish these splits had the AS times broken out. But they don’t . I don’t even know where the timing mat was – on the way into the AS, or on the way out? So the pace includes all the dawdling time.
For the first 40 miles, my estimates were close to right on (I didn’t know the distances between FH and HM, and HM and TL, but if those segment times are added together, I estimated 3:35 for FH to TL, and completed it in 3:36). Hope pass was not as hard as I thought it would be, so I started getting ahead on pass one, then on pass #2 I did even better and got further ahead.
During the night, I didn’t slow as much as I expected, and ran quite a bit of the distance. Feeling good made it easy to get further and further ahead of my estimations.
It’s interesting to see that on the inbound Fish Hatchery to May Queen section from midnight to 4 am, that I was keeping a pace only slightly faster than the Winfield to Twin Lakes section over hope pass, from mile 50 to 60.5. And that it was 8 minutes per mile slower than my outbound time. Yikes. Not unexpected at all in the dark, after 75 miles, but still, a lot to slip away.
And now, after putting this together after several weeks, I must publish it and MOVE ON for crying out loud.
I PR’d a 5K at the Pinto Bean fiesta – 7 weeks post Leadville. I PR’d my 2.5 mile weekly race this week. Recovery is well over. I’m looking for another 5K around thanksgiving in hopes of going ~20:30. Woot!
I woke at 12:17 AM to noises – my parents and M and K had arrived at the house. For once, the Ambien didn’t really help me get back to sleep. I tossed and turned and dozed a bit.
At 2:20, I gave up, got up and showered. I wasn’t planning on that, but since I was awake, I might as well be clean one last time before the race. Feeling calm, but rather unsteady, downstairs I went to have breakfast. K met me at the bottom with a big hello hug, and boy was I glad to see her. Then M, and Mom and Dad all came in to the kitchen with tired but strangely happy faces. I got to tell them all about my stressful day before, and we headed to the race start.
DP finally found me in the crowd, and attached the SPOT GPS device to my pack. I left my family and crew, and found my running friends in the start crowd. I could barely meet their eyes. What the heck was I doing there? This was no joke, what I had gotten myself into? Who was I kidding? I tried to grin, and remember how excited to start I had been on my Thursday run. I tried to start some good head-talk, but I could barely pay attention to myself. "Just start, and be smart. Relentless forward motion. You know you can do 57 miles, just see how the rest plays out. You’re not alone. Get ready to start your watch." I don’t remember anything that the race director Ken Chlouber said at the start line. I remember fellow runner K asking me exactly what that look was that I was giving him. (answer: panic, terror, insecurity.) I remember everyone else looking excited and oh so ready. And then we were off. Thank goodness.
I veered to the right so that Dad might spot me – I did see him and shouted, but not soon enough for him to get the picture he wanted. And then we’re off in the night. I moved back through the crowd to the center of the pack to try to find a friendly face. I soon saw R and J running together. I moved near them, said hello. R mentioned her goal time, and I quickly saw that I was being DUMB in running near them, and backed off. I hadn’t seen this part of the course, so I looked around a bit, but couldn’t make out much. Soon, behind me, I hear, “You run like a girl!” K is there, and I wonder if I am still severely out of place in the field. But he says that he’s taking it easy with SB and I on the way out. So I relax and follow him. The effort felt a little much, but I also still felt a little tense. So I just followed K and didn’t think. Soon we get behind a train of people behind a woman going a bit slow. The line moves past her slowly, and K gets a bit ahead of me. No biggie, time for a bathroom break. It’s starting to get light, and I’m amazed that I don’t mind AT ALL the line of runners, or the thought of all these runners crowding me. It doesn’t feel that way at all. I can only see maybe 10 runners around me. It feels more like a running group.
I prep myself for the aid station: two handfuls of food, one in mouth immediately, and a glass of powerade, and start walking. I beat K out of the aid station. I was speedy. We hit the aid station right at 2:23, which was right in my goal range of 2:20 to 2:28. Once we start on the Colo trail, I notice a groin muscle feels a little pulled. Everything else feels like I haven’t run more than a mile.Good, all systems are go!
We get behind someone K knows (he knows everyone) and we stay with her for the trail part. Once we hit the road, we move out a bit. We ran/walked the Hagerman pass road to the turn onto the power line road. That, I hiked. K hiked significantly faster. He said his Achilles was already bothering him, I wished there was something I could offer to help. He let me catch up to him on the top of the climb, and we ran down together. I checked my garmin a couple of times, and it seemed like we were doing about 8 min miles on the way down. Decent. Down we went, passing lots of people and exchanging hellos with those that had hiked past me on the way up.
To the road. Everything still felt good here. The people cheering at the road made me self conscious about what I was trying to do. They had more faith in me than I did, I thought at some points. Clouds of uncertainty seemed to be following me around. What’s going to happen next? How will I feel? How far will I get before I feel terrible? Never mind that, just on to the aid station. You feel great, so focus on that.
Mom and J follow me out of Fish Hatchery Aid Station
I was about 5 min ahead of schedule here. I think I was pretty quick here. Bones took my pack and filled it. I grabbed a glass of powerade at the aid station, that and the bar and two gels I’d had was it for nutrition so far. Bones gave me a look that said – work harder on that! Don’t let us down!
Mom was chasing me as she was in charge of suncreen - successfully, too!
My crew had a pb&j sandwich, I ate a quarter. I took the chips with me. I decided against taking the handheld with powerade. Before the race, I had requested it because I knew the next section would be hot. Salt and calories would be important. But I just didn’t want to carry it. Didn’t want to think about drinking it. (woop, woop, woop – stupidity alert here!) J, only a teenager, stops me and says with wisdom way beyond his years, you’ve got to at least take a drink from it. So, I chugged about 1/3 of the bottle to get him to leave me alone. Lucky for me.
And then I was off down the road. I ate a little more, then started running. K had left me behind at the aid station, and I assumed he was gone. I checked my watch and found I was running 8:30 on the slight downhill with no effort, and 9 or so on the flat with the same amount of ease.Ok, good so far.
At pipeline with T. Still smiling!
I ate a few chips, and then stopped. At pipeline, I saw T , T, and Maria, gave them a big grin and kept moving. I hadn’t seen SB since he passed me going up sugarloaf looking good. He surprised me now by passing me again with K, and then all of us staying close by each other on the jeep roads. It started to get a bit warm – I was dousing my arm coolers every so often. Halfmoon came and went quickly with just a water fill for me, a coke and some powerade. I ate a few more chips on the way out.
