Run Rabbit Run 100

Wow, what a tough race.

Nothing about the 50 mile last year prepared me for this course. My only solace is that the front runners also expected to finish 3-4 hours sooner than they did. Well, that and the fact that less than half of the hares that signed up made it through. I was in extremely good company.

What possessed me to sign up as a hare? Good question. Honestly, I thought I could finish the 100 miler in less than 29 hours, the original hare cutoff. It was at lower altitude than Leadville, at least, some of it was.... And I wanted to support the race - it's a neat format. I did not think I was going to win any $$, I just wanted to pad the women's field a little. Let me explain. Fred's little race, Run Rabbit Run 100 starts the self-proclaimed tortoises at 8 am (pretty civil start time, eh?) and then the hares start at 1:00 pm. Five hours after the tortoises - but everyone had the same finish line cutoff. The hares were running for serious prize money - 10K each for the male and female winners, and reduced amounts 5 deep. Pretty cool, except as race day got closer, there weren't many female hares. Fred hinted he might only go 3 deep on the women's side. So I thought, heck, why not? I can finish before the cutoff. And seeing a mid pack runner in there might stir some others to give it a shot. Besides, it'll be fun to sleep in and then get to catch and run through some of the tortoises perhaps.

I have to say, it was odd to have to wait around to start until 1. I couldn't figure out what I should eat, when I should eat it... And then, the nerves had plenty of time to build while I was waiting around.

From the middle of the first climb, I realized I would be chasing my predicted splits all day. We went straight up the ski hill. Bushwacking under the gondolas. Straight up.  Ups are something I need more practice at - I hadn't gotten any practice in between Leadville and now. Pretty quickly I was bringing up the rear. I expected that, though, so I kept chugging. And chugging. Holy cow this is a long ski hill. Oh good, the gondola station. What, another climb just like that? ...ok....
My calves were burning, I was sweating like crazy. At least the other runners had beat the trail down for me a little. Finally at the second gondola station, the course joined the road, which now meant I had the luxury of switchbacks to the top of the mountain, instead of a beeline. Really, I was thankful. Truly.

I had tried to take that first section easy, but after 6 miles, my legs felt like they'd done 30. Ooof. I think I use my calves too much as I climb, and not my glutes... something to work on. I tripped and fell 3 times on the slight rolling downhill 6 miles to the second aid station. I just hoped my calves wouldn't feel any worse. It was so pretty up there that I mostly didn't mind.The aspens were bright yellow against the dark evergreen background, yellow flowers dotted the mountainsides, blue sky topped it all off. The trail to Long Lake is rolling, with a few roots to make things interesting. After the AS, the first 2 miles of fish creek falls trail was gorgeous and runnable - gentle turns, slight downhill and flat, through glowing green meadows and a backdrop of evergreens and yellow aspen. I still hadn't recovered from that climb, but I was running at least. The falls continually next to the trail forced me to stop and admire at least twice, the sounds keeping me company throughout those miles. The trail then became technical and rocky, more downhill with switchbacks, until finally I hit the road. I thought I'd dislike this part - pavement and all - but the smooth easy running made it fun.

Through the high school AS, through town and to the Olympian AS. Ken was there waiting for Richard - he cheered me on. I was trying to be quick through the AS's - I knew I had to be to make cutoffs, and I didn't have a dedicated crew to help. As I was leaving the Olympian at 6 pm, I realized I didn't have any food on me. I hiked back down the ski hill - luckily only a short way. Ken gave me two waffles out of his pack, and off I went again. Ok, we are going to tackle this climb, and then as it gets dark, we are going to love running some trails.

Wait. Dark....

I don't have a headlamp! Back to the AS. I run in, and explain to Ken I need my drop bag as I look around wildly.

Wait. Drop bag...

I don't have a drop bag here, it's at the previous AS 0.9 miles back. With my lights - three of them.

It's at this point that I start realizing how smooth having a crew makes things. And how from a psychological stress point of view, being a crewed runner is so much easier than being a runner's crew. Facing the miles ahead falls on the shoulders of the runner, but keeping the runner able to face those miles is an undefined challenge to the thoughtfulness, organization, and creativity of the crew for hours and hours.

Luckily, I did have a crew at this AS. Ken, still waiting to pace IV. As I despaired over the thought of running back to my drop bag, he hands me his headlamp and says he'll grab my light from my bag as he and IV pass through the high school AS. 

Third time's the charm. I head up the ski hill, so steep that I use my hands and feet at some points.





Running (ok, hiking) up the road at the top of the ski hill as night falls, I greet runners coming down with encouragement. I switch on my headlamp, and it glints off the rocks. The glints flicker - no wait, they BLINK. And blink again - a small rodent? as I get closer the blinks launch upward and swirl, spiraling off into the velvet sky. Not a rodent - a bird? Ten steps later, two pink glints in the road again, blink then loop smoothly and dart up and away. A third time, and I could swear it was the same bird over and over, leading me down the road. What was this avian guide? I slowed my pace to soften the crunch of gravel, sought the smooth areas of the road. I held my breath hoping that no runners would come from the other direction to spoil the moment and spook my guide. Two pink glints in the road. I turned my head slightly so only the edge of my light would catch the bird. Slowly a low mottled gray shape took form, the neckless profile and headshape - a nighthawk. I've seen them in flight, and heard their reedy "neeep" call as they hunt mosquitos, but I had never seen one. I stopped and resolved to remember the feeling of discovery, the wonder of sharing just a moment with another creature, to see the world through it's eyes. A final blink, spiraling off into the air, weightless and gone, and I was alone again.

I was alone for much of the rest of my race. The next 15 miles pass steadily if not quickly. I love running downhill, though I am slowed by lack of agility and a few roots. The Beall trail comes, and I found it tricksy. I expected to hit a steep section to take me to the top of the ridge, but instead it winds up then down over and through, never steep. Always runnable, but thinking it will turn steep I walk most of it. And here I start learning that instead of running for what I think the trail will be, I should run the pace for the trail that I am on. I reach the road downhill, and realize that I've wasted time, valuable time on false expectations. What other lessons will I have to learn? I pass several people going down, now catching some tortoises and a hare or two. Chatting with K D'onofrio was fun as we headed to the Olympian AS.

I barely pause here - no drop bag, remember? and head to the high school, catching WM on the way.

Here I have to stop. I was getting cold, and the night was just starting. I put on my ls, and forget to put my ss Jemez mtn trail run shirt in my bag, losing it forever. If anyone finds a women's small royal blue Jemez Mtn Trail run shirt, I will pay you good $$ for it. It was my favorite shirt. Seriously.

Jacket over top, gloves, but I leave the handwarmers behind, thinking I am tougher than that. The AS volunteers watch me from a distance wrapped in blankets and sleeping bags. I change the batteries in a flashlight, and a volunteer steps up to lend me her light. I ask her to fill my water, then get some broth before heading into the night, with the kind encouraging words of the volunteers fading into the stillness.

And then returning because I had forgotten to bring any food with me. Again.

I am about to find out how tough I am, alone with the cold dark night. stretching out in front of me, eclipsed only by the number of miles left for my feet to trod. The road to Fish Creek Falls trail passes quickly, and I pass a couple of tortoises - it wasn't what I imagined the rear of the field to be, the quietness some parts desperation, resignation, determination, and even some peacefulness. I start some positive self talk as I hike up the steepish rocky trail, trying to mimic DPB on hope pass at Leadville - you're doing it, you've got this, one step at a time... but the words sound a little hollow and a pale reflection of my pacer's enthusiasm. My mind goes to other thoughts and recalling the wonderful miles spent with friends keeps me company as I climb past waterfall after waterfall crashing through the dark expanse. I don't want to, but I make myself run when the trail levels out. My feet ache - I meant to change into more comfortable shoes at the HS, but by mistake I had put the shoes in the drop bag that was still ahead of me. My feet are beat up. Toughen up, though, we are only at mile 45. My teeth chatter and force me to keep running when the trail is flat. I let out a croak of excitement when my light catches a handwarmer on the ground! The excitement drains out of me when I pick it up and only feel a cold chill soaking through my gloves. Run more. I need to get to the AS to layer on more clothes and change my shoes. After my other AS gaffes, I make a mantra of the things I need: another shirt first. Change my shoes. Eat something warm if they have it.  Get rid of trash (including cold handwarmer). Pick up more food. More water. Subconsciously in there I think, get warm. I'll get warm there. I'll be able to stop, and I'll get warm. I'm shivering and running and still enjoying the twists and turns, the frost on the grass blades glimmering diamond-like in my (Ken's) light.

Closer to the AS, I can feel it pulling me, and I focus on running all the way there. All the way. Shirt. Shoes. Eat. (warm.) Water.

I get there, and the volunteers take care of me - chair, blanket, drop bag, pancakes, broth. I take off my jacket to put on another shirt, and my uncontrollable shivering makes it hard to get my hands in the sleeves. Jacket back on, quickly now... Ok, pancakes before they get cold... can't get them to my mouth - no fork just a spoon to use and now it's a NASA test of hand-eye-mouth coordination, the shaking hands threaten to launch each dollar size pancake balanced precariously on plastic spoon through the icy air, my mouth agape straining like a baby bird to get the worm and swallow it whole without complaining. No pancakes were lost as a result of my race. 

