Keeping the Pace

Or is it faith?

I paced K from mile 76 to mile 86.5 of the Leadville 100 mile Trail Run this past weekend. It was fantastic. Which window on the race should I choose to show you? The picturesque scenery? – it was.

From LT100 2009

From LT100 2009

From LT100 2009

The race itself? Anton Krupicka challenged the course record all day, only to drop at 78 miles. Read about it here (no, really – it’s good!). Timmy Parr won in 17hr27min. Lynette Clemons won the women’s race in 20hr58min. The organization of the race, the inner workings of the crew? Complicated and impressive. The state of our runners throughout the race? Well, there were ups and downs, and I’m pretty sure they were tired at the end.
Each of these is a long story. Some of them aren’t really mine to tell.

What struck me about Leadville at the end of the race was the people. The racers. Some, maybe even half, were people like me. Oh, not our people. No, all of them are talented runners. They win overall awards, they set course records – they are talented. Maybe about half the field at Leadville were talented runners. But the rest? The rest were more like me. We’re decent runners, sometimes winning age group awards – especially the women as there are few of us at races. Mostly we don’t win, though. We’re in the top ~30% at races. We train hard, but not as hard as the talented runners. You can’t tell a talented runner from a decent runner by looking – yes, the scrawny arms help, but there are some slow looking fast people, and some fast looking slow people out there. But combine the appearance with the stride and with their focus, and you can make a good guess. There were two people I knew that finished to whom I could relate – no guessing necessary. One finished in 29:50 – she beat me by one minute at the Bandera 50K. The other finished in 27:43 – I beat him at Bandera by 16 minutes. These are people that run like me. It’s not as simple as, “well, if they finished, I’ll finish.” But it does mean that finishing is within my reach. I CAN do it, if I train hard and if the day goes well.

Part of the race that surprised (and haunts) me is the engagement of the RD with the spectators and the runners. Ken Chlouber holds a pep rally for the runners at 4 am – 24hrs before the start of the race. He fires them up, and makes them promise, to swear that they will not quit – they will finish this race. He sends off the race the next day with yet more words of encouragement, and a shotgun. Then, at the finish line as the 30 hour cutoff comes nigh, he turns to the spectators. He points down the course to a hill 1K away that cuts off the view of the course. He explains that runners cresting that hill have to make it to the tape before 30:00. That the runner that crosses the line one-one hundredth of a second over 30 hours will not be an official finisher. Their hard work over the last 30 hours, and over the months and years preceeding this day will not earn them a finish. Then he tells us spectators to make some noise and bring ‘em in. And we did. And runners kept cresting that damn hill, singly and in groups, and we yelled and clapped and stamped, telling them they had to hurry. Hurry, after almost 30 hours, or you won’t make it. They kept coming, even after we were certain that those runners cresting the hill were not going to make it. Yet your heart couldn’t help wanting them to get there. Until finally, Ken Chlouber raised his shotgun again and fired, ending the race at 30 hours on the dot, with runners a mere block away looking him in the eye. I wasn’t the only one to shed a few tears for those runners who were so close.

Two hours later, Ken held the awards ceremony. And he spoke to those that missed the cutoff. “I want all of those who didn’t finish to stand up. I want to talk to you. Two days ago, you stood amongst your fellow competitors, and you made a promise. You promised to finish this race, not to give up, not to fail. Yesterday, you started the Race Across the Sky, and today, you did not finish. The relentless climbs, the heat, the distance, they prevented you from finishing. But you did not fail. That’s right, you can come back, yes, you can – come back and finish what you started. We’ll see you next year.”

If you want to watch live drama, come to Leadville next year.

Dear Coke,

Oh sweet nectar of the gods, it is time. Time for me to pass over your glistening red can, to forget the sweet sound of popping you open, to ignore the allure of the effervescence on my tongue.

This sudden shift is not you, no, it’s me. You are still as wonderful as you have always been – well, except for that nasty switch from sugar to HFCS. But I don’t hold that against you, really I don’t. It was a long time ago. It’s me. I need to make a change.

If it makes you feel any better – it won’t be easy for me. No, as I drink water or chocolate milk, I’ll be thinking of you. How well you complement my homemade salsa, my spicy barbeque pizza, and Co’s shrimp enchiladas. Be happy for me though – what I’m doing is better for me. I’ll actually get close to my RDA of calcium, and maybe, just maybe, I won’t be dehydrated all the time.