A little farther, and I began to notice my fingers resembled sausages , and that my stomach felt full. I took an extra endurolyte. I had been taking them every half hour. The sensation persisted, then got a little more pronounced. I was running with K at this point, SB was somewhere close behind us. Should I take more salt tabs? Fewer salt tabs? Unsure, I asked K. After asking me what the sodium level in endurolytes was, he gave me an s-cap. Ten minutes later, he gave me another. At the next half hour mark, he gave me one more, and then I noticed I was feeling better – no more sausage fingers. On his advice, I started taking 3-4 endurolytes an hour, instead of two. Crisis averted, thanks to a friend in the know! I’m pretty sure without him, I would have been in worse shape coming into Twin Lakes.
M and J helping me with shoe change #1
As it was, we hit Twin Lakes about 10 minutes early. I had warned my crew that if I was much early at all, that I was probably ruining my race. But I felt good, and there was nothing to do about it now. Bones found me, my Dad and father in law cheered as I came down the slope. Bones again filled my water pouch, I grabbed some coke, a mini milky way, some chips maybe, and exited the aid station to find my crew. I was so excited to be at Twin Lakes – I think they were a little surprised how happy and upbeat I was. Shoe change, sock change, more body glide, eat, detail what I had eaten (not much) eat a bologna sandwich, drink some water and set off. I almost left without my poles! I hiked out, knowing I had 15 minutes in the bank that would be well spent eating more food. So I ate my chips, drank my coke. I hiked all the way to the river eating, and was sure that this time, I wouldn’t see K again.
Off I go to climb Hope pass (just out of frame to the left)
I was sure I had totally blown my 15 minute buffer (although this was not even close to true). But arriving at the river, there he was soaking in the icy stream. I was happy to see him, but also wished that his Achilles wasn’t bugging him so he could have a good day out there. We crossed, then ran and hiked to the bottom of hope pass.
I wanted to believe that climbing Hope pass would feel like it had in training. I knew it would be slower, but I was just hoping I had enough oomph that it didn’t feel impossible, that I wouldn’t have to work too hard. I started up, and soon K was drawing away from me. It didn’t bother me – he’s a great climber. I kept at it, and found that it didn’t feel that much different from training. It was doable, and I felt that the other side would also be doable. The switchback portion felt like it lasted longer than I remember, but soon I was passing through the beautiful flowered meadows. I could now see K again up ahead, he was slowing a bit – I was catching him. Then, I could see what I had been anticipating for a year – the llamas. One made a little noise at me when I passed. They were a fuzzy, quiet, oblivious inspiration for some reason.
K was here, his Achilles really bothering him now. I grabbed something to drink and eat, and saw SB too. He said he was slowing down, but was still doing ok. I headed out quickly, trying very hard to be fast through the aid station. I was certain that my ascent was much slower than in training, and my gut told me that I HAD to make it to Winfield by 12:30 in order to be ok with the cutoffs on the way back. So I hustled. K headed out with me. I climbed steadily, and actually left him behind because of his lack of altitude training and heel pain. Finally at the top, I didn’t pause beyond a glance - I'd seen this view in training- and headed down. K is faster downhill; I knew he’d catch me. I caught up with another guy using poles. He was doing the Leadman competition. We watched a few people fly past us, and agreed that our pace was safer for our quads. At the end of the switchbacks, K caught me. I worked to stay with him. We came to the road together, and then he came to my rescue again. I had a blister forming, and he lent me his bodyglide. I sat on a rock in the shade, set my poles down, peeled off both shoes and socks. The blister wasn’t even pea sized yet, but the skin around it was irritated. Relief that it hadn’t gotten out of hand, I hurredly applied the bodyglide, reassembled socks and shoes, and headed down the road. Tim, the Leadman with poles, caught me on the road as I was eating some chips (trying to finish them before the aid station so I wouldn’t get scolded). Click click click… went his poles…. ACK! Where are my poles! I turned to see how far behind my my sitting place was, but it was already long out of sight. Tim thought I had stashed them on purpose, so I explained about my blister, feeling extremely lame. Here this guy had done all these races, and now it looked like I stashed my poles so I didn’t have to carry them an extra 2.5 miles.
I walked most of the road, jogging only a few times. But my walking pace was still 16 to 17 min/mile, so I was happy. To bolster that feeling, I did not feel like toast, I was ready to face the second half! AND I was still 10 minutes, or maybe a bit more, ahead of where I thought I’d be. Yahoo!
historical marker at Winfield ghost town
Dad at Winfield
Me hiking up the road to Winfield eating the last of my chips!
Bones caught me going into the aid station and took my water to be filled. Into the aid station, I weighed 2 pounds more than I did the day before. I grabbed some fruit and a coke, then Bones lead me to my crew. Here I was, feeling great, and here were all my friends, helping me out. I doesn’t get any better. I ate most of my bologna sandwich, more chips, more coke, and then it was time to go.
Blister check!
Mmmm, Coke!
I told Bones we had to watch for my poles on the way back, and I explained about the blister care. About ½ mi out from the aid station, he asks where my GPS spot was. Hmm? Turns out the small device that was supposed to be relaying my progress to my friends and family that weren’t with me had detached from my pack. Crap. Oh, well, I guess I ‘ll be replacing it. It seemed like an easy worry to let go, which was all to the good as I couldn’t see how I could do much about it now. We walked a good portion of the road to let the food I had eaten settle. We jogged for a bit, then started walking more looking closely at all the rocks on the side of the road for the one I had sat on an hour ago. “It was gray…” I said helplessly. But the day was coming up roses for me: we spotted my poles laying not 1 foot from the road, crossed carelessly next to a flatish rock. Wahoo!
The party didn’t last overly long – the turn onto the trail up hope pass stared me in the face, unblinking. Well, here’s the true test, I thought. Just make it over, slow and steady. Keep about 5% back, maybe a little more for the later miles. I had to convince myself to not try to stay on Bones’ heels, to just go my own pace. Several pairs of pacers and runners passed me. Many times they’d demur – oh no, you’re going just the right pace, we prefer to follow. But quickly with someone right on my heels, I’d be working harder, my breathing more labored, until finally I’d tell them to pass. Bones encouraged me to take a gel, to eat and drink – I tried to follow his directions. He kept me good company, telling me stories, and keeping my mind occupied especially when I couldn't talk. The section that seems to go straight up took a long time, but thankfully I was prepared for it and was patient. Finally the switchbacks came. At one point, near the treeline, Bones asks where the trail goes. I looked at him quizzically – the trail was as plain as the nose on his face, straight in front of him – so I said, straight in front of you. He chuckled, and after a couple of beats I realized I had missed something. Finally, after thinking over what he had said, I realized he wanted to know where the pass was on the horizon, and I pointed it out, a little abashed. Ah well.