I consider not changing my shoes to avoid the cold - my feet are cold and numb already. I discard that idea as a dangerous lazy mistake, knowing that my feet are not tough enough anymore for the Inov8 bare bones shoes.  I wish for crew, but start tackling the laces myself with cold thick fingers. Shoe off, quick now, other shoe on before the cold sinks deeper. Both shoes done, time for broth. The warmth seems so good. My chair rattling with my shivering, I know I'm staying here too long. I can't warm up here, I need to move. Don't forget to pack food. Water. Ok, you have to leave now. Don't think just do.

My cold fuzzy brain says it's ok to walk to digest your food and get the muscles moving again. An hour passes, but it both takes an eternity and passes so quickly it can't be noticed. My eyes cross, and with wonderment I realize I'm sleepy. I've never gotten sleepy before. I'm still so cold and shivering. Finally I think about the cold problem and tell myself to run to get warm. It works. Without a pacer though, I stop to walk at the slightest amount of adversity. Then have to work to make myself run again. I don't see the pattern, and it plays out over and over again without a conscious brain to talk me through it. Finally it starts getting light, and I realize I've been walking for most of the last 2 hours. I have to run this flat section.

At the Summit Lake AS, I look at my watch, and try to deny the time I see there. I leave quickly, embarrassed and with a creeping sense of finality. I run down the hill. Run. I have to run. Will I see Ken and IV? IV had a knee issue and was worried about dropping. Every runner I see in the distance I hope will be them. Runner after runner passes me, they encourage me. The encouragement almost makes the reality worse, but I try to only think about running. Still no IV. Where are they? Did they have a problem? They have to be coming up. I hold onto the thought of seeing them, turn after turn on the downhill gravel road. Aspens catch the morning light and I know that the beauty will last beyond this moment. I have to run, but sometimes I walk, head down. Where are they? Will I see them at the AS? I try to use the anticipation, and to keep looking forward. My legs are fine, my feet hurt but it is bearable - the clock is relentless. Finally. Yes, it's them. They're moving well. I hope not to see sympathy in their eyes and smile firmly as I find out how IV is doing. I soak in the big hug from Ken, then tell them to get after it and keep moving. I wait another 10 minutes before checking my watch, and receiving the bad news waiting for me there. Maybe they won't cut me, maybe they won't enforce the cutoff. I hold on to that faint hope and run. Now asking how far to the AS, and running harder - I can run harder, which only makes the negative self talk more strident - I should have been doing this all along....

At the AS I get a refill of water and am only thinking of getting out of there. As the AS volunteer hands me my full pack, he catches my eye and says quietly, "You know the cutoff at the High School is 9:30 am."

"yes" (is this how this happens? my mind skitters, not accepting yet.)

"It is now 9:15."

"yeah." I can't meet his sympathetic eyes, and turn to putting my pack together.

"ok, so we are going to cut you here."

"ok. Can I just run down to the HS? It'll be easier to get back to my hotel from there, catch a ride, I want to get to my drop bag. I can just run down there, you can cut me here." I don't like the waiver in my voice.

Pause. "Ok. Are you alright to run down? Do you feel ok?"

"yeah, I'm good."    I just want to be on the trail again alone to vent the shame of failure, to find my equilibrium, to hide my tears. I know in the scheme of things, this is a small, small matter. All my defenses down, my emotions take me like a leaf in the capricious wind.

"You did 62 miles, that's quite an accomplishment. You should be proud." 

"100K - it's not nothing. Thanks for everything, for volunteering. It was great. Thanks."

I try to look energetic heading off down the trail. I'm not proud. I want to explain - I should have been a tortoise, I would have made it if I'd signed up as a tortoise! I want to keep going, but I know I can't do that to Fred, I've always said I wouldn't make volunteers stay beyond when they're supposed to go home just to be selfish and finish a race. Some runners heading up still offer encouragement. I shake my head but cheer them on, wishing I was them, willing them forward. I dwell on where I could have worked harder, the mistakes I made, my foolishness.

The rest of the story is happier - the mayor of steamboat (no -  he corrected me, the president of the city council) caught up to me and ran down, bringing me out of my funk with tales of other running adventures, dogs, steamboat peculiarities. Also driving me to my hotel once I had checked in with  the solo High School AS volunteer, who I'd forced to wait for me by insisting on running down. I apologized for being selfish and making her wait. She smiled and said that there were still a couple others on their way down too. I thanked her profusely for putting up with us.

I showered and got to the finish line in time to see the winners cross. (I tried to hitch hike there from the hotel, but no one picked me up.) IV went on to finish it also, looking so happy at the line, I was so proud of him for facing that tough course as his first 100.



I have so much respect now for those that run 100's without crew or pacers. I think I have to try this again. I didn't realize the focus I'd need.

I can see in hind sight the difference all the prep for Leadville (both times) made for the race. Knowing the course and what to expect would have been golden especially when going it alone.

I think I would actually like an ipod for the night section if I don't have a pacer - something to else to pay attention to. I normally love spending time in my head, but in the night it was not an interesting place to be.

I was unprepared for running through the night alone. I needed to take another layer with me, and the handwarmers that I was "too tough" to need. Set  pride aside for a moment and keep in mind the worst case scenario.

Don't eat a large breakfast, then a large brunch before running at 1 pm. A normal breakfast, and a normal brunch is probably more appropriate.

Fish creek falls is rocky, and hard on my feet - sturdier trail shoes would have been nice.

This race has seriously steep long hard climbs. Some of the downhills are technical and hard to run. The course is a little convoluted, but takes runners on some really fantastic trails. I wished several times for more "confidence markers" on the course. Studying the race map kept me on course the entire time without problem, but many got off course. It was longer than stated - that isn't unusual for 100 mile races, just expect it. I gets very cold up at 10,000 feet at night, and the AS were not in enclosed shelters except summit lake. The yellow markers were hard to see, but I trust that the race will change those for next year. Not all the volunteers knew what to do, but when asked they were more than willing to help. Overall, I enjoyed the race, at least, the part I got to do. I'm ready to go back and try it again.

2012 Leadville Trail 100 Run

It's a mixed bag. I could write about all the great stuff, and it would be OBVIOUS that the race was a success. I could write out the negative stuff, and it would be clear that I didn't do what I set out to do. Both are true.

The point I keep coming back to is that I learned a lot more about running and trying to run hard. I've gotten to be a better runner over the last two years. I tend to be really conservative - I go out slowly, and speed up only towards the end. In the last few months, I've been thinking that I've ridden that horse as far as it will go; if I want to continue to improve I will have to run at least a little closer to the edge. Not 100 yards away from it.

So that was one of my goals for Leadville this year. Push the envelope, and work hard even when it hurts. What does that mean? What will it feel like? If I'm hurting and manage to work 50% of the time, does that count? what about 25%?   The other goals were easier to understand: I wanted to run under 25 hours. If that didn't happen I wanted to run faster than last time (27:19), and barring that, I just had to finish.

It's so much easier to target a number goal than a feeling. How can a feeling be quantified?

Since the course was lengthened ~3 miles at the last minute (bad form, Lifetime) I pushed the sub 25 to the back of my mind. Not likely, as I only thought I would barely make it on the old course. I did decide I wanted to try to make my predicted splits on the unchanged sections. So I was really happy to hit May Queen at 2:13 - 3 min. behind my prediction. The pace had felt easy, and the crowds were only mildly annoying on the single track around the lake. I felt good. It was fun, too, running into May Queen within sight of Ken. I saw Dad at the MQ exit, and dropped my headlamp and armies just as planned. Having Mom and Dad be part of my crew gave me a lot of motivation and confidence.

So, stage 1 - check.

I ran out of May Queen, and ran/hiked the colorado trail. Ken caught up to me here. I felt like I was working, but not too hard - just right. Ken ran away from me up Hagerman pass road, I kept a pace I thought was maybe a little too easy. I figured if I came in a little late to Fish, I'd just work a little on the road section. Once to the top of Sugarloaf, I started running down. It felt great, too. I started to go faster, really enjoying passing people, running hard and quickly navigating the rocky road. What a blast!

At the bottom, the paved road rolls towards Fish. And I could tell that my legs didn't feel right. Hm. Maybe they'll shake out. So I ran and hiked, letting the time goal for this section pass. I got to Fish in 2:00 - 5 min behind. So still pretty much on target... except now I was more concerned that my legs hadn't come around. My crew "Nascar-ed" me and kicked me out in no time flat, despite having to sprint back to the crew vehicle to pick something up - I was none the wiser. (Awesome crew!) I said to DP, "I think I'm going too fast for myself." To which she replied, "Yeah, Ken's just over there, so you might be." But we didn't have long to discuss it, and what would we say, anyway? Out on the road I went.