So, this is goodbye, for now… you’ll always be in my heart, if not my stomach.

Brain Dump

I’m all riled up. Can’t focus.

Last night, we had a Leadville planning get together, for pacers, runners, and people who wanted to watch the madness. The race is next weekend. I'm pacing K from Fish Hatchery to May Queen.

The room was filled with people that have done the race, and people that have started but not finished. Most people have done some of both – that is, started the race say 10 times, and finished the race 5 times.

So word has spread that little ole me is going to sign up for Leadville. I signed the napkin. I got a lot of feedback on that decision last night, direct and indirect. I think I mostly appreciate the unwillingness of these runners to blow sunshine up my @$$. And maybe they even have insight into my psyche that a little doubt, a little skepticism can be a powerful propellant. Or most likely, they are just being completely honest. (I prefer the thought that they are giving me motivation.) They want to make sure I know what it will take to make a serious attempt. Because that’s all anyone can do for this race, it seems: come to the starting line prepared to make a serious attempt. They agreed that I would make it to the 50 mile point. After that, training and preparation will help, but it was said over and over again, that anything can happen to cut short the race – for anyone. (Can this be true? Do we all need a little magic to make it to the end? Analysis Girl is a little dismayed that there is no chart, no data, no agent-based computer model that will clearly illuminate the sure path to finishing Leadville.)

K has said that my slow cruising speed needs to get faster. (I think this is true. Makes sense: I’ll have to hold my slow, easy pace a long, long time. The faster that pace is, the better. Also, these runners that have finished this race…. Well, they’re all much faster than I am. So it would be wise to get faster. Plus, I think in training to go the distance, I will get faster. I got faster while training for Jemez 50K. Guess what? Work works.)
Tools:
* Tempo runs
* Uptempo longish runs
* Long run
* Hills (Stair-climber counts!)

K (the other K) has advised that really I just need to train to run the first forty miles. Then just survive the second half. (I think this is a road to disaster for me. First, it almost gives me permission not to train as hard. Second, this method bets that my determination will get me to finish the race. I can be very stubborn, but I don’t want to bet on this alone. Then, there would be 18 hours of pain and discomfort over the last half of the race that I think will be worse than if I train to get faster. I don’t have any experience on how well I can keep moving through that kind of pain. And I know the last half of the race, I’ll be running scared – in fear of not making the cut offs. I accept that finishing this race will entail plenty of pain and discomfort, no matter the method. )

J gave me great advice I think. And that is to treat everything as training. Just train. Do plenty of 50Ks, and run them as training runs. Recovery will be fast, and just keep training. J’s longest training run was 42 miles. On her advice, I’ll do Bandera 50K in Jan 2010, and then the Rocky Raccoon 50 miler in Feb.

In actuality, after the planning meeting, I think K’s advice, and K’s advice are similar. I’m never going to attempt 100 mi in training. I’m only going to train up to 40 mi or so. So doesn’t that mean I am only training for the first 40 miles? And I know that in training more, I’ll get faster. And I know that no matter how fast I get, only my determination will get me through the last (painful) half. So, onward and upward! Just train.

I think my penchant for planning (nice alliteration, huh?) will be the way I make it. I already have a general pacing plan – it will get more detailed. I’ll plan out the aid stops, solutions to likely problems, and a few motivating ideals I can hold onto late in the race.

The struggle for me will be to take all the good advice and distill it down to what will help me. Also, the constant sticking point for me, is accepting advice from people I know are worlds faster than I am, and yet trusting that it still applies to me. This is tough.

So I get home, and try to work some of this through with Co.

Me: “This is going to be really hard for me.”

Co: “What is?”

Me: “Finishing. Just finishing.”

Co: “Well, duh. You knew that. I knew that. It’s one hundred miles. ”

Me: “Yeah. But I think that I can run 100 miles, it’s the cutoff… Only 30 hours. It’s going to be really hard for me to make that cutoff.”

Co: “So, what – you’re not going to do it now? Because you don’t know if you can make it?”

Me: “No. I’m going to do it.”

Co: “I know – next year, while you’re out there, I’ll hand you my ipod, and you can listen to Stephen King’s “The Long Walk.” I’m sure that will keep you going!”

Wisenheimer.