Again, I was sure I was losing time on my prediction, but reminded myself to let it go, and just keep moving as easily as I could. I felt good, considering. No real problems, and how great is that? We got to the top and headed down to the Hopeless aid station. As we round the corner and the llamas come into view, I hear Bones admiring them. I put on more Vaseline here, as I worried about the downhill and my almost blister. They were out of coke, but the soup was good, and Bones got me out of there quickly. We jogged along, and made good time overall. At a bathroom break, I snagged some barbed wire, but other than a tear in my gaiter, I thought I was unscathed. Once we were down to the river flats, my legs weren’t too excited about the lack of gravitational assistance, but Bones had me walk/run, and then FORCED me to soak in the river for 3 minutes. Which felt awesome. Even the small muddy pools in the track on the other side felt good, though Bones laughed at me for just going through them instead of around when it was possible. Soon, when I knew we were close to the aid station, I told him what I wanted, and sent him ahead. I looked at my watch, and got a jolt of energy. I was half an hour ahead of schedule. No way! I felt great. I was running through the swamp at frickin’ mile 60, and I felt fabulous. Some onlookers gave me great encouragement here, and really got me excited. Just to be coming into Twin Lakes, which I had always pictured as the 2/3 of the way mark, and also a spot where I could be in a lot of pain, a lot of trouble - but instead I felt awesome, it just meant that I was doing Leadville right in some way. That I was succeeding.
I crossed the road into Twin Lakes with a huge smile, feeling like I was on top of the world. My crew found me, and exclaimed at how great I looked. Finally they convinced me to sit down, and start taking care of business. A shoe change, more to eat, a shirt change, amidst much talking and laughing. I got to talk to Co here on my mother in law’s phone, but I kept it brief, and he told me to go get ‘em. Maria was all suited up and ready to go, so my crew hustled me out of there. Even though I was ahead of schedule, by a lot, they didn’t let me linger. What a crew! I also told DP that, as good as I was feeling, I thought that I’d be early into all the other aid stations too, and that they should adjust the expected times.
I headed out with Maria holding ten things in her hands (and asking if there was anything else she could take) while I tried to down a cup of soup. The hike up the jeep road out of Twin Lakes wasn’t bad, at least, no worse than I expected. I took it slow, stopping occasionally to try to knock some of the noodles in the bottom of the cup into my mouth. I was keeping up with my salt tabs, and doing well with water. As we got to the trail turn off, I told Maria to go first, and we switched on our lights. The moon was coming up, full and bright, lighting up the scattered clouds. I hiked a big portion of this part, until the trail started going downhill. I love running on trails at night. I didn’t have a handheld flashlight with me, and I regretted it. Maria gave me hers, and I felt much more clear sighted. We leapfrogged with a pair of guys, the runner in good spirits but belching loudly at regular intervals. Which brought to mind Wacko, or should I say, the great Wakkarotti.
And then, the Yakko’s Nations of the World.
I ate a gel somewhere here, and had some chips. Soon we were descending the cut to the jeep road. Once there, running along, we came upon K. To whom I said, “You run like a girl!” We high-fived. His achilles was a non-stop painfest for him now. I told him I wanted to see him cross the finish line, and then we ran on. This section had occasional beautiful moonlit vistas of canyons and trees with mountains in the distance. The temperature was perfect, the surface was perfect, the company was great. We were passing people constantly, when one person we passed spoke up. “Is that Maria?” We had caught up to J, who had cracked a rib but was still soldiering through the tough course without being able to take a deep breath. “I wondered when you were going to catch me,” she said. After a bit of chatting, she took off. No really. Took off. All of a sudden, she sped up, her pacer went with her, and she left me in the dust.
Oh.
I have to admit that wasn’t a lot of fun. I was a little hard on myself for a while, but soon the aid station showed up, glowing in the darkness, offering coke and all things salty, sugary, warm and cold that a runner could want. I didn’t eat or drink much, but the coke I had was good. A look at my watch… I think we are even farther ahead of schedule. But, wait, is it 10 miles between Twin Lakes and Halfmoon II, or is it 6? I can’t remember, but I think it is 10. Maria can’t remember. We ask someone close by, they don’t know either. If it was six, then we are really slow. If it was 10, then we are making really good time. Which is it? Unable to figure it out, we head down the jeep road. Here I start to feel an ache in my left shin, just a little. It’s a little worse once we turn north on the pipeline road, just enough that picking up my toes to go over the ruts is hard. I direct Maria to the bridge to the west side of the jeep road, then thankfully we are on smooth pavement, and I can relax. I can definitely tell I’ve slowed down here. For reassurance, I ask Maria if the shuffling pace is faster than the walking pace. She says it is, and though I have my doubts, I keep running. Shuffling. On one of the walk breaks on the road to fish hatchery, I started to get a little cold. I had all my clothes on at this point, but wished I had a hat. Maria told me to use my buff – brilliant idea, except I don’t know how to make it into a hat – I need the diagrams to make it work. Instead, I pull it up so it now looks like a nun’s wimple, with just my face showing through. Maria just about fell over laughing, and I felt pretty silly. With that, my spirits up again, we headed up the road to Fish hatchery, now way way ahead of my projections. I just hoped DP would be there….
An SUV passes us on the road, then stops. DP’s voice carries through the darkness, “Margaret is that you?” I have no idea how they spotted me in the dark, but she and Bones gave us encouragement and headed to the aid station to set up. I was happy to know they were there, though I think they were a bit stressed out that they didn’t have much time. Here, I started to flat out ignore K’s advice, and I DAWDLED in the aid stations. I had oodles of time. I felt good. My crew told me I looked good and I believed them! I was excited for the next chunk, and also, I wanted to eat something here before the next big hill. Another cup of soup down the hatch. I think I ate something else here, too, but can’t really remember. Pretty soon my crew cottoned on to the fact that I was just sitting there, and DP hustled me out into the night. #805 checking out! At this point, I knew that I would finish. It didn’t matter what else the race had in store for me.