And after about a mile down the road, the "wrongness" became pretty obvious, and pretty specific. My quads were really sore. I had bombed down Sugarloaf too fast for myself. As I drank, ran and ate, I tried to think. What if I can't descend anymore? Maybe I better slow down now, will that mitigate the damage? I wonder if I'll be able to finish if I can't descend decently for the next 75 miles. Crap.

I met Mom and Dad at treeline, again glad to see them. I paused long enough to tell them that I was going to have to slow down. I saw Ken's crew, and told them that I'd gone out too fast and was going to slow down. But I thought to myself that it was already too late. My quads hurt. They weren't going to get better. I still wasn't sure what this meant for my race. I was anxious to get to the downhill into Twin Lakes, 11 miles away, to see if I could run downhill. I backed off the pace a little, and  worried more when the rollers on the continental divide trail made my quads knot up painfully.

I'd love to say I was logical and thoughtful about what to do next. I wasn't. I just kept on. I ate. I drank. I tried not to think about my quads. About the next hill. About my pacers waiting to get out on the course with me. About having to give up on 25 for good. I could have actually acknowledged all those fears and come up with a plan, but instead they roiled inside me.

The downhill into Twin Lakes was painful and slow, which worried me even more. I get in to the aid station, and ES tells me I'm only 20 min. down - clearly the crew is still keeping that door open to sub 25. They change my shoes and switch my pack, and I tell them that I am slowing down, that my quads hurt, but I don't really tell them how bad it is. How bad it could be. I'm scared to disappoint them. I head out, and Bones walks with me for a bit - I tell him it'll be 4 hours for me to get to Winfield (35 min slower than planned). He says ok, but I still feel like I need a confessional, that I haven't been clear about the likelihood that I am falling apart.

I hike and jog to the river - I had planned to run this, but I let myself off the hook here. If I'd been paying attention, I might have noticed that I was still eating and drinking like a champ. Everything was going right - except for my quads. I had lots of time, I could only see the glass half empty, though, so I trudged to the river and waded across. I got myself to run on the other side, kind of with a "might as well" mentality. As I started the hike up, I thought - hey, maybe I'll be able to hike up fast, and it will make up for however slow I am going down! I did hike steadily, but people started passing me right and left. Ugh. I kept eating and drinking, kept moving, kept my steady pace. About 2/3 the way up, I started passing a few of those that had passed me, which was encouraging. I kept up with a guy from Iowa - we had a good conversation about nothing in particular. Maybe my going easy would fix things. It could happen, right? A magic recovery on the way up Hope Pass? Maybe I'd be able to go down fairly normally after taking it easy.

It was fun to see the llamas again, but I don't stop. No need, my crew has packed me with everything I could have wanted. I go over the top, and my small hopes of a recovery are dashed. The first step down knots up my quads. I pick my way down the mountain. Not even "pseudo-running" as Jean would say. I use my poles to ease my steps. Near the bottom, I think, "well, maybe it won't get any worse." But then I think that I had wanted to run with each of my pacers, I had wanted to work hard, I had told them to push me. And now, none of that was going to happen.

It's odd to think back about this. On the one hand, when actually thinking about my "condition" and the race I was pretty negative. And on the other hand, I was still having fun. I was looking for the other racers I knew, I was enjoying the scenery, I was enjoying running. I wasn't sure I was going to finish. I just didn't think about it and then it seemed my default happiness would take over.

That worked fairly well, until I came into Winfield and met my crew again. DP was there, all suited up and ready to pace. I had challenged her before the race, saying that "I will try to drop you going down Hope Pass!" I was going to let her down. Tears came to my eyes, and I was glad for my sunglasses to hide behind. I ate some, tried to drink an ensure, and confirmed with Bones that we were putting aside the 25 hour goal - I was ~50 minutes behind. I told them my quads were shot, that I didn't know how the rest of the downhills were going to go. I hurt. I felt more than a little stupid - gaining 3 minutes bombing down Sugarloaf, and then giving up who knows how much time on the rest of the course because of it. When DP signaled it was time to go, I was glad to get out of there - too emotional.

The hike up the backside of Hope was a bear. The new trail section wasn't wide. I was constantly dodging oncoming traffic. It was longer and not as runnable as well, adding about 25 minutes to my time each way I think. My triceps were starting to hurt from all the pole action. (It's a beautiful trail, and I think they should use it. However no race should lengthen a course by ~ 1 hour in the 3 days before said race begins.) Then back on the Sheephead Gulch trail, the steepness again slowed me to a crawl and wagon trains of runners passed me before I got to the top. (How on earth can I get to be that good at hiking uphill!!!?! more practice, I guess.) As we went, DP was the most excellent of pacers. She opened things, she kept me eating,  she kept me positive "One foot in front of the other. you're doing great..."  She appreciated the views and cracked jokes. And I could tell she was enjoying being out there. I began to think that my glass was half full. If I could make it down off of Hope without making my quads worse, then I could make it to the finish. Maybe I'd be able to run the flats and slight downhills. And I remembered Ken saying, "It's great to think that if you make it to Winfield in 12 hours, you can do 3 miles an hour until the finish and still make it well under the cutoff!"  With DP saying, "you got this, you're doing it! you're kicking it's ass!" I started thinking about what I could do instead of what I couldn't.

Maybe I'd still try to drop her on the way down Hope after all.

At the top, she paused to take a picture and I was off like a rocket.

ok. I was off like... a stone skipping downhill.

I was off like ...a shot putter trying to run the 400 hurdles? It wasn't pretty or agile, but I could run a little. I put some time between us until Hopeless. There I got a volunteer to fill my water while I watered a tree. DP pulled in and I snagged some nutrition from her and told her I was going and would meet her at the river. She paused to take a picture of the llamas and fill her pack while I made my way down. I passed some people, and some passed me. Right away, my quads knotted up - ouch - but they didn't give out. I had no agility over the rocky rooty stuff and had to walk quite a bit. But they didn't get worse. I could do this. I could run, even though they hurt. I ran the flats to the river, and stood in the deepest section. I waited 3 min. and was just leaving when I saw DP approaching. Perfect timing! She caught up to me, and said that was the fastest she had ever downhilled - she was thrilled, and I was pretty happy too. I was convinced I could still run. Life was good. Painful, but good. I was going to finish.

At Twin, I ate the Burrito of the Gods - best thing I ate all day or night. Yum. (stomach still in the game - check!) The tray next to me held an open can of coke, beckoning sweetly to me. I didn't give it a second glance, even when I found out that the ONLY soda they had left at the aid station was Coke. *sigh*  I took only 1 pole with me to help me run. It was necessary, both to unload my quads on downhills and for stability. Miki was practically bouncing with readiness. My crew changed my shoes and socks and even lubed my feet. Holy cow they were awesome. 

With muscle cream on my quads and a couple of tylenol, we started off. Miki hadn't run on mountain trails in the dark, so we were looking forward to that. The hike up went pretty smoothly. We got to the trail before dark, and started jogging the flat spots. We passed NB here - we cheered each other on. It took hardly any time at all to get onto the continental divide trail. I really like running trails at night. My headlamp was perfect - I tried turning on my handheld light, but with a pole and my awkward form the light bobbed too much. What a difference on this section between this year and two years ago - I remembered the constant string of people between Twin and Half Pipe. This year - empty. We passed a couple of people, but there just wasn't anyone around us. We were making decent time, I could tell, even though I wasn't running fast. My quads were still a constant pain - maybe lessened by the tylenol. They still weren't getting worse though! And amazingly, chips and pop tarts still tasted great and went down easily. I had had enough of the lemon and vanilla Honey Stingers but the chocolate and plain versions were still tasty. I thanked my lucky stars for my iron stomach, and this wasn't the last time! About an hour down the trail, I was wishing I had the other half of that Burrito of the Gods, too. Man that was good. On we went. I may have gotten Miki to let me walk to eat, and walk to go up a slight rise, and for just a short break a few times, but she kept me moving really well just by being with me. She was relentless when it came to food and water though, and I know I would have gotten lazy without her there! It felt like we were out for a group run almost, instead of in the middle of a race. Once the tylenol started to wear off, the quad pain intensified after we came through Half Pipe. Oof. The flatter section here, 6 miles to Fish was hard. The run was more of a shuffle, and I had to take a few more breaks. I focused on landmarks, from one to the next, and tried to relax, but work; and accept but strive. As we got close to Fish, Miki and I discussed what I wanted - primarily food and more tylenol.  I couldn't believe it when she told me that we were coming in right on target for that section - I had estimated 4 hours, and it took us 4:01. Wow! I almost couldn't process this information. Keep focusing on the task at hand. Which was.... more eating.

I got some broth at the AS. I sat to drink it, and was kind of taking my time. DP chivvies me out of the AS, not waiting for me to finish it, ignoring my sad puppy dog eyes. Ok, ok... out we go. ES was the next victim.. uh, friend signed up to take me back over Sugarloaf, the scene of the earlier crime against my quads. We head out, and I think the first thing he says to me is that he can't believe how coherent I still am. We walk mostly, and jog a little - I can tell he is a little concerned about my, ah, "running" form - he coaches me on my posture while being encouraging. Oh, I know it ain't pretty, but it is what it is after 76 miles. I wondered what he had seen that day - this was the first time to witness a 100 mile race. As we started up the hill, he points out a light of a runner just a little ahead of us - "I bet  we can catch that person - let's go!" I don't usually use this motivation - I don't trust the person to stay caught! But we march on and the light gets closer. Closer.