DP was the most motherly pacer I had, probably because I needed it. She let me hike to the turn up the sugarloaf hill, with one short bout of running downhill, before getting me to eat something. At this point, 20 hours of running, I really had to work up some enthusiasm for those gels. And not the quiet internal conversations, no this was full on, out loud, “oh boy! Strawberry banana. Mmmm. That’ll be good. Yum, strawberry banana. I like that. Tasty!” Hey, it worked for me. Going up sugarloaf, DP was easy on me. We went slowly so I could digest. The only prodding I got was to eat something, to drink something, but she left the pace to me. I took my shoe off to get a pebble out, I noticed a huge blister on the side of my toe, and a spot of blood at the base of my big toenail (painted Lickety Split Lime!) that seemed to mean that toenail wasn’t long for this world. Since the blister didn’t hurt at all, we decide to hold off on treating it until the aid station. As we got about half way up Sugarloaf, nature called. As I made my way back to the road, I hear someone coming up the path. Not footsteps, but groans, over and over again, steadily coming closer. A pure pit of human misery making their way in the dark. Maybe I should have waited and offered to help, but I couldn’t face it. I went faster uphill. We got to the top in 90 minutes, which matched the predictions I had made. So I had slowed down on this section, but I was ok with that. Still prodding me to eat, DP kept me company by teaching me a new alphabet based song. Which I think I caught on to by the time she got to ‘t’. Downhill before the Hagerman pass road was actually painful on my shin, lifting my toes to avoid the numerous rocks. We stopped once and DP rubbed it, but it didn’t really help for long. And it hurt equally to walk as to run… so might as well run. I asked DP whether the run was still faster than my walk, she said it was. The smooth Hagerman pass road was a relief, and we ran well down that, until we came to the turn off onto the Colorado trail. I asked to go first. It felt great to be back in the woods on a trail. I felt pretty great again in the cool of the night, the woods close around me. I forgot all about my shin, or maybe it just didn’t hurt anymore. Had DP given me a tylenol? I don't remember. DP took my water bottle to fill it, and I kept running. I focused on the path and tried to dance lightly over the rocks. First bridge. Keep running, keep running, feels so good – DP is somewhere behind me, I hear her say to someone I passed, “yeah, right? Who’s pacing who here? She’s doing great!” That gives me a lift. Second bridge, a glance at my watch – awesome, I’m still way ahead of schedule. She caught back up to me before the last bridge, and all too quickly we’re off the trail and running down the road to May Queen.
Me and crew at 4 AM looking at where my blister used to be
DP had a medic come to look at the blister, but it had popped going over sugarloaf, and looked completely normal. I ate, I got rid of a layer, drank some. I saw K’s son J, who told me no one ever looks this “with it” at May queen, much less happy. I felt great. I’d been moving forward for 24 hours.
Only 13 miles left, much of it trail, what’s not to feel good about! I tried to dawdle, but didn’t get very long before Bones and DP forced me up and out of there. I heard them make K and M promise to make me eat, cross their hearts and hope to die.
K headed out with me, and she and I walked to the trail head while I finished eating something. I think. M had told me that K was a bit worried about keeping up with me at altitude. Once on the trail, we ran steadily. A couple of times I thought I heard her stumble, but she assured me she was fine. We kept passing people. We saw Ruthanne, who was suffering from nausea. I offered everything I could think of, and finally gave her a hug and told her to keep working, that she was doing great, the finish was close if she could keep it up. SB passed me – I gave him a big cheer. What a comeback! It didn’t take long to get to the boat ramp, and M subbed in for K. I kept K’s headlamp, though, as it was much better than mine. I couldn’t believe it. I was on the last 7 miles. Can that possibly be right? M sang an air force cadence with my name substituted into all the best places which got me giggling. In the half light of the approaching dawn we both hunted for the trail markers as we passed through campgrounds. I was still passing people consistently, I passed SB again. Then I came upon J, still running with her hurt rib. We exchanged encouragement, and then I eased by on the left, and continued running. I still felt good. Wasn’t life supposed to suck at some point during this 100 miles? Not that I was complaining! It all seemed so surreal, like maybe I hadn’t even started running yet. I couldn’t believe I was capable of doing what I was in the midst of doing. I kept shaking my head, and I don’t believe the smile ever left my face. M asked if I was going to jump over the finish line. I tested out a jump – I didn’t get much air, that’s for sure.
Once we got to the dirt road part, I knew it was just a few more miles. The race didn’t seem as long as it was supposed to seem. How in the world did I get this close to the end? Everyone on the course at this point was congratulating each other, encouraging them, extending friendship and well wishes to everyone around them. We knew we would finish. The end was within reach. The camaraderie buoyed those that were flagging, and pushed those that wanted to push. Some faces I passed had pain, relief, some amazement, but all showed a sense of thankfulness for the day and the current moment that is missing in everyday life.
M and I were still running, until we turned to go uphill on the boulevard. We mixed walking and running. The sun came over the hill in front of us as we were climbing and blinded us. We turned left, and the knowledge that it was just a mile to the end brought tears to my eyes. M spent the large part of our run telling me how amazing this was, how inspirational for him. It wasn’t until I crested the hill and could see and hear the finish line that I could internalize even a small part of that sentiment. I was still just me, but I was also finishing something I wasn’t sure I could do. Something really hard. I had a lot of luck over those 27 hours, and a lot of help, planning and preparation had gotten me here, too. The run to the red carpet was quick. I could hear my friends and family cheering. I stuck my tongue between my teeth so I could bite it against the tears, and I was smiling as wide as it was possible. And I did jump.
Post race dazzlement
I almost didn’t want to stop at the line. Didn’t want it to be over. But it was finished at 27h 19 minutes for me, and I got hugs from crew, friends and family. K told me that we were now square – I had paid in full my half of the Ironman – Leadville bargain. The medical guy came to take me off to be assessed, and he echoed Ken Chlouber, saying that I didn’t look like I had run at all. I was still up 2 pounds. Monsigneur medic proclaimed that I was just fine, in great condition without any more tests. I stayed to see J finish just a bit behind me, then we went to the coffee shop for mom and dad. I saw my crew off headed back to the ABQ. Although part of me wanted to see the finish, we went back to the house instead so I could shower. First, though, K and M emptied 4 bags of ice into the tub for my icebath.
Facing that tub might have been harder than several race sections. I was already cold, my body not able to self regulate temperature very well anymore. It was all I could do to sit in there for 10 minutes.
Post shower I tried to stay awake to talk with mom and dad, but soon I could tell my head was nodding. I bowed to the desire to sleep and took a 30 minute nap. After that, we headed to the awards ceremony. Unfortunately, mom and dad had to leave for the airport halfway through, and didn’t see the awards part. As M and K, and my in laws and I were sitting in the bleachers waiting for them to start calling names, M shows me a picture of the results. It looks like this:
Wait, what are all of those numbers in front of my name?
143 = overall placing. Really? Cool! That’s good for me… out of 781 entrants… who knows how many started… or finished….
12 = placing among women. What? I was the 12th woman across the line? Wow. I did well out there. Really well. awesome. I can’t believe it.
3 = place in my age group. NO WAY! REALLY? … I got an age group award at Leadville… my first 100… an award… Hee hee hee I love it when the fast people stay home! Unbelieveable!
I had finished so far ahead of anything that I expected to do. I was disbelieving of that time. I fully expected to finish in 29:XX. I texted DP and Bones. Wahooo! As if I wasn’t unhinged enough by finishing the race, then finishing well, and feeling well, trying to absorb further good luck in placing in my AG was just beyond me.
Mayor Merilee, Me, and RD Ken Chlouber
My belt buckle and award pan
Other fallout:
I didn’t end up losing a toenail after all. The barbed wire that I snagged between Winfield and Twin lakes just scratched my big toe.
My blisters faded into callouses and were a complete non-issue.
The soreness in my shin is actually the tendon that runs up the front of the leg from the big toe, and that remains sore a week post race, but not terrible.
The GPS Spot was found by some angel runner or pacer, and turned in to lost and found. Thank you to that good hearted person!
The week prior to Leadville, let’s just say I was purposefully distracting myself from thinking about the race. I had proposals to write, reports to finish, relatives visiting, summer interns leaving, and all of these things I used to avoid nervous useless obsessing about the race.
I was still antsy
I still made a few lists
I still had some plans about how things should go
But I did not get out my gear bags. I did not set out nutrition to take. I left all that until later, as every time I thought about getting my bag packed for Colorado, I’ll admit it, I would tear up with fear and anticipation. How did I agree to this? (Maybe I felt a bit like K before the IM swim?) I don’t know that I can do this. But, just like Scarlett O’Hara, I just put it out of my mind – “Oh, I can't think about this now! I'll go crazy if I do! I'll think about it tomorrow… After all... tomorrow is another day!”
I made drop bags for my crew which kept me busy until 3 am Tuesday morning before Leadville. Then, I woke up at 7 and started packing. I packed and packed, and because I had no time to dwell on the future, I made it through the morning. I did forget my body glide, and had to return home to get it. But otherwise I did ok. While at work, I had no time to stop to consider where I was headed – project deadlines were steadily creeping closer. I left work later than planned, and headed to Espanola to rendezvous with Co at the hotel the production put him up at. Very nice, but I was a bit too tired and worn out to enjoy the surroundings.
Wednesday early, he woke and hugged me good luck. I slept in a bit, and then there was nothing left to do but drive up…
TO LEADVILLE.
A few solid hours of nothing to do but swim around in my own turbulent sea of anxiety. Luckily when I got to Leadville, there was a text waiting for me from K. Me, F, K, Geekgrl, and sweet baboo all went out for pizza. Then it was time to put a few finishing touches on the drop bags. Then bed. Thank goodness for friends. Thursday morning we ran up at Independence pass – finally a little release to all that nervous energy. It felt great, and I finally felt like I was all in one piece again not flying scattered between a thousand different points like a pinball.
Highs must necessarily be followed by lows, and once I moved into the rental house Thursday, I discovered that I was really alone. No phone. No cell phone. No internet. All by myself.
So I made cookies. And met friends for the LT pasta feed. And put together my gear bags, mostly. And then it was time for bed. –whew- I still had a whole day to go before the start, for crying out loud.
Got up, made blueberry crumble in which I added twice as much liquids as the recipe called for (I swear it was the fault of the house’s measuring cups – they were confusing). I kind of fixed it. The cookies were definitely better.
Went to medical check in, and waited for the pep rally. I was torn between wanting company, and not wanting anyone to see just how nervous I was. I am STRONG. I am independent. I am CAPABLE. *whimper*
The pep rally was interesting, the doc funny, and Ken was Ken, telling us to dig deep. Find a way to keep moving toward the finish. When he asked the newbies to stand, boy were there a lot of us. I learned there were 40 people in my age group – wow, ok.
Bones came to the crew meeting. Passing info to him, talking logistics, really calmed me down. I understood how this was going to work. It was going to work.
Back to the house to finish putting together the drop bags and gear bags. Norm and Jane show up to start cooking, and I try to leave to drop off the drop bags… no car keys. Anywhere. I looked everywhere, twice. I knew they were at the house – I had driven the car there. I looked everywhere again. I wanted to get this done so that when my in-laws arrived, I wasn’t still running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Finally after completing sweep #5 of the house and car and surround county, I walked up the stairs saying that I would take Jane up on her offer to let me borrow her car – and just about ran into my mother in law. After hugs, I confessed my sorry ability to keep track of keys, and Marv lent me the keys to the van. Off I went, dropped off the bags, checked in for my crew at the super 8, and was driving back before you knew it. Until I passed a cop. Who pulled out to follow me. And then switched on his lights. OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! I wasn’t speeding, I didn’t think… so why….
Officer: “license, insurance and registration please, ma’am” -oh great, I’m going to get ma’ammed through this whole thing, too-
Me: “Here’s my license and insurance, but.. this is my father in law’s cargo van, I don’t know where he keeps the registration… they drove out from Wisconsin, it’s packed full of their stuff. I could look if you want me to?”
He waves his hand – “no, that’s alright. I’ll be right back.”
Him; “Ma’am this registration is not coming up in my computer. You’ll want to have your father in law check that out.”
Me: “ok, I will. He’s very responsible, I can’t imagine he let it lapse.”
Him: “That’s fine, not why I stopped you. Ma’am, do you know why I stopped you?”
Me:“no Sir, I don’t.
Him: “well, I thought you might be drunk. You were all over the road back there!”
Me: “oh, ah, well, I don’t usually drive anything like this van, ah. I’m not used to how it handles. I didn’t realize… I’m not, ah, drunk. I’m very close now to home. ”
Him: “you were weaving all over your lane.”
Me: “ah, I, I’m sorry, I’ll be very careful on the way home, I promise!” (tried very hard to look respectable.)
He let me go, and I spent the next five miles trying to figure out a way to tell Marv about his registration without telling my in-laws that I got pulled over because the officer suspected I was drunk.
I got back to the house, and the pasta party is in full swing. I say hello to several friends, make my way over to Marv. I returned his keys and thanked him profusely for the loan. Then, quietly, “A cop stopped me. He said the registration didn’t come up for the van, so you’ll want to check that.” I thought that was good. The truth, you know, but not the whole truth. But then, Marv gets this horrified look on his face. “you got STOPPED? Oh I’m so sorry! It’s the special bicentennial WI plates, they don’t come up out of state. Oh my gosh, I can’t believe they stopped you for that. Are you ok? Did he give you a hard time? I’m so so sorry! I swear it is those plates. It is! I can go get you the registration if you want to see it!”
I hesitated. But I couldn’t let him feel so bad.
“No, no Marv, actually he stopped me because I weaved a couple of times going around a turn,” big sigh, “and he thought I might be drunk.”
They had the grace not to laugh.
The rest of the party was fun, the food was good, and I tried my best not to freak out about the missing car keys. Which my mom and dad, M and K were going to NEED the next day. Several friends could see through my very thin veneer of calm to the “OH MY GOD WHAT AM I GOING TO DO.” I had at least 5 people also go through the house, car and grounds. No luck. K told me not to worry about it – did I have a ride the next day to the race start. Yes. So forget it.
“OK BUT AFTER THE RACE WE AREN”T STATYING IN LEADVILLE I CAN’T LEAVE THE CAR HERE WE NEED IT HOW AM I GOING TO GET HOME CO’S GOING TO KILL ME.”
Thankfully, K figured out a plan involving K calling my neighbors that night when he got back to Leadville, my neighbors finding the spare key at the house, and fedex. I sat down. (It’s good to have friends.)