Hey, wait a second.

I know that guy! At first I'm happy to see Ken, until I realize that he is in the middle of a bad, bad spell. And only at the very start of the climb. Oh boy. I look at JH - she's got the patient look about her that is ready to pace for a long stretch. I hesitated and looked at ES - there's nothing for us to do. I try to say something encouraging, and he responds. And we keep hiking. After a moment, ES starts talking, and he is a non-stop source of entertaining chatter - work, fun, running, encouragement - oh, here, eat this... He switches my headlamp batteries for me, and he doesn't make fun of me when I get taken in by the many false summits! What a guy! I'm feeling ok on the climb, really - my quads don't hurt going uphill (much) and I have some energy. The steep sections are hard, but not disheartening. Finally at the top, we try to run. Quickly I'm stopped by the rocky uneven footing. I have no agility whatsoever. I stumble a few times, trying to pick my way around the rocks, and finally give in to hiking downhill. ES takes it in stride - we look at the stars, we admire Leadville in the distance, and I talk more than I have perhaps all day. As we pass a runner, ES says something I can't hear, and all of a sudden he drops back. I run on alone for a minute until ES catches back up. Turns out that runner's partner decided to go a little faster, and took all of the spare lights/batteries. And that fellow's headlamp was dying. ES gave him our spare headlamp - absolutely the right thing to do. I was so glad he had had the presence of mind to ask the guy if he needed help. I can't imagine how stressful that would be, to have ~4 miles to go with a dying headlamp. (The runner (#744) did finish too!) Finally we get to Hagerman pass Road - the smooth downhill I've been dreaming of. I start running, but it isn't as wonderful as I remember it - oof my quads hurt. I try to relax and stride. ES tries to help, and coaches me to lift my kness - unfortunately, that is out of the question. But his next comment is right on the money - "Then shorten your stride or the inside of your knees will start hurting." (they already were!) I did as he suggested, and tried harder to lift my knees, and it did feel better. I tried to work, tried to work even though it hurt and I was tired. Focusing on that, we got to the trail. Another section I loved running in 2010. And another mild disappointment to find that I wasn't really going to be able to run here. The agility thing again - I just didn't have it. But ES told me we were making good time. And I knew that really, this section was going pretty well. He does point out with a chuckle that I was trying to run on the uneven trail, but that I walked across each of the 4 nice flat bridges. :)

We run down the road and into May Queen. The last section lays ahead. My stomach is still as right as rain. To Josh's amazement, I down a whole turkey and cheese tortilla roll, some sprite, watermelon, I tried a pancake but they were AWFUL - tasted like baking powder. I say goodbye to my pack, and take a bottle instead. And a pole. And more tylenol, though I don't think it's helping anymore. Then, Bones and I step out into the night.

13.5 miles isn't a short way to go. Especially at 3 in the morning, after already going ~90 miles. But that thought doesn't even occur to me. It doesn't really matter how far there is to go, there is only the matter of continuing to move. And I'm enjoying Bones' company. Not infrequently, a step or a descent makes my quads remind me that they are in pain. But there's nothing to be done about that. I walked the uphills. I ran some, and walked more - until we got to Tabor. Thank goodness for this little bit of coincidentally good planning. I had Bones lead here, and I told him he could run if he could match my shuffling pace. Turns out he could, and did... and by following him somehow I didn't need to walk as much. I had been letting myself go easy, when now I could tell I had more to give. I tell Bones he's doing perfect. And then a little later, I ask if he can go just a hair faster. I'm a little worried about this, but I do it anyway. And it was good. Not that it felt good - my quads hated me - but I was doing what I said I wanted to do - work, even when it didn't matter, when my time goal was out of sight, even when it hurt. I followed him down the steep rocky stretch - ouch. We got to the road, and it was starting to get light. Bones casually says to me, "You know, if we run I bet we can beat your time from two years ago."

"Let's do it."

I was working before, and now I decided that I could work harder. I could run and not stop. Bones had shown me that I could. I didn't look at my watch. Bones' cell chimed time after time - my crew trying to get a read on when I'd finish. Bones suggests we walk, but I say no and make the turn to parallel the train tracks at the base of the boulevard. (To be fair, Bones thought we had a big climb up a paved road instead of the turn onto the flat - or he never would have suggested it.) At the base of the boulevard, we do hike up the first rocky steep bit. I start running when it levels out a bit. I tell Bones that the middle of the boulevard is the second train tracks. I put down my head and make for those tracks. For a little while, the effort gets easier somehow - maybe I loosened up, I don't know. But the reprieve doesn't last, and at the rise at the second train tracks, I hike. Just after, I run again until we pass a group of people, maybe 3 runners and 3 pacers that are at the base of a steeper section. I run past them and try to keep going so I don't do the annoying "pass and stop" maneuver. A short way in front of them, I'm reduced to a hike, but I try to hike with purpose. Soon I see the aspens at the end of the boulevard, and I know I'm only a mile away. We run to the base of the hill by the pool, and then I know I'm hiking my last hike of this race.

The sky is flush with the colors of dawn, and the sun is threatening to peek over the mountains east of Leadville. I want to finish before it does - I didn't break 25, I didn't beat daylight, but I hold on to this next idea and start running again at the top of the hill. My crew is there to run with me - I was so glad to see them all and to remember how much they'd helped me. As we ran down, they joked about running a 6 min mile at the end of a 100 - so I sped up and grinned. I'm sure it was a blistering 9 min mile pace, but it was fun. I passed a couple of people, and thought about whether it was bad form to pass within 1K of the finish line. I reasoned that I was still within bounds, but I should not try to pass any more. One of the women I passed sprinted past me 30 yds from the finish - I slowed just enough to let them string the tape up again for me, ran down the red carpet and jumped over the line. (ouch)

I finished.
I beat the first ray of sunlight on Leadville.
I beat my previous time by 33 min, finishing in 26:46.
I worked; I got a little closer to the edge.


And when I look at my splits, really, I am surprised and pleased:
                 2010         goal         2012
MQ           2:23         2:10          2:13
FH            2:14          1:55         2:00
TL            3:26          3:10         3:20    
Win          4:04*        3:25         4:01
TL            3:54*        3:25         4:16
FH            4:18          4:00         4:01
MQ           3:32          3:10         3:19
Finish        3:23         3:20         3:26

Over the last 40 miles, I was within 16 minutes of my goal time, even with my quads. The ratio of my first half to second half was 1.29 this year, two years ago it was 1.27. Pretty much the same - except that I have to remember all the dawdling in AS that I did in 2010 and did not do in 2012. My crew is to thank for that - and many other things.

What's not to be happy about?

and now, I believe it is on to Run Rabbit Run in Steamboat. Check it out!

Maraton Alpino Madrileño

The best thing to do after running an easy and enjoyable and faster than expected trail marathon, is to go to another country and run another one the next weekend. I have friends that do this all the time... Baaaaah!

This was my hypothesis, so it was necessary to test it out. And what better race to target than a race that is considered the hardest marathon around, and that calls it's finishers "survivors" - the Maraton Alpino Madrileño just north of Madrid Spain.

I just wish I spoke more Spanish.

After spending a few days in Madrid, we drove to Cercedilla to check in and sleep. The first climb of the course hunkers just outside of town, waiting for the dawn's assault of runners.

There was so much to do before leaving on this trip, that I didn't look at the course map, the course profile, I didn't memorize the aid stations... Basically, I just took Ken's word for it that it was hard. Really hard. A flat marathon takes me 3:30, and a hard mountain marathon took me 4:39 the week before, so.... I had no idea. Ken suggested 7ish hours. From the race map we got in our packets, it looked like there was aid every 3-6 kilometers. Um, that's a lot of aid - every 2-4 miles. I guess it must be hard.

I'd forgotten salt tabs, and so set about finding the next best thing - a super magnesium electrolyte shot at the race expo, and green olives. If I was going to be out there 7+ hours, I would need something!

Going into the unknown with this race was freeing. It was definitely a case of ignorance is bliss. The list of things I knew was finite:

I was sure I could finish - eventually. Ken even assured me I wouldn't be last when I asked.
The race was approximately marathon in length, give or take a mile.
There were mountains - number uncertain.
I had enough food with me to be ok for 8 hours. I had enough water for 2 hours.There were aid stations.
I was ready to have fun, to keep my eyes wide open, and to run.

Again I had no expectations. There was one out-and back section of ~2 miles early on - I hoped to see Ken there. That was it.

The DJ got us rounded into the start corral - to enter we had to scan our rather large and annoying wrist cards. I was excited to start, and happy to be there to share it with such a wonderful partner.

 The count down, and then the gun, and we trotted out of the corral. We quickly left the streets behind and started up a trail. A wide single track at first, then narrowing a little. The thought suddenly entered my head that maybe this was a little nutty. I was in Spain, I didn't really speak the language, so communication might be a little tricky. There were only 3 people I knew here - one in the race ahead of me somewhere. And two teenagers in the half marathon that started an hour later. No real way to get ahold of any of them. I didn't bring their phone numbers with me. I laughed at that half-empty way of looking at the world - almost everyone here seemed to speak english. I could understand most Spanish, especially written. I could ask for water and other aid station foods. And it was a well organized race. Pretty obvious what I was doing and where I was going, no need for a long discourse on philosophy. If I needed help, I was pretty sure I could pantomine what I needed, and I was pretty sure such a long standing race would have resources in case of emergency. And the RD had met Ken several times. What, really, was there to worry about? Other than my funny accent?

I was surprised by how not alone I was. Usually climbs readily spread out the field... but this field of 370 I stayed in a long line of people for a long time. We came to streams, and most waited patiently in a line to cross hopping from boulder to boulder. After the first stream, I went around the line and found my own boulders, passing a half dozen people each time. I hiked and ran, and felt really good. The marathon the week before didn't weigh on my legs. The single track wound up, rolling slightly, crossing streams, weaving through green meadows, around great gnarled oaks and small pines. We passed through the edge of the small town of Puerto de Navacerrada, and then started climbing for real.

Straight up the ski hill. I didn't feel like I'd trained right for this. On my plan, I intended to do ski hill repeats in prep for Leadville. I haven't done any yet. Those would have been perfect training for this race. At least I had been pretty consistent with the hill repeat workout - 10x1 min up one of the steepest trail hills around. I knew from what Ken had said, and my review of the map and profile from the night before that I'd be doing a lot of climbing, so I kept it steady without pushing too hard. The trail was pretty nasty - loose dirt and loose rock in a lot of places. Certain to provide lots of enjoyment when we get to descend on this at mile 20 ish. A few people passed me, and I passed one or two. Mostly, we  were sorted out but we were still together. People in front of me, people behind me, even after 6 miles.

I was having a blast! really!

We duck off the climb to the left, and start going down through a rocky meadow trail. At the AS, they swipe our little wristcards. It's had to find a groove here, but I pass a few more people whose groove is worse than mine. Down down down, into a pine forest with a nicer trail, down to Cotos. The Aid station is at the base of a ski resort, and they stop me to swipe my wrist card too. I took a couple of the liquid glucose sticks they had here. I thought I'd bring them back for Bones and Dreadpirate as curiosity items. They were just clear liquid in an orange plastic sleeve, about 2 Tbsps. No real flavor. Which I only found out because the helpful AS volunteers had already opened the glucose sleeves, and so I found glucose running down my hands from the two I took. Sorry Bones, Pirate, no euro-glucose for you!

And where do you go from the base of the ski area? Up, of course. I tucked in behind someone, and we hiked steadily to the top. He tripped at one point, but I couldn't come up with how to say "are you ok?" in Spanish, so I just said, stupidly, "Oohh!" About 20 paces later, I tripped, and he says, "Esta bien?" I was, and now I knew what to say if it happened again. Near the top the trail turned rocky again, with slabs of rock dotting the meadow, some loose, some not. On the out and back section I kept an eye peeled for Ken, until I hear, "Hola Guapa!" and I say "Hola Guapo!" It's good to see him and it looks like he's having fun running down the tricky mountainside. He tells me it's 5 min to the turnaround, so I start moving a little faster to get to the downhill quicker! At the Turnaround AS, they ask my number. I respond in French. Ooops. Then correct myself and say it in Spanish. Apparently my accent has given it away though, as the volunteers respond and cheer me on in English. Oh well, at least I'm trying! Soon after, the guys who were running near me at the AS start up a conversation in English too. They were really nice, and inquisitive - had I just come for the race? Where in the US was I from? One of them had a friend in NY that they had visited for a month.

The views from the tops of these mountains were fantastic. You felt like you were in the middle of nowhere. The mountains were not high, but green, and covered in a carpet of yellow flowers. We circle back to the base of the ski area, where crowds of people cheer us all on like we are racing for something really important. They yell at me, saying "venga chica, venga guapa, animo!" It was so fun, and totally different to have a cheering crowd at an ultrarun.

After a short road section, we duck onto some single track. It rolls at first, and I pass several people as the trail angles up. Soon I'm hiking as fast as I can paralleling a stream underneath sandy rocks. I pass a few more people - I think they must have started out too fast. I feel remarkably fresh and the work feels really good. I look up, and see where the trail tops out, then put my head down and work for it. Getting there, the AS is just off to the right, so I head that direction... and my eyes raise up and up following course markers that get lost in the STEEP BOULDER FIELD runners are now scaling.

really.

I laugh, and jog up to the base of this impossibility, and start scrambling using hands and feet to climb boulders that are table sized to VW bug sized. After a few seconds I stop brushing my hands off after I use them because I never stop using them. I have never done this in a race before. I manage to pass a few more people here. I just feel good. Sure, I'm getting tired, but this is so much fun, to be out here and moving. I'm all smiles. Once at the top, I start pseudo-running again, picking my way across the rocky ridge. I see I have another gentle climb ahead, and then I tell myself - it's all downhill! Except, when I get to the rounded hill top, there's another rounded hill top that runners are heading up. Dang. But away I go, happy to go a little downhill before doing more uphill running. I hiked much of that last hill, actually, my legs were feeling heavy.

I was really looking forward to descending the ski hill that we had first climbed up. Until I got there. The loose rocks and dirt had me skidding and sliding and tip-toeing down in my shoes-that-are-not-at-all-good-trail-shoes. A few people bombed past me here - I was jealous. Soon enough I came to the paved part, and picked up speed. I looked at my watch when I got back to the small town of Puerto de Navacerrada. Hey! I think I'm going to beat 7 hours!

Awesome, lets keep moving! And I did, running all the way to the finish. What a relief to cross the streams without a line of people. How great to cruise down this single track alone and feeling good. This section seems compressed to me, before I know it, I'm at the edge of town, straining to run up a small grade, and then rounding the corner. Done!

I finished, or survived, in 6:27 or so. Ken finished feeling great well ahead of me, and was there at the finish. All the little differences make running a race in a different country feel fresh and exciting. It was so much fun to rehash the race with Ken and the boys, remember all the people I talked to and all the surprises.

Maraton Alpino Madrileno: Highly recommended!

Run the Caldera

This was my 6th Run the Caldera.

6!!

And I just keep coming back. Getting to do a catered run through the caldera satisfies that urge in me to get OUT; to get away from people. Sure, there were some 80 other runners, but after mile 3, we all spread out.

This race really shouldn't have been on my calendar. I'm doing another HARD marathon next weekend. This was also the last day in an 80 mile week for me in my build to Leadville Trail 100. I've been feeling a little ...bleh... like I am not getting the recovery I need. But, I simply can't resist this run. So, I signed up but had absolutely no time goals.

No really.

I didn't review the times from previous years.
I didn't plan how fast to try to get up the first hill.
I told everyone it was a long training day, that I was taking it easy.
       I was really glad about this too, because my 14 mile run the day before was a challenge. My legs didn't want to move, certainly not uphill, my hips ached, my hamstrings ached. It was NOT GOOD. Ending that run on a downhill, and the fact that I love being out on those trails was the only thing that kept me from being unhappy about the run. Well, that and there was absolutely no expectation for me to run fast or hard at the marathon the next day.

Surprisingly, after the 1:45 drive up Sunday morning, my legs felt pretty good. I still held back though. K had warned me multiple times that the marathon the next weekend was ridiculously hard. So this needed to be a long easy training day in which I didn't expend any unnecessary energy. The first 3 miles at 9.5 min/mile pace was right on target. I ran through mile 6 or so, and then as it gets steeper, I switched to walking. I tried to work on that a bit and focus on not overstriding, on using my glutes. It was nice not to have to push. I didn't look at my watch until I got to the top. 1:49... I think. Might have been 1:47, but I don't think so. Since I hadn't looked at my previous race times, I didn't remember whether that was fast or slow for me. Ah well, doesn't matter. But the time continued to bounce around in my head, and I became convinced that I was on about 5 hour pace. That seemed about right for me that morning. I checked my speed a few times, and I was right around 8:30 to 10 on the way down. I kept it easy, and expected ES to pass me any minute now... I had passed him as he fixed a sock. I was breathing easy, and my legs felt really great. Way better than I thought they would after 64 miles in the week. I was prepared for that good feeling to go away once I hit the road, and I was prepared to have to hike all of the remaining hills, even the little ones. Wouldn't be the first time. I ate my Honey Stinger Waffles, and kept my easy pace.