Bones corners me, and we sit down to more thoroughly go through the plan, my gear bags, my time estimates. Just as we are getting a handle on things, DP arrives. I give her a huge hug, and we go through it again. Change shoes here. Gear bags organized this way. Phone list. I warn that if I am ahead of schedule on the way out, that’s likely going to mean trouble. I thank them. Multiple times. And I mean it wholeheartedly.
The whole time, Jane and Norm have set up, cooked, served, and are now cleaning up. I can’t express how thankful I am to them for all of their work. Jane as a last ditch effort decides she will check my car one more time for my keys. To my great surprise and everlasting gratefulness, I hear a whoop from my car, and a jangle and Jane bounds up to the house holding my keys. The last vestige of tension loosens from my shoulders, and I give her a huge hug. It’s going to be fine. It will all work out.
Everyone leaves. I tidy up, leave a note for my parents and M and K. I set up for the morning. I look around at all the things I won’t see again in daylight until Sunday… because I am going for a run.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
hmm, let's see. What shall I write about today?
Funny, nothing particular springs to mind.
There must be something worth a line or two....
I'm going to ask for some Bill Bryson books for Christmas, I think. I really enjoyed a Walk in the Woods. Especially the description of Katz chucking everything off the side of the trail.
I should really read more.
Everyone says that, in a wistful but positively unhopeful tone of voice that says, "my intentions are good, and I have so many of them, I could probably pave your driveway, too."
Co is working on location for a while now, and so I'm left to my own devices. Which it turns out are to do bills, vacuum, dust, do the dishes, walk the dog, and clean the bathroom. When did my devices get so boring? For a word that looks a bit like devious, and a bit like vice, I am certainly playing it safe here. Hmm. if there is such a word as "device" why isn't there such a word as "invice"? I guess it is one of those faux lost pairs. I should look up what they are really called on the net. Bah, no luck. I'll have to ask my English professor Sis in Law.
What's really going on here, you ask?
LEADVILLE IS ONLY 10 DAYS AWAY AND I'M TAPERING AND I'M A LITTLE ANTSY!
Co is not even home to distract me. Dante, while companionable, is not cutting it.
I'm scheduled to only run 20 miles this week. I can't do it. I've already run 10, and I'm running tonight with J and M. And it's only TUESDAY. I think I'll try to hold myself to 30. 30 would still be considered tapering, right?
I ran a PR today in a race I have done 84 times. We run the same hilly jeep road course every Tuesday from my work. It's 2.5 miles long. Typical PR's are a handful of seconds because the race is so short; improvements are usually gradual. I beat my time by 45 sec. That's a lot. My time (19:07) actually resembles those of the other runners now.
I did the Socorro Chile Harvest sprint tri, and though hadn't swam or biked since May 1st, I was only 1 minute off last years time.
Even Mom noticed I was antsy on our telephone call. She said with a great amount of amusement and resignation in her voice, "You're going to have a hard time going back to running less after this race, aren't you?"
Fri: double crossing of Hope Pass [16.5 miles]
Sat.: DAY- Treeline(Pipeline) to Twin Lakes and back [24 miles]
NIGHT - Fish Hatchery (base of sugarloaf) to May Queen [9 miles]
Sun.: May Queen to Tabor Boat Ramp [9 miles]
Planning the weekend was more difficult with more people, but also waaaayyyyy more fun. Here are some pictures. I was really happy with how I felt all weekend. I ate and drank pretty well the entire time, I tried out a caffeine pill on the night run and it was fine, DP was a blast to run with through the dark, and all my gear worked as advertised - except I still haven't gotten the opportunity to try my rain jacket. Oh, and my headlamp went out.
The bonus came this morning when I added in my miles for the week on my log. 90.8 miles
Ninety FRICKIN' miles! Holy cow. I've wanted to put in a 90 mile week, just to see that I could do it. I didn't think I was going to get it in though. I'm bouncing in my chair like a 4 year old.
Traipsing through the wildflowers near the top of Hope Pass (Twin Lakes side)
Me climbing up the Winfield side of Hope Pass
At the top of Hope Pass
Taking advantage of the river crossing to Twin Lakes for an ice bath
1.) I am hesitant to write in my blog lately, because that requires I VISIT my blog, and see the counter. Yeah, that one at the top of the page. That I put there. That I thought was funny. Avoidance is now my constant companion. I just keep thinking, “It’ll never be then.” Right? (tick, tick....)
2.) I also am reluctant to write about my training… because it is going well. I think. I don’t want to jinx anything by putting it down into words. When did I become so superstitious? That is NOT like Analysis Girl at all.
3.) But because this blog is really all about me, and right now I am all about running, that kinda means that if I’m not willing to write about running… well, you see the pickle I am in.
4.) I have been terribly consistent in my training. More so that for any other endeavor by far. I have only missed a handful of scheduled miles over the last 3 months. My training log, which I color green for days that I do the scheduled workout and red for a missed workout, is almost completely green. Wow. I didn’t know I could do that. I’ve been saying that a lot lately. I’ll work out the percentage of completed workouts when the race is a week away to boost my confidence.
5.) I got interviewed as a newbie ultrarunner for the Albuquerque Journal Fit section. It’ll come out in August. I hope I don’t come across like an ass. The only thing I said that I am concerned about how it will come across was in response to the question, “what worries you most – or what aspect do you worry about the race?” In reality, I think and mull over LOTS of things. I'm not a worry-wart, though. The only thing I worry about is, well, being paced. Yes, I worry about my pacers. I worry that we won’t get along. I worry that they won’t have fun. I worry that we won’t be able to communicate… mostly because I am terrible at it. So, that’s what I said, that I worry about my pacers, and how we’ll interact. I think she was shocked that I wasn’t worried about my stomach, the course, the time cutoffs. I guess I’m odd. And now I worry about what people will think about me worrying about my pacers. What a useless waste of energy.
6.) I feel like I am getting slower. The facts don’t bear this out though. My speed work and tempo work show I am getting faster, a little. But I FEEL slower.
7.) I’ve gone through several more shifts in perspective. First, now 30 mile runs followed by 10 to 20 mile runs the next day do not seem like a huge deal. THAT IS MORE MILEAGE THAN I USED TO PUT IN DURING AN ENTIRE WEEK. Ack, who does that? Oh, apparently I do. Huh.
8.) Second, the ski hill doesn’t seem so bad. It’s kinda fun to go straight up. And then straight back down. And repeat.
9.) Third, I have finally gotten more used to running in the heat. I ran in DC in 100 degrees and 9X% humidity, and it wasn’t that bad. I can’t believe I just wrote that.
10.) Lastly, a 40 mile week was a welcome recovery week for me. Wow, what a load off! I barely ran at all. My legs got some bounce back, I slept well and tried not to overeat. However, in retrospect, 40 miles per week used to be a high mileage week. Sheesh.