I looked at my watch again when I got to the road at the bottom. Not sure why, as the 2:51 didn't mean anything to me. I was so happy to realize that the temperature was not a furnace this year, that it was actually perfect running temperature. And there was a breeze, but not a gale force wind. This was the most fun I have ever had running that road through the bottom of the caldera. And I ran it. The entire thing. I felt great, I kept it easy... Not too far along, I came up on CB. We had run the first 3 miles close to each other. He was having some cramping issues. I asked if he was taking salt tabs, and he was. He ran with me for a bit, and then had to walk - he told me to keep it up, that I was looking strong. I had the fleeting notion that, this was only mile 17, and the wheels were still pretty likely to come off. But actually, I didn't really think they would anymore. I felt great, and felt like I had two or three higher gears if I wanted to use them. But that wasn't the goal for today. Today I was just running at altitude for a somewhat long time. Easy effort. So I told myself that I wouldn't look at the watch again just in case I would start to get competitive and try and beat last year's disappointing time. That decision made me pretty happy and relaxed.

Another 1/2 mile and I thought I saw MM ahead of me. I caught up to her at an AS, said hi, grabbed an orange (where were the potato chips? I kinda wanted some.) and kept running. I thought she'd catch up to me and we'd chat, but I never heard her footsteps. (mmm, maybe I should have waited? I hope she's not having any problems. ah well, she's a great runner, I'm sure she's fine.)

As I approach the trees on the other side of the caldera, it dawns on me that I just ran the entire road section. I've never done that before. Cool! And I still feel like I have lots left in the tank. Even better, I'm sticking to my plan. There's a guy in front of me that is running the STEEP hill at mile 19.5. I hike. I catch up to him. He skips the next AS which I stop at to refill my pack, and I see the next hill he downgraded to hiking too.

I came up to a woman all bent over to the left. I asked if she was doing ok - "No."

Me: "Cramping?"
Her: "yes"
Me: "Do you have any salt tabs?"
Her: "no."

I gave her 2 of mine and wished her good luck. Maybe that first question of mine was a little dumb. Her expression was one of 'I'm in pain, and you are asking really stupid questions, Captain Obvious.' And the second question too. But... it's hard to just open a conversation intelligently after running alone for 20 miles. I hoped she'd make it in ok.

There were no popcorn grasshoppers this year as I ran through the meadow. Hey, I'm almost done. And still feeling like I could go faster and farther than the 3 miles I have left. One guy I pass asks how many more uphills. We're at mile 24 or so, and really we've done them all. But there are a couple of really short rolls... and something about the way he asks me makes me think that he'll count those. "Mostly down from here, maybe 1-2 more short ones."

And it was smooth sailing from there. No drama. I come up to the line and think oh yeah - what's my time this year?

4:39

Wait, what? 4:39? That's a PR of ... maybe 20 minutes? No, 15 minutes? Wow. and I feel like I could keep going. That's a great confidence boost.

And for analysis girl, even though she wasn't in on the planning for this one, I couldn't keep the data away from her:

          (mile 9.5 ish)
Year     Top of hill     Finish
2007     2:04              5:45
2008     1:55              5:13
2009     1:46              4:54
2010     1:54              5:08
2011                          5:03
2012     1:49              4:39

Hitting the bottom at 2:51 means I ran the last 10 miles at about a 10 min/mile pace - including the hiking up the hills at 19.5 and 21.5.

So far, so good! Now here's hoping that 2.5 weeks of vacation at sea level doesn't mess up the rest of my training for Leadville!

And the build to Leadville starts...

This spring slipped away on tip toes in the night, quietly and quickly. I'm not sure if I'm behind in Leadville training or not. I'm sure I should be doing more climbing. I'm sure I should be doing more speed. I probably should be doing more distance.

I guess I think I should be doing more, period.

I want to finish under 25 hours. Whew, that's hard to admit in the broad daylight. I think lots of things will have to come together for that to happen. Some things I can't control - the weather - but I am going to train as hard and as consistently as I can for it.

So many things run around in my head when I think about this. Strategies - Maybe I get a second nathan pack so my crew can have one packed and ready for me at each AS, and I just swap out and go. How Nascar should I try to get? Could this include battery changes in the lights? My stomach has always been ok with eating, but maybe because I don't eat a lot and I don't go hard. If I change both those things, I don't thing I want to place bets on what would happen. I need to figure out ways to not stop at most of the Aid Stations. Probably only really pausing at 3: Winfield, TL inbound and FH inbound. Maybe I don't change shoes at TL outbound, only at TL inbound to get rid of the waterlogged shoes and socks. I need to eat more. I will need to run more of the course, but not waste energy on the climbs. I will have to get better at climbing, which means I should try to lose the 5 pounds I picked up over Christmas.

I think a lot about needing to get comfortable with the idea of suffering. At the Ice Age 50 miler, I went out too fast, and cramped at mile 18. I finished in 9:56. But I spend a lot of the last 32 miles "taking it easy" because I was cramping. Especially after I started drinking Heed (which it turns out I can stomach, even though I abhor the flavor) I think I could have run the last 15 miles faster than I did if I had been willing to suffer a little. Instead I kept a steady easy pace until the last 3 miles, and then decided to push to get under 10. I won't have the luxury of doing that at Leadville if I want to go faster. But I'm not sure even how to go about working at that. Suffering during speed work is short lived, and I know it's short lived. (and sometimes I still ease off.) Maybe suffering during tempo workouts will help, but again, that's only 20-30 minutes. Not 10 hours.

ah, the pre-Leadville brain dump. I'd forgotten how the small concerns build up. And then the relief to blurt them all out, even to the infinite emptyness of cyber space.

Things to include in the ramp up:
2 - 100 mile weeks - for building running efficiency, muscular endurance, confidence
5+ night runs, with my new fenix lights - for comfort
4+ ski hill sessions, working up to 3 repeats - for better climbing. Really work this.
Tempo runs getting to 5 miles, 1/week.
Some rocky trail running.
At least one run at altitude per week.

Really there is only 8 more weeks of training left, +2 weeks of taper. Yowza. I am now on the border of cramming, and I didn't want to be here!

Testing.... testing... 1, 2, 3....

All righty! So this wraps up my little n=1 experiment of going vegan (and healthy vegan at that) for 12 weeks. Yes, finally, you have reached the last post in the "contemplating my belly button diet" section of this blog. I can't promise it won't happen again, but at least I'll take a break from being a nutrition zealot.

Protoss Zealot Says, "I hunger for veggies!"

It wasn't hard. Really. The excitement of trying something new with K easily overwhelmed any feelings of inertia. The only challenging part was going out to eat. I'm pretty sure I slipped up a few more times - once when egg was in a Vietnamese dish, once when I think there was cream in an Indian dish, and once when I got black beans, and I'm pretty sure they were cooked with lard, once when Parmesan came on our pasta even though we had requested no cheese. When I had control over what I was eating, though, it was easy to create tasty things that didn't have any animal products in them. Cookies, cakes, I made several. And I've adapted things to be vegan. Almost everything was good. The failures were a brownie mix that made the worst brownies I have ever had. Really, really not good. They were so bad, I don't even want to list the brand on this public blog, because I am embarrassed for that company. I couldn't even take them to work. Between myself and J, I think we did manage to eat them all. It was kind of like - "hmm, maybe they'll be better now that they are cool?"
   "nope."
"Are they still really that bad?"
    "yep, they are."
 And trying to make chick pea coco puffs - meh. Don't bother. And actually, don't bother trying the spicy roasted chickpeas, either. Not worth it. Also I have decided that I do not like Martha Rose Schulman's recipes on the NY times. Her palate and mine do not agree on what a person should eat. The Indian lentil burgers were not tasty. They weren't yucky, but I didn't want the leftovers.


My issues of edema and cramping in my hands and feet never totally went away. Although the docs weren't sure, I think my 2 blood tests give a pretty good understanding of what was going on. Both symptoms were mild, and maybe others wouldn't have noticed the edema. But I did.

Here's what the blood tests showed:
Hematocrit  - low (34, where ideal range is 36-48)
Hemoglobin - low (11.4 ideal range 12-16)
Albumin - low (3.3 ideal range 3.4-5.0) and the second test was lower.
Alkaline phosphate - low (21 ideal range 50-136)


So all those things I am borderline low in can be caused by inadequate protein intake and inadequate B12. Also potentially magnesium and calcium, although those tested in the normal range. Low albumin is known to affect oncotic pressure. Or, in the words of wiki, "In conditions where plasma proteins (like albumin) are reduced, e.g. from being lost in the urine or from malnutrition, there will be a reduction in oncotic pressure and an increase in filtration across the capillary, resulting in excess fluid buildup in the tissues (edema)." Hey, that sounds like a decent explanation for me. Slightly low albumin, (potentially lower oncotic pressure), get slight edema. Also, all of the things I am low in could signal anemia. Other studies linked the low numbers above to slight malnutrition, specifically proteins. (CLINICAL CHEMISTRY, Vol. 41, No. 4, 1995, 515
Significance of Low Serum Alkaline Phosphatase Activity in a Predominantly Adult Male Population, Gifford)

I did try to take a multi-vitamin, and managed it about half the time. I also tried to take omega 3s, B12, calcium, and magnesium, and I think I managed that maybe 10 times over 11 weeks. (oops)

But most of all, I was not good about getting as much protein as I said I needed. I averaged, every day, about 45-60 g of protein. While that is more than the 44 g a day that a normal person my weight needs, it's only slightly more than half of what an athlete needs. In order to get enough protein, I had to eat 20 g of protein every meal, and get 10 g of protein in each of my 2 snacks a day. That was tough, and I only managed it twice.

Turns out, I just didn't make myself eat enough beans!




What I really wanted to know from this experiment, is whether my health would improve on this diet - both subjectively (how I felt) and objectively - by looking for a positive change in my cholesterol and triglyceride numbers, and no negative change in other blood work. Well, the other blood work (CBC - Complete Blood Count, CMP - comprehensive metabolic panel, Folate Serum, Vitamin B12, Vitamin D, and Magnesium) had some low values as I noted above, that had never been low before. None of these caused the doc any concern, however.

But cholesterol - this is where dietary changes should be seen! After all, in Forks over Knives, the narrator had a spectacular drop in LDL cholesterol and triglycerides. So. I've had two Fasting Lipid Panels (cholesterol tests) in the last 3 weeks: Test 1 at 7.5 weeks, and Test 2 at 10.5 weeks.

Results:                   Last Fall         Test 1          Test 2
Total cholesterol         205                221             197
LDL                             105               109              98
HDL                             80                 102             83
Triglycerides                91                  52              79
Glucose                        76                  94              85

I think these tests are within the noise of each other, there doesn't appear to be any trend. How anticlimactic! But, that is the first time I've seen a 3-digit HDL number for me. The ratio of LDL to HDL was lower in the last 2 tests than last fall, but even that is slight. I was pretty healthy before, and am pretty healthy now. Not terribly exciting.

Plans?
Because of the cramping and edema, I am going to add back in eggs and fish. There are some reasons for me to continue to eat in a "whole food plants-based" way most of the time:
1.) Minimization of allergies - I can't think of anything else that explains how minor my allergies were this year. I hate allergies, never had them until a few years ago, and would go to the ends of the earth to get rid of them... but maybe I only have to eat vegan. Sold.
2.) While the tests say I'm not at risk for heart disease or diabetes, two of the "western diseases" that this diet is supposed to prevent, I have a family history of cancer, the third western disease. I don't want it - if this might help (and since it isn't going to hurt), sold.
3.) I think I am recovering faster from hard workouts. I attribute the tiredness I've felt in the last week to being at the end of my build period - 3 weeks of 70 mpw running, and the beginning of the hot season. And I have been working on my house late into the night, so there's been less of the sleep thing than I'm used to.
4.) I like cooking this way. As it is, I cook maybe 4 times a week, and eat left overs or take out the rest of the time. Now that I have the spices I like, it's a little cheaper, too. Oh, and TASTY. I've been amazed at how good things are.
5.) It makes sense to me that the food I eat should be as close to the ground - as little processed - as possible. Science is awesome, and food science is great, but no Kraft/Nabisco/General Mills plant can create a food-stuff to match what comes from clean air, water, and soil. Foods are more than the grams of protein, fat and carbohydrates that we can measure.




Just because I CAN (being a chemist) pronounce all the items on a nutrition label, doesn't mean I should eat or buy it!

Thank you, Animaniacs.
G'night everybody!

Veggie feelings

So, after 7 weeks of this vegan thing, How is it going?

Well, I cheated a few times. Yes, it turns out, I am a big fat cheater. Once was a powerbar on a 20 mile run - I didn't realize it had milk in it. I ate half before I realized, and then ate the other half because I still had 6 miles to go and it was the only calories I had on me. Another misstep was ordering polenta - while I make it vegan, this restaurant version definitely had butter in it, and maybe cheese. Ooops.

And then there was the Night of 4 Skinny Cow Ice Cream Sandwiches. I can't explain that, other than to say I've been increasing my mileage a lot over the last month. This was the first 70 mile week of the year. Guess I was hungry. What was I thinking, as I opened the fourth package? As I pulled the 4th sandwich from the wrapper with my fingers still cold from the last THREE sandwiches? I'm not really sure. But I am glad there were only 4 in the box to start with, otherwise it might have been the night of 6 ice cream sandwiches. Or, if I had gotten the economy sized box from Costco, the night of 24 ice cream sandwiches. The secret to avoiding this phenomenon from re-occurring has to be something other than "don't keep it in the house." Right?

It called to me from the freezer, "EAT ME! AND MY FRIENDS!"

Other than that last, ahem, slip, I haven't had cravings for meat, cheese, butter, etc. I certainly don't feel like I'm missing anything. I drive past Rudy's BBQ without a sigh. And I've been watching season 9 of Top Chef, and all the meat-centered yummy dishes they make - not a twinge. I miss Coke more than I miss meat. (Yes, I still am off the coke. Coming up on 4 months.)

On the BAD side:

I have experienced odd periods of just "being hungry" though I feel full (yes the Night of 4 Ice Cream Sandwiches was one of those). Since I was tracking calories, I know that I have typically been eating 2100 cal a day. And then, 1-2 times a week, I'd just want to eat, and would take in 2600 to 2800 cal. That's not typical for me. Maybe 2100 calories isn't quite enough? Maybe trying to hold to 20% fat leaves me wanting more? Maybe it's the vegan diet, full but not satisfied? Maybe it's a lack of protein? I think it's a combo of calorie expenditure and intake not matching, and missing the fat. I would eat a handful of nuts (salted nuts especially - I think this diet is quite a bit lower in sodium) and feel "better."

I've been a lot thirstier - turns out that is to be expected, it takes more water to digest all that veggie bulk. I've been a little bloated too - same cause. And I've had some edema in my hands and feet, especially when I run, which is abnormal.

For the first 3 weeks, I had these odd cramps in my hands or feet, 2-3 times a day. I'd be holding a few papers, or reading a book, or just standing, and suddenly my hand or foot would cramp up. The weird cramps have mostly gone away. I think it just took this long for my digestive tract to get on board with the new menu, and wasn't absorbing the calcium, magnesium, potassium, and sodium very well. Thank goodness it caught on.

I also have to say - I'm not sure it is such a good thing for me to be thinking "What will I eat today?"  That is fairly constant, and the tracking makes it seem obsessive. I've never been this focused on what I eat, how much of it I eat, and what it is made up of. I don't think this is a sustainable way of thinking for me.


On the Neutral side:

Sleeping = Still great. never have had a problem here. Too tired from running!
Weight = The same, maybe 2 pounds lost.  119-121.5
Bodyfat% = the same. ~15%
No change in really anything like skin tone or hair.

On the GOOD SIDE:

I think I am recovering better than I used to. Better as in faster - a run the day after a hard run I don't feel as tired as I expect. I have always recovered pretty quickly, but this is a noticeable improvement. I think this is diet related. It could also be that as I am on an up-slope of fitness, that I am recovering better. Although, it usually seems like when I'm in a phase of increasing mileage, I am constantly a little tired. I've had periods of tiredness, but as I say, it seems better.

I think I may have more energy. This is somewhat hard to tell. I still get tired, but it seems like I have more to start with. Maybe. Or maybe this is psychosomatic, as many accounts of people switching talk about this.

On the "I don't know if I believe this, but.." front: my allergies are better this year than they have been the last 3 years. Others around me that also have juniper allergies tell me the wind, etc. has made this a really bad year for them. For me, it's ok. I still need my allergy pills, but in years past on the heavy pollen days, I'd still suffer. Not this year. Some people postulate that a body has less inflammation when not trying to digest meat and lots of processed stuff, and so the inflammatory response toward allergens is decreased. I don't know about that. But my allergies are better. I'll take it.

And on the very touchy-feely front, I feel really good about cooking and eating this way. I like chopping up fresh veggies and cooking them. Oooo, curry. Oooooo, lets try eggplant and parsnip in this. Garam Masala? ok! Hm, I wonder if the quinoa I made yesterday would go well with this. Huh, there are turnips in my box from Skarsgard Farms. What shall I do with that?  Let's try indian - thai - vietnamese - what else?  Flax seeds as an egg replacer? let's try it! It feeds into my adventurous and independent nature, and it's even better than I get to do it on my own terms, without someone telling me what and how to do it.

And although it doesn't resonate with me the way I see that it does for some vegans and vegetarians, I like that I am not contributing to the industrial meat complex/animal cruelty. I also like that this diet requires less energy to produce/is greener/is better for the environment. These are good things to me.

Finally, on the blood test front: the nutritionist suggested I go for 10-12 weeks to see a difference, so I'm scheduled for a cholesterol test on Apr. 24th. I saw my primary care physician about the cramping and edema, and she decided a blood test for electrolytes, protein and cholesterol would be a good idea. ("Otherwise, make sure you are hydrated."  "yes, Ma'am.")  So 2 tests in the space of 3.5 weeks. Ok then, I think that's plenty of testing. Can't wait to see what happens!

gimme gimme gimme some protein

It may be the first question people ask - oh, no wait, the first question is "why the heck would you go VEGAN?" The second question is, "How do you get enough protein?"

For an average, moderately active person, a vegan diet has plenty of food options that have enough protein. All plants have a little bit. Some, like peas and beans and grains, have quite a bit.