11.) My house is dirty and my garden has weeds. Big weeds. It wouldn’t bother me so much, but my brother, sister-in-law and two nieces are coming to stay for a couple of days next week. Guess I’ll be cleaning Sunday night when I get back from…
12.) Leadville training trip #2. See, you maybe thought that last point wasn’t going to be running related. But it was. Friday: double cross that Hope Pass. Saturday: Twin lakes to Pipeline/Treeline during the day, then night run from near Fish Hatchery up over sugarloaf to the dam and back. Sunday, May Queen to the Tabor boat ramp and back. If this makes no sense to you, the take away message is that we’ll cover ~45 miles of the Leadville course. Woot!
13.) One of my favorite parts about all of this running is the growing list of animals I have seen in the last few weeks: Marmot, black bear (twice, with growling huffing noises thrown in for fun), rattlesnakes, horny toads, porcupine, white tailed deer (one whole deer family – a doe, fawn and buck all together), Abert squirrels, burrowing owls, coyotes (lots), mule deer, garter snake, hummingbirds, and more. :) I love the trails.
Today, Jean took me up to Leadville to train. She said on the first day we’d go from Halfmoon to Twin Lakes, with maybe a climb up to somewhere called Mt Elbert. After a little trouble finding the new route, we headed down the jeep roads. There were no markings or numbers on these forest roads, dear diary. Although Jean had never been on this new section, we did manage to take the right jeep road to the Colorado trail. We ran on the trail until suddenly we came to a paved road! We had missed a turn. A passing cyclist said it was 3 miles to Twin Lakes, but luckily, dear diary, it was only 1.5.
We filled up with water, and headed back to the Colorado Trail by the right route this time. It was steep! We got to the trail, and then we saw why we had missed the turn – it had logs put across it. We laughed, and kept going. The wrong way. Again. Before too long, Jean turned us around (I was getting a bit dizzy) and got us going in the right direction.
Part way along, she stopped and waited for me, then asked, “Do you want to run more, or hike?” I had already agreed to the Mt. Elbert (whatever that was) climb, so we started hiking up. And up. And up. We were already at 10,000 ft, dear diary, so how much farther could it really be? Then Jean says, “You know, Mt. Elbert is more than 14,000 ft high.”
“And,” says Jean, “It’s the highest peak in Colorado!”
The nice deaf man resting by the side of the trail mimed to me that the peak was too slippery to get to. But we went anyway. And this afternoon, I learned to posthole. There weren't any people at the top but us. We only saw a handful hiking up or down that day. Jean said that today, only the HARDCORE people made it to the top. She says now I can say I am HARDCORE as well as agile.
We saw several Marmots. The first thought he was an Adonis, and posed quite nicely with Jean. “I am too gorgeous, you must admire me.”
The next was pretending to be a rock. “I am a rock,” he said, “You do not see me.”
After summitting (my first fourteener – hey, it counts even if it was totally unintentional!) and signing the register, we headed down.
After reaching the Colorado trail, we realize we were both out of water with 5 miles to go.
I was thirsty, Jean was thirsty, but we ran. More than 9 hours and 28.5 miles after starting, we were standing by our car. Which I had left unlocked. Luckliy, dear diary, nothing was taken!
We ended the night with a plate of tilapia and pasta, followed by a starlit icy soak in the pond in the backyard. A perfect EXTREME SHEEP vacation.
I had TRIED to take it easy on (6/19) Saturday’s Pipeline to Twin Lakes to Mt Elbert to Pipeline loop. I really had. I tried to keep the effort low. But by the end of a 9.3 hour day of running and hiking up to 14,433 ft, with none of the 28.5 miles below 9000 ft, I was tired. My muscles had forgotten what glycogen looked like. I woke up in the middle of the night really hungry even though we had a big dinner. And a big snack before dinner. And a little snack before bed.I just hoped I'd recover enough to carry me over Hope Pass and back the next day.
Jean had found out from a friend that the high temperatures and voluminous snowpack this year had wiped out many of the bridges spanning the river between Twin lakes and Hope Pass. He directed us to one that was still crossable, just west of Willis Gulch. Out of curiosity, we stopped at Willis gulch, thinking maybe that bridge wouldn’t be underwater anymore. Instead, we found the bridge was split in two, and hanging off of the two banks. The water raged and frothed itself to a creamy white above it in the narrow canyon. The amount of water flowing under the bridge we did cross was dizzying.
Jean, mistress of trails for this Leadville weekend, quickly found the right trail, and then the right turn, and we were on the Colorado trail heading up to Hope Pass. Legs were tired, but not as bad as they were for the Caldera marathon! We caught the trail about 2 or 3 miles out from Twin Lakes, just at the bottom of the incline. The trail is a pleasure to climb (in training), a little rocky, a little rooty, not steep enough to make you stop. I used my trekking poles all the way up. They gave me a rhythm to lose myself in. The trail is wide enough for two people to walk side by side, if they like each other. In most places, one side was better footing than the other. It’s wooded in lodgepole pines, spruce, and aspen. For some of it, a river was just off the path. Before long, I was running across small meadows with wildflowers – reminded me of marsh marigolds and lupine from Wisconsin. The trail narrowed to one person wide up here, and was less rocky. Finally, I came to the last meadow, where Jean was waiting in the lee of a tree, and where the Llamas will be on race day. Oh, and the aid station, too. I sat and ate a bit.
Above us, we could see the trail between spotty snowfields leading up to Hope Pass through nothing but 0.7 miles of rocks. The wind whipped down the slope as we made our way to the pass. Jean borrowed a pole to get through the snowfields. It took 22 min to cross the distance to the pass.
Time to ascend Twin Lakes side: 1:53 (includes the rest break.)
Distance of climb = 2.7 miles
Elevation difference: 3270
The wind kept me from enjoying the view, and down the other side we ran. The first mile was totally runnable with my poles giving added purchase on the sandy surface in an open exposed terrain. After that, in the woods, the two or three rock slides slowed me to a walk with unstable rocks in all shapes and sizes. After 1.5 miles, the trail was so narrow that the undergrowth was grabbing my poles. For the last mile, the trail was so steep and slidy, that I couldn’t manage much of a run. This will be a challenge on race day, to give and get room on the trail to and from other runners. THIS side was not two people wide at any point. I found Jean at the bottom, and we ran to the road and turned around there (skipping the 2 miles to the race turn around at Winfield).
Time to descend Winfield side: 48 minutes
Distance: 2.6 miles
Elevation drop: 2675
On the way back up, the first mile was by far the hardest. The steep section here was steeper than the Twin Lakes side had been. I was trudging, and immediately lost sight of Jean. I stopped for 7 minutes, sat on a rock, ate my potato chips and drank. Finally, though, I started up again, still appreciating the poles I was using. My breathing was labored going up the Winfield side, something I hadn’t noticed on the twin lakes side. (I’m sure on race day, both sides will feel laborious.) I plodded and plodded. I stopped to catch my breath several times, and on each occasion it eluded me. Finally, as the woods began to thin, the trail eased its pitch just slightly, and I was able to hike with purpose. I even ran across one or two switchbacks. Close to the top, the fierce wind tugged relentlessly at my light carbon poles as I tried to plant them. I gave up on using both poles, and focused on only one with better luck.