Being vegan isn't really that restrictive. I mean, come on, Oreos (tm) are vegan. You can eat a whole lotta junk, and still be eating vegan. You can eat almost every potato chip and tortilla chip under the sun. Lots of dark chocolate. Lots of cookies, breads, pasta, and other processed stuff. Lots of sugar, HCFS, all manner of things that most people generally recognize as not being good for you.

Being on a vegan whole foods, low fat diet, however, has its challenges. And being an endurance athlete on this diet makes it trickier! (I do so love a challenge.)  It's become important to me for two reasons - one, after more than 3 weeks on this diet, I think I've lost some muscle. My body fat measuring scale agrees with me, it says I'm up 2 % on average in body fat, but I'm the same weight. So that means I've burned up some muscle, which I'd rather not do. The other - I've been getting very odd muscle cramps the last 2 weeks - hands, feet, calves, quads, hamstrings. This is more likely related to not getting enough sodium, potassium, calcium or magnesium, but could also be related to my protein and amino acid intake.

The whole foods part of the diet is just that - eat mostly things that haven't been altered. Veggies, fruits, nuts, whole grains. The low fat is supposed to be 10% of your calories from fat. Yowch, that's low. So now I know how much fat I get per day. What about the rest?

How much protein does a very active girl need, anyway?
Going to the literature, an average person needs 0.8 g of protein per kg of body weight. For me, That'd be 44 g of protein. Easy. (Take your weight and divide by 2.2 to get kg.)  An athlete, which I am going to consider myself even if it makes me sound like I have a big head, needs 1.2 - 1.4 g of protein per kg of body weight. Oooookay, so for me, that means 65 - 76 g of protein. Ok, I can probably get that....

But wait, there's more.

The bioavailability of plant sources of protein is markedly less than that of animal protein. It comes out to about 80%. So of the plant based protein I take in, I actually get 80% of that. Which means that now, as a vegan athlete, I need 81 to 95 g of protein a day.

Holy cats, man. That's a lot of protein.

and what does that mean for my overall nutrient intake?
total calories per day are about 2200
fat = 10% or 220 calories, or 24 grams
protein must be ~85 grams, so that's 340 calories, which is 15.5%
and that means that carbs make up the rest - 74.5%

The problem is, it rarely plays out that way. With such a low fat ceiling, basically nuts are out. Straight out. Because there's enough fat in grains, beans, potatoes, veggies alone to make up that 24 grams, never mind a handful of almonds. And it's not like I can go out an grab a hunk of beef jerky to get my protein. What about tofu, you say? yes, but that IS processed. It has lots of protein, but also has a fair amount of fat -  7 g of protein, and 4 g of fat. So that doesn't really solve the problem. And if I keep to that caveat of no processed stuff, then seitan is out, too.

To answer the original question, my protein comes from beans, whole grains (quinoa, brown rice, oats, whole wheat), lentils, peas, and did I mention beans?

And I'm relaxing on the fat %. That is a difficult target to hit. I think I could do it, but that would mean cutting out the ground flax, the pumpkin seeds, the pecans, and just about any bread, tortilla, or other baked product out there. When I was trying to hit that target, I'd actually be around 15%, and although I felt full even stuffed, I still wanted to eat. An odd sensation. Upping the fat has helped that go away. My target is going to be 20%. With more wiggle room, it will be easier to eat more protein too.

But even with these changes, I find I'm only getting 50 g of protein a day.

More beans, anyone?

I am not afraid of you!

I knew, now that I am newly vegan, I KNEW I'd have to face this little aversion of mine. As a Wisconsin girl, there was never any reason for me to come into contact with this block of nothingness. I ate cows. And chickens. I knew what those looked like. I knew where those came from, what they ate, how they grew.

Not so for this ersatz food product.

TOFU.

Even the name is suspect - doesn't sound like a real word...  it sounds like the babble that comes out of the mouth of a 1 yr. old.

And I'm supposed to eat it?

Even worse, I'm supposed to cook it in some way?

No one can tell you what it tastes like. "oh, it just tastes like whatever it was cooked with."

The texture is similarly mystifying - not a curd, not a paste... uniform... That doesn't sound good.

What do you mean it comes in a block? and it's white-ish? Not white, not beige, but somewhere in between...

None of this sounds appealing.

Yup, it's TOFU!

My first forays into the realm of tofu eating were under professional guidance.

Experiment #1: I figured I'd best try something in the privacy of home. You know, just in case I had to abort.

K picked up:

That's right, it's CHICKEN-LESS CHICKEN!!

Inspection of the "nuggets" as they were browning revealed little. They were breaded, and shaped like chicken nuggets. I tried to reserve judgement. Wisely, the package comes with sauce to heat up and pour over your "nuggets." I complied.

And, lo, they were tasty. I'd eat them again. The breading was crispy, and they were seasoned and had flavor. You might not think they were chicken, but it didn't scream at you, "I AM SCARY AMORPHOUS TOFU! BE AFRAID!"

So, on to

Experiment #2: Eating tofu in public.

 K and I went to Thai Vegan. It's very well rated. I picked a dish from the reviews that sounded both like an adventure, and like something I'd enjoy... perhaps: Spinach "shrimp" noodle with green curry sauce.

This was a real test. How on earth can you make shrimp:

out of ...







THIS???



Well, I don't know. But they did. It was shrimp-shaped, shrimp-colored, and shrimp-textured. They must have a Thai artist in the back sitting on a stool sculpting, molding and painting tofu shrimp all day long. That dish was TASTY. The shrimp, like the chicken-less nuggets, might not taste exactly like shrimp, but they were good. And not Frightening. I'm sure there were at least two servings on that platter, but I ate almost the entire thing before stopping - and that was only because we had banana chocolate rolls coming for dessert. (also yummy)

Experiment #2 was a huge success. I'm sure we will go back there and try other meat-less and faux meat dishes. That only leaves.....

Experiment #3: cooking TOFU myself.

I know. Scary, right?
 
Standing in Trader Joe's, I bent over to carefully examine the 4 different types. I kept my distance, looking like an uncertain tourist in a strange country. The recipe specified "firm." Ok, but what does that MEAN,  exactly? I poked the packages hesitantly. It felt like there was LIQUID in some of them. ew. Firm, silken, extra firm... I had other recipes which called for the other types. So I bought all of them. What the heck. Wait - how much is this going to set me back? Must be expensive... oh. $1.29 each. ...ok, I guess I can swing that.

All of the groceries found a home, with the one package of tofu squatting silent and solo in the middle of my kitchen island.

I felt like I did more than a decade ago (holy cow I'm old) when I had to figure out how to remove the backbone from a chicken. I approached it carefully, and tried to peel, then tear open the package, but it resisted my wimpy efforts.

I got a knife. That worked - as I cut the plastic off the top of the container, some liquid dribbled out. What IS that, anyway? Soybean whey? Then I see the directions on the package: "After opening, keep tofu immersed in water and change water daily."  Or what, I'll awaken to gremlins running around my house trying to stuff Dante in the microwave? A pod will grow in my fridge, and one day will replace me with a pale bean-curd version of Mo?

I sliced off two servings (that's weird weird weird - there's no discrete size to tofu, just slide your knife through the slippery chunk) and ...

I had to drain it. Huh? Sandwich it between two plates and paper towels for 10 min to squeeze out excess liquid. Can't I just pat it dry or something, like you do with chicken... oh, never mind. ok, fine, done.

I prep the rest of the ingredients for my sesame ginger tofu with bok choy and quinoa.

Back to the ... holy cow that's a lot of liquid from the 1/3 of the package!  Now I wonder if I should drain/press it a bit more, you know, just in case there's more in there somewhere. I do. Just in case. And there was more. (ew.)

I cut little precise blocks out of the larger block that I cut from the original block.. hey this is kind of like fractals....

Back to work, mo!

 and roll them in sesame seeds and saute them.

um. When are they done, exactly? The little white blocks refuse to answer, mute and white in the pan. After a while I shake the pan to rotate the blocks to a different side.... but they don't rotate, so I do it by hand, one at a time. Flip. Flip. Flip... The blocks are kind of soft and spongy. I do this a few more times. A few popping kernels of sesame seeds startle me, but I hold my own. It smells like... well, like sesame seeds, and not much else.

After a few sides are browned, I call it done.

TOFU - you are DONE! I have cooked you!

Of course, now I have to eat what I have created. I wish I had taken a picture to show you, because the little blocks, browned and coated with sesame seeds actually looked pretty guh.... well, pretty ok.
I stirred them with the bok choy and other veggies, and took a forkful. 

Hey - pretty tasty! now, don't ask me what it tastes LIKE, because we all know the answer to that question. The bok choy, broccoli, ginger, and sesame seeds stole that show entirely. But I have now successfully conquered my fear of tofu, and find it to be a painless way to get a little more protein into ye olde vegan, unprocessed, whole foods diet. Which is necessary, btw.  Yes, I have been to the edge of culinary veganism and DID NOT FLINCH! (except when the sesame seeds popped). Ha!

I am in-wince-able!

Onto the next challenge!