Time to ascend Winfield side: 1:44 (includes the rest break)
The first .7 miles of rocks, snow, wind and grief were not fun, but soon over. I caught Jean napping in the lee of a different tree. Before I could do more than take a drink, she was up and running downhill. The poles were fantastic for descending on this wide, slightly more level trail. There were only a couple of rocky sections that were difficult to plant a pole in. Everywhere else, I got a boost because of them. After 20 minutes, my triceps were crying from all of the exercise. I will need to work on that! We turned off of this trail early, but it seems that it would have taken me 45 minutes to get back to where we started.
So… race day estimates? Who knows. Here's a stab in the dark.
3 miles from Twin Lakes to bottom of hope pass = 42 minutes
Ascent = 2 hours
Descent = 1 hour
Road to Winfield = 35 minutes
Total OB = 4:17
Return on road = 28 minutes
Ascent = 2.25 hours
Descent = 1 hour
3 miles to Twin lakes = 45 minutes
Total IB = 4:28
I didn’t set out with great expectations, I swear. But at one point, I turned to Bones and said, “This is not how I expected this to go.” And yet, the Run the Caldera Marathon 2010 may have been one of the best learning opportunities to date for me.
I anticipated finishing in about 5 hours, give or take, after running conservatively and easily, just letting my legs cover the distance. I love the locale of the race, so I was looking forward to seeing the meadow, and the wildflowers, hearing the streams. I was looking forward to being happy out there.
I did not get what I wanted. I guess we’ll see if I got what I needed.
We had to wait at the start for about 45 minutes, as lightning from a brief passing storm had started a small fire. The volunteer fire dept (THANK YOU VOLUNTEERS!) contained it quickly and we started.
My first thought: Wow, my legs are heavy.
Second thought: really really heavy.
Third: I’ve never felt my legs like this. Not even last week after running long with S. Baboo and then running longish with Kenbot the next day. Not even close.
Were small children hanging on to my legs and dragging their weight behind me? No. Had someone inserted lead into my shoes? Doubtful.
Am I really this tired? Huh. Guess so.
I plodded along, feeling like I had already run 20 or 30 miles even though we had just started. I hoped my legs would warm up and return to their normal peppy state…. But it was clear by mile 3 that I was hoping in vain. Lucky for me, Bones was running nearby, and selflessly decided to stay with me.
Normally, chatting or being chatted to while running tires me out. It can make me feel worse about how I’m doing even if I’m doing well, and can make me feel worse – even guilty – if I’m feeling bad. I’m not sure why. Maybe I assume that the person with me is having an easier time of it than I. Maybe it’s the difference between having to work to listen and understand someone, and being alone with my own thoughts. Which, while running I think about nothing in particular. Maybe it’s about having a witness, a fear of being judged.
But, that day, my head wasn’t a great place to be. It wasn’t happy, and it wasn’t thinking about nothing in particular. It was thinking that “I suck” and “At this rate, you’ll be out here all day” and “nobody else feels as bad as you do.” Chatting with Bones was enjoyable and a relief.
Lots of people passed us on the first climb that goes from 8000 to 10,000 ft. We walked just about the whole thing, except for one or two flatter spots. We did not pass a single person. We saw my friend Barry rejoin the trail – he had taken a wrong turn for an extra 2 miles. I thought that since I was going so slowly, I had an excellent opportunity to try taking in 2 gels an hour – in an attempt to get more calories. After gel #3, I abandoned that plan. No matter that I was walking, it was too much. Back to the drawing board on that one.
Got to the top (9.4 miles) in 1:54. “Waaaaait just a second here. That’s not really so bad. Do I still feel horrible?” Yep. "Huh.”
I couldn’t help but compare it to my times and splits from previous years:
Top of climb finish
2009 1:46 4:54
2008 1:55 5:13
2007 2:04 5:45
So it would seem like I was on track to ~5:13 finish. “No way. You’re too slow, it’ll be 6 hours.” We headed down the long descent. I couldn’t really relax into it, and my brain was definitely trying to convince me to walk.
“Ooo, that step kinda hurt. Don’t you think you should walk awhile? You know, just til it stops hurting? No?
... How about we walk this little flattish spot. You can run when it gets steeper again. No?
... Here’s an aid station. I know you’re wearing your hydration pack, but how about you stop for a coke. Some ginger ale?
...
Ah, the watch timer went off. Why not walk while you take your salt tab? You wouldn’t want to choke on it. Just a few steps…”
And on it went. I caved a few times. Especially when it came to the coke at the aid station. :0 After noting the time at the top, I checked our pace – my pace – as we went down and as we crossed the meadow of the caldera. Some 8:10s, 8:20s, 8:30s, 9s. Finally, I stopped looking at my watch – I just couldn’t stand the contradiction. I was feeling so awful, but the pace wasn’t reflecting just how awful I felt. Maybe the battery was dying. Whatever was going on, dwelling on it, trying to reason through it was frustrating. Better just to keep running, and walking the uphills. Forget the watch.
I checked with Bones a few times when I couldn’t stand it any longer, and he’d confirm that we were bound to finish just after 5, maybe 5:15 or 5:20. I couldn’t believe it. But mostly we talked about the Turkey factoid mile markers, the flowers, our training, Leadville, life. I knew I was slowing him down quite a bit. I offered him the chance to leave several times, but he declined. This is antithetical to me – I can definitely learn this generosity of spirit from Bones. For me, a race = goals. So it’s a big leap for me to see the value in setting aside any goals, and just keeping someone company that would appreciate it.
There weren’t any elk in the meadow as we passed through, just some cattle and horses in the distance. This year, the wind was blowing too much for the grasshoppers to be popping up from the ground like popcorn. It was so dry, the soil – aka volcanic ash – coated our legs. Bones made “poof-poof-poof” noises as sound effects as we stirred up clouds of dust with each step. I know the course pretty well, this being my fourth time, so I could tell Bones what was coming up. We had fun.
I felt no different at the end than I did at the start. Tired legs and achy feet. We crossed the line in 5:08, way faster than I had expected. Way happier with my day than I had expected, too. So I guess this serves as lesson 1 on how to run on tired legs. And lesson 1 on how to avoid the pit of despair in your own head. And maybe the preliminary lesson on how to run with friends.
I'm 36, and in the last two years I've finished a lifelong goal of doing an ironman race. Two actually. And I finished something I thought was impossible, the Leadville 100 Trail Run. Now what do I do with myself?
